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Monday Meows

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Every morning, Monday through Saturday, twenty-seven-year-old Aizawa Shota's life followed the exact same series of events.

At 5:30 a.m., the morning alarm set on his phone would ring. He would lift his dreary eyelids to greet the still-dark morning with an utter lack of enthusiasm, then immediately rise, grabbing his phone as he did so to silence it; subtle "Sea Breeze" ringtone, because he hated that obnoxious typical beeping and had no need for disdain to drive him out of bed every morning. And by bed, he meant sleeping bag, of course, uncurling out of the yellow cocoon on the bare floor and stretching his arms with a yawn.

With dry morning eyes squinted half-way, he would feel around for the little bottle of eye drops always kept nearby. One drop dripped into each eye and lightly rubbed in, then he was up and shambling to the bathroom. Toilet if needed, then a cold splash of water on his face to fully rise to consciousness and a quick brush to detangle his hair concluded any attention he paid to his appearance with the bathroom mirror paid hardly any mind.

Exiting the bathroom, he slinked dispassionately into his hero clothes of the day. These were practically indistinguishable from his casual wear: invariably all-black and ragged around the edges from countless years of use with no logical motivation to replace them. All that was left to do was prepare his breakfast as he shifted to the kitchenette. Same as the rest, breakfast was a most-practical affair.

Cooking was a great waste of time in an age when ready-meals could be acquired with utmost convenience. Consistent, nutritionally complete, and quick—meal replacements suited his needs perfectly. He shook up the powdered diet and divided it evenly into four parts every morning. Collapsible and reusable drink pouches were light-weight and space-efficient, and could simply be rolled up when emptied of their contents; perfect for fitting into the pockets of his sleeping bag and creating the minimum amount of waste. He filled three of them and stashed them in his work sleeping bag while the remaining fourth he drank directly out of the bottle for breakfast while idly flicking through the morning hero news on his phone. It took scarcely a few minutes to finish and rinse out the bottle, brush his teeth, and then he was grabbing his work sleeping bag, slipping on his boots, and heading out the door for a brief walk to his destination.

Arriving at the train station, he would immediately proceed to his preferred bench and slip into his sleeping bag until the train arrived at 6:05 a.m., and then sleep all the way to the U.A. High School stop. While other people were hitting their illogical snooze buttons before they even got ready, he saved himself a stress-free snooze buffer at the end. It was streamlined. Precise. Logical. It wasn't exciting, but with a job like his, the last thing he cared for was a haphazard morning routine.

And it wasn't that he needed to take such an early train that spurred him to rise at such an hour. He didn't really need to clock-in at U.A. until 8:15 a.m.; he arrived at his desk by 6:40 am. But that would mean his commute would overlap with the morning rush-hour, and if there was anything he hated about mornings, it was sitting on a crowded train surrounded by people. The early-hour train and the location that he chose to call home insured that the train was sparse, quiet, and reasonably comfortable. Plus, he either got to sleep or front-load classwork for the day ahead before anyone else got there, which was ideal because Vlad loved to fight with him over the whiteboard for planning—irrationally competitive.

And that morning as he got to the station was no different. He tucked into his sleeping bag and sat down in the same spot on the same bench that he always did, casting a glazed glanced around the outdoor covered station which confirmed that, once again, there was nothing exciting here. Just the same small, early-morning crowd that there always was, faces that he could identify as regular fellow commuters but not by name, nor did he care to learn that information. One of the benefits of living in a less populated area was, of course, less people. Up came the zipper to his chin and he closed his eyes, settling back in his seat for a light doze.

The minutes ticked by uneventfully and quietly just as they always did. It was so ingrained that he could almost feel the exact minute the train would come; could open his eyes just seconds before he heard it to check the clock at the station and confirm it without wasting a single moment of shut-eye.

But that didn't happen today. Because this Monday morning was about to mix things up. Just a little. A tiny bit. Enough to make him open his eyes (which was, frankly, remarkable).

