Chapter 34
The Culture Festival
Before Rin, the apartment had never smelled of food or perfume – there'd only ever been one coffee cup on the table, and the living room's disarray had been charmless in its scant possession of furniture and belongings. It was a roof over Aizawa's head above all else, and perhaps some months ago the idea of calling it a home would have seemed irrational. Absurd, even.
Now, however, traces of Rin lingered everywhere in subtle and innocent scatterings: her books in obscure places, sometimes books of Aizawa's own which he hadn't opened in years now at last seeing the readership they deserved; some of her clothes thrown carelessly into the cupboard or around the bedroom floor, the evidence of a childish tendency to not put things away after their use; overabundance of rice cakes in the kitchen cabinet, alongside prescribed medicines which Rin apparently never ever took as well as painkillers and an unholy amount of iron-supplement bottles. Things hardly noticeable to the naked eye.
With a certain magical quality akin to that of rain in the late night, the feeling knitting itself into the fabrics of darkness with slow subtlety until at last the sky broke open into lulling storms, these hints of Rin filled a hollow Aizawa had previously been indifferent towards. Being on his own amongst the lackluster minimalism of his shelter had never been a bother – had even been a respite. Now, it seemed wrong. No Rin. Since her arrival, it would be the first night Aizawa was alone in the apartment, and he responded in turn by pacing restlessly.
What was she up to? It was 10p.m. She could have been reading, or standing alone in the dormitory kitchen making herself a sickeningly strong cup of coffee. Bare footed or in those socks striped like candy wrappers. Drowning in layers of soft materials in defense against the dorm's disconcerting chill.
It was 11p.m. The week's heated irritation melted ever away into a dramatic pining.
The slightest things thrilled Aizawa, coming to him sporadically and with a painful shock. Rin's houseplant on the bedside table! He watered it. A pale pink scarf bundled and thrown into the back of the cupboard! He ripped off his own scarf and wrapped hers around his neck, burying his face into its folds in order to delight in the vivid glow of her smell. That picture of her and Eri baking apple pie! It was more adorable than Aizawa remembered and he stared at it for a long time.
It was midnight. In the bedroom, seated at the edge of the bed without the will to lay back, Aizawa's thumb lingered over his phone screen. He'd typed up a message, one with words he'd never said before and which he wasn't sure he really wanted to say. It seemed terribly juvenile – what was worse was the fact that he was actually nervous to send it, as though it were a momentous milestone in their relationship when really they should have been way past it. But still, like a nervy schoolboy, Aizawa narrowed his eyes at the message. At its words. Debating within himself and getting his stomach into a hard knot until at last he relented and pressed send.
And though Rin was online and typing within moments – not yet asleep; was she awake for the same reason he was? – it seemed like an age in which Aizawa's throat burned. He scanned his eyes over his words again. And again. And again,again, again. Their truth making him dizzy.
Goodnight Rin.
I miss you.
She replied – the shortness and simplicity of it sent a nauseating throb throughout the entirety of Aizawa's body. No words of her own.
Only a heart.
She always sent stupid faces and emojis with her messages, apparently undeterred by the fact that Aizawa himself never sent anything of the sort in return. But now a heart, lonely and red, stared through the screen – and for a fleeting moment, Aizawa fingers itched to send one back. How easy it would have been. How very easy and so very self-indulgent. Nevermind the childishness nor the vulnerability of it – for indeed, ridiculous as it may have seemed, Aizawa couldn't help but feel that sending something in return would have been just as significant as cutting out his real heart for her.
His finger remained frozen over the screen. He was going to do it. Except, he didn't, instead locking the phone and falling backwards onto the bed with a harried groan.
In a number of fleeting moments the following morning, he spied her from afar while not being noticed himself. Billowing white skirt, maroon jersey in a deep contrast to her skin's colour. Rin flitted from place to place and student to student with that sugar-white air of breezy ethereality, disappearing ever more into the flurry of people as the school grounds began to fill. Aizawa wasn't exactly trying to run into her – a creeping intuition hung over him just as the darkened clouds hung across the air, ominous with the tight chill of rain, and he hesitated constantly when confronted by such flashes of Rin's graceful vagueness, her oblivious loveliness – and yet, by twists of fate at the hands of some jealous god, he somehow always managed to just miss her.
