It started as did all the other dreams.
Out of body, like watching an old home film, sepia in color and dotted with age.
Of a child with features not unlike mine, hair unkempt and tickling knobby, hunched shoulders, three shades lighter than coal.
When the face lifted, displayed skin carved of ripe summer fruit and bearing the same shape, I learned the child was a boy.
A boy, kneeling in an attic of dust and memory, playing with toys not born from the same decade as him. Of heroes, ones so many had forgotten, painted-on smiles promising a bright tomorrow and safe future.
A light came on downstairs; the child turned, quick to bury the figures beneath musty coats no one had used in generations.
The door opened. Light poured in.
And there I sat, petrified my mother would know.
Two sets of eyes witnessed mine crack open; one set, a liquid green perched hesitantly on my chest, the other from above, calm in their observation.
The cat- not my cat, my Nasu, but another slim-figured shadow- seemed to note the passing of the storm and curled back into its own slumber, rising and falling with my breathing. The aftershock of the dream began to grow fainter, only to be replaced with cool fingers of panic. Where- What-
"You were having a nightmare. It's okay now."
The woman spoke in such a soothing tone my muscles relaxed upon their sound, as if to bathe in their quiet warmth. I took in a few slow breaths, tried to work the familiarity of her face. Was I supposed to know her? What happened?
I had been chasing Shota. He hadn't heard me calling him. And then-
And then a man with Shota's silhouette turned and we saw each other. But the dial had been turned too far right, fast forwarding through his adulthood into a middle age, and his eyes, while the right shape, were an incorrect shade. Shota's eyes were the color of warm blankets on chilly evenings and the shadows of a room during a sudden storm, both light and dark, at the same time. Even with a mind dowsed in confusion I knew this, so ingrained in my nervous system even Mom couldn't erase them. To forget would be the equivalent of forgetting my own existence; no matter the circumstance, the trickery, I would recognize the ocean of his eyes anywhere.
The very same shade was looking at me now.
Her fingers were cool on my temple, brushing away the remnants of the fever dream. All my senses seemed to pop into place at once; the semi-sweet smell of cat food, the pungent odor of wet fur. Somewhere a dog yipped at another deep-toned friend while two human voices murmured, discussing something about background checks.
I was lying on a cot next to a stainless steel examining table, one wall lined with leashes, another with quiet cages.
"Where-" I licked my lips, surprised at my parched throat. The dreams burned everything- both inside and out, like radiation seeping through the barrier. A juice box appeared in the woman's hand before I could even ask.
Because she was a mother.
And I knew, irrevocably, whose mother she was.
Her hair fell in a straight line over one shoulder, salted with age but shiny, as if her diet consisted of aloe and bright vegetables. I noticed, vaguely, that the underlying color was nearly the same shade of brown as mine. Dark, but still grounded in an earthy tone. Like an otter's fur after a morning dive.
My brain's short-circuiting must have been apparent- the woman with charcoal irises brought the straw to my lips, sensibly concerned over my coherency.
"Do you know who you are?"
Do you? But no- how could she? "I'm-" Don't tell her your real name, idiot. "I'm...Akua. Akua Tsu-" Fuck, what was my alias last name? There was deadened pain pulsing from my temples. My fingers found a lump the size of a gumball edging the left side of my forehead. I winced as submersion counted the broken vessels.
"It's all right; you took a tumble on the street," She offered a cold compress and the ghost of a smile. Embarrassment singed me to the bone as she placed the sweet relief on my forehead, like I was an injured child rather than a twenty-something year-old adult woman who should be capable of such actions on her own.
"What's the last thing you remember?"
There's a chance Shota hasn't seen his parents, I thought quickly. We were undercover; them knowing his location, tying themselves with red string amidst such an investigation, could very well endanger them. They probably don't even know he's here.
"I was trying to cross the street. I think I was hit by- Something," I said rather stupidly. But she nodded, as if expecting as much.
"A cyclist. You were technically in the bike lane, though the pedestrian light was on."
Once more I tried to sit up. Her hands on my bare arms felt too startling, too intimate, knowing who she was and who I was supposed to be, and I flinched. She seemed unbothered, even as the action dipped my ribs in a medley of horror and embarrassment. She sat back and gave a little bow of her head.
"I'm Sheru Aizawa."
Sheru Aizawa.
Even if I knew before she ever spoke her name, hearing it still felt like stepping off a merry-go-round.
Sheru Aizawa.