Aizawa heard footsteps. No, this wasn't remarkable, so he kept his eyes closed for that. His ears couldn't close, though. They were hurried footsteps, coming closer and closer until they passed him by, right in front of him, close enough to hear the runner's panting. He didn't open his eyes. Didn't care. But scarcely a moment after the runner passed by, something did catch his attention. A scent.

It smelled amazing. Pleasant, sweet, and inviting; like baking desserts, vanilla, or fruit. Or all of those generically wonderful scents in one, so to speak. But not them. Something better. Primal. Triggering something instinctual. It gave him a jolt. His eyes were open before the conscious thought to open them registered, staring straight across the train tracks. The runner, said his logical brain, ears still detecting the tap-tap of receding shoes. His eyes snapped to the right, following the sound.

The runner was a woman. She slowed to a stop as she reached her destination and turned to face the tracks, looking around as if getting her bearings while catching her breath. When she caught sight of the time listed at the station her face flooded with an expression of relief. 6:04 am. She had just barely made it.

Aizawa eyed her, an unusually intense compulsion driving him to do so brought on by the scent in his nostrils. Dark gray fleece jacket and matching scrub pants—medical field, maybe? —, a dark blue scarf, black shoes, and a slim and practical black purse. She certainly wasn't trying to impress anybody with that drab get up. But it didn't deter him. She looked slim and attractive and there was just something so interesting, so alluring about her that made him want to get up and—

He took another breath and smelled the train station. Aizawa blinked. The feeling was gone. She was just some woman he was staring at. As if sensing his scrutiny, her face shifted his way. Eyes coal-black met eyes pure blue. Then he looked away. Staring was creepy. He was not creepy.

She scanned his pale, disheveled face, unkempt hair, and sleeping bag then looked away too, appearing a little worried as she quickly pulled up the scarf to cover her mouth and trap her elevated breathing.

Aizawa stared straight across the tracks without looking at her again, but he had gotten a good look at her face from that brief moment of eye contact. He didn't recognize her as part of the normal early-hour commute group. Vivid blue eyes behind silver, half-rimmed glasses, fair skin, fine features, and a dark blue bandana-style headband covering most of her hair, save for the top of her neat bun from which he could tell that it was dark purple. She was pretty. Any man would notice that. But as for that magnetic intensity that had made him look, at the moment when their eyes met, Aizawa had felt... nothing. Absolutely nothing. Whatever it was about her that had commanded his attention had gone with her scent.

And about that scent; what was it? He thought about it for a few moments, sorting through a few possible solutions based on her proximity to him when passing by and the intensity of the scent. His mind settled on the most logical conclusion.

Perfume.

Some fantastic perfume.

Hm. A scent like that would have made Midnight weep. He closed his eyes again, satisfied with that conclusion and his assessment of her. And then promptly opened them again, because he heard the train coming. Dang. That cost him a minute of shut-eye. He stepped out of his sleeping bag and tucked it under his arm. He didn't look back at the woman, neither while boarding nor after. The moment of disruption to his predictable morning had passed, so he tucked back into his sleeping bag and closed his eyes.

And thus, just like that, like every other woman encountered in his life, this brief but stirring encounter prompted him to do… nothing. Absolutely nothing. What did you expect? This was Aizawa Shota, a man of logic, and if there ever was anything illogical it was the tedious efforts of maintaining an unnecessarily complicated romantic relationship. Besides, he worked with Midnight for heaven's sake. It took more than a bit of fancy perfume to rouse him to action when his dedicated refusal to acknowledge such things possessed such a high level of tolerance.

So, he did nothing, and as for the woman, she did nothing, and they both carried on in their ways of nothingness without any acknowledgment of the other. He filed her away mentally as 'woman who wears gray and smells nice at train station' and she filed him away as 'disheveled guy in sleeping bag at train station; possibly homeless'.

