CHAPTER 12: CLOSE RANGE COMBAT

The soft mating call patterns of cicadas vibrated on her ears, accompanying the well-known rhythm of her accelerated pulse as she ran. The sun tried to make eye contact with her as it set, she used her hand to cast a shade on her face. Her hair started to feel moist in response to the energy being burnt 20 minutes ago because of the brisk sprints around the school grounds. Her homeroom teacher hadn't asked her to warm up before training, but arriving prepared came naturally for her. Or at least that's the reason she told herself as she had pulled out her running sneakers from her locker. Nervousness had sprouted an undimmed spark all over her body that needed to be tamed since she had been left alone in the classroom half an hour ago.

She started a final lap, hoping her tingling anxiety would be satisfied with her efforts. After her last track, she chose to sprint back to the dorms for a closing burnout. Running up the stairs of the entrance, someone opened the door before she could.

"Woah there! Not so fast Mo," a sweaty Uraraka with tired eyes greeted her. "You are going to trample on someone if you don't slow down. Everything ok?"

Momo bent her body, trying to catch some breath and compose herself.

"Yeah, just warming up before training session with Aizawa," she replied between puffs of air.

"Yeah, he's gonna crush you. I come from the dojo, he's not in the mood." the brunette added before taking a big gulp of her water bottle.

"When is he ever," Momo remarked finally standing straight and looking at her roomie. "Wait. Why are you in costume? I thought we were training with our uniforms."

Big innocent brown eyes and a shoulder shrug answered her. "Beats me. Anyways girl gotta go return my costume and hit the showers." Uraraka wished her good luck and each went her own way.

The air inside the dojo felt hot from all the training with Uraraka. He pushed his hair back into a low bun, although little could it be done by just running his fingers, trying to tame his sweaty mane. He could still feel some strands around his face, but this was the best he could make of the situation without a comb. This was so stupid. Why was he even nervous about the next training session? He grabbed one of the towels and hung it around his neck after wiping the sweat off his face. Who's idea was of putting the dojo in the basement without the possibility of getting some outside air? The air extractor was working, so why did the room feel so asphyxiating? One of his hands ran through his face as he paced with denied expectation.

"Come in," he replied after hearing three delicate knocks on the door. The young woman with dark hair up and tied in a bun at the top of her head walked in and proceeded to remove her running kicks. Her pearly skin glistened with a fine layer of perspiration she tried to fix by running the back of her hand through her forehead. "I see you've already warmed up."

She had tried to walk into the dojo as calm as possible, focusing her attention on leaving her sneakers on the entrance and walking into the mat. It wasn't until she was in front of her teacher that she looked up. Mr. Aizawa was standing at one of the corners of the room where his stuff was, drinking some water. Something in her insides awakened and disturbed the little peace she had collected while jogging when she realized she had never seen her professor in workout attire. A grey fitted tank top wrapped his alabaster torso, leaving a pair of brawny arms on display. A pair of tracksuit bottoms complimented the outfit.

"I thought it would save us some time." She hated the mental urgency she always felt of explaining herself when she was nervous, but it was a good way of filling the air with words instead of awkward silences. Mr. Aizawa merely reacted but paced slowly towards her.

Her eyes engaged with him in an unstated eye contact match. The ardor of looking away which she was fighting against was almost unbearable, especially because she couldn't quite read his expression. He had to be mad at her for bailing that night at the festival, or at least offended. But the man seemed to be studying her expression as much as she was trying to figure out his.

"Are you ok?"

The question took her by surprise. The memory of crying on Mrs. Kuyamasa's bathtub hugging her legs broke into her mind without an order of arrest.

"I'm fine." the woman with an illegible expression in front of him replied. How dare she. He had returned that night to the dorms without knowing her whereabouts and stayed on the lookout the whole weekend. Only to find her all keen and unbothered first thing on the next Monday morning.

"Whatever you say." he stood in front of her. "Today we're practicing close-range combat. No quirks. No weapons. No holding back." he listed, stretching his arms and taking a few steps back.

She removed the uniform's top to get better mobility, being left only with her black sports bra and bright blue trousers. "What kind of close-range combat?" she asked, trying to remember the basics of all the martial arts seen throughout the years at U.A.

He looked towards her with a raised eyebrow, assuming a defensive position. "Street style, Barbie"

The sourness of that nickname ignited enough rage inside her to respond. Soon enough, jabs and hits were being thrown from both sides. Her defense was agile enough, but her response seemed lagged by her mind.

"C'mon Yaoyorozu, get out of your head." he blurted out after dodging two punches and using his body weight to make her lose balance. "Less pondering more pummeling, kid"

She trampled and fell backwards as fast as she stood back, her temples pulsating in frustration. Oh, how he was enjoying being able to dish it out knowing he had the high ground. Every blow every kick she threw, it was as if he was 2 seconds in the future, guessing all her hits. The worst part was he was playing defense.

"Is that all you got?" he kept throwing hay to the fire.

"Funny I was wondering the same." she talked back, taking a few steps away from her professor. "I thought you said no holding back. So, why don't you attack?" she knew she was stalling, but she needed to come up with a plan.

A smirk appeared on his face, his lungs were fighting to pull air in. "You haven't landed a single hit and you expect me to charge?"

They engaged again in agitated combat. Her attack became vicious, he had hit a sensible nerve.

"I expect you to take me seriously" her comeback was packed with pure resentment.

"Just land a hit" his voice was rising, partly from the effort to breathe, and partly from angst. "earn the attack."

