Chapter Five

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Beneath a cliff-face.

Beyond weeds, trees, cobwebs, animal carcasses and a pond deeper than it appears, a cave welcomes Akira. Wind howls through the cool stone walls while Akira settles himself down.

Not long after dropping into a world of heroes and villains, Akira had come scouting for food. Hoping to find some death-wishing loner in the mountains and not drug users with soggy flesh.

His journey led to getting discovered by a hermit in the mountains liver, kidney, and heart mid-fox meal. The man did not scream. He blinked twice, took a breath and led him to his cave. Granted him ownership and wished to be fed upon.

"The world has no use for a quirkless nobody like myself," he had explained.

Past belongings had continued their erosion. Left just as they were that day. Metal tea pots and pans. The only belonging to have survived the weather was a peculiar stone collection Akira occasionally adds to.

He lies against his backpack, sips bottled water and waits to hear a drop.

What's beautiful about this cave is that it happened to be the landing tarmac by people searching for an easy escape.

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Three essential items are kept inside of Akira's backpack. One being cling wrap, the other compressible duffel bags that can fold and fit into a sleeve inside the backpack. These essentials help him transport body parts.

Someone might ask, But Akira! Where is the knife?

Akira is a demon. Who needs a knife?

Two bodies fall within hours of each other. One after another he drags them into his cave, undresses them, and rips them limb from limb. Licks his lips at the spray of yet-to-sleep arteries.

Allows blood to congeal and dry before wrapping them up like onigiri.

Two heads are left at the base of the mountain, buried for future discovery and identification. Akira isn't a total monster.

Rest of the body parts fills his backpack and two duffels that he promptly zips tighter than a nun's legs.

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Returning home carrying bags of body parts while an investigation on his moral-dilemma-infested meals was being conducted next door would be presenting his pretty wrists for some steel bling.

It made Akira more than a little anxious.

Locating a storing unit nearby, he doesn't quite whimper at the rental pricing but it's a damned near thing. Good thing he was his work cafe's new trophy model. If not he'd have to get a second job.

So he makes the sensible human choice and keeps his limbs in the freezer. All the while praying to Satan below, Aizawa keeps his nosey little butt out of his apartment and instant noodles.

"I am a reservoir of wishful thinking," he despairs.

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Akira doesn't need to sniff twice to recognise Tensei's scent. He does, however, have to squint up - something he never thought he'd have to do ever again - as he hands over the delivery.

"Is this your…" he tries to find the right words to use on the metallic, dithering Speed Racer vision. "...superhero get-up? It's - well, something alright."

The bag of goods drop from Tensei's hands. Hungry coworkers stare at the pro hero, not alone in their confusion.

"Fudo-kun," the silver helmet emits a calm, robotic and unbearably droll tone. Perfectly masking the man under it who wore sweater vests, thought smoking as rebellious and scattered from family-matters like the plague.

(Also his sweet-scented virgin tendencies)

Unfortunately for him and Iida-company as a whole, Akira could smell and hear the tremors of shock.

"You - " in quick, jerky motions Tensei recovers the bag of deliveries Akira had just transferred. What seemed to be motorcycle gloves were now coffee-stained and croissant crumbled. Around a dozen coffees and pastries assorted from one giant bag were now seeping into Tensei's knee-pads.

"I am terribly sorry! I…" the hamlet looks up. Smelling the blush that was hidden, Akira smiles. Coming to the realization he had missed the flustered virgin over the two days he was gone. "I didn't know you did deliveries now."

"Want help with that?"

"Ingenium-san," a coworker shuffles down and helps Tensei scoop the mess into it's plastic delivery bag. Following after him for assistance were others who had leapt from their cubicles at the sound of their lunch meeting its untimely death. "Please, you'll dirty the prototype. And we're fine," the man tells Akira. Early thirties. Stern-faced draped in a standard office suit. "Could we remake the order?"

"I'll pay," Tensei insists. Getting to his feet. Placating hand gestures at the rise of dissuasion.

"You'll have to call the cafe. I do runs not orders."

Tensei claps, declares, "I'll order and bring it here myself. Fudo-kun, I'll escort you on the way out," and doesn't leave an opening for discussion.

Akira blinks at the sturdy hand guiding him from the office floor and into an elevator. Behind, the man from before reminds Tensei about work.

"I'm taking my well-earned lunch break, Mami-san!"

"But, the prototype - the public - !"

Shut up Mami, Akira's bloodthirst shoots right between Mami's eyeballs. He manages to see the man choke on his spit and develop a nosebleed before the elevator doors shut. Grin wicked.

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Akira doesn't bother locking his bike when he discards it outside the building. He's of the opinion that a perp who decides to steal in front of a big hero company is someone who deserves the bike for sheer effort.

