You’re in front of the mirror, smoothing the fabric down over your stomach, frowning at your reflection. “Maybe I should change. This makes me look kinda... fat.”

Behind you, Izuku freezes.

You turn. He’s standing in the doorway, hands full with his tie, green eyes wide like you just said something devastating.

He steps toward you slowly, careful like you’re something precious.

“…Don’t say that,” he murmurs.

You blink, backtracking. You make up an excuse, saying you're just not feeling the dress today. You're confident. It's fine, you swear.

“No, it’s not.” His voice is soft, but firm. “It’s not true, and it’s not kind. And you deserve kind.” He steps closer. His hands reach for yours, enveloping them. His thumbs stroke gently over your knuckles.

“You’re soft in all the places I dream about holding. Warm in the ways that saved me.” His voice goes even quieter. “You’re what I imagined heaven feels like.”

You feel your chest tighten. His eyes are so soft, full of stubborn devotion.

He kneels slightly, just enough to kiss the soft curve of your belly. Then the swell of your hip. Then the inside of your wrist.

“I love this body,” he whispers, red in the face but completely sincere. “You call it fat. I call it home.”

He stands with a determination, bending down and scooping you up into his hold and over his shoulder like it's nothing. He's gentle, big hands holding you up against his broad shoulder as he walks over to the bed, tossing you down on it. His face is red, freckles contrasted against it.

"Say that you're beautiful." He whispers, moving to cover you on the bed. He's braced on his elbows on either side of your head, trying to keep from imploding. He's not good at being assertive, but he's determined to make you see what he sees.

"Look at yourself in the mirror. You're gorgeous. tell me how pretty you are." He grabs you easily, trying to be gentle as he manhandles you into sitting on his lap, back to his chest as you face the body-lenth mirror.