⋆‧° 𐙚kenzie⋆.˚

The apartment smelled like coffee already. It also smelt faintly of eggs and toast. 

Your brows lifted slightly as you rounded the corner into the kitchen. Bakugou stood near the stove with a mug in one hand while the other rested against the counter beside him. He’d already changed out of the clothes he’d slept in, dressed instead in a black shirt and loose sweats while early morning sunlight filtered across the apartment behind him. His hair looked messier than usual, still soft with sleep despite clearly having been awake for a while.

More importantly, he looked stiff. There was a slight tension in his shoulders. He shifted his weight like his back hurt.

Your eyes narrowed instantly.

“You carried me to bed last night.”

Bakugou barely looked up from his coffee. “Observant.”

“You’re supposed to sleep in the bed.”

“You were unconscious.”

“You took advantage of my unconscious state.”

“I took care of you. You haven’t been sleeping well.”

You crossed your arms tiredly while leaning against the kitchen doorway. “Yeah, that couch is awful.”

“Tch. It’s not that bad.”

“You looked real stiff just now.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue quietly against the roof of his mouth before taking another sip of coffee. The sight would’ve been intimidating if he didn’t currently look like a grumpy man being personally victimized by lumbar pain.

The conversation settled into the same argument you’d apparently been having in circles for days now. Bakugou insisted you needed the bed more. You insisted he was too large for the couch to count as humane sleeping conditions. Neither of you were willing to give in.

Morning light slowly filled the apartment while the argument dragged on lazily beneath layers of exhaustion neither of you had fully shaken off yet.

Eventually, Bakugou shoved a mug toward you across the counter.

“Drink your coffee.”

You accepted it, fingers curling around the warmth while the smell alone helped wake you slightly.

Outside, the city was just beginning to wake up. Cars passed below the building occasionally while pale sunlight reflected against rainwater still lingering on the streets from last night’s storm.

Bakugou leaned against the counter across from you, dark circles faint beneath his eyes from another early patrol schedule.

His gaze drifted briefly toward the living room, towards the couch, then towards you again. A realization settled suddenly and plainly in his mind.

This was stupid. The bed was large. You didn’t seem like the worst company. And frankly, if either of you continued sleeping on that couch much longer, you were going to develop permanent spinal damage out of sheer stubbornness.

He sighed into his coffee, “Just share the bed with me.”

You blinked once. Just enough to show the suggestion had caught you slightly off guard. “What?”

“It’s a queen bed,” he said. “We both fit. Problem solved.”

You stared at him over the rim of your mug in disbelief. 

“We’re adults,” he continued before you could immediately refuse. “You don’t have to give yourself to the world’s worst couch.”

“It’s temporary.”

“You looked physically offended by standing up yesterday.”

You were argumentative beyond reason but you were also practical when cornered with enough logic. Eventually, your shoulders shifted slightly in reluctant concession.

“Whatever. Fine I guess.”

You smiled faintly into your mug. 

Bakugou immediately narrowed his eyes, “Don’t make it weird.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“You’re smiling like a dumbass.”

“You’re the one bringing up sleepovers.”

“It’s literally your apartment. Your bed.”

“Still counts.” There was no real heat behind his voice. Just tired acceptance.

The rest of the morning passed quietly after that.

The two of you moved around each other easily now in ways that would’ve felt awkward only days ago. Bakugou packed up gear for patrol while you slowly woke up enough to function properly, both of you existing within the same small kitchen space without bumping into each other much anymore.

Somehow, you’d already started learning each other’s rhythms.

He paused near the front door while tugging on his gloves, “You work later?”

You nodded. “In the afternoon, yes.”

A pause lingered briefly between you.

“Lock the door behind me.” 

You rolled your eyes lightly. “Yes, mom.”

Bakugou looked deeply unimpressed. Then he left.

The apartment felt strangely empty afterward. You noticed it immediately. It was silent. There was a lack of movement. Even knowing he’d only been staying there a few days, his absence still changed the atmosphere somehow.

