Regardless of Naruhata's business district being quieted by the interstate, there were still some pretty sophisticated boutiques sprinkled through the modestly-occupied downtown, storefronts of glass memorializing glamour and appeal with mannequins displaying far more elegance than the human counterparts they attempted to allure.
I'd unnecessarily fretted over finding a dress in time for Jamon Azakuku's party- an ensemble of faceless women succeeded in drawing me into their store within moments of beginning my search. With a little luck I'd be out within the hour, outfit in tow.

That is, I would have been, had I not invited a board of critics along for the ride.

"Absolutely not," Rozu deadpanned. "You looked like a cupcake."
"A cute cupcake," Sara amended with a swift glare to her left. She turned back to me with a strained smile. "But the shape does sort of drown you in material. Maybe something a little less-"
"Cupcakey." Rozu said, then yelped when Sara pinched her.

I spun in a slow circle, checking out the atrocity currently icing my body in pink and glitter. "I dunno. I think I could make it work," I struck my best confectionary pose. Rozu threw a box of kleenex at me.

"Next!"
"Are you sure you can't come with me to the fundraiser this weekend?" I called over the dressing room door. The next dress- Rozu's choice- was a tangle of black straps and missing fabric. I could already tell this would be a no from Sara and I. "The invitation was open-ended. I don't think they'd mind a few more pretty guests!"

"I would if I could, but…" The familiar tapping of Rozu's nails on a hard surface sounded almost like Morse Code, if I concentrated hard enough. "Well, someone's coming to visit this weekend,"

"Like a sibling?"
"Like a boyfriend," Sara said with such distaste I picked it up even through the door.

A boyfriend coming to town this weekend. I swallowed the growing lump in my throat.
What a coincidence! I could say, beaming an oblivious grin. The most notorious drug lord in all of Japan is, too! What are the odds, Rozu?

My dreamy rosebud of a friend sighed upon my debut, far more comfortable with the barely-there outfit than I'd ever be.
...Aside from my subversive-submersive suit for interrogating slimeball thugs, of course.

"You look so good." Rozu gave her chair mate a few swift slaps to the arm. "Doesn't she look good, Sara?"
"So good," Sara remarked, even as her eyes took on the color of alarmed traffic cones. I completely agreed with them.

"Can't you go with me? Sara?" I whined. Her apologetic features looked genuine.
"I've got a work gig, otherwise I'd be there with you in a heartbeat."
"I snag tickets to a Night Under the Stars fundraiser at a state-of-the-art planetarium, and I can't even get my best friends to go with me."

The ruse of a fundraiser was my own brain child, born from the need of an alibi but also to form a safety net for my own hopeful heart- one I hoped Sara and Rozu would fall safely into, too.
Because something had begun to fester ever since I read the address on that tattered bit of paper, handed over by a Cure thug with a clear message: This is where the bosses are.

An address I'd visited twice a week since arriving in Naruhata; the very one I'd return to tonight.

It could be a coincidence. I prayed it was a coincidence.
But with the manner in which Cure mules were chosen, the sickness in my heart grew, until every artery choked with its poison.

I took a great, dramatic breath and fell to the floor, dead for more reasons than one. But the Midnight-worthy dress wasn't made for swooning; immediately I felt an air conditioned breeze chilling areas which seldom felt such sensations. I sat up quickly, one hand on either goose-pimpled breast, and turned an accusing eye towards the pastel wonder.

"Why would you even think this would be a good choice?"
Rozu waved off my nag like an old bitty fly.
"You want to dress like a spinster, or a winner?"

Winner of what? I thought, just before a set of crinkled charcoal eyes and a dimpled smile escaped Pandora's Box and plumed like a mirage in my mind, his gaze lowering to my body in this dress.

I stopped the frost just before it exploded all the pipes in the ceiling.

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad," Rozu griped, misreading my blush for shame.
"What kind of style do you like, Akua?" Sara asked.
"Yeah! What'd your dress look like for your senior formal? Did your school have a prom?"
"Urm," Shit, not this embarrassing tidbit again. I fiddled with a strap I'd somehow missed, now hanging like a noose beneath my arm. "Well, my school did. I just...didn't go-"

"What?"

The party of friends next to us startled. A young woman in a mermaid dress the color of a banana sent us a particularly scathing glare. Rozu gave a chagrined smile, then continued in a severe whisper; "Are you kidding me? Most schools still don't do dances here. You were lucky enough to have one and just didn't go?"
"It seemed silly- Besides, I would've needed a date, and I didn't-"
"You could've gone with friends," Rozu said.
"Or stag, like the bad butt you are," Sara agreed. We both looked at her with matching grins.
"It's ass, Sara."

Sara sniffed, rising to her feet to peruse the dresses. Her eyes floated in pink lemonade when she felt a haughty sort of embarrassment, I'd noticed. "Your colloquialisms are ridiculous."

Rozu rolled her own eyes in my direction. I swallowed a giggle before sombering, standing up and shuffling back towards the dressing room in the sinful slinky of a garment.

I'd briefly considered inviting Shota to come dress shopping instead, but every time I thought about walking out in a parade of ball gowns for him to assess, sitting patiently and offering his simple, quietly lovestruck opinions on hem lengths and hidden zippers, my stomach filled with seltzer-soaked cherries and I couldn't pin down why.

