The fluorescent lights of the U.A. staff room hummed, a soundtrack to the usual pre-semester chaos. Principal Nezu, perched precariously on a stack of textbooks, was outlining the year's curriculum changes, his squeaky voice somehow managing to carry over All Might's booming cough. Midnight was filing her nails, Vlad King was glaring at a seating chart, Recovery Girl was knitting what looked like a miniature All Might doll, and Aizawa… well, Aizawa was Aizawa, a study in perpetual exhaustion and contained chaos.
And then there was me. Y/N L/N, history teacher, secret girlfriend of the aforementioned Erasure Hero, and, as of approximately five minutes ago, mortified beyond belief.
We kept our relationship quiet, Aizawa and I. It wasn't that we were ashamed – far from it. But U.A. was a pressure cooker of rumors and speculation, and we both valued the little bubble of normalcy we'd managed to create in our lives. Late night grading sessions turned into whispered conversations, shared lunches in empty classrooms, and the occasional stolen kiss in the teachers' lounge when everyone was gone. It was simple, real, and ours.
I stood up, clicking the remote to advance the presentation. My topic was the revised hero history syllabus, incorporating more focus on lesser-known figures and the ethical considerations of quirk usage throughout history. I'd spent weeks perfecting it, even running it by Aizawa for his brutally honest feedback.
"As you can see," I began, my voice steady, "the updated syllabus aims to provide students with a more nuanced understanding of the past, preparing them to be not only powerful heroes, but also responsible citizens…"
That's when I heard it. A collective gasp, a ripple of horrified murmurs that spread through the room like a rogue wave. My brow furrowed. Had I misspoken? Was there something wrong with the presentation?
Then I saw Vlad King's face, frozen in a rictus of awkward sympathy. Then Midnight's, a mixture of concern and… horror?
My gaze followed their line of sight, down to my skirt.
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. A dark crimson stain bloomed against the light fabric, a stark, undeniable testament to the most inconvenient biological function known to woman. My period. Here. Now. In front of my colleagues.
My carefully constructed composure shattered. The words died in my throat. My face flushed an uncontrollable, burning red. I was vaguely aware of the color draining from my face, replaced by a sickly pallor.
The room was silent, a suffocating, deafening silence. I couldn't meet anyone's eyes. I just stood there, frozen, a monument to female embarrassment.
Then, bless her heart, Midnight sprang into action. She rushed forward, draping her spare hero jacket around my waist, effectively concealing the damage. "Come on, Y/N," she said gently, her voice a soothing balm. "Let's get you out of here."
I didn't argue. I let her lead me out of the room, my head bowed, my cheeks burning with shame. I could feel the weight of everyone's gaze on my back, a physical manifestation of my mortification.
We reached the hallway, and Midnight steered me towards the women's restroom. "I'll get you some supplies," she said, squeezing my hand. "Just… take a deep breath."
I nodded dumbly, sinking onto the cool tile floor once she was gone. The tears started then, silent and hot, tracking down my cheeks. It wasn't just the embarrassment, although that was a significant part of it. It was the feeling of being exposed, vulnerable, in front of people I respected, people I worked with, people who now knew… that.
The door opened, and I flinched, expecting Midnight. But it wasn't her.
Aizawa stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He looked… concerned? Uncertain? Definitely not disgusted, which was a relief.
He hesitated for a moment, then stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. He crouched down beside me, his usual gruff demeanor softening around the edges.
"Hey," he said, his voice low. "You okay?"
"Oh god," I choked out, burying my face in my hands. "Did everyone see? It was so… humiliating."
He didn't say anything for a moment, just sat there beside me, a silent, steady presence. Then, he gently took my hands in his, pulling them away from my face. His calloused thumbs wiped away the tears on my cheeks.
"Hey, look at me," he said softly. I reluctantly raised my head, meeting his dark, steady gaze. "It happens, Y/N. It's a natural thing. There's nothing to be ashamed of."
"But everyone saw," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "All Might, Nezu… Vlad King!"
Aizawa actually cracked a small smile. "Vlad King probably thinks you're some kind of super-powered menstruating warrior now. Don't worry about it."
I couldn't help but giggle, a watery, shaky sound. His simple words, his quiet support, were already starting to ease the knot of anxiety in my chest.
He stood up, then offered me his hand. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you cleaned up. I'll tell Nezu you're feeling unwell and need to go home."
I took his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. He kept hold of my hand as we walked out of the restroom, his presence a shield against the imagined stares of my colleagues.
Back in the hallway, Midnight was waiting with a small bag. She gave me a knowing look, a quick hug, and a whispered, "You got this."
Aizawa guided me to the teachers' lounge, his hand warm in mine. He helped me clean up as best as we could, his movements efficient and surprisingly gentle. He didn't make a fuss, didn't offer platitudes. He just helped, quietly, wordlessly.
Once I was presentable enough to leave, he walked me to my car. He opened the door for me, then turned to face me, his expression serious.
"Are you sure you're okay to drive?" he asked.
I nodded, offering him a weak smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just… embarrassed."
He reached out, cupping my cheek in his hand. His touch was grounding, reassuring. "Don't be," he said, his voice soft. "It's just one of those things. Everyone has them. And if anyone gives you a hard time, you let me know. I'll… erase them."
I laughed, a genuine laugh this time. "I think I can handle it, Eraserhead. But thanks."
He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "Get home safe. And text me when you get there."
I nodded, sliding into the driver's seat. As I drove away, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Aizawa was still standing there, watching me, his figure a comforting silhouette against the backdrop of U.A.
The embarrassment hadn't completely vanished, but it had lessened, diluted by the warmth of his support. He hadn't judged me, hadn't made me feel like less of a professional, less of a woman. He had simply been there, a steady anchor in the storm of my mortification.
That night, curled up on my couch with a heating pad and a tub of ice cream, I received a text from Aizawa.
"Nezu asked if you were pregnant. I told him you ate something bad. You owe me."
I smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile. The crisis had passed. And I knew, with absolute certainty, that no matter what challenges life threw our way, we could face them together. Even if those challenges involved period mishaps and nosy principals. Our quiet, secret love was worth all the accidental public embarrassment in the world. And I knew, deep in my heart, that Aizawa felt the same way.