Which was probably concerning. You decided to ignore it. Instead, you spent the next few hours getting ready slowly before eventually leaving for your own shift later that afternoon.

Work blurred by in the usual exhausting haze. Noise, bright lights, and hours spent on your feet.

By the end of the shift, your body ached with the familiar exhaustion that had become routine long before Bakugou accidentally started invading your apartment.

Evening had already settled over the city by the time you finally returned home. The hallway smelled faintly cleaner now, evidence of the continued repairs downstairs.

You unlocked your apartment door with tired movements.

The smell hit first. It was warm, savory, and rich enough that your stomach reacted instantly despite how tired you were. Your eyes widened slightly as you stepped fully inside.

Bakugou was in the kitchen cooking.

Steam drifted upward from the stove while soft light from above the counters cast warm shadows across the apartment. One pan still sizzled quietly while Bakugou stood nearby in dark clothes with the sleeves shoved halfway up his forearms.

The domesticity of the scene hit you embarrassingly hard.

“You’re cooking.”

Bakugou glanced over his shoulder briefly.

“Tch. Obviously.”

“You’re cooking for me.”

“I cooked food, yes.”

“There are two plates. One must be for me unless you have a secret lover I don’t know about”

“Uh huh.”

You dropped your bag beside the couch while the delicious smell continued filling the apartment around you.

“You’re my favorite person right now.”

“That’s pathetic.”

“You made dinner after patrol.”

“You look awful.”

Honestly? It was probably true. While you weren’t fall asleep in your bathtub while it was still running tired, you were still tired.

Bakugou plated the food with practiced efficiency while you hovered nearby trying not to stare too much at the fact that this had somehow become your life now.

Coming home to Katsuki Bakugou cooking dinner in your kitchen. It was absolutely insane.

The food itself was incredible. Of course it was. Bakugou seemed to be good at almost everything. 

You ended up curled on opposite ends of the couch afterward with plates balanced on your laps while another random show played quietly across the television.

He’s the first to speak. “Why don’t you have a real dining table?”

You’re almost offended. “I know you’re not talking. I’ve seen your apartment. Plus I normally eat alone and the couch is somewhat comfortable when you’re not spending the night.”

Bakugou stretched one arm lazily across the back of the couch while watching the television with narrowed focus that suggested he was taking the plot entirely too seriously.

“You’re emotionally invested in this now,” you observed.

“It’s poorly written.”  

“You’ve watched four episodes.”

“Because I need to know if they stay stupid.”

You laughed softly into your drink. The sound earned a brief glance from him before his attention drifted back toward the television again.

There was something oddly easy about nights like this now. The silence between you no longer felt awkward.

You’d started learning when Bakugou wanted conversation and when he preferred quiet. He’d apparently learned your habits too, judging by how he automatically handed you the remote when commercials started because he knew you hated loud advertisements.

These were tiny things. They were the kind that settled unnoticed until suddenly they were everywhere.

Later that night, the two of you drifted naturally into getting ready for bed.

Bakugou brushed his teeth while you washed your face afterward, the cramped bathroom forcing occasional awkward shoulder bumps every time one of you reached for something at the same time.

Neither of you commented on it anymore.

You were standing near the sink checking your phone when the notification appeared. Your brows lifted slightly.

“What?” Bakugou’s voice came muffled from behind you while he dried his hair with a towel.

“The mattress update.”

Immediately, his attention shifted.

You opened the email fully.

“It’s arriving in two days.” The words left your mouth easily enough. But something uncomfortable twisted quietly beneath your ribs afterward.

Two days. Meaning his apartment would be fixed soon. Meaning this arrangement would end. The realization settled heavily. You stared at the email for a second longer than necessary before locking your phone again.

Bakugou watched you carefully from the doorway.

“…That’s good,” you said finally.

“Yeah.” His response came quieter than expected.

The apartment suddenly felt strangely small around the conversation.