And when she appeared again at the station the next morning, this time a fair bit earlier, this mutual nothingness persisted. As Tuesday went and Wednesday came, Thursday, and then Friday, it became apparent from her presence each morning that she was going to be a new regular occurrence; though only Monday through Friday it would seem, for on that Saturday she was not seen. And thus, she entered the ranks of the nameless faces in Aizawa's early-morning commute, no more interesting than the rest. That perfume that had struck him so strongly didn't get the chance to strike again for she did not pass near him again, always picking a place to stand some distance to the left of his chosen bench to stand.

It was winter when they first encountered each other and would not be for several months more before anything changed. Indeed, the two of them remained impressively consistent each noticed of the other with distant acknowledgment. Even as winter passed and settled into spring, she never parted from her scrubs, muted colors, and long-sleeved jackets, often with an accompanying scarf. Oh, and hats. Her hair was always pulled back and covered with some manner of headwear—headband, headscarf, knit caps, the woman sure loved her hats. He made an edit to his mental file of her: 'apparently always cold' and 'likes hats'.

And as for her, his yellow sleeping bag stood out like a familiar beacon every morning in the drab monochrome of the station. It was puffy and always covered him completely aside from his face and some shaggy black hair. She thought it made him look like a caterpillar. And when he shed it, out popped a black as night… well, not butterfly. Maybe a stick insect. Or a spider, with that ragged-looking gray scarf encircling his neck like swirls of spider silk… She wasn't sure where the analogy was running to in her head. But his regular presence did settle her mind on one thing: 'consistent schedule: work? Maybe not a bum'.

The two of them could have continued on like this forever, two ships ever passing in the night, had it not been for one fateful Monday morning at the beginning of summer when he finally took notice of her. Well, not her. What she was carrying.

"Meow."

Meow. A tiny meow. Perhaps… a tiny cat? He opened his eyes. If there was anything, anything at all that was going to catch the attention of Aizawa Shota without effort, it was going to be a cat.

His eyes searched and found 'woman wearing gray' carrying a mesh-sided red cat carrier. Well now, that was a deviation from the norm. Interesting. He kept watching her.

She went to stand at the same place that she always did some distance to his left.

"Mew… mew, mew. Meow!"

It… sounded like more than one? Very interesting. He kept watching, eyes shifting from her and gluing to the cat carrier. No, a pleasant-smelling woman couldn't hold his attention, but cats, especially multiples and possibly in the diminutive form, could.

His eyes were pinned on the mesh sides of the cat carrier, straining to see in, but there wasn't enough light or clarity to make out anything cat. Disappointing. His eyes lingered for a while before they drifted away and closed in resignation. No point in looking for what you can't see. They stayed closed until the train came, but always there was a little "mew" playing in his ears, taunting him. He gave a few furtive glances her way as they boarded, but no luck.

"Mew."

They didn't let him forget them on the whole way to his stop even with his eyes closed. When he got up to exit the train, he had a decision to make. There was the door closest to him or the door on the other side of her. The first was, objectively speaking, the most logical. But, based on personal interest, the second door was also logical, because it meant passing by the cat carrier, and that could allow him a glance to satiate his interest. He deliberated for a moment, then resolutely stepped to the left for the closest door. He wasn't that desperate to look at her cats.

Sure, this whole issue could have been avoided if he had simply asked her to look at them, but that would have required social interaction and that was too much effort. Besides, there were always more cats. He could look up pictures of cats on his phone right now if he wanted. He didn't have to look at her cats.

"Meow!"

…No matter how much they made him want to look.

So, his Monday morning passed without any sighting of the cats in the carrier and the day proceeded. Life went on as usual, and by the time he came home on the same train that night they were nothing but a faint memory. He never did see 'woman in gray' on his evening train, and whether she took a train earlier or later than him he neither knew nor could be bothered to care. But then Tuesday came.

"Mew."

The carrier was back again. He peered furtively at her from the corner of his eye as she came up to her usual standing spot. Cats again? That seemed a bit unusual. Didn't people usually just bring them one day for a vet checkup or whatever? It was mildly intriguing, but not enough to make him ask. That was her business, not his. Tuesday came and went without a sighting of the cats.