I drank in her face, tried to memorize every detail, analyze every angle and curve, down to the calm slope in her brow, the carve of her ivory skin around bone.
Sheru Aizawa.
Slender, with the poise of someone who was assured in themselves, quiet in movement and posture. What else did he inherit from her?
It was clear she was waiting for a response, though her expression didn't betray any sort of impatience. I swallowed the panicked heart residing in my throat.
"I'm Akua. Which, um, I've already said, sorry-" I threw a haphazard glance around the room, looking for a distraction. "Ah, where are we?"
"The back room of an animal shelter,"
As if in answer, the cat (who, upon my rising, had flicked its tail against my arm and stretched out beside me) gave a sudden, low-sounding meow, as if speaking up for roll call. I couldn't tell from how it sat, but the cat definitely seemed like a she, lithe and skinny, with grey speckles throughout her coat. She gave a breath of a purr when I ran ginger fingers down her spine.
His parents ran an animal shelter.
That day, all those weeks ago, when I'd followed and watched him donate heaving bags of pet food, I'd thought maybe his charity reflected a karma-sensitive conscience.
I never thought about the action being taught.
"Ah. That's Neko," She said. "I'm afraid she's not adoptable."
Another cat named cat. I wonder who could've came up with that.
"Is she yours?" I asked lightly. Sheru shook her head.
No, scratch that- Mrs. Aizawa. Even addressing her so intimately in my mind felt unjust.
"I suppose she is, now. She was a stray my son demanded we keep. Seventeen years later and here I am, still with her," She didn't seem upset about it, despite the emphasis. "My son remained in Tokyo after graduating from UA. Now he's a pretty well-known hero." His mother lifted her chin in a slow movement, fixed her gaze on mine. "Eraser Head. Have you heard of him?"
It sounded like a test. Were those shale eyes watchful because of my scattered, injured brain, or did she suspect- No. How could she?
"He MC'ed the UA Sports Festival this year," I decided slowly.
Sheru Aizawa leaned back on her heels, chewed on my expression like jerky of unknown origin, before she stood. I watched her wring out the hand towel and recool the material in a nearby sink.
"He works there as a teacher. He has for a few years, now."
"You must be really proud of him- UA is a very prestigious school." I felt like a novice tennis player, lobbing at the ball with a ping-pong paddle.
"We are, very much so. Shota- my son, I mean- He's always been so..."
I didn't realize how I was holding my breath, caught on her trail until the water from the faucet began to slow to near comatose. In a single blink the water returned to its normal pressure, with her hopefully none the wiser to my slip.
"He was the kid reading a book while others his age were testing their quirks behind the slide. He'd rather take a nap than socialize. We were pleased with his acceptance of a teaching position, as it seemed like an opportunity for him to grow in aspects outside of physicality and his quirk adeptness. And I believe he has,"
She handed me the towel. I was too caught on her expression to remember what it was for.
I could see how I would've mistaken the father for Shota, but all his expressions were bred from this face, formed and taught and shared by his mother, strikingly apparent as a dimple appeared like a hidden trademark.
"It seems he's found a girlfriend."
"Oh?"
Oh. Oh? Regulation no longer controlled my responses, so I busied myself with fixating on the caught water in the towel, roiling and flattening each molecule, focusing my nerves into each fiber.
But those eyes were watching me again.
"Who is she? Have you met her?" At least my blush could be mistaken for the wrong flavor of embarrassment. "Sorry, that's really personal-"
"Her name is Chiyo Tsutomi," She said each syllable of my name as if testing them, checking the harmony in comparison to her son's. Did they go well together? Did they sound like partners of the same sonnet?
"She's, um, Chiyonex, right? She was on the news."
"Yes, but I believe their relationship started quite some time before that," She spoke confidently; there was no belief- she knew it as fact. How much had he told her? And when? "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her. Shota's probably afraid we'll scare her off."
I smiled. "You seem nice enough. No visible horns or terrors yet, anyway."
The blankness of her face was just as perturbing as Shota's. "You haven't been here long enough to make such an assessment."
A loud, horrifying laugh burst out of me, fueled by pent-up nerves and terror. Maybe the animals will hear and come put me out of my misery. Maybe they'll break through the door and just blessedly eat me alive, to save me from this humiliation.
One corner of Sheru Aizawa's mouth lifted. She took the towel from my hands, pressed it to my temple.
What would it be like, coming here with Shota? Meeting his mom and dad- honestly- as his significant other?