You moved past it quickly before your brain could linger too much on the uncomfortable feeling building within you. Neither of you acknowledged it further while finishing your nighttime routines.

The thought still lingered.

By the time the lights were finally turned off, nervous energy had replaced some of your exhaustion entirely.

Sharing the bed had sounded practical this morning. Now, standing awkwardly on opposite sides of the mattress in the darkened room, it suddenly felt very real.

Bakugou cleared his throat once. “You take that side.”

You nodded immediately. “Mmm shame on you. Telling me which side to sleep on in my bed.”

“I prefer this side. You flooded my bed so I get to choose.”

The mattress dipped beneath your weight as you climbed in carefully, trying not to move too much. A second later, the opposite side shifted when Bakugou finally laid down too.

Almost immediately, you became hyper aware of everything. You felt his warmth beside you, heard the faint sound of his breathing, and saw the slight shift in the covers as he readjusted. 

The bed was large enough. There was more than enough space between you. Even still, awareness crackled sharply through the quiet room anyway.

You stared firmly at the ceiling. Beside you, Bakugou seemed equally committed to pretending this wasn’t awkward at all. Which somehow made it more awkward.

Even as time passed, every small movement felt noticeable.  At one point your hand shifted slightly across the blanket and immediately brushed against warm fabric.

Both of you went still.

“…Sorry,” you muttered automatically into the darkness.

“Go to sleep.”

Easy for him to say.

You rolled carefully onto your side facing away from him, trying to ignore the strange nervous energy still buzzing faintly beneath your skin.

Beside you, Bakugou shifted too. The mattress moved softly underneath the weight.

Gradually, the tension faded. Not completely, but enough to sleep. Exhaustion eventually won over awareness.

Your breathing slowed. The room softened around the edges. And somewhere beside you, Bakugou’s breathing settled into a slower rhythm too.

By the time sleep finally dragged you under completely, the space between the two of you had become just slightly smaller than before.

Note: I fear I may be writing too much now that I'm on summer vacation. If you'd like to be added to the tag list for this series, comment below!

Masterlist!

Your brain was still slow with exhaustion, thoughts dragging behind your body while you pushed yourself up slightly against the armrest.

“What time is it?” you grumbled.

“Early.”

Real helpful. You squinted toward the microwave clock across the apartment. It was 5:18 AM. A quiet groan escaped you before you could stop it. 

Bakugou looked unimpressed by your suffering, “You’ve gotta work today anyway.”

“You say that like it’s not horrifying.”

He slung one of his bags over his shoulder before grabbing his keys from the counter. Even dressed for patrol, there were signs now that he’d been staying here longer than a single night.

His extra jacket hung over one of your dining chairs. A pair of gloves rested beside the sink. His coffee mug from yesterday sat drying near the dish rack.

The apartment no longer looked entirely yours. The realization sat strangely warm in your chest despite the early hour. You dragged the blanket higher around your shoulders while Bakugou moved toward the door.

“Try not to flood anything today,” he muttered.

You blinked at him tiredly. “That happened one time.”

“One catastrophic time.”

“It built character.”

“It caused water damage.”

A sleepy laugh slipped out of you.

Bakugou paused near the doorway for half a second, expression unreadable in the dim light before he looked away again. Then he was gone. The apartment felt quieter immediately after the door shut behind him.

Too quiet.

You stared at the ceiling for another minute before finally forcing yourself upright. Your entire body ached faintly from sleeping on the couch again, stiffness pulling through your shoulders and lower back as you shuffled toward the bathroom to get ready for work.

Morning light slowly filled the apartment while you moved through your usual routine. Everywhere you looked, there were traces of Bakugou. His duffel bag near the wall. One of his hoodies tossed over the armchair. A bottle of hot sauce sitting beside your stove that definitely hadn’t belonged there before. Even the bathroom counter looked different now, one corner occupied by his things with military-level neatness.

It was odd how quickly another person could settle into a space. Odder still how little you minded.