Two days had passed since our Azakuku stakeout. Two days since I'd ran- literally- into his parents, sussed out a gang of drug mules, and nearly been kissed by one Eraser-turned-Shota, whose soft mouth had reminisced about our past in the crook of my arm and tugged at my thoughts every second since. Like a kid playing tag, just out of reach, demanding constant attention.

And I would've let him, too. I think. Probably.

Definitely.

A squeal flicked the daydream out of my head right before the sky fell on my head.
Scratch that- the sudden downpour of darkness was being spilled over the dressing room door by watercolor fingernails, rather than some celestial being finally doing me in. The fingers quickly retreated just as soon as the dress was over.

"Akua. Akua, she found it."
"What?" I yelled, thrown off kilter, tangled in tulle and beading and what felt like creamy, lightweight jersey, dyed the deepest shade of blue. The black straps of Rozu's last choice were still acting like rubber bands squeezed around a tube of cookie dough across my chest. I struggled to pull the last bit of fabric off before assessing their newest selection.

"She found it. Sara found The Dress."
The reverence in Rozu's voice made it sound like a sacred relic, rather than fabric held together by everyday thread.

And as I slipped between the sheath of night and stars, I could see why.

Even the Banana girl stopped to gawk as I stepped out, vendetta forgotten.

"Oh, Akua," Rozu sighed.
I gave a slow spin, watching the liquid dark shimmer under the fluorescents.

"It is beautiful," I admitted. But Toro had given us a strict budget; if I maxed out the credit card on this singular item, Shota would be sauntering in nothing but his bare skivvies.
And as much as I'd like to see that, I sincerely doubt Toro or Shota himself would be interested.

"It's more than lovely. It was made for you." Even cool-girl Sara sounded a little in awe. I lifted an arm; the material followed, a veil of stars trailing like comets.

"It's out of my budget- way out of my budget." Would Shota have looked at me the way Rozu and Sara were now, I wondered? The thought pressed rose petals into my cheeks until I forced myself to look away.

"I'll pay for it."
I nearly tripped off the pedestal.
"Sara, I could never let you-"
"I could never let you walk out of here, after seeing you in that. Like this," Sara's blue-velvet eyes ran from the hem of the dress to my starstruck expression, hands cool on my forearms. The determination set in her features reminded me of those knights in shining armor from fairy tales, adamant to save the day for love, rather than glory. "Let me do this for you, Akua, please. I cannot imagine you in any gown more divine. It belongs on you."

"Sara," I was near speechless, surprised and embarrassed by her open admiration.
"Please."
"I- Are you sure?"
Sara nodded. I bit my lip. She slid her hands into mine and her irises shifted to a deep, depthless violet.

The naggings of no and it's too expensive began to slowly ebb away. The most formal dance I'd ever attended was over ten years ago; I hadn't even danced. And now, this time, I could be in a beautiful dress, with someone I wanted to be admired by.

Was that wrong of me? This was a mission- a dangerous one at that.
And yet my head gave one slow, careful nod. Rozu squealed in delight and, from across the room, the banana girl let out a cheer.

"Sara can show you how to do your hair, and I'll show you some make-up tricks! It's not till Saturday, right?"
"Right. Hey, can one of you help me out of this? I don't want to mess or wrinkle it up,"
"Rozu, why don't you go? I'll alert an attendant and settle the bill," Sara offered. Rozu bounced to her feet, collecting my skirts and prancing along after me like a helpful woodland creature.

Or bridesmaid, my heart sighed dreamily.
My brain threatened said heart with a thirty second spin in a microwave and she silenced quickly, sulking about in my chest.

"So, your boyfriend is coming to town?"
Rozu fiddled with the silken sash tied at the start of my spine, prodding around for the hidden zipper beneath. Her fingers jumped at the question before quickly returning to their search.
"Mhm."
"Are you excited?"
A hesitation. Then, softly; "Yes."
"Are you in love with him?"
"I like how you asked if I'm in love, rather than do I love him," Rozu's laugh graced the walls before falling softly to the floor. I held my chest as she pulled the dress free, turning to watch her face even as she hid it away.

"If you're hesitant to answer because you don't know me that well-"
Rozu pivoted, eyes like a surprised rabbit's. "Oh, Akua, no! No, that's not it at all."
"Then maybe you're hesitant because you know he's not right for you?"

She didn't answer; instead she looked to the floor with a sadness so tangible I tasted its bitter notes on my tongue.
I took hold of her arms, gently pulled her so close she had to look at me. "Rozu, if he has something over you, if you're in danger or something, you can tell me. I'll help. I can take you away from here, so far removed and protected he'll never be able to reach you."

A soft chuckle tumbled out before she sealed her lips in a smile.

"If only life were that black and white."
"Rozu? Akua?" Sara called. Her head poked in before abruptly exiting. "Akua, you two have been in there for nearly ten minutes. You still aren't presentable?"

"What's with her lingo anyway?" Rozu's laugh put to bed our conversation- whether I wanted so or not. "I don't think it's because she knows multiple language in that big brain of hers; I think she actually comes from a snooty background full of wealth and, like, purebred ponies,"

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't race ponies."

Rozu went bug eyed and I laughed, back in my day dress and link-armed with the duo only moments later, the festering beginning to whisper against my lungs.