Was I, still? After all this- the silent fighting turned audible, the running and following and misunderstandings?
I didn't know.
"Do you think-" I cleared my throat, recognized the dangerous territory I hesitantly toed. "Do you think it's real? Their relationship, I mean. Or just maybe a fling?"
Mrs. Aizawa looked thoughtful for a moment. I tried not to burst at every seam, cause the water from every spout to float like melted snow throughout the air.
"He said she was the Night's Echo."
"The what?"
"He would probably shun me for a century if he found out I told someone this, but since you don't actually know him-" Again with those grey eyes, thoughtful and deep as a forgotten well, a collector of conversations and wishes, the silent keeper. The sudden stillness in my bones curved her lips into a small crescent moon. She brushed the cool towel over my forehead once, twice more, lowered the cloth to her lap.
"Shota slept in our bedroom well past when other children probably stopped- twelve, maybe thirteen years old. It didn't matter where in the room- so long as he could hear us. He had his own room, but the silence of night, of nothing but the stillness- it kept him awake. We tried everything: noise machines, fans- we even let him bring home an additional cat from the shelter- but nothing kept his light-sleep insomnia at bay, except when he was with us. The sound of all of us breathing and sharing a space, I guess, led him to sleep. Like an echo he could follow."
I fought off the gentle caress of a shiver as she watched me, careful not to look away.
She can't know. If you start acting suspicious she will, too. Keep calm.
I couldn't let my edges soften at the image of a little Shota snuggling in between his parents, only safe to dream with their warmth spread across him like a blanket, let on how my heart began to ooze a familiar sensation across my bones.
"Couldn't he- what about friends? Did he sleep when he shared a room with people outside of you two?"
She shook her head with a laugh. "Either they breathed too loudly or not loud enough; he had this one friend at UA who whistled instead of snoring- I was afraid it'd end their friendship, honestly-"
Mic, I thought. Definitely Mic.
"Shota stopped trying to find ways to negate the insomnia and learned to live with it, in the end. Staying up late, wandering the campus, his neighborhood. He started taking on dead-of-night hero work, falling asleep whenever his senses would allow. His father eventually bought him a sleeping bag-"
I choked on air and surprise. The bag- the banana-yellow, nylon monstrosity- a gift, from his worried parents. I'd assumed he'd found the wretched thing at a secondhand shop or an abandoned homeless shelter. It serves a purpose other than to publicly ostracize himself?
She didn't seem startled by my reaction. Then again, I had a feeling very little truly startled Sheru Aizawa, with her rainfall-soft disposition and knowing eyes. I apologized anyway.
"Please, continue."
Her dark head tilted. A smile totally familiar and wholly unknown riled my stomach. She looked almost...dreamy. "But then he met her- the one who breathes night and can lead him into it. The echo to follow. And that's how he knows she's the one." She paused. A sigh politely fell to the floor. "Well, and they share a few cats together. He swears any sort of conflict between them- him and Chiyo, that is- will detrimentally affect the cats and alter their sociability. I- Oh, are you okay?"
I'd slipped off the edge of the cot and straight onto my ass in surprise. There were too many thoughts playing tag in my brain, a frenzy of emotion battering my pulse in every direction but one that was safe. This was the definition of information overload; I needed to get out of here before I exploded the entire block's water system. I gave a frantic wave before quickly returning to a safer seating position. I can't just flee. Play it off as a casual onlooker not invested in how Shota talks about you. To his mother. With heartfelt emotion.
My knee bounced like a hiccuping boat engine in clear and direct defiance of my casual onlooker vibe.
"So he likes the way she breathes and because they have cats together?"
"I don't think it has anything to do with breathing, Akua."
She remembered my name, even when I'd forgotten it ten times over during this single conversation. Her slow, knowing smile ached my heart for my own mother, just to once again feel the safety of that depthless understanding, that comfort only parents could bestow to make you feel secure and known. Because Sheru Aizawa knew her son; probably better than anyone else. I didn't feel resentment or jealousy over the thought- I was glad. Joyous he had such a connection in a world where so many lost such ties.
"It's kind of funny, to think of a Pro Hero talking to his mom about girl problems," I tried to joke.
An eyebrow ticked. Her indignant look replicated his so perfectly it was like Shota was staring back at me.
"Shota calls me every week."
Was it defense or pride limning her voice? Both, I decided. It made me smile.