"Mew!"

Wednesday, to his mild surprise, it was the cats who were waiting for him. 'Woman in gray' didn't often beat him to the train station, but it looked like she was getting an early morning start. Not that he cared about her. He eyed only the carrier as he walked by behind her at a cautionary, non-space-intruding distance to get to his seat. There wasn't any obvious big cat from what he could tell—which wasn't much, low early-morning lighting and mesh getting in his way—so that at least confirmed for him that it was kittens. The only thing better than a regular cat.

When it came time to decide between exiting the train to the left or the right, the confirmation of kittens was enough to make him cave and take the right for the first time. But he couldn't just stop and stare (too creepy), so he passed by a little slower than normal with a furtive, sidelong look, head turned only a little as he passed by the carrier. It just looked dark in there through the dark mesh, as if she had a dark blanket down under dark kittens. Everything to thwart his attempt. He moved on with yet another day passing without a kitten sighting.

By this point, a reasonable person might surely be thinking: how ridiculous! Just ask her about the kittens, Aizawa! And certainly, if he were not so anti-social and more like a normal person, perhaps he might have commented on them. But opening the door to discussion opened the possibility that she would keep wanting to talk to him. Aizawa liked his space. He didn't care much for people in his space. His mornings were simple and streamlined and 'his' time, and he didn't want that to change. She might be quite ridiculous for all he knew, and then he'd be stuck with her annoying him every morning. He didn't want that. So, he didn't ask.

But fortunately for this story, Thursday decided to force his hand.

"Meow."

Another morning of kittens and a new deviation; sitting on the end of the same bench he was sitting on. The closest she had been to him since that first encounter. His eyes lifted and his head turned a little, looking over at the cat carrier with a sidelong stare. She was just about a meter away now with the carrier in her lap, looking down through the mesh top with a smile. Maybe he could see them, too. But no, her arms were curled around the carrier's sides, obscuring his view.

He caught a glimpse of what might have been a tiny head, but then her arms curled further, surrounding the carrier as she hunched down. It made his attention flick to her, and thus he realized that she looked rather tired upon actual first inspection. She looked like she wanted to use the carrier as a make-shift pillow, but not fully, keeping her head hung low and looking in at the feline contents as her eyelids drooped. He looked back at the carrier, but as it was clear he would not catch a glimpse of anything cat, he lost interest, straightening his head and closing his eyes again.

"Mew… mew, mew." Once again, they didn't quite let him forget about them, though. "Mew."

They lingered in his awareness as the sound of the train eventually approached, prompting him to open his eyes. He glanced over at them. She looked like she had given up and fallen asleep, her head resting on the carrier and her body curled around it like some sort of nesting bird. He figured she'd wake up at the sound of the train, so he paid her no mind and got out of his sleeping bag, folding it over his arm and standing ready for the doors.

"Meow."

The train stopped. The doors opened.

"Meow!"

He paused, figuring he'd spare the unseen kittens one more glance with the hope of catching sight of them now that her arms were out of the way. But upon looking back he discovered this would not be the case, for she was still exactly as his last glance had left her; asleep. The doors were open, but he didn't budge.

"Mew."

It wasn't his business if someone missed their train, especially not a stranger. Well, sure, it wasn't very heroic to let them miss it, but he wasn't on the clock. And it would be a hassle to turn back.

"Mew… meow."

But if not doing it meant that helpless kittens didn't get to where they needed to go—well now, that was just criminal.

"Hm." He grumbled and turned back, walking over to the bench and stopping in front of her. "Hey…" She didn't even twitch. He looked unamused, but tried again anyway, louder. "Hey."

She finally twitched, eyelids flittering as her head lolled up. Her eyes came into focus on what was in the space in front of her—pants, belt, black shirt, masculine build—and that seemed to snap her awake fully. She jolted up with her eyes wide, startled to find him standing there, and looked up at his face. He looked down at her blandly with his sleeping bag slung under his left arm. He lifted his right hand and thumbed it over his shoulder.