By the time you left for work, the sky outside had turned overcast gray. The hallway smelled faintly like damp drywall from the repairs downstairs, industrial fans still running somewhere below.

You locked the apartment behind you with a tired sigh. For a brief second, your eyes drifted downstairs towards his apartment automatically. Then you shook the thought away and headed to work.

The day dragged on. It was just long enough that exhaustion settled into your bones by the end of it. By the time you finally made it home that evening, the sun had already disappeared completely beneath the horizon. Your shoulders ached from work, your feet hurt, and all you wanted was silence.

The apartment greeted you warmly when you stepped inside.

Quiet, Dim, and still empty. You frowned faintly. Bakugou wasn’t back yet. His shoes were missing from beside the door, and the apartment sat untouched in the exact state you’d left it that morning. 

You ignored the feeling that loomed over you. 

After changing into comfortable clothes, you settled heavily onto the couch with dinner balanced on your lap and some random show playing quietly across the television.

Time passed lazily.

At some point, you stopped really paying attention to the show altogether. The flickering light from the screen blurred softly across the apartment while exhaustion dragged heavier at your eyelids with every passing minute. Your head tipped back against the couch cushion.

Then the front door unlocked.

You blinked awake slowly as Bakugou stepped inside.

You could tell something about the day had gone poorly. His shoulders slumped slightly beneath his hero gear, movements heavier as he shut the door behind himself. His hair clung messily against his forehead and faint grime streaked across parts of his costume.

He looked completely drained.

Bakugou glanced toward the couch the second he noticed you awake.

“…Why’re you staring?”

“You look awful,” you answered honestly.

“Mmm.” He hummed. Which, somehow, wasn’t actually denial.

You sat up straighter while he moved farther into the apartment. The exhaustion rolling off him felt palpable now that he was closer. 

“Bad day?” you asked quietly.

Bakugou exhaled through his nose sharply before tugging off one gauntlet.

“Idiots everywhere.”

That sounded about right.

He disappeared into the bathroom a few minutes later, and the apartment filled briefly with the sound of running water. You curled deeper into the couch blanket while waiting, eyes drifting back toward the television without really focusing.

When Bakugou finally reemerged, he looked slightly more human.

His hair was still damp from washing up, softer now without the full structure of hero gear holding it in place. He’d changed into loose black sweatpants and a dark shirt, sleeves hanging low around tired arms.

He paused near the couch for a second before sitting down beside you. Not too close but close enough. The couch dipped slightly under his weight and warmth settled beside you immediately.

The two of you watched the show in comfortable silence. It was strange how aware you became of another person in quiet moments like this.

The subtle shift every time Bakugou adjusted his posture. The warmth radiating from beside you beneath the blanket. The steady rhythm of his breathing eventually slowed as exhaustion settled deeper into him.

Neither of you spoke much. There didn’t seem to be any need.

Your body felt heavy against the couch cushions, fatigue pulling harder at your muscles now that you were finally still. Every few minutes you shifted unconsciously trying to relieve pressure from your sore shoulders.

Bakugou took notice. “You’re moving around like an old person.”

You cracked one eye open toward him. “I’m sore.”

“Tch.” He scoffed. The television light flickered across his face while he studied you briefly. “You’re taking the bed tonight.”

You sighed immediately. “We’ve already had this argument.”

“And I’m right.”

“You worked all day.”

“So did you.”

“You were literally fighting people. Plus you worked longer than I did.”

“You can barely sit still.”

You opened your mouth to argue again before another ache rolled through your shoulders, betraying you instantly when your expression tightened.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“There,” he muttered. “Exactly.”

“I’m just a little sore.”

“You’re terrible at lying.”

“You’re bossy.”

“You flooded my apartment.”

“That cannot be your argument forever.”

“It absolutely can.”

Despite the irritation in his voice, there wasn’t much force behind it tonight. Mostly exhaustion. The conversation faded after that. Neither of you had enough energy left to properly argue. Instead, the apartment fell quiet again except for the television.