Honestly, I could see it. I could see sullen, always-fatigued Shota Aizawa calling his parents on a Thursday evening, both to check in as well as check in on them, lying on the couch after a particularly exhausting day at school and giving updates on irksome students and those who had caught his eye. How often did he talk about me, I wondered. Asking would be too suspicious. And pathetic.
There was a rustling, of voices bidding farewell and another bout of canines noting the movement, and then the door opened.
His hair was shorter; straighter, maybe, with that sort of bentness that came with running hands through it too often. While his son's laziness might cause shadows of facial hair, the father seemed even worse; dark bristles grew in thick patches in the hollows of his cheeks, above his lip and below his chin, but there were still planes of smooth skin between, like a painter who stopped for lunch before completing the area. His forehead was higher and his eyes, while darker, held the same tiredness.
He was distracted and sighing, lanky legs pushing through the door before the rest of him had a chance to catch up.
"Hey, did you figure out if she's-Oh," He interrupted himself upon seeing me, seemingly bright-eyed and alert. He took a moment, digested the change, and promptly turned his attention to his wife for the next correct move.
"Figure out if I'm...what?" I asked before he could glean the checkmate. Fatigue weighed down his features with the question. Again he looked to his wife for direction.
"If you needed to be taken to the hospital," She explained calmly. My eyes narrowed but her face remained as aloof as her unreadable's son's, looking to the shaggier male Aizawa after giving my knee a friendly pat. "Akua here should be totally fine."
Totally fine, meaning I should get up and leave, before I gave myself away. I popped up quick enough to startle one of them.
"Thank you for taking care of me. I'm sorry for any trouble I've caused you."
"You're leaving?" Mr. Aizawa sounded genuinely upset. "You didn't even look at the animals-"
"She was never here to look at the animals," His wife pointed out dryly.
This thought hadn't occurred to him.
"Well she's here, she might as well-"
"I'm sure she already has a cat or two," Sheru noted. A gentle hand on my back prodded me out of the room before I could figure whether she knew I already had said cats or if she possessed some sort of clairvoyant quirk. By Gang Orca's fin, I sure hope not.
"Please come again! For tea next time, maybe," Shota's father called from behind the swift door.
The main room shelved an array of cats and kittens while two dogs, who perked up at every noise, wagged their tails from a kennel near the large storefront window. They sniffed interestedly when I stood near the door, licked at my fingers between the thin bars. The younger one's breath still held the faint coffee scent of puppyhood. I fell into another awkward bow before Mrs. Aizawa.
"Thank you again for everything,"
"Shota was supposed to bring Chiyo for a visit this summer, you know,"
I froze. A golden pup cocked its head in wonder.
"Something came up, though, and their plans had to change."
Speak, idiot. I swallowed, stood upright. Speak or she'll know. "Because of the Chiyonex thing?"
Sheru Aizawa gave a slow shake of her earthen hair. Her eyes never left mine.
"Chiyo- They went through something," Her words were gentle. In a voice, I thought, she must have spoken to Shota with over the very same subject. An electric shiver razed my skin. "Something that neither of them have any experience in. Something that, on its face, she might have thought she had to face alone."
"You don't think so, though?" I asked, even if logic defied uttering such a question.
She didn't even waver.
"I think if she asked my son to open his chest and give her his heart, she'd find it already sewn between her ribs."
She knew.
She'd known all along.
What had given me away?
"Men are like children, in a way; even when they don't know for certain what's hurting, they'll do or say or give anything to make the people they love happy again. Sometimes they just need to be shown where the thorn is."
A bundle of chimes rang a welcome behind me. A young couple entered, making an excited beeline towards a kennel of kittens. A breath, slow and startling, gave life to my lungs.
Life filled with recognition. Of being seen and accepted and given heartfelt advice from his mother. Because she knew.
Sheru Aizawa gave me a kind smile.
"I should- When did-" Words were drifting petals caught between the waves. "Thank you," I said breathlessly.
"I hope to see you again, one day." She answered.
And before I did something really stupid- laughed or cried or ran into her arms or all the above- I fled.
"You're late."
Her presence had almost gone unnoticed in the liquid dark, outfit and movements cut from the same cloth. This one was different from her debut, more muted in color. Even her marine hair looked pitch black in the veil of shadows.
Chiyo didn't deign answering with more than a grunt, falling to her haunches beside him.
"What've you got?"