"Do you know your measurements?"
"Measurements for what?"

Shota Aizawa's dumbfounded face made it clear- he wasn't faking oblivious.
I took a careful breath.

"Um. Well, do you know what pant size you typically wear?"
"Long, but not too tight. I hate when they ride up," He grunted in answer.

An attendant watched us like a sitcom, one elbow on the counter, chin in hand, animatedly engrossed in my predicament. Would the heroine make a witty comment, slap some sense into the man wholly confused by her agitation, or storm out in a fury?

She did none of the above; this was exactly what I expected.

Two days passed until I went to text Shota for a meet-up downtown, got cold feet, and texted Toro instead. I received a cold fish answer about timeliness and the abhorrence of middle men, but he must have delivered the message because here Eraserbrain and I now stood, surrounded by a hundred empty arms and legs all reaching out to be held by the confused man before me. If we were attending Amon Azakuku's gala as a couple, we needed to match in formality and each play the part to the fullest.
Fashion-wise, I knew what to expect- I'd seen his closet and knew his understanding ranged from about socks before shoes to wear static-repellent clothing with a sleeping bag. The realm of tuxedo selection would be as foreign to him as algebra was to me.

What I didn't know what to expect was where we stood. Would he immediately try to pick up on our last conversation, bedroom-eyed and tender? Or would he slip back into the stoic, hard-boiled Eraser Head persona I originally asked for when we first started this co-op? A school of fish swam laps in my stomach half the night worrying over it.

While the man who touched my hand as if it were an extension of his own looked like Shota, he greeted me with an air of indifference, letting go as soon as he'd caught my attention. So, for now, we were simply two coworkers and nothing more.

...Which went against our cover, I realized now, and pointed out as much a block away from the suit shop I'd noticed two days earlier while shopping with Rozu and Sara. Aizawa considered this for a moment.

A flutter of moths used my ribs as an atrium when his cool fingers slid against my palm before interlacing between my own.

"This should be enough," I'd said, not wanting to strike up more of a conversation. Even now, if he spoke too softly, looked at me as he had the other night, I contained the potential of unraveling like a poorly-made suit in this cashmere-smelling store.

I still didn't know how to bring up his parents and our meeting of divinity, crafted only by the most peevish of malevolent gods. How could I? By the way, I met your mom and dad. Well, by "met your dad" I mean I ran into him, literally, and then your mom mothered me back into good health before recognizing who I really am and subtly calling me out on it. Do you want a tux in black or maroon?

"You want a measuring tape, honey?" The clerk called over. My desire to hiss was quieted by a passive-aggressive smile, trained into reality by years of dealing with line-cutters in supermarkets and the popular kids in high school. I turned to face him.
"Actually, you're probably better trained in all this than I am. Do you mind?"

He looked as if I'd truly rained on his parade, though still appeared dapper in a custom-fit suit. Do they make them dress up like that?

"Hello, I'm Tsurai Sasu. It's my sincere pleasure to serve you today," Tsurai Sasu said rather insincerely. His dark eyebrows drew together as he inspected my wary companion. "Do I...know you?"
"No," Aizawa answered. He glanced around, looking amusedly uncomfortable. "This...isn't my kind of store."

The clerk's sharp eyes cut away before he muttered under his breath, "Obviously."

Shota jolted immediately upon the man stringing one arm beneath his, failing in the attempt to loop a measuring tape around Shota's waist. The tape slingshotted halfway across the room and the two looked at each other, equally affronted.

I pleasantly settled in for the show.
Now who's enjoying the sitcom?

"He has to take your measurements to be fitted for the tux, Ito," Wow, was my voice jolly. This nearly beat Rozu confusing sugar with salt last night, chugging half a cup of coffee before promptly spewing it all over Sara. Maybe even better, considering I currently wasn't worried about using my quirk to take out any unseemly stains from furniture.

"So," The clerk- Sasu- drawled after his human dummy calmed down enough to let him near again. "What color were you thinking? Blue is fashionable this time of year, but one can't really go wrong with black," His eyes roamed over Shota's clothing- not his hero costume, but damned close and still more somber than a French chapel. He frowned. "...Well, in most cases, one can't go wrong with black."

He looked up but Shota wasn't paying attention; he was looking at me instead. Two seconds later the clerk did, too.

"Oh," I jittered, glancing around at the selection. What the hell did I care? It'd be a miracle if Shota didn't try and strap his utility belt to his suit pants. "Um, black is fine."
"Do you have a color scheme selected already? When's the date?"
Color scheme? "Um, no? I mean, my dress is basically black with, um, gold embellishments? We need his tux ready by Saturday."

"You're getting married Saturday and you don't have a color scheme chosen?" Tsurai Sasu sounded like I'd just told him I snack on fetuses for breakfast. "I should be surprised by a black dress but, well, two from the same cloth, so to speak-"

Oh. "We're- I'm not-" Oh, oh. "Th-That's not-"
"Just an evening out, no wedding," Shota said easily, assuaging my sputtering into embarrassed silence. He turned with the clerk's prompt, watching him work in the mirror. "Actually, it's being hosted by a pretty notable celebrity around here."