At some point, your head drifted sideways against the couch cushion. The show blurred, voices from the screen melted together into background noise while exhaustion slowly dragged you under. Beside you, Bakugou shifted slightly. You barely registered it.

Then warmth brushed briefly against your shoulder.

The last thing you remembered clearly was the distant feeling of the couch cushions beneath you and rain against the windows. After that, sleep took you completely. When you woke again, it was only barely. A strange weightlessness surrounded you for a few disoriented seconds before your exhausted brain caught up with reality.

You were surrounded by strong arms, warmth, and movement. Bakugou was carrying you.

You blinked blearily against the fabric of his shirt, barely awake enough to process the situation properly. One of his arms rested securely beneath your knees while the other supported your back effortlessly.

The apartment lights had dimmed sometime while you slept.

Everything felt soft around the edges.

“…M’awake,” you mumbled weakly.

“Clearly not.”

His voice rumbled low through his chest beneath your cheek.

You were too tired to feel properly embarrassed. Your head tipped instinctively closer against him instead. Bakugou went suspiciously still for half a second before continuing down the hallway toward your bedroom.

“You fall asleep faster than old people,” he muttered.

“Shhh.” You mumble barely awake. 

The mattress dipped softly beneath you moments later as he lowered you carefully onto the bed.

Even half asleep, you noticed the hesitation afterward. It was like he was making sure you were settled properly before stepping away. The blanket pulled over you a second later confirmed it. Your eyes barely stayed open long enough to see Bakugou turning toward the doorway.

“…Night,” you murmured sleepily.

A pause.

“Yeah. Night.”

The bedroom door clicked softly shut behind him.

And for the first time in days, you fell asleep in your own bed.

Note: Please send me requests on what to write!! I'd love to get back into the swing of things :D

Bakugou stood near the front door with one of his bags slung over his shoulder, moving around the apartment with the same blunt efficiency he seemed to apply to everything in life. His hair was still messy from sleep, sticking out more wildly than usual in the soft morning light, though he already looked far more awake than you felt.

He was collecting the last of his things from beside the couch.

You blinked at him sluggishly. Your voice came out rough with sleep, words slurring together halfway through the sentence,  “…Where’re you going?”

Bakugou looked over immediately. His expression flattened slightly, the way it always did when he was caught off guard by something unexpectedly soft. “What?”

You pushed yourself upright slowly, blanket slipping down into your lap while exhaustion still clung heavily to your limbs. The digital clock on the microwave read 6:12 AM.

It was far too early, especially for your day off. 

“You’re leaving?” you mumbled.

Bakugou stared at you for a second before snorting quietly through his nose.

“You flooded my apartment, remember?”

Right. You rubbed a hand over your face tiredly. It was a stupid question. He’d only stayed because you’d accidentally turned his bedroom into a swamp. Still, seeing him already halfway out the door left an odd hollow feeling in your chest that sleep fog wasn’t helping.

“Oh. Right.”

Bakugou adjusted the strap on his bag. “Maintenance’ll probably show up early if I report it now.”

You nodded slowly, though your brain still felt several steps behind the conversation.

The apartment stayed quiet except for the distant buzz of the refrigerator and the occasional car outside.

Then, before you could fully think it through, “I can make coffee.”

Bakugou blinked. “You just woke up.”

“Mhm.”

“You look half dead.”

“You look angry at the sun.”

“I am angry at the sun.”

Despite the gruffness of his voice, there wasn’t much real bite behind it. Just exhaustion. Morning irritation. Bakugou had always struck you as someone who woke up fully alert and immediately annoyed about existing.

You pushed the blanket aside and stood carefully, wincing slightly at the stiffness in your neck from sleeping on the couch. Bakugou noticed immediately.

“That couch sucks,” he muttered.

“You’re huge. Of course you think the couch sucks.”

“It barely fits you.”