Toro's text suggested an early stake-out of Jamon Azakuku's residency. And while no one really expected anything of interest to actually happen, spending a quiet evening on a rooftop with the elusive Chiyonex wasn't the worst way Eraser Head could think of to spend a night.
"He's made two hour-long phone calls, fiddled with some paperwork, and made one male secretary cry."
"Why'd you point out the secretary was male? Like it's more impressive to make a man cry than a weak-willed little woman?"
Chiyo's facetiousness pressed thumb tacks into his frontal lobe. They fell out just as swiftly when she yanked at the binoculars around his neck, leaning in close to see across the street. A familiar scent tickled his senses.
"Did you take my shampoo when you left?"
"No," She answered quickly. Then, in a grumble; "I bought it when I started living here."
Chiyo nestled in for the event, frogged legs tucked beneath her. A thought lodged itself in her throat. She looked to be caught between swallowing or spitting it out.
She chose the latter.
"Is Nasu doing okay?"
Did he lie? Would rubbing Chiyo's face in her cat's depression be too petty for a grown man to do?
But he didn't want to hurt her- even if the idea had a bittersweet taste.
"He's grown accustomed to life with Endo. If I'm quiet, I can catch them cuddling in the living room together."
Chiyo seemed both relieved and forlorn at the idea.
Azakuku browsed a shopping site on his laptop. "I was surprised you left him."
"I couldn't take him where I went, at first. Plus, he would've been depressed even if I had," Moonlight reflected off her irises when she glanced at him. "Despite my power over him, it appears he has...feelings, for you. And maybe even Endo."
"Mm," Aizawa hummed. "You know, they say cats merely reflect the sentiments of their owners."
"Do they," She questioned with a hint of a smirk. His stomach lurched at the prospect.
In all honesty, he had hoped Nasu remaining meant she would return. To both of them.
"And the students?"
"It's summer. I assume they're out un-learning everything we've taught them."
"What about Bakugo? He's okay?"
"He's fine, Chiyo."
He knew her breathing well enough to catch its sudden hesitance.
"Do they...Do they know?"
Did she mean about her absence or them? Either way, he'd made sure the answer was the same. Eraser gave a subtle shake of his head. Her shoulders slumped in what he assumed was relief, if only slightly.
"Good," She said.
A silence befell the duo; not wholly uncomfortable. Azakuku checked his email, typed up half a paragraph, then deleted the draft entirely. Chiyo breathed thoughtlessly through an open mouth until a dry-faced gaze darkened her cheeks.
"What?"
"What?" She repeated, like a kid gumming contraband candy. His rising eyebrow did nothing to unthaw her defensiveness.
"You're thinking about something."
"Aren't we all?" She asked airily.
"No. Not like you." Aizawa took a deep sniff for emphasis. "Like overcooked eggs. Or the stove, when you forget to see if the pilot light lit-"
"I did that once, okay? Once." Chiyo streamed air through her too-long bangs. His fingers twitched, wanting to brush them aside himself.
She looked back to their target. Azakuku continued to mass-dump emails into the trash. "I was just wondering what we would've spent the summer doing if..."
If we hadn't disassembled like a cheap Happy Meal toy? If I hadn't let fear drive you away or doubt what we have? Had?
Chiyo caught his shift, like a crocodile noting a change in a current. The hand running through his hair only made her that more suspicious.
"I had a plan," He relented carefully. "A not-entirely-legal plan."
Her face opened, intrigued.
There were a dozen reasons why Chiyo Tsutomi might've really left; he'd chosen the most likely one, the one he knew, without a doubt, he could assist with.
Even if it threw everything on the line.
"I have connections- not all are particularly savory- and tried to web together the movements of the League of Villains."
This was, apparently, the last thing she'd expected him to say.
"I knew you were worried about the media connecting you to Shigaraki, but I thought you were perhaps more concerned over his well-being. His ties to you, as a- Anyway. I was tracing their movements when a report of three drug busts in the span of a weekend caught my attention, each take-down with near-flawless precision. Most without even a scratch or bruise. So I followed the stories all the way to Hokkaido."
He'd be lying if he didn't admit to missing the old Chiyo- the one who wore her thoughts like face paint, obvious to all onlookers. Now it wasn't so easy; the gears worked underneath her skin rather than above, processing information and emotion in unseen mixtures.
"You thought I left...To follow Tomura?"
"I know you left for other reasons-" He went on quickly. "The spotlight, my poorly-handled reactions to your newfound fame- but I thought Tomura might be another reason. A deeper-rooted one."