"You mean Azakuku?" The peppy Sasu snorted. "Celebrity is a rather kind noun to use."
"You know him?"
He sniffed. "Aza used to get all of his suits from me, each custom made and tailored to his preferences," He said. "But then she began sniffing around and suddenly Aza was nowhere to be found, traipsing throughout Japan and making frequent trips overseas at her beck and call, parading through every continent but the Arctic." Sasu shot me a glare, as if it were my entire gender's fault for this injustice. "Now he wears American."

"He's got a girl?"

The phrase sounded bizarre out of Shota's usually-so-serious mouth. My heart jump-roped with each word, repeating them like a rhyme. Knock it off. Focus, this is important.

"Mm-hm. Some prissy waif of a girl. Bitter little thing. Aza brought her here two or three months ago and she scoffed at my life's work. Scoffed. Didn't so much as smile once," Sasu scalded another glare in my direction. The injury was soothed by a crinkled gaze in the mirror, catching my eye before looking away.
I didn't want them to look away.

I pinched my thigh at such a sin. You told him now's not the time. Stick to your own demands.

"Are you sure I don't know you from somewhere?" Sasu asked around a mouthful of pins. His eyebrows still looked suspicious. "Do you work around here?"
"Afraid not," Shota said with all the suavity of a teacher used to brushing off topics, adjusting his sleeves once Sasu released him. "Azakuku's clients around here probably don't appreciate the change of style though, I'd imagine. You're a renowned tailor; it's a slight on Naruhata to not respect its talent."

Like a peacock, Sasu puffed. "Thank you. I'm glad someone around here can recognize my impeccable work," Why did he keep glaring at me? And who emphasized so many words with such incredible sass? "It doesn't matter, though- Aza works more with the Americans now than his own people. His little evening soirees under the stars used to be bi-weekly; now we're lucky to receive one every six months."

So it's an extra big deal, then.

"You. Girl," I suppose he was addressing me. "Pick out a shirt, will you?" He gave a pointed look. "Not black."
They continued to chat as I grumbled away, measurements in hand.

Americans, huh? We knew he was involved in international...trade, but I was always under the impression Azakuku hated the Western world; so much so that he'd rather surrender the profits than dabble in their societies lacking in tradition. Why would that change now?
Of course, if he was funneling drugs into their country, I suppose amicability didn't matter.

It would explain why Cure wasn't taking off more in Hokkaido, though; he was pushing it overseas.

"Oh, excellent choice!"
I tried not to look as pleased as I felt, receiving praise from a man wearing a peach suit with a velvet, floral bow tie. At least he didn't call me 'girl' again.
"Go put this on. By the time you're finished, I'll have a jacket picked out close to your size."

Ants marched up and down my arteries with all the newfound information gained from our unsuspecting tailor; sitting around for a tux didn't seem nearly as important. But sat I did, waiting as Shota disappeared into a curtained-off dressing room, nodding my surprised approval when Sasu displayed a jacket with a black satin lapel and matching pants. He handed them to me as if cradling an infant before stalking off for shoes without a word.

How did he know Shota's shoe size?

"Here," I spoke at the wall of fabric, holding the clothes just as carefully as Sasu had. "Now it's pretty obvious, but just in case- the jacket goes over the shirt-"
"Ah Akua, ye of such very little faith- What?" The dressing curtain opened to reveal a knitted brow and unsmiling lips. "This...It's blue."
"Navy, yeah," I shook my head impatiently. "Hurry up so we can discuss-"
"We agreed on black."
"Well, my dress is practically black, so maybe he thought this would work better," Seriously, who cares? "Besides, it's beautifully made. And, look-" I tapped right above the button. "The lapel, this part here? It's black, so you'll still have your security blanket- er, color. I think you'll be very handsome in it."
"Yeah?" He sounded surprised and maybe a little bit pleased. I fought off a blush with Nomu-level strength and allowed a small nod. Now's not the time. Now's not the time. Focusfocusfocus.

Shota glanced around before taking my wrist and tugging me into the stall, the thick curtain falling closed behind us. The space was intimate; my breath caught, looking up to find his face hovering so close to mine.

"What are you-"
"He's a gabbermouth; it isn't safe to speak where he can hear us," He spoke in hushed tones, attempting to put space between us in a place where none could be found, slipping into the jacket colored like a clear night. Decency made me look away when his pants came next, though it wasn't like I hadn't seen this all before. Don't look. Focus.

"That's why the drugs aren't taking off on the streets here- he's sending it overseas,"
"But why? It's not like he's ever cared about the well being of Japan's citizens before. He's the boss here, nearly untouchable. Why risk that?"
"Political reasons? Maybe to try and start a war, or something?"

Untrained hands fiddled with a bow tie to no avail. Are they really so different from ties? Had he ever worn one before?
His sigh brushed against my hair, though a glimmer of something highlighted his right cheek at my grin. When I reached up to fix his mess, he went still.

"What?"
"What?" I returned, defensive. One thin eyebrow rose, questioning the attitude, and I relented with a sigh. "If my friend's this girlfriend Sasu mentioned, it means she's in danger. He's a drug lord, now dipping into new territories- countries with big reputations and even bigger politicians, who wouldn't blink twice to take her down with Jamon-"
"Hey, hey." His hands on my elbows made my legs consider trying a jello consistency, less stable than they had been moments before. I willed strength back into them before Shota could take notice. "We won't let that happen. We'll stop Azakuku, here and now, and your friend will be taken care of."

