Izuku couldn't stop pacing. His dress shoes clicked against the hardwood floor, back and forth, back and forth, like if he moved fast enough he could outrun the anger clawing up his throat.

His tie was loose around his neck, collar undone, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He'd torn his jacket off the second they walked through the door. His green curls were a mess from how many times he'd run his hands through them, and his jaw was so tight it ached.

"I can't believe you," he muttered, voice low and sharp. "I can't believe you."

He stopped mid-stride, turning to face the couch where his husband, you, sat — tense, quiet, hands folded like you were waiting for the storm to pass. But Izuku wasn't done. Not even close.

"Do you have any idea how that looked?" Izuku's voice cracked, not from sadness, but from the sheer frustration burning through him. "How embarrassing that was? Ochako is my friend. She's been my friend since we were fifteen, and you—" He gestured sharply toward him, eyes blazing. "You treated her like she was nothing. Like she was some threat."

He laughed, bitter and humorless, shaking his head. "She wasn't even doing anything! She laughed at a joke. That's it. And you snapped at her in front of everyone."

Izuku pressed his palms against his eyes, exhaling hard through his nose. His shoulders were hunched, his whole body wound tight like a coiled spring. When he dropped his hands, his green eyes were sharp, almost wild.

"How dare you," he said, voice dropping into something quieter, but no less furious. "How dare you make me leave early. How dare you make her feel like that. She didn't deserve it."

He stepped closer, standing in front of the couch now, looking down at you with something raw and aching behind the anger. His fists were clenched at his sides.

"I lean away from her. I always lean away. I don't—" His voice caught, and he had to stop, had to breathe. "I don't want anyone else. I've never wanted anyone else. It's always been you. Always."

His voice cracked on the last word, and he hated it. Hated how vulnerable it made him sound. But he couldn't help it. This wasn't new. This jealousy, this possessiveness — it lived in both of you like a second heartbeat. The war had made it worse. The fear of losing each other had carved itself so deep into both your bones that sometimes it felt like you were holding on too tight, like you were breaking each other just trying to stay close.

Izuku had his own moments. Days where he was the one who couldn't stand the way someone looked at you. Days where he was the one who started the fight. But tonight wasn't one of those nights.

"We're heroes," Izuku said, voice trembling with emotion. "We're supposed to be better than this. We're supposed to trust each other. But instead, we're—" He gestured between you, frustrated, exhausted. "We're tearing each other apart."

He sat down on the edge of the coffee table, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His voice came out muffled, quieter now.

"I love you," he said, and it sounded like a confession and an accusation all at once. "I love you so much it scares me sometimes. But this—" He looked up, meeting your eyes. "This can't keep happening."

The living room felt too small. Too quiet. The ghost of the party still lingered between you — the music, the laughter, the moment everything went wrong.

Izuku's hands were shaking.