"And so you planned to help me." Chiyo's words were slow, still figuring themselves out. "To locate Tomura Shigaraki." Her bottom lip disappeared. "And then what?"
"Whatever you wanted to do," He answered honestly.
At the end of the day, his love for her had outweighed the rationality of such actions; he'd chosen her.
He'd always choose her.
"Chiyo, I-"
"Shit," She cursed before abruptly jumping to her feet. He followed her slit-eyed gaze; Azakuku was no longer perusing the internet, or even in his office.
A black cat silhouette jumped from the rooftop before he could even blink, nosediving into oblivion. A gasp filled the quiet and he raced after her.
Chiyo Tsutomi was flying.
No- he looked closer, caught the distorted air she pranced across. Watery stepping stones led her to Azakuku's building, hovered in place upon her command.
An impatient hand waved in his direction; she expected him to follow.
Heart in mouth and lungs drunk on helium, he ran across the sky after her.
"Did Toro give any indication he'd leave?" Chiyo's tone was hushed. Their pathway drew back like needlework into her outfit as she peeked through a series of windows. Peach skin slowly disappeared beneath the dark veins. "Where could he be going at this hour?"
They scaled around the building, careful not to leave any trace of their whereabouts. Every few moments Chiyo would pause, face peaceful and palms smoothed flat against the brick, feeling out any presences.
"He's gone." She sounded miffed.
"We can break into his office, then. See if he left any signs of where he might be headed." He ignored the sensations fostered by her crooked grin.
"Such a little detective. Were you more of a Batman or Scooby-Doo fan, Sho-Sho?"
"Shut up."
Chiyo using a pet name- even a mocking one- made his heart beat faster than he'd prefer on a job like this. She reigned into somberness when he tested the office window.
Unlocked.
"His laptop needs a password."
"Can you pick up on the oil or moisture left on the keyboard?" There was a medium-sized safe, too, but the lock seemed intricately designed. "Figure out which keys are the most used and we'll work from there."
Chiyo watched him for a moment, clearly impressed. He didn't waste time commenting on her little faith and she quickly returned to the task.
"B, S, H, E, T, O. Shetob? Tosheb?"
"The Boss," Aizawa sighed. Chiyo couldn't figure whether the sound came from exasperation at her or the pompous password. Either way, he was right.
Chiyo bambled through emails, social media, even the shopping site Azakuku skimmed earlier.
"Why would he be looking at foreign candy?" She questioned aloud. Aizawa moved to look over her shoulder.
"Moving product through a false company, perhaps?"
"Maybe he's filling the candy with drugs," An inflection of excitement made her sound less femme fatale and more fangirl-conspiracist. "Jawbreakers filled with cocaine. Tootsie Pops with heroin gum-"
"Maybe he just likes foreign candy,"
Though the idea of peanut butter with chocolate sounded pretty terrible in his own humble opinion. Chiyo's shoulders slumped at the pin through her paper-winged ideas.
"Hang on," His hand fell over hers, one finger tracing across the touch pad.
The email Azakuku had started, erased, restarted, and trashed.
Meet me at the docks where the seagulls scream loudest.
"In between bone-snapping punches and hypersonic torture, Sakamata- Gang Orca- used to pepper in facts about marine life." Chiyo thrummed her fingers against the laptop. Aizawa's rode as if on a wave, still laced between hers. "Seagulls screech to ward off other adults looking to gobble up their barely-feathered young, or when said babies are learning to fly. Is there a particular area where the seagulls roost most?"
Her answer- though dabbling in cannibalism- was a lot sunnier than the answer Aizawa suspected to be true.
Chiyo felt him stiffen from behind. She turned. Her breath warmed his face, closer than either expected.
But she didn't pull away.
"There's a...He calls himself a medicine man, but his storefront is a barely-guised animal parts shop," Aizawa said. "Superstitious, archaic remedies, often including ingredients not found legally in stores. Because there are taboos and customs around these sorts of medicines, they're rarely investigated by the police-"
"You think that's where Azakuku's meeting with...whoever?" She sounded as repulsed as he should've felt, but each word lightly moved her lips against his cheek, culling his attention like a devious siren. She seemed oblivious to this; a state Aizawa hoped to maintain as he kept his expression neutral.
"Yes."
"What would a medicine man want with a seagull?"
"They have strong stomachs, living off garbage and the like. Might think they alleviate indigestion or some other nonsense. People used to drink partridge blood because they thought it cured bloodshot eyes."