"Try and keep up," Akira gives a sultry grin to Tensei, gets on the bike and pedals off so fast he leaves tire marks on the pavement. Pedestrians shriek as he weaves through like a knitting needle.

Who's faster; quirk or demon?

A burst of exhaust and Akira see's Tensei dashing after in his peripheral vision. Silver helmet and gear reflecting sunshine.

Akira laughs at the cheeky wave he gets.

"Be mindful of civilians, Fudo-kun!"

"Be mindful of your reputation, Ingenium-chan~ " he grins, spotting his workplace up ahead. "First one to the cafe wins."

"F-Fudo-kun be careful!"

"Ha ha!" Akira barks out laughter and pedals harder than his bike could reasonably endure. He comes to the cafe in a cry of burnt rubber and a victorious grin. Tensei arrives a second later. Hands braced on his knees.

Akira get's the impression Tensei was gawping.

"You're fast," Tensei pants and flinches at the clap of Akira's rubber tire popping. "Super…fast."

"I have a strength quirk," Akira winks, kicking his bicycle in slight dismay. "Ah. Manager-chan is gonna pitch a fit."

Tensei takes off his helmet, flicking back wayward hair from his sweaty brow. Akira bites the inside of his cheek seeing Tensei without his glasses. Memories circling back to the night they spent together.

"That's a useful quirk to have," Tensei cocks and wipes his forehead that suddenly pinches. "Fudo-kun, you weren't wearing a helmet."

"Oh," Akira pretends to not have discarded that useless thing one day into the job, "I must have left it at your company."

"I'll return it after my rounds," Tensei promises and glances to the steaming bicycle. "I could, um, also buy you a new one?"

Akira once again squints up, trying to figure out what he meant. "Eh?" because surely not.

Flustered and cheek's red, Tensei manages to keep his face stoic enough to explain he knows a person down the road. "Reputable woman. She takes care of my brother's bike."

"You can't just buy me a new bike like some sort of sugar daddy," Akira shakes his head and glowers at some group of teenagers sneaking out the cafe openly snapping photos of Tensei. "Oi!" he growls and they glare right back. Akira rises to his full height, eyes glowing, bloodthirst broiling, "Scoot," the group scatters off with their tails in between their legs and blinking back trickles of sudden sweat.

"Su-sugar da…ddy?" Tensei was looking at Akira as long as it would take to blink five times - without doing so. His voice had pitched from it's baritone in a way Akira thought that super-suit was clenching some special areas. "I, I'm, you - "

"Cool it, puppy," Akira was starting to get worried Tensei might induce an aneurysm. "I was joking. You're not even old enough to be a sugar daddy."

"I'm twenty-three," Tensei appears to settle into familiar territory. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"Eighteen." He returns to his unblinking state. "Your family should be taking care of you."

Akira remembers his mothers bloody death from his hands - the demon, Miki's dying smile, her parents bullet-ridden bodies, Ryo slashing him in half and the world burning burning burning - and holds back socking Tensei in the jaw. If he did, he'd blow the puppy's head clean off his shoulders.

With a final, "Fuck you," he storms into the cafe. Baring canines at his manager behind the desk when she gives him another delivery. "Bike's fucking broken."

"Broken?! That's coming out of your paycheck, Akira-chan - and was that Ingenium-san you were talking with outside? You two seem close, get him to come in sometime soon mm? We can snap a picture of him visiting, oh gosh that would be a popularity boost!"

Akira sounds out her ecstatic chattering as he barges into the Staff room. There he drops to the floor beside a vending machine and leans against its cool metal.

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Twenty minutes is the length of time Akira hears Tensei pacing at the cafe's back door. Strong footsteps treading concrete, scraping it, often times he's heard the guy muttering to himself.

Akira had already forgiven the man. More out of self-regret and embarrassment than genuine sympathy.

So with a degenerate snort he leaves his shift and catches Tensei mid-pace. He had exchanged the super-suit for a civilian casual outfit. Oxford sweater and expensive jeans that hugged his legs in most sinful ways.

"I'm sorry!" Tensei bow's ninety degrees before Akira could get a word out or whistle his appreciation. "What I said was thoughtless and rude. I should not have made assumptions about another person's life without getting to know them better. With that being said, please allow me to treat you to a meal!"

Akira stares. Lips twitching. "Where are we going?"

"Eh?" Tensei bends his head back from the bow. Eyes wide behind his glasses.

"Come one pup," sauntering down the alley, Akira wiggles his fingers in gesture. "Take me somewhere fancy. I don't know about you but I could murder a steak."

Preferably human shaped but he'd settle for a cow.

"Did I miss something?" Tensei struggles to recover. Coming to join him out in the street, eyebrows doing all sorts of contortions. "You forgive me."