Fair enough. You shrugged in response to his comment. You shuffled toward the kitchen before he could decide to leave anyway. The floor felt cold beneath your feet while you filled the coffee maker with water, movements slow and clumsy from exhaustion. 

Behind you, you could feel Bakugou lingering uncertainly near the doorway. Like he hadn’t fully decided if staying another twenty minutes was worth it.

The machine sputtered to life a moment later.

Morning light filled more of the apartment now, soft gold warming the edges of the kitchen counters and catching on the messy blanket still tossed across the couch.

Bakugou eventually dropped his bag back beside the door with a quiet sigh.

“You always wake up this early on days off?” he asked.

You shook your head immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“What time do you usually get up?”

“Whenever my body stops hating me.”

“Hn.”

You smiled faintly at the sound.

The two of you settled into an oddly comfortable silence while the coffee brewed. Bakugou leaned against the counter nearby, arms crossed loosely over his chest while you searched your cabinets for mugs.

He looked strangely domestic standing there. He was barefoot, half awake, and still dressed in the black shirt he’d slept in. This was probably the most time you’d ever spent around him without one of you actively leaving for work.

You handed him a mug carefully.

Bakugou took it with a muttered “thanks” before immediately taking a sip strong enough that it probably qualified as battery acid.

“The way you drink coffee is criminal,” you informed him.

“It’s coffee. Not candy.”

“It should not taste like burnt regret.”

“It wakes you up.”

“So would being punched.”

“That’s free too.”

A tired laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Bakugou’s eyes flicked toward your face briefly, expression unreadable for half a second before he looked away again.

“…About your mattress,” you started carefully.

Bakugou sighed immediately like he knew exactly where this was going.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.”

“It’s a mattress.”

“It’s an expensive mattress- at least it looked expensive."

A pause.

Then reluctantly, “…Yeah.”

You reached for your phone off the counter. “What kind was it?”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes slightly. “Why?”

“So I can replace it.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I flooded your apartment.”

“You fell asleep.”

“I flooded your apartment while asleep.”

He looked like he wanted to argue more before ultimately deciding it wasn’t worth the energy this early in the morning. With obvious reluctance, he finally pulled out his own phone and searched through old order confirmations until he found the mattress.

The number on the screen made your eyebrows rise slightly.

“Wow.”

Bakugou looked unimpressed. “It’s good quality.”

“I can tell.”

Still, it wasn’t impossible. Expensive, yes, but manageable.

You sat beside him at the counter while searching online for the same model. Unfortunately, the situation only got worse from there. Something about special order only, shipping delays, no nearby stores carrying it.

At minimum, it would be several days before a replacement could arrive.

“…Seriously?” you muttered.

Bakugou clicked his tongue irritably. “Tch. Figures.”

You glanced toward him. “What’re you supposed to sleep on until then?”

“The couch downstairs.”

“The tiny couch?”

“I’ve slept in worse places.”

A couple hours later, after contacting apartment management and explaining the situation in embarrassing detail, maintenance finally arrived downstairs to assess the damage.

The two of you stood in Bakugou’s apartment while workers moved in and out of the soaked bedroom. The room smelled faintly damp despite the fans they’d already brought in. Bakugou’s mattress leaned awkwardly against the wall, clearly ruined beyond saving. Parts of the ceiling still looked water stained near one corner.

One of the maintenance workers wiped sweat from his forehead before speaking.

“It’ll take a couple days at least,” he explained. “Drywall damage, flooring inspection… maybe longer depending on moisture levels.”

Bakugou looked deeply unimpressed by this information. You, meanwhile, felt progressively worse.

“Couldn’t he stay in another unit temporarily?” you asked.

The worker shook his head apologetically. “Nothing available right now.”

You glanced toward Bakugou. He looked irritated but not surprised. Of course he didn’t seem particularly bothered. He was probably the type to sleep on hardwood flooring out of spite if necessary.

“You can stay upstairs,” you said immediately.