"Taken care of?"

"Protected. Treated well," He sighed at my facetiousness. I attempted apologetic or, at the very least, sheepish, but the overall effect came out as an unattractive grimace. Every time I thought of Rozu- kind, silly, ridiculously beautiful Rozu, I couldn't bear to think of her in the clutches of someone so vile and careless as Jamon Azakuku. I couldn't- wouldn't- let harm come to her.

Shota glanced his fingers across my arm, pulled me out of my spiral with the touch. A crinkle turned him soft and my legs moved one step closer to cherry-flavored instability.

"How do you know how to do this? Tie a bow tie?"
It was an odd thing to know, I supposed. "I watch a lot of internet tutorials."
His hum vibrated against my fingers. I lost an ounce of concentration and messed up an angle, having to restart.

"You found a dress already?"
"Mhm."
"What's it look like?"

Did I tell him? Were all gowns surprises, or just the kind of the bridal variety? My stomach splashed a tidal wave of helium valentines at the thought of anything in that category. There was no stopping the flush that burnt all the way to my fingertips. What's with you? Calm down. Quit being so ridiculous.

But it wasn't even the first time the stupid subject had risen, and I was a twenty-something year old woman, who'd grown up on too many rom-coms and motherly judgment to build an inherit giggledyness at the very topic.

A hand brushed the frayed bangs from my eyes and I froze. Had he asked me another question? What was he doing? The same fingers found the curve of my cheek and my face responded, moving into his touch. With such a dark-colored suit, even my hands looked starwashed, palms smoothed flat on either lapel.

What were we doing?

But I didn't pull away, and neither did he.

"It wasn't what you said that made me-"

I looked up, surprised at the outburst. The chest beneath my hands expanded with a slow breath. Like he'd practiced saying these words in a mirror, only to find them more difficult with a living audience. He closed his eyes. "Watching you at Kamino, with All Might. It wasn't what you said, but the way you looked at him. The way I thought you looked at him. With my- With the smile I know."

"Oh."
Oh.

I'll admit, the news reel had displayed some very clever editing. After discovering the source and viewing the reel myself, I'd honestly been afraid the vultures might've realized who I was really looking at.

I hadn't thought to worry about said man not realizing it, either.

His heart beat a steady cadence, even as a surprising shift of emotion sketched his face in something unfamiliar, singed in regret and maybe even the slightest hint of shame.
"I was just afraid. Afraid of losing you to the tide and selfishly wanting to keep every part of you to myself, but mostly afraid of watching you enter a battle and not come out again. After the altercation with the League of Villains- you were so sad, and I felt so helpless."

He felt helpless? I blinked, caught between this moment and then, trying to align all our edges. Had he been suffering in that silence, too?

"I was angry- at myself for not doing more, at the irrationality of outside players guised as heroes acting like they knew what was best for you- but, more than anything, I was worried I'd failed you. And I-" His breath cut sharply, even as the rest of him seemed to wilt. "I couldn't live with it. With the feeling that I couldn't save you. From everything.
"And instead of telling you this, I closed the door in your face. Expressing these sorts of feelings- it's not exactly easy, for me." He shook his head, took my hands before I could respond. "It's no excuse. I doubted you, even after all that lecturing I gave others when they did the same. I didn't know how to keep you safe and allowed my emotions to overcome sense. It's- It's unforgivable, I know, but Chiyo, I-"

He was the light that had drawn me from the sea, but my salt and ferocity had also taken a toll, weakened his stronghold. How had I not noticed?
I took his face between my hands. His own steadied themselves against my waist, leaning into me as if having waited all this time to do exactly so.

"Shota," I said softly. "I'm not some damsel in a tower. You don't need to try and protect me from the world."
His forehead gently knocked against mine. Even bent as he was, exhausted by the weight of his pent-up confession, he still kept his full weight from bearing down, only half-collapsed over to let me hold him.

"I know," He said, voice quiet. "But I want to."
"Then you're the dragon, not the knight in shining armor."

We watched each other, a tangle of limbs in too small a space, caught in a silent, growing understanding.

"You're right," He finally relented. "I'm sorry."
"The two most beautiful phrases a woman's ever heard," I said, then kissed him.

He didn't taste of fervor but tenderness, hands moving to hold my face, caress my neck like one would a nearly-forgotten lover, returned from the bottom of the sea. He breathed my name and my heart answered, knocking against his ribs to return home.

An impatient foot tapped its presence outside. I jumped, only to have Shota pull me closer, forehead still pressed to mine.
"Just," His breath felt soft, shaky against my cheeks. "Just give me a second."

I'd been so selfish, thinking I feasted on this loneliness alone.
So I ignored the annoyed fury of blood outside the curtained door and fell into the soft blush of his, of Shota Aizawa's, until it ran like honey and matched the same gentle river of mine.

Sasu's tight-lipped smile was waiting right outside the dressing room.

"It looks wonderful, just as I expected." He scanned us with a level of judgment my own mom would be jealous over. His smug expression then grew teeth. "If you can manage to keep it clean and pressed, it may still be in good enough condition for the eventual wedding."

This man.

