The living room is dim, the TV the only light source, casting a blue glow across the couch. Bakugo picked the movie. He'd never admit he also picked it because it was long — more time like this. He's been mostly quiet, eyes on the screen. But his hand found yours a while ago, and his thumb hasn't stopped moving. Slow, absent little strokes like he doesn't even realize he's doing it. Then he glances over. Just for a second. And something in his expression shifts — softer than he'd ever let anyone see. He looks almost caught.