Chapter 35
Kizashi

"Don't look so unhappy to see me, Rin," Paper Cut said, a slow illusion of smoke swirling out from the corners of his mouth like something of myth. He straightened himself – considerably taller than Aizawa even a short distance away – and pressed one, gloved hand into his pocket. With the other, he made an exaggerated show of tapping his cigarette so that its sprinkling of ashes circled to the floor. "You've been trying so hard to find us, haven't you? Well," he purred. "Here I am."

He made no move to attack. Had the disinterested slink of a feline to all his gestures, lazy and graceful. And at the sight of it, at how the vampirically darkened eyes clung to Rin with predatory thrill, a vile sharpness pierced through Aizawa's gut. He bit down hard on his tongue. His hand was ready around his scarf before he even became aware of lifting it – and at last, rolling his head along his shoulders, Paper Cut turned his gaze. The neat, fiendish smirk fell into a sour curve of displeasure.

"No need for that, Eraser Head." Deep drag of his cigarette – somehow, right then, it didn't seem particularly important to Aizawa that smoking wasn't permitted on school grounds. "I'm only here for a little chat. Causing a scene would be unnecessarily bothersome, don't you think?"

Aizawa kept his hand tensely around his scarf, saying nothing. Rin said nothing either, but in her silence was a glaring dread impossible to ignore. The distance between them was fragile, tainted, and Aizawa's limbs were heavy with the aching to bundle her away.

In his earliest days as an independent pro, Aizawa had worked for a very (read: very) short time alongside Doctor Voodoo. For the experience. For which he was now inexplicably ashamed.

In that time, he saw more of Paper Cut than he did of the Voodoo head. Paper Cut had been working for the Agency for any number of years, enough to have established himself as the head sidekick and to have developed a reputation both unsettling and impressive – a reputation which some debated as unethical, but which proved time and time again to be thoroughly effective. He hardly ever lifted a finger to fight, preferring instead to glide from corner to corner of the battlefield in evasion of any punch thrown his way. Indeed, his body's natural litheness did not strike one as an offensive advantage. But it was for reasons beyond combative weakness (for indeed, he lacked nothing in terms of skill) that he strayed from the usual norms.

Paper Cut's special talent was pure psychological abuse. Gnawing at the well-studied sore spots of his opponents. Plucking at the seams of mental wellbeing. Plucking, plucking, plucking: degrading other parties into a stumbling, triggered disarray. And when said opponent – played with like a crocodile's pray – was battered enough, Paper Cut would make one final strike with all the slicing poise of a snake. Often bloody. Often with a harshness which was overkill for a pro. Afterwards he'd watch his opponent tremble and would casually pull out a cigarette and smoke with all the pleasant nonchalance in the world as though crimson wasn't sharp across his fingertips.

He'd smoke.

And then sometimes, with villains he deemed particularly troublesome, he'd press the red-singed cigarette into their necks or faces or palms. Doctor Voodoo had warned him off of this habit many times. Aizawa himself had nearly yanked Paper Cut's arm off back in the days. And yet, Paper Cut never stopped.

Rin murmured something Aizawa missed, and at the small, tinny sound of her voice he was suddenly overcome by an onslaught of horror mixed with rage.

Two steps forward, the tap of Paper Cut's pristinely polished boots muted against the tiled floor. He held the cigarette up in something of a show, twiddling it between his long fingertips, and cocked his head. "Tell me, Rin. Eraser Head. Have you two enjoyed playing house?" Smooth hum, wholly without the smoker's rasp. "We were very surprised by the things Yukio told us. Almost didn't believe it." The blackened eyes, with peculiar shadows very much like Rin's, focused in on Aizawa and sent a sick thrill down his spine. His hand remained ready over his scarf, and Paper Cut's white lips spread into a whiter grin. "I mean, of course we all knew Rin had the hots for teacher – she never said it, but we all knew how she would always run off to Aizawa-sensei whenever something didn't go her way. How she'd cuddle up to Aizawa-sensei and cry to Aizawa-sensei–"

"Stop it, Kizashi," Rin spoke at last, voice steady and resolute – however, when Aizawa turned his head to her, her frame remained crinkled and trembling. Her eyes locked onto Paper Cut – Kizashi – in quite the same way as the mouse, powdery white and with water along its lashes, would lock its eyes onto the snake.

"Oh. So she speaks," Kizashi cooed, condescending. Two more steps forward. Rin's fingers flinched at her sides and Aizawa made to step in front of her, eliciting a peeved twitch to Kizashi's smirk.

Aizawa held his breath. Reminded himself not to listen because everything Paper Cut said would be unholy defilements of the truth.

