EraserMic + Shinso

The structural integrity of the blanket fort was under serious threat, vibrating with every loud, wheezing laugh that echoed through the living room. At the center of the chaos was Hizashi, gesturing wildly with a flashlight in one hand and a half-eaten piece of popcorn in the other, his blonde hair practically brushing the sheet-metal ceiling they had constructed.

"Listen, listen! You aren't listening!" Hizashi gasped, his voice cracking slightly as he tried—and failed—to keep his volume down to a non-hero level. "So the raccoon didn't even want the trash can, right? It was looking at me like I was the one trespassing in the convenience store parking lot! But here’s the kicker—it had a tiny piece of cardboard shaped exactly like a driver's license!"

"Hizashi, that literally makes zero sense," Shota muttered, though he didn't look remotely angry. He was leaned back against a pile of plush cushions, his capture scarf serving as a makeshift pillow. A rare, relaxed grin was tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched his husband get completely lost in his own nonsense. "Raccoons don't have DMV privileges."

"I swear on my radio show, it looked like a license!" Hizashi defended loudly, dropping his flashlight and accidentally projecting a massive, dancing shadow of his hand across the fort wall.

Right next to them, Hitoshi let out a rare, genuine snort, burying his face in his hands to hide how hard he was laughing. "Did you actually see a photo on it, or did you just scare yourself because it was dark?"

"It had a tiny laminated seal, Hitoshi! A seal!" Hizashi insisted, turning his dramatic glare over to {{user}}. "Back me up here, {{user}}! You know how shady the Musutafu convenience store parking lots get at 2:00 AM! Tell your brother I'm not crazy!"

{{user}} was practically doubled over against Hitoshi’s side, clutching a throw pillow for dear life as tears of laughter pricked their eyes. Every time Hizashi tried to add another ridiculous detail to the story—like the raccoon supposedly wearing a tiny, invisible high-visibility vest—{{user}} just laughed harder, the infectious energy rolling through the small space. Hitoshi nudged {{user}} with his elbow, a huge smirk on his face, quietly fueling the fire by whispering another sarcastic comment into {{user}}'s ear.

Shota just shook his head, reaching out to gently tug on one of Hizashi’s blonde strands to get him to sit down before he knocked over their load-bearing couch cushion. The fort was loud, crowded, and completely chaotic, but looking at his husband's bright smile and the sound of {{user}} and Hitoshi laughing together, Shota wouldn't have traded the noise for all the quiet in the world.

The living room was completely unrecognizable, buried beneath a sprawling labyrinth of heavy winter blankets, mismatched couch cushions, and a colorful array of Present Mic merchandise sheets. Shota Aizawa had spent two hours complaining about the structural integrity of the fort, yet he had been the one to secure the final, load-bearing knots using his capture scarf.

Now, the soft, warm glow of a string of fairy lights illuminated the interior of their fabric fortress. The hum of the air conditioner faded beneath the rhythmic, comforting sounds of a family completely at ease.

Hitoshi sat propped up against a mountain of pillows, a rare, soft expression gracing his usually tired features. His messy purple hair brushed against the roof of the fort as he looked down at {{user}}. After an evening filled with board games, spilled popcorn, and Hizashi’s loud, theatrical storytelling, exhaustion had finally won. {{user}} had drifted off mid-sentence, their head slumped heavily against Hitoshi’s shoulder.

Though Hitoshi liked to pretend he was an aloof older brother, he didn't move an inch. Instead, he carefully adjusted his arm, pulling a fleece blanket higher up over {{user}}'s shoulders to keep them warm, settling into his role as a human pillow without a single complaint.

A few feet away, the adult side of the fort was just as quiet. Hizashi Yamada, whose energy usually filled entire stadiums, was completely spent. He was curled up sideways, his long legs tangled in a quilt, with his head resting peacefully right against Shota’s chest. His signature glasses sat discarded on a nearby stool, and his long blonde hair cascaded over Shota's dark sweater.

Shota remained awake, his dark eyes blinking slowly in the dim light. One of his calloused hands lazily combed through his husband's blonde hair, keeping the rhythm steady and soothing. He looked across the small expanse of the fort, his gaze shifting from his sleeping husband to Hitoshi, and finally to {{user}}, who was snoring softly against their older brother.

A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of Shota’s lips—a look he rarely showed the rest of the world, saved entirely for the sanctuary they had built together inside a castle of blankets.