The sun streamed through the windows of Class 1-A, painting dust motes in the air like tiny, shimmering stars. Aizawa-sensei droned on about hero ethics, his voice a familiar, monotonous hum that usually lulled me into a state of relaxed attention. Today, though, my focus was shot. A strange, unsettling cramping had taken root in my lower abdomen, a dull ache that radiated outward. I shifted in my seat, trying to find a comfortable position, but nothing seemed to work.
I glanced at the clock. Only ten minutes into the lesson. This was going to be a long day.
My mind began to race, cataloging the possible culprits. Had I eaten something weird for breakfast? Was it just stress manifesting physically? Or… a cold wave of realization washed over me. Oh, no.
My period was notoriously irregular. I could never predict when the crimson wave would crash. And judging by the intensity of the cramps, it was definitely here. Now.
Panic began to bubble up. I hadn't brought any supplies. Usually, I was prepared. I had a little pouch in my bag with emergency pads, just in case. But today, in my rush to get to class on time after sleeping in, I'd forgotten it.
I swallowed, trying to keep my composure. I was in class, surrounded by my classmates. There was no way I could just excuse myself and run to the nurse's office. The thought of asking Aizawa-sensei for a bathroom break, explaining the situation, made my face burn with embarrassment.
My anxiety spiked when I felt a telltale wetness. No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. I subtly shifted again, trying to assess the damage. It felt… substantial. My worst fear was being realized. There was a growing stain spreading on my uniform skirt.
I felt my cheeks flush. The heat felt unbearable. I was trapped. Mortified. Humiliated.
Trying to appear nonchalant, I subtly leaned forward, hoping to obscure the stain with my desk. But it was no use. It was spreading, a dark, shameful blot against the pale fabric.
I focused on Aizawa-sensei's voice, trying to block out the growing discomfort and the rising tide of panic. But my mind was a whirlwind of self-consciousness. What if someone noticed? What if they pointed and laughed? What if…?
A shadow fell across my desk. I didn't dare look up.
"Y/N," a calm, familiar voice said. "Are you alright?"
It was Shoto.
My heart leaped into my throat. Of all people, why did it have to be him? Shoto Todoroki. The stoic, handsome, incredibly observant Shoto Todoroki. My boyfriend.
I finally raised my eyes, meeting his mismatched gaze. His expression was unreadable, as always. But there was a hint of concern flickering in his heterochromatic eyes.
"I'm… fine," I mumbled, my voice barely a whisper. I avoided his gaze, focusing on a loose thread on my desk.
He didn't seem convinced. He remained standing beside my desk, a silent, imposing figure.
"You don't seem fine," he said, his voice low so only I could hear. "You're fidgeting. And your face is flushed."
I felt tears prickling behind my eyelids. I couldn't do this. I couldn't admit to him, in front of the entire class, that I'd had an accident.
"It's just… a headache," I lied, my voice trembling slightly.
He tilted his head, his gaze unwavering. He knew I was lying. Shoto always knew. He had an uncanny ability to read me, to see through my carefully constructed facade. It could be annoying, but right now, it was terrifying.
"I don't think so," he said softly. He glanced down, his eyes briefly flicking towards my lap. I saw a flicker of understanding in his eyes, followed by something else. Something that looked suspiciously like… sympathy?
My breath hitched. He knew. He definitely knew.
The shame washed over me again, stronger this time. I wanted to disappear, to melt into the floor and never be seen again.
Without saying another word, Shoto turned and walked towards Aizawa-sensei's desk. He said something in a low voice, and Aizawa-sensei, surprisingly, nodded. Shoto then returned to me.
"Sensei said we can go to the nurse's office. He said you looked unwell," Shoto explained.
I just nodded, unable to speak. I gathered my things, my hands shaking so badly that I almost dropped my pencil case.
Shoto picked up my bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He offered me his hand. I hesitated for a moment, then took it. His hand was warm and steady, a grounding presence in my swirling sea of anxiety.
We walked out of the classroom, leaving behind the curious stares of my classmates. Once we were in the hallway, I finally let the tears fall.
"Hey," Shoto said softly, stopping and turning to face me. He gently wiped away a tear with his thumb. "It's okay."
"No, it's not," I choked out, my voice thick with emotion. "It's so embarrassing. Everyone probably saw. And now you know. And…"
He cut me off, placing a finger gently over my lips. "Shhh. It's okay. It's a natural thing. There's nothing to be ashamed of."
He pulled me into a hug, holding me close. His warmth enveloped me, a comforting shield against the world.
"Let's get you to the nurse's office," he said, his voice soothing. "We'll get you cleaned up and find you some fresh clothes."
At the nurse's office, Shoto was surprisingly efficient. He spoke to Recovery Girl, explaining the situation with a level of calm and maturity that I could only dream of. He waited patiently while I changed into a spare uniform, offering words of encouragement and support.
After I was cleaned up and feeling slightly more human, we sat in the waiting area. Recovery Girl had given me some pain medication, which was starting to ease the cramps.
"Thank you," I said quietly, looking at Shoto. "For… everything. For not judging me. For helping me."
He shrugged, his usual stoic demeanor returning. "It's what boyfriends do," he said simply.
I smiled, a genuine smile this time. "Yeah, I guess it is."
We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Then, Shoto spoke again.
"Do you want to go back to class?" he asked.
I considered it for a moment. The thought of facing my classmates again, knowing that they were probably all gossiping about what had happened, filled me with dread.
"No," I said. "I don't think so."
"Okay," he said. "Then let's go somewhere else."
He stood up, offering me his hand again. I took it, and together, we walked out of the nurse's office, leaving behind the confines of U.A. High.
We ended up at a small park near the school. We sat on a bench beneath a sprawling cherry blossom tree, the delicate pink petals fluttering around us like confetti.
"Thank you, Shoto" I said, leaning against him. "For being so understanding. I was really embarrassed."
"There's no need to be," he replied, his voice gentle. "It's a natural thing."
He then did something unexpected. He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me closer, resting his chin on my head. He was a little awkward, but it was sweet.
We stayed there for the rest of the afternoon, wrapped in each other's arms. The cramps eventually subsided, the embarrassment faded, and all that was left was a feeling of warmth and gratitude. I knew that I was incredibly lucky to have Shoto in my life. He wasn't just my boyfriend; he was my rock, my confidant, my unwavering support. And in that moment, sitting beneath the cherry blossom tree, I knew that our love was something truly special. It wasn't just explosive quirks and heroic feats. It was understanding, compassion, and the quiet strength to be there for each other, even during the most embarrassing of times.