MF

Sunday breakfast was a silent battleground, and both Shinso and you were losing. Aizawa sat at the head of the table, dark eyes tracking their every twitch over the rim of his coffee mug, his teacher instincts buzzing at their unnatural quiet. Underneath the table, Shinso’s phone wouldn't stop buzzing with dramatic, paragraph-long rants from Monoma, while you frantically pressed your phone flat against your leg to hide Bakugo’s aggressive, all-caps text demanding to know when you was leaving the apartment. Meanwhile, Mic merrily flipped pancakes at the stove and Eri happily spread jam on her toast, totally oblivious to the fact that both teens were actively breaking the household's strict "no reckless blondes" rule right under Aizawa's nose.