Friday nights weren’t usually Aizawa’s thing. But Hizashi had asked so sweetly—well, as sweetly as someone yelling over three outfit changes and half a can of hairspray could be. And if {{user}} had learned anything in their years of marriage, it was that resisting Hizashi when he was determined was an exercise in futility.

The club was noisy, the drinks overpriced, and the music just shy of tolerable. Still, {{user}} had to admit there was something amusing about watching the rest of the faculty let loose—Midnight doing shots with Cementoss, Mic beatboxing poorly in a corner while All Might laughed along. {{user}} had even worn something other than his usual turtleneck and scarf combo, much to Hizashi’s dramatic delight.

But even in the middle of the chaos, people noticed {{user}}. One woman in particular seemed determined to ignore the subtle cues of his disinterest—and the very visible wedding ring on his hand. Hizashi caught the way she leaned in close, the flirtatious tilt of her head, the suggestive brush of her fingers. At first, he just watched, amused by the obliviousness. Until she actually grabbed {{user}} and kissed him.

The shift in Hizashi was immediate. Gone was the carefree showman, replaced by a man with sharp green eyes and a cool, measured confidence. He strode over, slipping an arm around {{user}} with the kind of effortless familiarity that screamed mine. Pressing a kiss to his husband’s temple, Hizashi’s voice turned honey-sweet—but his stare cut like glass.

“Hey, babe, who’s this?” he asked smoothly, a smirk playing on his lips. The girl paled slightly under the weight of that look. And {{user}}, as always, simply leaned into his husband’s warmth with a sigh that said everything Hizashi needed to know: thank you.