"The train is here. You take this one, right?"

She didn't respond, sleepy eyes set on him blurrily for a moment then flicking passed him to the train. Her brain clicked, and she shot up. "Oh!"

She dashed as fast as one could while carefully holding a cat carrier, passing by Aizawa's right shoulder with an exasperated huff at herself. It was only a brief moment, but as she did so she brought that scent with her, brushing his senses with the same electric jolt as before, many months ago now. He tensed, face turning sharply to follow her with his eyes locked on as she moved past.

That primal aroma washing over his senses and pulling at his legs; follow her, it said, follow after her—And then she was on the train and out of his sight. He blinked, snapping out of it. His right hand was still lifted in the 'thumbed' positioned over his shoulder, and realizing this he quickly turned and moved back to the train, shaking his head a little as he shoved the hand into his pocket. Man, what the heck was in that perfume?

He boarded and looked around, finding her immediately. Maybe he expected that same electric feeling, but no. She was just… 'woman wearing gray' again… 'with cats'. How illogical. A little perplexed, he walked her way cautiously. He didn't go to sit by her, instead choosing a seat two down from her and facing her; a respectable distance on the sparsely populated train. He unfolded his sleeping bag and hunkered back down into it, sending furtive glances her way. She was looking down into the cat carrier again, though this time with her lips pursed as though with determination to not fall asleep again, and she kept her back straight to uphold that aim.

After a while of casting subtle glances her way he grew bored with the unexciting endeavor, and with a quiet exhale through his nose he closed his eyes. They were closed for quite some time before he was roused by something unexpected.

"Um… hey? Sir, in the sleeping bag?"

Well, that could only be addressing so many people. Timidly spoken, and by a woman. He cracked his eyes open and peered over, finding 'woman in gray' looking over at him sheepishly from across the way. Seeing she had his attention, she continued.

"I didn't thank you earlier… So, thanks!" She sent him a sweet smile.

Faint surprise passed through his eyes, not really expecting any thanks, then he was back to neutral. "Oh. Sure." They looked at each other for a moment in silence, expressions held, then looked away mutually.

And that was the end of it. They didn't speak nor look at each other again until the train came to Aizawa's stop. He got up and started walking. To get to the nearest door he had to walk past her, and as he did, he slowed. She had tilted her head back to lean it on the seat and closed her eyes; hopefully just resting and not sleeping this time, because two good deeds in one morning was just really pushing his altruism quota. He peered over at the cat carrier one last time, hoping his height would give him some vantage point this time.

"Mew."

Her arms were wrapped around it loosely, but not fully obscuring it this time. He could somewhat make them out, but dark mesh on dark cats on dark blankets still wasn't doing his eyes any favors. He was about to move along when her arms suddenly pulled back. He looked up quickly and their eyes met, though she was smiling and didn't seem bothered by him looking. She lifted the cat carrier in silent invitation. Aizawa looked a little embarrassed about getting caught looking and his eyes flicked to the train door as if he was considering retreating from the interpersonal exchange, but the allure of kittens won out and he leaned in for a closer look.

Oh? He looked a little surprised. Three very tiny, dark little kittens, eyes still closed and ears just small folds. He could have balanced two of them on one hand, maybe even all three if he was careful. "They're really young."

"About a week," she confirmed.

"Huh…" He pulled away, straightening. "Well, good luck." He turned to leave the train.

"Thanks." She smiled, watching his back go. "Have a good day."

For a moment he thought to do nothing as usual, but then a little spark of good humor prodded him to lift his hand in a lazy wave of acknowledgment, walking off the train without looking back.

Yeah, it would be a good day; now that he had finally started it with cats.

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This is a long-term story project that I am committed to finishing, so to all of you wonderful readers who made it this far, thank you and enjoy! :)