"My, my, sweetheart. You've really got him wrapped around your pretty little finger." Kizashi wet his lips suggestively, red tongue flaring against his pallor, and then ravished the cigarette once again. "And after everything you did. I won't lie, Rin, when Yukio told me the lengths you went to, I thought never. The sweet, precious little girl I knew would never have been so conniving and manipulative – oh! Don't look at me like that, my love. It breaks my heart… Unless… Oh! Oh no, no, you silly little girl, don't tell me he still doesn't remember…"

Defilements of the truth. Defilements of the truth.

Still, Aizawa glanced to Rin and caught her looking at him, lovely features greyed and terrified. Her lips were parted to speak, drawing in a stuttering breath before she did so. She said his name, feeble whisper, and then Kizashi gasped.

"Rin, Rin, Rin. After all this time."

Aizawa's scarf flared upwards around his neck, and he glared with the greatest venom he could muster. "Leave, Paper Cut. Now. Otherwise you'll regret it."

"Not going to call the police on me then, Aizawa-sensei?" Casual sigh. "I think you'd sooner know the truth, wouldn't you? It must burn, wanting her to be all yours with that pretty face and those pretty ways – trust me, Eraser Head, I know." Puff of the cigarette. Kizashi breezed a cloud of smoke out from his throat. "I know. I know. I loved her too. I would sooner slit my own throat than have to re-listen to the things Yukio told us."

"Shouta," Rin murmured, and her fingers touched Aizawa's tentatively. "It isn't–"

"It isn't what, Rin?" the new viciousness in Kizashi's voice, his face having contorted vilely to match, made Rin jerk her hand away once again. For the first time, Kizashi narrowed his eyes at her. "It isn't what I say it is? Is that it? Don't be such an idiot, Rin. You can't flounce around leading a double life, wearing aprons and giving Aizawa-sensei sweet kisses during the day and then sneaking out windows at night to go hunting for ghosts."

A metaphor? It wasn't Paper Cut's style to be rhetorical.

"I mean, really, Rin," he continued. "Why did you make Yukio take away his memories if you're only going to drag him back into all of this?" Lies. "Huh? Because you just fucking can't say no when Aizawa-sensei makes eyes at you?" Had he been the one making eyes? "Yukio told us everything, Rin. Everything." As though to punctuate the words, Kizashi flicked the spent cigarette from his fingers to the floor at Rin's feet.

Its rim glowed with the anger of embers. A thin ribbon of dying smoke curled upwards. As though it were a dangerous spider, Rin snubbed it beneath her shoe with an exaggerated quickness.

In spite of himself, indulging in only a moment of doubt, Aizawa looked to her once again – and she was looking at him, and with a sinking terror Aizawa considered the possibility that everything Kizashi said was true. He hated himself for it, because his heart and brain pulled in any number of directions begging him to believe it wasn't. That there were things Rin was keeping from him (yes, he knew this, he knew this and really deep down almost didn't mind because if she was with him he didn't care) but that Kizashi's words were twisted with spite and intrigue and all the baseness required to strike a stake through his chest. Because the truth was never so clear-cut – the truth was never so raw and simple and Kizashi used that to his advantage. But Rin had asked Yukio to make Aizawa forget – forget what? And why didn't she deny it? Why did she look so scared?

Why did she look so scared?

Though Aizawa's scarf continued to remain poised around his neck, his guard dissipated – and that was it. He had been played with. And within unnoticed seconds, Kizashi was right up against Rin and his lips were to her ear, breathing out words that floated upon the remnants of cigarette smoke, words that Aizawa couldn't hear but that made Rin clutch Kizashi's wrist as it lingered over her hip. And Aizawa couldn't move. Or he could, and he did, but it was with an iron-clad slowness that made him too heavy to reach Kizashi before he planted a serpentine kiss against Rin's cheek. And her hand flew across his face with a sickening thwack. Slow motion. Kizashi shot a sharp-toothed smile at Aizawa, cheek flaring into poison redness.

And then a greeting so soft it was jolting – "Ah! Paper Cut, is that you? My, my, it has been rather a long time since you came to visit our school" – forced itself between the scene.

Kizashi's features dropped and he slinked backwards. Shoulders back. Sharp chin poised as though to balance an invisible object before his enemy. Aizawa allowed his scarf to fall gently back down, lifting a hand to grasp Rin's shoulder as he did so – as he turned to face the source of the voice which shouldn't have been so calm, so inviting. Rin was still. Perfectly and sickeningly still.

Principal Nezu, hands behind his back as he toddled up towards them, smiled at Aizawa. And at Rin's frozen back. And then past them both to smile, with unaffected warmth, at Kizashi.