The Festival grew crowded quickly. Class 2A's traditional tearoom teemed for most of the morning, and though there'd initially been some doubt over Yaoyorozu's idea – presented to the class with a girlish enthusiasm too hard to resist – it had dissipated steadily with the continual flow of Festival-goers. The girls swished around in delicate kimonos of autumnal, outrageous reds (courtesy of Yaoyorozu) while making a show of performing traditional tea ceremonies for their setup's visitors (their knowledge of which was, unsurprisingly, also courtesy of Yaoyorozu). Todoroki used his quirk to heat the tea to just the right temperature. The rest of the boys took turns doing… Aizawa wasn't entirely sure what.
But by midmorning, they'd all established themselves in a comfortable current of routine and it was quickly made clear to Aizawa in an approach lacking any subtlety that his supervision – however removed it may have been – was no longer needed. Breezing up to his corner table, teapots in hand and silk material rustling about their feet like folds of flame-coloured water, Uraraka and Ashido did not make a lengthy stop. Nonetheless, for all their quickness, their grins were centered without disengagement upon Aizawa.
"Everything's running smoothly, Aizawa-sensei!" Ashido cooed. "Don't you want to go enjoy the rest of the Culture Festival?"
Uraraka nodded heartily. "Apparently the third years have organised a little cat café!"
Aizawa had already been to the cat café that morning – and though he didn't mention it, instead telling the girls that he was still 'busy with his tea', he prided himself on the fact that he'd managed to make friends with a gorgeous white bobtail. He also didn't mention that he fully intended to return to the cat café later that day.
Across the peculiar black and golds of Ashido's eyes, there appeared a glimmer of something Aizawa couldn't place – not, at least, until she said with a cheeky coil to her features, "Chi-sensei also likes cats, doesn't she? You and Chi-sensei could go visit them together."
How did they know? "Chi-sensei will have already gone to the cat café."
"Then you should bring her here, Aizawa-sensei," Uraraka declared with that curious throatiness which flared against her excitement. "She hasn't been to see us yet! And Yaoyorozu-chan organised a special tea for her to try." A pause, in which Mina and Uraraka exchanged an eccentric glance of giddy smiles. When Aizawa raised his eyebrows at them, it was Ashido who said quite unabashedly, "Bakugo-kun is also getting antsy, sensei. He won't admit it, but we think he's been waiting for Chi-sensei to show up."
Uraraka hummed in agreement. "And we're worried he's going to start scaring people away real soon."
Hard to argue when Bakugo's temper was on the line. However, more than out of any sense of concern, Aizawa left his class's tearoom in a languid state of agitation. For reasons beyond his grasp, 2A's affection for Rin continued to leave a sinking feeling in his gut – not only Bakugo but especially him, who fell into a hard-set silence whenever Rin was around. A few times over the last weeks, Aizawa had spotted them walking down the hallway together. Bakugo carried her books. Bakugo trailed behind her while she spoke gently and deftly with hypnotic hand gestures, his brow furrowed as though he himself were confused and concerned by his partiality.
But why should Aizawa have been uneasy when his own feelings for Rin were a consummate blend potent enough to leave him awake and stewing over little aspects of her in the most secretive hours of the night?
Face buried deep into the folds of his scarf, Aizawa skulked through the hallways and out into the gardens. There, more food stalls lined the paths; red leaves blew around his legs in tiny hurricanes of colour and all around him, streams of faces both familiar and not scurried past in a sprightly flurry of activity. Shrill screams and playground laughter carried amongst the chatter in unidentifiable falsettos. Smells of things being deep-fried in places; slighter smells of burned coffee in others. Veering out from the path of the crowds, Aizawa pulled his phone from his pocket and eyed the screen in hopes of finding Rin's name – but alas, there was only the picture of her and Eri staring back, his latest wallpaper.
An icy breeze sliced against the skin of his cheek. He carried on through the twisting length of stands and students and visitors, not stopping when he spied Principal Nezu chatting to a stranger, plastic coffee cup in hand. Attempting avoidance, Aizawa swerved but caught Nezu's eye – nodded, received a raised paw in a still-show of a wave – and then averted his gaze and worked his way onwards in a cold aloofness.