I turned to mutter a snarky comment to Shota only to catch the quick turn of his profile. Was he...blushing? Light-headed nerves bubbled like champagne into my lungs before I could cork the sentiment.

"Um, the length of his legs- his pant legs, they're long- longer than his legs, I mean, could you-" It was like a detonating timer was counting down the seconds until I combusted. I covered my face with both hands just to avoid the clerk's Cheshire smirk. "Can you please take in his pant legs?"

"Yes, yes," Sasu made each word three syllables too long; one for each nervous tick my arms gave. Fighting was better; at least I didn't feel like a too-full balloon about to burst when I was going around kicking pro heroes in the balls.

Several lightly-veiled insults about our clothing and a hefty sum of money later, we left Tsurai Sasu's tailor shop with a fancily-wrapped package of clothing and a rewired bridge, though what lied on the other side was uncertain.

We stood together, mostly comfortable with a shot of awkward, unsure how to proceed.

"Is this- Does this mean once the investigation is over, you'll come home?"
"I was always going to come home," I answered simply. Katsumi Ito wore his hair up, so I had the privilege of watching his whole expression when Shota shook his head just slightly, eyes drawn to my face.

"I mean will you come home. With me."

It's amazing, how we live our entire lives experiencing emotions so strong they quake us down to the marrow, and yet manage to stay upright and not melt like snow in spring's embrace at every turn.

"We're both live-in chaperones at the UA dorms. I don't think they'll let us share a room."
"Then I'll sneak through your window every night." He brushed aside the dilemma. "Besides, I've seen your room- your shower is way nicer," His lips itched to smile. My legs wobbled again like rose jello. "The students return home on weekends and holidays which means we can, too."

I didn't trust myself to form tangible, coherent sentences. Instead my head gave a little nod, and then he really was smiling, and if I didn't have full control over submersion I really would have evaporated into love-dosed water particles before being carried away by the interstate's breeze.

"It's not your fault, you know," I heard myself say. I looked to the sidewalk, at our shadows. His seemed so much longer than mine. "My abduction, or anything that happened after."
"It feels like it is, though." He said quietly.

A lesson taught at the mountain retreat focused on blame- the visceral pain and weight of it, never yielding strength no matter how much you carried.
It wasn't about fault; growth came through recognizing the uncontrollable and deciding to walk forward anyway, free of its hold.

"Again, I'm not your damsel, Shota. I'm your partner." A grin warmed me like the sun. "Though I prefer the term assassiness, or maybe Grand Master Chiyo-"

And then he kissed me.

When I finally pulled away, breathless and lips burning like a salt sugar scrub and tasting just as sweet, another surprising expression colored Shota's face.

He was nervous.

"What?" I asked, immediately suspicious. No hand went to rove through his hair; instead they hid in his pockets, weight shifting slightly from either leg.

"That clerk made this more awkward than it had to be," He muttered, and then pulled out a ring.

A fire hydrant exploded. A bicyclist swerved into a telephone pole in surprise. Two nearby kids shrieked in delight, jumping into the freed water, and Shota Aizawa slipped a ring onto my finger.

...My right hand's ring finger, carefully disguising my newest scar.

"I- Er, what?" I asked stupidly because, honestly, my brain was past its terms of agreement when trying to process this unfolding event. I didn't even look down- just felt the pressure of a heavy stone and his hand gingerly holding mine as I implored his eyes for an explanation. There was a distinct pinkness in his throat, but his face looked frustrated.

"To hide your injury. If one of the mules from the other day shows up, there's a small chance they might recognize you- Akua?"

I'd pulled away so quickly I think I might've actually injured him, joints hiccuping in surprise at the momentum. Cancerous UV light penetrated all the way to the pit of my stomach- from violent anger, surprise, or humiliation at myself, I wasn't sure.

"I- Er, thank you, for- For thinking of me. I'll be sure to style my hair differently, too, from how I wore it before. Then. Where they- How they saw it. My hair."
Poor Shota looked a mix of confused and potentially hurt, but by Cementoss's chapped ass, I could barely breathe and think at the same time. I stretched my face into a hopefully-believable smile, took a half-step back in the opposing direction. "You should go now; there's still plenty to do before the party!"

"Aren't you going to that address this evening? Shouldn't we-"

"No," I rushed to excuse him from the visit, then added three shades of red-hot embarrassment to my skin pigment. I raised one hand to wave him off, saw it on my finger, then swiftly crossed my arms into a self-inflicted straight jacket. "I mean, I can go by myself. It's- my local friends be there. I mean, they'll be there, maybe. I- How would I explain- I can go on my own. I'll call you later, okay?" I sounded like a cheery little gnome, staggering off before he had a chance to stop me.

I made it as far as the alleyway before sliding against the scratchy red brick, air like a personal offense to my lungs.

Why would you even think that?

Embarrassment and humiliation had two distinct flavors; combined they were practically acidic, coating my tongue in a lumpy, sour grit. But at what? Myself, I guess, for letting my heart vocalize the conclusion before fully hearing the question. Myself for acting in such a ridiculous manner and spooking Shota like a kid on Halloween, thinking it was just another candy-score house.

Myself, for wanting it to be something else.

You haven't even been together a full year. You aren't even together-together at the moment; you ran away, remember? Because of your sterility and all the chains you thought that brought.

