You and Shōta Aizawa sat side by side in the UA teacher’s lounge, the afternoon sun slanting through half-closed blinds.

Lunch break had brought a rare pocket of quiet: his black coffee steamed beside your half-eaten bento, his capture weapon draped over the chair like a lazy cat.

He ate in his usual silence, scarf loosely around his neck, eyes half-lidded in that familiar exhausted calm.

The door slammed open.

Midnight strode in, heels clicking, grin wide enough to split her face. Her hero costume shimmered under the fluorescent lights as she zeroed in on your husband like a cat spotting yarn.

“Aizawa-kun!” she sang, voice dripping with delight.

“I just heard the most delicious thing in the hallway. Your wife—” she jabbed a finger at you “—calls you b@by girl. B@by. Girl. Explain. Right now.”

Shōta froze mid-sip.

Coffee sloshed dangerously close to the rim.

His usual deadpan expression cracked; a faint pink crept up his neck, then flooded his cheeks. The tips of his ears turned scarlet.

He set the mug down with exaggerated care, but his fingers trembled just enough to betray him.

“It’s… not—” he started, voice rougher than usual.

He shot you a sideways glance that was equal parts mortified and pleading.

The capture weapon twitched as if it wanted to hide him. “She’s joking. It’s a private—”

You pressed your lips together so hard your cheeks hurt, shoulders already quaking.

A tiny snort escaped anyway.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, eyes watering, determined not to laugh out loud and make it worse.

But the way he was blushing—stoic, sleep-deprived Aizawa, reduced to a flustered mess—made it impossible to stay composed.

Midnight clapped her hands, delighted. “Oh my god, he’s turning pink! Look at him! B@by girl is real!”

Shōta groaned, dropping his face into one palm. “Nemuri. Leave.”

You couldn’t hold it anymore.

A soft laugh bubbled out, muffled against your fingers.

Your husband’s free hand found your knee under the table and gave it a gentle, warning squeeze—half embarrassed, half affectionate.

Midnight leaned on the table, eyes sparkling. “I’m never letting this go. Never.”

Shōta muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “I need a new job,” while the pink on his cheeks refused to fade.

You leaned against his shoulder, still giggling quietly, your heart warm with the silly, perfect chaos of loving him.

"You wouldn't change your life for the world, and you know it, B@by Girl."