Only at the opposite end of the grounds did he eventually find Rin. Rin and Eri. Huddled up close on one of the benches while they nibbled on taiyaki – and from a distance, oddly enough, they could easily have been sisters. Like two white fairies (Eri-fairy: it had a ring to it) or angels in disguise, almost glowing in their pale softness amongst the backdrop's warm shock of red and orange. Eri's hand clutched Rin's knee, and she swung her legs while talking animatedly with the doughy clumping of taiyaki in her mouth. In the meantime, Rin nodded, and pulled the same faces Eri did, and every now and then said something in reply that must have thrilled the younger girl marvelously – for Eri's eyes would widen, her lips pursing in charming thought before spreading into that slight, sheepish smile so lovely.
Eri had on a bright pair of yellow rain-boots, and a dark dress with puffed sleeves to match Rin's sweater. Over her shoulder, her hair had been twisted into a plait much too perfect for Togata to have done it – for all his brotherly strengths, doing Eri's hair had proven time and time again to be a task far too complex for him to handle – and once or twice while Aizawa approached, Eri lifted her hand from Rin's knee to touch at the girlish styling, absent-minded but with clear pleasure.
And when Aizawa at last came close enough for them to notice, a buzzing enchantment drove itself through his stomach: both Rin and Eri's faces brightened to see him, though he'd thought they couldn't possibly have brightened anymore. Eyes glimmering, green and crimson respectively. Eri's back straightened. She discarded the half-eaten taiyaki to the side and cried a delighted, "Ojisan!"
Aizawa crouched before her and listened with tender courtesy as she recounted the morning events with the same slow indulgence one would offer a story about a honeymoon or overseas holiday – after arriving with Togata, who had handed Eri over to Rin for the short span of an hour in the face of the younger girl's excitement, the two of them had spent most of their time playing with the cats at the cat café before heading out for a small morning snack. They'd watched Class 2B's drama (a new take on last year's, this time with some incorporation of Disney themes, which was also where Rin had been the one to do Eri's hair) and had said an energetic hello to Midoriya when they ran into him outside the school's main doors.
Now here they were, enjoying fresh taiyaki before getting something to drink.
"You've been busy," Aizawa said to Eri, though he glanced to Rin – and she in turn tilted her head, offered Aizawa an engaged and affectionate smile. "Someone is selling juice just over there. Take this–" Aizawa pulled out a small amount of money from his pocket, handing it to Eri, "–and go get yourself something. Come right back though."
Eri nodded, taking the money and beginning her journey from the bench towards the stall Aizawa had indicated. Any number of times though, she looked back, smiled sheepishly when she realised Rin and Aizawa had not yet abandoned her, and then continued on her way with ever more hesitant steps. She had only just started venturing out on her own – small undertakings of independence were supposed to be good for her, though the uncertainty with which she carried out her tasks was almost heartbreaking.
As Eri's little frame receded, never quite out-of-sight, Aizawa seated himself next to Rin. Close enough for their legs to be sidled next to each other despite the ample offering of space. Close enough for her lean into him, and for his arm to deftly balance itself across her shoulders. She took another bite of her taiyaki, the subtle smell of red beans and dough slightly pasty, before saying, "I was wondering where you were."
"I've been with my class."
"You've been avoiding me." They twisted their heads to look at each other, Rin's smile still against her lips but with a vague, sweet unhappiness. "Are you still upset?"
So she had noticed him. Aizawa narrowed his eyes, touched his fingers to her arm in a soft stroking of her jersey's material. Not upset – he wasn't upset. It wasn't so simple as that, besides which it didn't seem to be directed at her. Since arriving at the school that morning, Aizawa had been haunted by an elusive apparition like smoke. It settled around his throat, made everything hazy and suspicious to the extent that he struggled to breathe right. Maybe it had to do with Rin. But it wasn't because of her.
After scanning his eyes briefly over the surrounding festivities, finding no one's attention upon them apart from Eri's occasional glances while she waited for her juice, Aizawa shuffled to press his lips to the cool, fleshy plain of Rin's cheek. Short and chaste, but loving. Anxious under the pressure of being watched by both familiar and unseen eyes – and when Aizawa withdrew, keeping his face close to Rin's, he shared with her a passing smile, awkward in its angling but at the same time enough to make her shoulders relax underneath his touch.
"It seems my class has been waiting for you to come for tea," he said. "I think they'd be very happy if you and I went together."
Nose crinkling. Lips perking in the corners. "I'd like that~" and then she held up the taiyaki to him. "Want a bite?"
