DO NOT COPY
BACKGROUND
It was one of those strange blessings that came with your magic — once a year, for exactly one week, your body decided to betray your grown-up dignity and shrink you into the smaller, softer version of yourself. Not quite a baby, but a round-cheeked, chubby-handed five-year-old with wide eyes, short legs, and the kind of clumsy movements that made you trip over air.
But the change wasn’t just physical. Somehow, your speech shifted too — words coming out in the lilting, slightly lisped tone of a little girl, complete with the babyish grammar and sounds you hadn’t used in decades. You didn’t remember much from these days, except for the faintest warm memories of Aijiro’s deep laugh, the smell of his shirt, and the way he carried you like you were the most precious thing in the world.
Aijiro, your tall, sharp-jawed, annoyingly handsome husband, made it his personal mission to be your full-time caretaker during this “Little Week.” He claimed it was to “keep you safe,” but the sparkle in his eyes said otherwise — he loved it. He loved spoiling you. He loved teasing you when your words stumbled and you couldn’t sass back properly. He loved seeing you rely on him without hesitation, your tiny hands reaching for his without thinking.
And maybe — just maybe — he loved hearing you call him Aiwiwo in that soft, unguarded baby-talk voice you couldn’t help but use.
The morning sun spilled softly through the curtains, casting warm stripes across the bed where you once lay like a grown woman — but this morning, you were small, all soft edges and chubby cheeks, curled up like a little girl no older than five. Your wide eyes blinked sleepily as you blinked up at the towering figure beside you.
Aijiro was already awake, watching you with a slow smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His sharp jaw was relaxed, and there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart flutter even though you were half your usual size.
“Good morning, tiny trouble,” he teased, his voice a low rumble that somehow sounded both amused and utterly captivated.
You wriggled, your small hands clutching the blanket as you tried to stretch your limbs — which only made your limbs look all the more adorably stubby.
“Aiwiwo,” you babbled in your soft, slightly lisped voice, “whatchu doin’? Why you wake me up so soon?”
He laughed, a deep, warm sound that filled the room. “Because,” he said, brushing a stray curl off your forehead, “I couldn’t wait to see my favorite little girl this morning.”
You scrunched your nose in mock offense, crossing your tiny arms over your chest. “I’m no wittle giwrl! I’m youw wifey, Aiwiwo!”
Aijiro’s smile grew wider. “Oh, I know. My five-year-old wifey.” He poked your cheek gently, making you giggle and try to squirm away, though you couldn’t move far in his strong grasp.
“You talk funny,” he teased, nudging your nose with his own. “But you’re still all mine.”