Thought, past tense, I realized.

A tiny bloom sprouted in my abdomen.
Because maybe, just maybe, I really wasn't as broken as I once thought.

A Peeping Tom nearly caused me to jump into traffic.
Sasu sucked on his teeth, gave me a slow once-over. He looked like a critic assessing a plated dish, surprised at its hidden flavor. If I didn't know him for sass I'd dare say he might be feeling a little sympathy. Probably just a trick of the light. And then, in his lavish, doubtlessly expensive suit, Sasu slid down onto the concrete next to me and pulled out a cigarette.

"Men are idiots," He said in a fog of clover smoke.
I rested my head against the brick, took the cigarette when he offered.

Only it wasn't a cigarette.

Sasu watched with mild bemusement. "Who would've thought you for a-"
"I was a really stressed out teenager," I said, then coughed because this was never really my thing, rather a few fleeting experiences when I'd been brave enough to tease boys whose thing it really was. Acupuncture pressure eased into my shoulders and I sighed; such a lightweight.

"Life is stressful," Sasu agreed.

We sat, shoulder to shoulder, for longer than I expected him able to sit still, existing in the same space with minds drifting into the clouds. This month was drenched in sun; a truly perfect summer.

"Let's see it, then."
I wouldn't have giggled, but his little break-time delight loosened my lips for me. "You were watching us the whole time?"
"Afraid so."

Sasu let out a low whistle, joint hanging from the side of his mouth as he held my adorned hand between his, turning my wrist every which way to inspect the ring. I hadn't even looked at it before I'd fled like a banshee and pulled closer now, peeking over his shoulder.

"Peacock sapphire. Oval cut, with yellow gold setting. Marquise diamond embellishment." He smelled like amber and black currant, bringing my hand closer with a squint. "This...Was not cheap."

"Oh," Was all I could say, because what was there to say? Thank you? For some reason this struck me as funny, even as Sasu's face scrunched up in thought.

"I've seen this ring before."

He whipped in my direction; faster than what it probably appeared in my pleasantly fogged brain, eyes wide. I hadn't noticed the soft olive color of his eyes before; now it was all I could seem to focus on.

"He's the Aizawa boy, isn't he?"

Hardly a question- he knew he was right. I nodded.

"Ahck, I knew I knew him." He made a gesture with his nimble fingers. They were well-manicured but calloused, doubtlessly from his impeccable work with a needle. "Well, his parents. I've tailored a suit or two for his father before." Sasu laughed, intensely pleased to have unraveled the riddle. I pulled my hand back to admire the way sunlight caught in the mesmerizing shades of blue in the ring. Peacock sapphire. Like a jewel embedded in one of their fanning feathers, or born from their irises. A jeweled eye.
Sasu watched me chuckle at my own stupid thought tangent.

"Don't you want to know where I've seen this ring before?"
"Is the answer going to make me feel worse?"
Sasu bit his lip. I turned anyway, steeling myself with one long breath.
"If you say it's his mom's, I'm literally going to jump into the ocean and never come back."
"You look light enough; I'm sure you'd just float back to shore."

I laughed. Then he joined, until we were two snickering idiots sitting in an alleyway beside a noxious-smelling dumpster, in clothes too refined for the dust and alleycat residue of such a place, the gleaming ring of Sheru Aizawa sitting on my finger like an unspoken blessing.

"I'm sorry," I said after sobering, wiping a stray tear from the corner of my eye- from laughter or some supreme fragility, I wasn't sure. I shook off the self-interest, looked to Sasu like I meant it. "For Aza. I'm sorry he didn't recognize his importance in your life and squandered it."

Sasu stilled, caught in a snare and having someone finally notice the noose. Through a higher state of empathy and boldness, I placed my temple on his shoulder. He relaxed, bit by bit, until a sigh released the final tide of nerves.

"Clever girl."
I let the comment slide. He stubbed out what was left of the joint, flicked it in a perfect arc into the open dumpster.

"It's not that I was even bothered by the unrequitedness of it, you know? I could've lived with it; with him just being the ignorant, charming man he is, booming into my store and praising my work above everyone else's, spilling his tea like I was the only china cup he trusted. I loved it- I loved feeling...important. Like he didn't come for the suits or tailoring, but just to unwind around someone he didn't think he needed barbed wire around. Sometimes I think he purposefully ripped a seam or two just to have an excuse to come back," He laughed; a real, heartfelt chuckle, and my chest ached with the sound.

My mind wandered back into Toshinori's hospital room after the All for One face-off. To Gran Torino, forbidding us from pursuing Tomura.
'If you think he's anything less than a villain, no good can come of it.'

But was that true? Did a person immediately become single-faceted once they waded into criminality? Were they no longer capable or deserving of compassion? Love, even?

Looking at Sasu's profile, dusted in lavender melancholy, I wasn't so sure.

"Hey," I took his hand, ever bold today. He looked at me, to a smile soft enough not to bruise his already bruised heart.

And we spent a few more quiet minutes together, just like that.

I'd never really looked at the building I regularly entered twice a week; assessing it now, I could spot notes of its decadence, far newer than the structures on either side, the attention to landscaping, the crown molding accents. The glassed-in penthouse would surely provide a scenic terrace for Jamon Azakuku's soirees, no matter the clientele.
The hallways were abuzz with quick-footed workers darting to and from the elevators, arms full to bursting with aromatic bouquets and pillar candles as thick as my arm, crates of champagne and a thousand feet of one seemed to give much notice to the additional figure also working her way up said hallways.