Togata had come for Eri at the end of the hour, and had chattered excitedly with Aizawa for some time over matters of no importance – Tamaki and Neijire's wedding is just around the corner! Will I be seeing you there, Aizawa-sensei? What about you, Rin-chan? – while Eri and Rin said their drawn-out, overly-affected goodbyes. Long hugs. Rin had kissed Eri on the forehead like a doting older sister or cousin and Eri, usually not so fond of physical affection, fed into it like a much younger child relishing their reward for good behaviour. In turn, she demanded the same from Aizawa, embarrassingly unabashed when she said, "Like you gave Rin-chan."
After that, their short time together before returning to 2A's tearoom passed in a cloud-dimmed state of comfort. They meandered amongst the food stalls, not looking either way but also in no rush to leave, making no attempts to force conversation and instead sinking into wholesome silence – at one point, Rin's fingers grazed his, an invitation to hold her hand. If he wanted to. He did want to.
There was no real reason why he didn't, really, except that by the time he had worked up the confidence to actually touch her under the freely prying eyes of the public, a shrill and unappetizing voice grated against his ears – and unfortunately, in an instinctive turn of events, Aizawa flinched away from Rin in the same way she sometimes did from him. Turning to the source of the voice, his insides doing a dip in dismay, Aizawa found the turquoise-headed pest of all his dreams and nightmares coming towards them.
"Eraser Head! I was so hoping we'd run into each other!"
Miss Joke.
It shouldn't have come as such a surprise that she was there – any number of pros came to the Culture Festival every year; it was, after all, an open event. However, frozen and feeling Rin stare into the side of his head before she turned her own gaze towards the other woman, subdued and quite suddenly with that choked aura of anxiety, Aizawa felt himself sink into a pit of horrors. Had it been for this, that feeling of foreboding which had been following him since the earliest morning?
"Whew!" Miss Joke began, now face-to-face with Aizawa and turning at times to grin at Rin. "The Culture Festival gets bigger every year, doesn't it, Eraser? I've been looking for you! Long time no see, right? You've missed me, haven't you?" Focusing more intently, with more overwhelming joviality than Aizawa could resist, on Rin. "Sorry! We haven't met!"
Rin didn't budge but offered a smiling suffocation of her own name, followed by words of equally cold-warmth, "You must be Miss Joke."
And then it got worse.
"It's Mrs Eraser Head-to-be, actually!" Joke guffawed, stretching out her arms to clutch Aizawa's arm. His spine stiffened, his mouth turned downwards sourly at the touch. "It's been a long time coming – hasn't it, Eraser?"
And though Aizawa offered nothing but blunt objection, Rin was quiet. Widened her eyes. Pursed her lips. His heart did an awful backflip at the look on her face: green in the widest sense of the word as she tilted her head at him and then at Miss Joke. "You're an old girlfriend?" Back to Aizawa, growing paler rather than pinker with any sort of blush, and then back to the other woman with all the innocent questioning in the world – there was no hint of malice in her words, only the purest form of surprise and disbelief in her gullibility; and it would have been endearing were the joke of it not so shockingly terrible, all things considered. "That's…" Rin lifted a finger to scratch at the corner of her mouth, "… not what I would have expected."
"An unlikely pair, I know," Miss Joke touched a gloved hand to Rin's shoulder, not seeming to notice the way her features pulled awkwardly at the contact. "But that's the best sort, isn't it Hiruma-san? Opposites attract, after all!"
Rin looked about ready to faint. "Uh-huh ~ opposites ~ right."
Wrong. It couldn't have been any more wrong. Finally, with a new clearness about himself and his mind, Aizawa reached out to grasp Rin's hand. "Actually," he tightened his hold, making a show of it and not really caring which students saw, he eyed Miss Joke seriously, watching her features sink – for the first time, from what he could remember – in genuine shock, "I think that's enough for one day, Joke. You need to get some new material."
Rin gawked at him, but did nothing to remove her hand from his.
Miss Joke fell into unwieldly silence for a moment, eyes falling over the tender hand hold and then over Aizawa's best attempt at a stern expression. "Oh. OH." And then she cracked a grin; gave a loud, embarrassed laugh which attracted a number of other eyes. "My bad. I thought you were mine for the taking, Eraser – didn't know." Another laugh, somehow wrong but failing to make Aizawa feel bad, and Joke then spun on her booted toes to walk the opposite way. Still cackling, only now with an unusual falseness.
Clutching Rin's hand more fervently, now anxiously aware of the quashing sensation of the crowds' curious eyes – some within familiar faces – as they stole glimpses of the scene, Aizawa cleared his throat. "Ignore her."
