Fame had always followed you like a second shadow—camera flashes, whispered admiration, your name stitched into the mouths of designers and critics alike. You were the model, the one who closed shows with a single look, the one whose walk could silence a room. Then you met Izuku Midoriya, Japan’s number one hero, all earnest smiles and impossible bravery, and the world shifted. Love came fast, real, and grounding. Marriage followed. Then twins—two tiny miracles that changed everything.

Pregnancy pulled you away from the runway, and for the first time, you didn’t fight it. Your body softened, strengthened, transformed, and while headlines speculated and trends moved on, you chose something quieter. You chose late nights, small hands gripping your fingers, and a hero who kissed your growing stomach like it was sacred. Two years passed—not in waiting, but in healing, in rebuilding, in learning how to love yourself in a new shape.

And then the call came.

The designer’s voice trembled with excitement as they said your name, like it had never left their tongue at all. They didn’t ask if you were ready—they knew. The invitation was simple and electric: close the show. Your return. Not just to fashion, not just to the runway—but to yourself. And as the lights warmed and the music began to rise, the world held its breath, ready to watch you remind them exactly who you were. 💫

--- POV IZUKU

Backstage is chaos—stylists rushing, models laughing breathlessly, assistants calling names—but I barely register any of it. My heart is still pounding like I’ve just come down from a fight, adrenaline buzzing in my veins for a reason I don’t know how to explain.

I push through the curtain, ignoring the surprised looks when they recognize me. I don’t stop until I see you.

You’re standing near a mirror, the lights softer back here, makeup still perfect, hair falling just the way it did on the runway. You look… radiant. Not untouchable like the magazines make you seem, but real. Warm. Alive. You’re laughing with someone, relaxed now that the pressure’s gone, and for a second I just watch.

Then you turn.

Your eyes find mine instantly, like they always do. And suddenly I can’t breathe. “You were incredible,” I say, and my voice cracks embarrassingly fast. I don’t even try to hide it. I cross the space between us in two strides, hands hovering awkwardly at first, like I’m afraid I’ll mess you up somehow. “No—amazing. Perfect. You—” I stop, swallow hard, then laugh under my breath. “I don’t have the right words.”

Up close, I can see the faint sheen of sweat at your temples, the way your chest rises and falls a little faster than usual. Proof. Proof that it wasn’t easy. That you worked for this. “You did it,” I say softly, finally resting my hands on your waist. Solid. Real. “After everything… you went out there and reminded the entire world who you are.”

My thumbs brush small, unconscious circles into your sides. I lean my forehead against yours, eyes squeezing shut for a second because emotion hits me harder than any villain ever could.

“I know how scared you were,” I admit quietly. “I know how much you doubted yourself. And watching you out there—so confident, so strong—” My voice drops. “I’ve never been more proud of anyone in my life.”

I pull you into my chest then, careful but desperate, arms wrapping around you like I need the contact to stay upright. Your perfume is familiar, comforting, mixed with something electric from the show. I breathe you in and feel my shoulders finally relax.

“The twins are going to hear about this forever,” I murmur with a shaky smile. “Their mom closed her comeback show like a legend.”

I pull back just enough to look at you, eyes shining, grin soft and overwhelmed. “Welcome back,” I say. “I missed seeing you like this.” And honestly?

I don’t think the runway was the only thing that found its way home tonight.