Chiyo looked oddly guilty all of a sudden.
"What?"
"Hold still and close your eyes."
"Why?"
"It'll be less disturbing with your eyes closed."
Aizawa fell motionless but remained vigilant; he hadn't forgotten the last time she'd taken him by surprise only a few nights ago. Chiyo turned fully between his half-embrace, sigh mingled with exasperation and maybe a hint of embarrassment before she lifted her hands towards his temple. Cool-tempered water sprouted from a vein in her suit and curled around each of her thumbs, trickling like mercury across his skin, swimming into his eyes. The sensation of sudden ice, like staring at a screen too long without blinking, overtook his vision.
He reached out in a loss of balance and found her waist, a heartbeat jumped into his chest, familiar and surprisingly lively.
When he opened his eyes again everything seemed brighter, more in focus; a caffeine rush without the shaking side effects.
"Thanks," He said, and meant it. She gave a wordless nod.
A feather couldn't glide between their bodies with such closeness. His blood beat steady, quietly back against the other pulse caught in his rib cage, abiding by her Eraser Head and Chiyonex game, despite the emotion currently dissolving his senses.
"The place is called Yakuyo Ibutsu. We'll follow Azakuku, foil his plans, and maybe save a few animals while we're there. Ready?"
"Seagulls instead of damsels? How will your reputation survive?"
"There will be more impressive victims to save: a team of seahorses, maybe even a turtle." He offered a slight smirk. "I suspect my reputation will only be enhanced by tonight's experience. So. Shall we get to it?"
"Eraser Head," Chiyo whistled, grin like a cat catching wind of a field mouse. She leaned against him, chin tilting to keep her slyness in place. "That just might be the most romantic date proposal I've ever been offered."
"Sorry, but it wasn't a date offer."
Her smile slipped around the edges. He leaned in, face angled to align with hers, eyes fixated on her moon-filled ones. "I'm seeing someone, and I'm already skating on thin ice as it is."
"Oh yeah?"
Damn Gang Orca and his too-sufficient training; her features gave nothing away. She could just as likely be thinking about kissing him as drowning him in her own personal river.
"What put you on the ice?"
Fear. "Ignorance."
"I see," She glanced at his mouth before cutting him again with that unreadable look. Every shift she made pressed her a little closer against him, one hand still caught on the curve of her waist, veins of water brushing benignly against his skin. One side of her mouth ticked up when a quickened pulse bounced against her radar. "Maybe this should be a date then, Eraser Breath. Jealousy often puts things in perspective."
The memory of the last time she'd purred up against him like this highlighted like a neon warning sign, along with the memory of the starburst pain that came right after.
Who was the cat, and who was the mouse?
"Sorry Chiyonex, but commingling's still off the table. I'm in love with someone else."
It took a moment to realize what happened, air escaping his lungs like convicts during a jailbreak.
Chiyo stood three healthy feet away, palm extended from the push and face blushed in starlight. She jolted at his expression.
"W-We should get going; he's already so far ahead of us. Do you know the way to this Yakuy Ibutsu?"
"Yeah," Aizawa rubbed his chest, still surprised. "Chiyo- You know I meant you, right? I thought we were just-"
But the hero of few words wasted these on an empty room; Chiyo had already fled through a window.
This time, no watery stepping stones waited for him.
He thinks I left because of Tomura.
Granted, it wasn't the worst conclusion; at least he didn't believe I left just because of a wounded ego.
He's been investigating Tomura's whereabouts all on his own.
We'd been given clear instructions- by the police, Tsukauchi, that bastard Gran Torino- not to meddle or pursue, regardless of the new intel concerning the leader's lineage. I knew letting Tomura continue to walk this path ate away at Toshinori like an infection. More than knew, actually- he was the other side of my coin of fate, the dualistic darkness of my soul's taijitu. Of course I wanted to save him.
But with everything going on- the sudden fame, the absence of comfort from those I cared for most, the realization of my body's inabilities- chasing after the murderous league had fallen in the leeway in terms of priority
And that in itself filled the pit of my stomach with worms, writhing and filled with guilt.
But I can't take on everything at once.
"Chiyo,"
He'd caught up with me at last. I squatted like a stone gargoyle, watching our little drug lord meander down a sidewalk like the emperor of Japan. Pompous bastard.
