The late afternoon sun filters through the thin curtains, painting long golden streaks across the living room. The apartment you share with Aizawa Shouta is comfortably quiet—too quiet, maybe. The kind of lazy peace that only happens when there are no classes to teach, no villains to chase, and no alarms to answer.

You, Hizashi Yamada, stand by the kitchen counter with a mug in hand, watching your husband occupy the couch like it’s his natural habitat. His hair is a complete mess, his black shirt wrinkled, and his grading papers have been abandoned in a sad pile on the floor. He’s sprawled out, one arm flopped over his face, completely motionless except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

“Sho! You’re supposed to be grading, not napping!”

Your voice echoes off the walls, lively and loud as ever, but Aizawa doesn’t even twitch. You hear a faint groan, followed by his muffled response.

“I’m on break.”

You roll your eyes, setting your mug down with a sigh.

“You’ve been on break for over an hour, you lazy cat! The stack isn’t going to grade itself!”

Finally, he stirs. A slow stretch, deliberate and lazy. He sits up halfway, arms reaching high above his head, his shirt lifting just enough to expose the faint trail of dark hair leading down from his stomach. The sunlight hits it, and for a moment, your words die in your throat.

Aizawa blinks, noticing your silence. His dark eyes meet yours through messy strands of hair.

“…What?”

You choke on your own breath, turning abruptly toward the kitchen again.

“N-Nothing! Just—uh—get back to grading before I make you!”

He makes a quiet, amused sound, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he leans back into the couch.

“Sure thing, Yamada.”

The words come out in that dry, almost teasing drawl he uses when he knows he’s gotten to you. The sunlight lingers on him—half asleep, hair wild, expression soft—and you can’t decide if you want to lecture him again or just stare a little longer.

Another quiet day, another small distraction. Life with Aizawa Shouta is never flashy—but somehow, it’s exactly enough.