"So she isn't an old girlfriend?"
"Fuck, no." And though Aizawa had something more to say, not about Joke but about Rin – about how if there was ever to be a supposed Mrs Eraser Head, there was only one candidate who'd caught his eye – he bit down on his tongue and pulled her onwards with more insistent eagerness to the tearoom.
Despite the mortification of the moment, they returned with relative ease to a softer, more restful air once again. If anything was to be said about the run-in, it was that it ended up not being all that unfortunate because Aizawa, in a charmed daze of protectiveness and possession, swallowed the discomfort he hadn't realised he'd felt and yielded to Rin's harmless attempt at affection. He held her hand. He held it the rest of the way back to his class, and kept her there even when she tried to pull away.
Because really, if everyone knew already, his fingers tied with hers against the chilled weather and the fascinated stares of his students should not have been the first of his worries. Should not have been part of his worries at all, actually – and in a way, with the deed having been done, with her smile going giddy when he kissed her on the lips before rounding the corner to his class's setup, it did all melt away into a warmth both strange and euphoric. He'd never entertained the notion of being so blatant about his feelings. Had it been suggested to him any number of months ago, he would probably have pulled an awful face. Now though, it seemed right. It seemed natural and fair that everyone should know that he thought Rin was beautiful, and that he adored her, and that she was his.
But perhaps it was just the high of potentially finally having gotten Miss Joke off his back.
Either way, Aizawa kept his hand in Rin's when Iida greeted them at the door. The boy went red in the face and obviously took great pains to look Aizawa in the face when he spoke. "I'll get the girls to prepare two cups, Aizawa-sensei! Chi-sensei! On behalf of Class 2A, I hope you both enjoy! Excuse me!"
Yaoyorozu brought the special blend for Rin to try – some mix of berries and wildflowers, apparently, though Aizawa himself did not take any care to taste it – after which the rest of the girls took turns coming to their table. Flushed faces. Grins equally as dizzy as Rin's. They would chatter like fluttering birds about all sorts and sweet nothings, and then would disappear once again in a flurry of distracted energies.
There was no sign of Bakugo.
There was no need for Aizawa to ever let go of Rin's fingers.
Leaning her elbow against the table, free hand curved in a limp comfort against her cheek, Rin was telling him about something ridiculous one of the first years told her that morning. She was smiling. No invisible walling cut itself between them, the freedom of it wonderful and dream-like and almost too good to be true.
"Are you listening?" she asked him after a while.
"Not really."
A giggle. Childish and true. "Didn't look like it." And then – cruel twist! – she let go of his hand to hold the teacup to her lips.
Roughly an hour passed before they left again, the room having cleared itself out and the Culture Festival's surrounding air beginning to reach its afternoon slump. More boldly, after waving a bell-like goodbye to Aizawa's class, Rin curled her arm into his and pressed herself fondly against him as they walked. Towards the door – it was possible to hear Ashido squeak behind them. Out into the hallway – where Aizawa considered the possibility that it wasn't too early for them to go back to the apartment, but not before a final stop by the cat cafe.
He was going to say something. Wanted to say anything.
But then there came another voice – "Hello Rin" – and for the first time, as though being jolted awake with all the force of ice-cold water, Aizawa became piercingly aware of the bitter odour of smoke in the hallway and of Rin's touch disappearing from him in a dash of sudden fright or desperation.
They both turned.
A man was leaned against the wall, tall with the slender quality of a spider. He balanced a cigarette between his lips, its ashiness nothing compared to his clammy pallor. A pallor only exacerbated by the sharp, sheer whiteness of his hero costume. Bloody black eyes watched Rin. Only Rin. And the thin lips turned upwards. And the pointed features coiled into a devilish handsomeness Aizawa recognised immediately – the hero named Paper Cut. Or the once-was hero. Doctor Voodoo's head side-kick.
"Been a while, hasn't it sweetheart?" Paper Cut said, taking the cigarette between his gloved fingers to lick his lips. Still, his gaze did not shift from Rin, and a sick pleasure crossed his features as she angled herself as far away from Aizawa as the space between him and the wall would allow.
Sallow and raspy, Rin made a sound Aizawa had never heard escape her lips. She stared. She seemed to crumple into a most pathetic, sickening shape – and then she said a name. A horrid, frightened gasp. "Kizashi."