Being an off-day, the only person I expected was the only one in the cavernous room, stooped slightly over what I suspected was an outline for the next infertility group meeting.

"Working on a way to keep You-Know-Who's sharing under five minutes?" I teased.
Hitomu's shaggy, straight hair, combined with his oval glasses and subtle demeanor, gave an impression of the one safe person you could always sit next to on the bus. He was gentle, kind, but not to the point of suspicion; a man who had found peace, even if you could still sense the sadness welled deep behind the glass and wire.

He jumped at my voice, then smiled.
"Ms. Tsurihito. I wasn't expecting to see you today."

I leaned against the wall perpendicular to his desk. The paint's slap-brushed style rippled against my skin, acted like built-up sediment for my trickling spindle of water to overcome.

There was no way Hitomu could be involved in Azakuku's drug syndicate, but that didn't mean I could erase him as a suspect, no matter how vile I felt doing this to him.

"You know," I angled my head to return his smile. "You've never shared your story with the group. Is there a sort of protocol against it?"

A slight increase, but that was to be expected. He closed his journal without so much as a noise of shifting paper.

"There are no rules against group leaders sharing, no. Our group is large, and with so many people needing comfort, I guess I've felt it would be selfish for me to use that time for myself."
"Isn't that what group is for, though?" I asked. "To be allowed that selfishness?"
His smile was kind- authenticated by the steady continuation in his chest. "It's difficult, when I see others who need that time more than I do."
"Why do they need it more?"
"Because I gain strength just by hearing others speak," He looked to the space where our huddle of chairs usually sat, the recently-vacuumed carpet still dented from their metal legs. Hitomu let out a quiet breath. "Knowing I'm not alone- that I may offer some sort of relief to others, even just a little- I guess that's the selfishness I covet instead."

I nearly allowed my erratic pulse to bleed into him, repulsed at myself.

"That's not selfishness," I said quietly. "I'm pretty sure that's, like, the opposite of the definition."
He laughed, and his heart gave a happy little hiccup. I let myself smile at the carpet.

"Is there something I can do for you specifically, Akua?"
Put me out of my misery. Perform an exorcism on my tainted soul. "I was just wondering if I could ask you a few questions? I've- I'm not from here originally. My hometown doesn't have a set-up like this, and I-"
"You want to start your own group when you return?" Hitomu straightened. "I'd love to help you in any way I can."

An increase by two beats- genuine, unadulterated joy at the prospect. I tried to breath out my shame.

"Yes. How long have you been a grief counselor?"
"About seven years, now. I received my degree and license in Saitama, where I began my first groups."
"When did you move here?" I asked.
"About three years ago, after my wife and I divorced."
A constricting in his pectorals and abdomen- bodily reactions to sadness. "Have you been in this building the whole time?"

"No," He said, sounding surprised by the question. My weight shifted towards the left, as if shrinking away from him. Don't be daft; Hitomu doesn't have a suspicious bone in his body. "No, I held group counseling in a repurposed storefront off Main Street. A private sponsor offered this space to me- to us."

I raised my eyebrows, smiled with surprise. "That was a very charitable thing for him to do."
"Yes, it was," He agreed. "She attended a meeting at my old residence, then spoke to me about relocating after the session. I'm very thankful for the ability to host more people," Even his lopsided smirk was docile. "The upgraded cookies and lemonade aren't bad, either."

I nearly forgot to laugh along with him. She. She. She.

"Who is she?" I could scarcely keep my own emotions in check.
"The donor wishes to remain anonymous."

She, in the meetings.

"Is she- Does she still attend meetings?"
"Yes, on occasion," Hitomu pressed a hand to his temple. Wondering, perhaps, if he'd already said too much. "She likes to attend when there's new faces to welcome; that way, she's there to speak if no one quite feels comfortable yet. I feel very fortunate to have her not only as a patron, but a volunteer leader, as well."

She, who tends the flock.

The rot had surpassed my lungs; it choked my throat with damp, frigid claws, laced itself into my arteries.

"Ms. Tsurihito?"
Us- all of us. Sharing our stories. Our lives. Our pain.

"Ms. Tsurihito, your phone- it's ringing-"
And the ones who caused that pain.

She, who captures the wolves.

Hitomu startled when the thin trail of water tying his pulse to mine snapped like leaves under December's first wrath, so thin his eyes couldn't discern what had even happened.

I looked at the phone in my hand, numb to its vibration. Her name glared across the screen.

Rozu Nishin

A/N: Tsurai translates to Spicy, and at one point Google Translate told me Sasu meant Sass. I..really love Sasu. I hope you enjoyed him, too.
If you're a little confused, fear not! At some point, Chiyo will have to come clean and share with the others (Toro, Eraser, the meddlesome Hopper brothers) what's going on in greater detail...You know, probably next chapter.
Our OTP's made up! ...Well, kind of.
But the real question remains: How did they figure out Akua's connection to Shota Aizawa?
Originally, I wanted to end this on a person 100 chapters. We'll see if I can stick to that and end up where I've envisioned.