Bakugou looked over. “You don’t have to—”

“You’re not sleeping on that couch.”

“I’ll survive.”

“That thing barely survives.”

“Or if you won’t stay with me, I can rent you somewhere nearby for a few days.”

“That’s stupid.”

“It’s my fault.”

“Tch.”

Bakugou dragged a hand down his face tiredly, clearly realizing he was losing this argument.

Finally, after several long seconds:

“I’ll stay upstairs,” he muttered. “Easier anyway.”

You blinked. “Easier?”

“My stuff’s still here.” He jerked a thumb vaguely toward his apartment. “I’m gonna be working most of the next few days. Less annoying than dragging everything somewhere else.”

You nodded quickly, trying not to look too visibly relieved by the answer.

The rest of the afternoon passed strangely fast.

Bakugou spent most of it moving essentials upstairs—clothes, work gear, toiletries—while maintenance continued tearing apart sections of his bedroom downstairs. The sound of drills and industrial fans echoed through the building for hours.

By evening, your apartment looked subtly different. Bakugou’s duffel sat near the wall beside the couch. His combat boots rested by the front door. One of his hoodies had already ended up draped over the armchair without explanation.

The realization hit you suddenly, Bakugou was staying here. For multiple days… 

The thought felt oddly domestic in a way you tried not to think about too hard.

Dinner ended up being simple.

You cooked mostly because it felt wrong not to after destroying the man’s apartment. Bakugou hovered nearby while you worked in the kitchen, occasionally handing you ingredients without being asked or criticizing your knife skills under his breath.

“You cut vegetables too slow.”

“I cut vegetables safely.”

“You cut vegetables like you’re scared they’ll bite back.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It does in my head.”

“Horrifying.”

A quiet scoff escaped him.

The apartment settled into a calmer rhythm as the night went on.

Rain started again outside around eight, tapping softly against the windows while the two of you ate dinner at the small kitchen table. Bakugou talked a little about work after you asked. Nothing was confidential, mostly complaints about patrol schedules and idiot sidekicks. Hearing him talk casually felt odd. 

The other times you had talked to him had always been quick greetings and nothing more. Now there was nowhere either of you needed to rush off to immediately.

By ten, Bakugou was visibly fading.

You noticed it in the way his posture slouched slightly deeper into the couch cushions and how his responses got shorter between stretches of silence.

“You sleep insanely early,” you commented while rinsing dishes.

Bakugou looked offended. “It’s called having a schedule.”

“It’s called being eighty years old.”

“I wake up at five.”

“That’s evil.” You smiled to yourself while drying your hands.

Eventually the two of you split off to get ready for bed separately. Bakugou disappeared into the bathroom first while you changed into comfortable clothes in your bedroom afterward.

By the time you emerged again, the apartment lights had dimmed low. Bakugou stood near the couch adjusting one of the blankets awkwardly.

“I already told you, you’re taking the bed,” you said immediately.

“No.”

“You literally can’t fit on that thing.”

“You slept here fine yesterday.”

“Yes but I’m not your size.”

Bakugou crossed his arms. “I’m not kicking you outta your own bed.”

“You’re not kicking me out. I’m offering.” You insisted.

The argument went nowhere.

Eventually, after several increasingly tired minutes of back and forth, the arrangement ended exactly the same as the night before.

Bakugou in your bed.

You on the couch.

Only this time, it felt a little less awkward.

As you settled beneath the blanket again, listening to the soft sounds of Bakugou moving around your bedroom down the hall, the apartment no longer felt unfamiliar with another person inside it. Instead, it felt strangely full.

And sometime later, while rain tapped softly against the windows and Bakugou’s footsteps finally quieted completely, you fell asleep wondering why your neighbor downstairs had started feeling so natural upstairs. 

It was only a few more days. After that, he would be back in his apartment, and everything would be back to normal.

Note: I plan on continuing this series! I don't have a set schedule for when I will post the next part but I expect it to be at least weekly. Thank you for reading! <3