"Chiyo, I didn't mean to-"
"You shouldn't call me by my name. We're on a mission," Plus the intimacy of hearing my name from his low, soft voice was enough to set my nerves on vibrate.
Ever since this morning I'd felt like a set trap; with the slightest pressure I'd surely burst open, explode all my tender contents about meeting mother and gushing emotions and how startling and electrifying it had been to hear him say he still loved me.
He still loves me.
"Your hero name literally has Chiyo in it," He was complaining. "I could pronounce it differently, but that sounds so tiresome-"
"Look!"
A musty-looking old man had hobbled out of the shop and currently eyed our target. After a few moments of assessing his validity, the old man gestured around the building. We walked the skyline, angled around to an adjacent building just as the two stepped out of the shop's back door and moved towards a garage. The large mouth yawned open to reveal a haphazard line of five men, each more surprising than the last.
"A new crew?" I mumbled. Eraser nodded from my periphery.
But why these people?
Three of them looked the usual type: wiry with a caginess about them, clothes either baggy or ripped at the hems to give a frayed attempt at punkness. Only one had an outwardly apparent quirk, with a severe beak for a mouth and elongated, talon-like fingers. I was warmly reminded of Tokoyami, though my somber student probably held more of a fear factor than this grinning dirt bag.
One man, hanging in the back, was a walking slab of meat. He swaggered up when Azakuku approached. The Boss looked like a teacup yorkie compared to the olive-toned mass of muscle who probably picked his teeth clean with a dinner knife.
All of these players made sense, fit in with the scenery.
One man, however, looked like he'd simply got off at the wrong bus stop.
Round on all edges with a receding hairline he tried to hide with an unfashionable comb-over, the man skirting the group continued to shift from foot to foot, eyes magnified by oval-shaped glasses. His white dress shirt was crumpled, tie long past respectable, and scuffed shoes stuck out of tattered pant legs, as if he'd struggled through a few puddles and gravel to get here, maybe against his will.
Every team had been male exclusive; not a totally strange dynamic, but still noteworthy. Nearly the same twenty-to-thirty age range with grungy edges. So what's with this guy?
"Can you hear them?"
"No."
If only Erasure let him know what the quirks he was erasing were. "Okay, so a few updates on my quirk-" I rested one hand between us, flipped my wrist to show off the spider-veins of fluid coursing above my skin. "You probably haven't noticed in the low-light, but we've re-calibrated the suit. The water has a reddish tint, see? By mixing in my own blood, I have better control over it. The higher the concentration, the more powerful it is. Just like drinking."
He gave me a narrowed stare. I breathed a quiet huff.
"There are high levels of blood on my fingers, major arteries, anywhere I would need the most protection, power, or speed. We- Sakamata's agency and I- have also come to realize I'm much more powerful if the water is touching me; through the connection, I can slow a target's heart to comatose-"
"So by letting out your veins, you can tie a heart line directly to whoever it touches."
I nodded. "Right."
"Is that your plan for tonight?"
"We need them in the best shape possible. They don't look overtaken by drugs yet," Though, truth be told, I could practically hear their erratic circulatory systems from here, invigorated by something. They'd already had a taste of Cure at the very least.
Azakuku seemed to be winding down in his speech.
"We wait for Azakuku to leave. You follow him- I'll take care of these pukes."
"No way."
Aizawa's dead-eyed stare didn't waver at my shark-tooth grimace. Didn't waver, just like his mother's. I stopped the thought in its tracks- we were in the middle of a bust. I feigned breeziness.
"Care to explain why not?"
"There's five of them; you just said yourself how they're not low-graded by drugs like the others-"
"So you think I can't handle them."
His hesitation was answer enough.
Hot-tempered annoyance cooled with a new plan.
I leaned in close, close enough to breathe against the softest part of his neck, see the hummingbird wingbeat in his throat. I shifted his scarf for better access and his entire body froze like I'd doused him in liquid nitrogen.
"You'd be surprised at the shit I can handle," I whispered against his skin.
I edged back; he tried to follow, only to find the task impossible.
I'd frozen his tapered scarf endings to the concrete.
"Another update on my quirk," I tossed over my shoulder with a feline smile. "It's all elementary; atoms, men- all it takes is a little practice."
I felt like a lioness stalking into a flock of unsuspecting sheep.
That was my first mistake of the night.
A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows! I excitedly check my email for notifications a dozen times a day like an obsessive nutter! I get my second dose of the Covid vaccine tomorrow; please wish me luck and send good vibes!