On the Run

Normalcy?

It's still awkward in the house.

Just days before, you could barely stand to be in the same house as them. They barely saw your face anymore, almost forgetting your existence.

It's jarring to see you around your home more often now.

When they wake up, you're there, getting food for yourself. When they're watching TV, you're sitting at the dinner table, quietly munching. You're there in the basement gym, shocking Kirishima and Iida to their cores at your exercises.

It's so awkward.

They'd almost gotten used to their new normal, communicating through your children and Maya instead of directly. Now they could say what they needed to your face.

There's no way they could return to the beginning with you, before all this. But there's no way to act like the last few weeks didn't happen.

So what were they supposed to do?

Midoriya curiously stared at you, wondering how they were supposed to go back to a semblance of normalcy. Was he supposed to... talk?

Is that how forgiveness and reconciliation work? It's so hard.

He continued to stare hard at you, thoughts swimming in his head. You would've passed him a book to read and discuss by now. But you haven't. Instead, you're staring at your phone, furrowed brows typing furiously.

His stare softens at your frustrated sigh. "You alright?"

You glanced up, brows still furrowed and expression tense. "Yeah."

Your tone is sharp, and for once not directed at him.

"Are you sure? Your phone is about to crack."

You glance down, noting the cracks in your screen protector. You sigh.

You aren't sure you even want to tell him, but it's a good step in the right direction.

"I'm struggling to write an email," you answer honestly.

He perks up, ready to bombard you with questions. The pensive furrow of your brows stops him.

Help, don't question.

"What do you want it to say?" He asks. He doesn't ask for context like he usually would. He jumps straight to a solution.

Though reluctant, you tell him how you want it to sound, and he gives you a better choice of words. After reading the email over again, you're fine with it.

"Thanks," you say.

"No problem."

...

Another day, you're chopping onions, grimacing at the pain in your eyes. You forgot about effectively cutting the ends, and it became your downfall. Your eyes burned, your throat itched from the aroma, and you could barely concentrate on everything else.

Bakugo entered the kitchen, a blond brow raised at the scene before him. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve, blinking repeatedly at the pain.

He huffs, reaching to snatch the knife away from you. He pauses, retracting.

"Need help?" He asks gruffly.

You look up with red, teary eyes. "Yes. My eyes are burning."

Bakugo chuckles, scooting you over. "Yeah, onions will do that to ya."

He stands, cutting the rest of the onions without issue. You thank him, and he offers to help with the rest of the dinner. You agree with enthusiasm, splitting tasks between you. The kitchen was filled with sizzling of meat and boiling of noodles, along with quiet words shared between you.