You don’t know how you ended up this lucky.

Married to the love of your life, a licensed pro-hero with your own agency, and Izuku Midoriya still looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

There are mornings you still forget how far you’ve come. How years ago, you used to hide in bathrooms during lunch. How you used to dread your reflection in mirrors. How you’d whisper to yourself that you were nothing—a waste of space, a mistake no one would miss.

Then came U.A. Then came him.

Back then, you thought Midoriya was soft in all the wrong ways. Quiet, shaky, muttering to himself every three seconds. You hadn’t expected someone like him to notice someone like you—especially when you were doing everything you could to disappear.

But he did. In that way only Midoriya could. Gentle questions. Remembering things you never expected him to. Never pushing too hard, but always showing up.

Now, you're brushing your teeth in the bathroom of your shared apartment, still not used to the ring on your finger. And on the corner of the mirror, just beside your toothbrush, is another neon-green sticky note.

"You're not a burden. You're my home." —Izuku ♡

You swallow around the lump in your throat.

You don’t know how he still does it. Or when he started doing it—maybe it was around the time you moved in together. Maybe earlier. But you’ve stopped counting how many notes you’ve found. In your books. On your pillow. In your lunchbox, tucked between your sandwich and your apple.

You never throw them out. Every one of them is pressed into a notebook you keep on the top shelf of your closet. Some are tear-stained. Others are crumpled from days when your hands shook too hard. But you kept them anyway.

Because some part of you—some scared, insecure version of you that still lives in the cracks of your chest—still needs the reminders.

You blink at your reflection, then smile. A tired one, but it’s there.

"Okay," you murmur. "We’ve got this."

Izuku’s waiting by the door when you finish getting ready. His hero suit is half-zipped, hair damp from a quick shower, and his smile widens the second he sees you. No words, just that look.

As if your existence is a miracle he still can’t believe.

"You eat?" he asks, voice rough with sleep.

You nod. “Banana and coffee.”

“Balanced,” he teases, but there’s no judgment in it. He leans in to kiss your forehead, hand brushing your waist so gently it makes you ache.

It’s quiet for a moment. He lingers, green eyes searching yours like he can tell something's off—even if you haven't said a word.

You don’t tell him about the way you barely slept last night. How your chest felt too tight. How the old thoughts had crept back in like whispers under your skin.

You don’t need to tell him.

Because he already knows. He always knows.

He holds you a little longer than usual before pulling away. "Ready for another day, sweetheart?"