Memories from home blinded her mind. The feeling of resentment towards all the people who had looked down on her clouded all reasoning.

"Is that so? Or is it that you're afraid to hurt me?" she tried to land a kick to his smug face, but it was blocked by his grasp. Both fell to the ground, where he tried to immobilize her. She took his left knee hostage, quickly freeing herself and trying to turn the situation around. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't cry when I bleed." She used her own weight to unbalance him, taking the muscly man by surprise. Momo took advantage of this and pushed him back, setting herself free from his grasp.

"I don't mind the crying, missy," he growled back. "It's the running away that gave you that reputation."

"Is that what this is about?" her voice lost the diplomatic sharpness, revealing the roar of a wounded beast. He cornered her, both wrists impaired by masculine large hands.

"You disappeared and told no one of your whereabouts the whole weekend!" his breathy maddened scold crashed against her face. "How could you be so reckless?" his eyebrows clenched upwards together, his starved eyes devoured her gaze, hungry for answers. The manly shackles strangling Momo's wrists softened. Then is when she understood.

He wasn't offended. He had been worried.

Mr. Aizawa let her free from his grasp and walked away from her towards his belongings. She stood there, trying to recover from the turmoil.

"You're dismissed."

From all the things left unsaid, she chose to take them all hostage. Momo walked to the sliding door, grabbed her shoes, and left barefoot without saying a word.

Jiro looked around the coffee place Momo asked them to meet. Her friend was already waiting for her, recently showered and a hot beverage in hand.

Momo awaited for Jiro to get something to drink and soon enough they were both sitting face to face.

"So how was training?" they asked at the same time. With a soft giggle, Jiro started talking. "It's been great! Present Mic clearly understands my vibe. He's so considerate, he promised to take me to his radio show one of these, can you believe it?" Her red lined cheeks clenched her eyes in excitement. "We're so lucky our trainers are so similar to us. Principal Nezu clearly values chemistry among students and teachers."

"Maybe in your case. I'm really glad for you." Momo's eyes had the same veil which Jiro knew she hadn't been allowed to see through. But it wouldn't stop a good friend from trying.

"Is Aizawa giving you a rough time?"

Momo rolled her eyes, a sad smile was all the answer her friend needed.

"You should cut him some slack, girl. He's been in a mood since Friday." Jiro tried to comfort her. Momo's eyes lit with interest. "He spent the whole weekend all weary and worried. As if something very important had been lost."

"Really?" Jiro couldn't understand why this was so unbelievable for Momo.

"Yeah, dude. I went downstairs last Friday at like, 2 am? He was sitting on the couch, TV on, just absently looking through the window." the violet-haired girl explained. "The man didn't even notice me passing by to the restrooms. Super creepy."

Momo's glance seemed anguished and somehow confused.

"How is your training situation with him?" if there was any way she could help the woman in front of her, Jiro would try to find it.

"I talked back to him today," Momo answered, words dripping with guilt and embarrassment, which was quickly swept away by Jiro's laughter.

"Are you serious? You? Momo Yaoyorozu talking back to her homeroom teacher? Damn it girl, didn't know you had it in you." her earlobes wobbled with every chuckle. Momo stared in disapproval. "Don't be too hard on yourself. From what you've told me, you've always been responsible and mature. Maybe you need to go through a rebelling stage or something. I don't know." Jiro tried to comfort her. "I'm no shrink ok? But I know everyone needs to ruffle some feathers and rock it out once in a while."

"You really think that?" A smile across her usually demure friend assured Jiro that her words were making some sense on her pal.

"You can't compose a song without highs and lows." a friendly earlobe tickled Momo's nose, making her laugh. "Don't feel bad for wanting to march at the beat of your own drum."

"I guess that's true but...what do I do with Mr. Aizawa? I don't think we're on good terms right now." her pale hands hid her face in frustration. "I messed up. He probably thinks I'm an immature brat. How do I score a high note in this song?" she was willing to even use her friend's metaphor to get an answer.

"You both seem to be going through something so, maybe simply hit the reset button. Start over, get past this, and try to do better, or else you'll get caught in a flat toxic loop. And there's nothing rock and roll about that." Jiro dictated.

"You really have been spending way too much time with Present Mic." Momo's commentary made Jiro smile proudly.

"He's like this really cool musical uncle." there was no doubt that theirs was a pairing made in heaven.

"Why do you think I got assigned to Eraserhead?" Momo questioned, clenching her mug close to her face. It was clear to her that Jiro had been paired with Present Mic because of the similarity of their quirks, but she was unable to pinpoint the reason for her own pairing.

Jiro's shoulders shrug and her earlobes dangled as she nodded. "Maybe that's something for both of you to figure out."

Both young women continued their insightful conversation on their way back to the doors. The warm feeling of being able to share a good girl-talk with Jiro like they used to lingered in Momo's chest when they hugged and wished each other good night.

Light steps guided her to her room, it had been a long day, but Jiro had managed to make her feel more at ease. Just when she was about to unlock her door, her foot softly bumped into something.

There was a small package awaiting her arrival.

For someone who writes and rambles so much, I have to say that all the reviews you've been kind enough to write to me leave me speechless. I love writing and knowing people enjoy it too truly is one of the best feelings ever. Every time I go to bed at 2 am writing, every research and effort to write in another language is worth it when I receive your messages.

STAY GOLDEN DEAR READERS.

Love - LB

PS: If you enjoy this story, you might enjoy my other Hawks ff called "Survival of the Fittest". Lemme know if you give it a shot! 3