"Yes."

"Oh," clearly Tensei had been expecting a fight. His eyes twinkle in relief. "Super. I, um, know of a great steak place at this hotel. Typically I'd have to book a reservation but my Father is friends with the owner."

"Ooo hoo," Akira sharpens a predatory smile, "What exactly are you expecting will happen tonight, Tensei-kun?"

Confusion reads off the guy in waves - then his eyes nearly pop through his glasses, "Nothing of the sorts! I wouldn't - ever take advantage -"

The rumble of Akira's laughter, more fitting for a Cerberyus than an average human, gains some looks. The volume and conversation has Tensei flushing to the tips of his ears.

Akira slips his arm through Tensei's. The man's heart began pounding so hard Akira could nearly taste it in his mouth.

"Fudo-kun?"

"Yes?"

"We're here," he says carefully and points across the street. Big english letters spelling out 'Ceasar' hung above the glass entrance to a grand hotel.

"Steak time," Akira says and half-drags Tensei along.

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On the way in he had gotten suspicious looks from customers and waiters alike. Tensei glowers each and every one away when he thinks Akira isn't looking - and Akira hardly notices. Far too eager to try rich-quality steak.

Steak is the closest food Akira consumes that won't immediately turn into ash.

Tensei hasn't yet finished his meal by the time Akira is done.

"Your quirk must use up a lot of energy," he says. Spinning spaghetti on his fork. "What's the limitation of your strength?"

Taking a drink of water and figures he'd skim close to the truth. "I know I can catch a truck."

"Truck," Tensei's eyes go unblinking behind glasses. "That's epic."

Not strong enough to hold up a collapsed building for a little kid though.

Akira takes another sip and looks to the glass panelled wall overseeing the city, keeping a tight grip on his twitching lips. Tensei got so easily impressed.

"I could probably carry you all around your company and not break a sweat."

"What about across the city?" Tensei follows his gaze.

"That too."

"Across Osaka?"

"Probably."

"Now that," Tensei says, "Is rearing close to All Might level."

"That's - " Akira thinks. Who is super strong and deserving of his own heroic level? "The big blonde doofus?"

"...That's him," Tensei laughs after a sturdy second round of not blinking . Head cocked and eyebrows pinched he shakes his head. "You certainly grew up in rural Japan."

Akira holds down his flinch. Of course Tensei would assume that. He saw him board a train to some far off town for a 'family funeral'.

Reminding him he had to make another trip once he does the photoshoot for the cafe and gets a portable Cooler.

Would faking another family death be overdoing it? He's already stressing over keeping the bunches of lilies he got from nosy admirers alive in his sink.

"Um, Fudo-kun?"

Akira turns from the city to Tensei's nervous-filled scent.

"Is this a date?"

Akira tries to stop himself, knowing this was a bad idea wrapped into neat shit-show. Dating a hero when one is a cannibal was an exercise in suicide and idiocy even if that hero was a walking sexual fantasy. But damn Akira back to Hell, Tensei smelled of innocent hope.

Innocence Akira once had and couldn't bare to squish beneath his demonic hoof.

"Only if you want it to be," he says.

"I do," the fool Tensei is, immediately blurts. Wincing at the neighbouring stares. It was…unnervingly endearing.

I'm doomed, he thinks.

"It's just - " the guy looks about ready to bolt out of his own skin. Twirling spaghetti with one hand and tapping the table with the other. Akira could feel the vibrations on the floorboards from whatever his feet were doing. "I'm not in a position to date, you know?" he chuckles. Self-deprecatingly. "I'm living out of my duffle bag and my family is…"

The grimace, pain and despair washing off Tensei makes Akira want to prod.

"We can be friends for now," he says. An excuse not only for Tensei to get his shit together, but for Akira too.

What the fuck am I doing? internally scrubbing his hair. One date to a sushi train and he'd notice the fingers aren't katsu chicken!

"Is that ok?" Tensei calms, smile wobbly. No lumbering fella this big had the right to resemble a kicked puppy. Eyes burning brightly, he chuckles. Hand reaching over and grabbing his own. Akira stills, looking at it. "I'm glad."

"Yeah," he can't remember the last time someone held his hand other than Ryo. "Glad."

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Aizawa has his eyes narrowed.

"If you're planning to ditch Tensei like your Friday-night hookups I'll sic All Might on your ass."

"Hello to you too," Akira wasn't one foot into his apartment before his neighbor had barged past him. Not letting his nervousness show at having the leading detective of his own case barge inside show, he closes the door behind him and takes a steadying breath when Aizawa sits on the floor instead of snooping his freezer.

One peek and he would be Japans most wanted.

"Letting you know, as a friend," Aizawa's eyes narrow impossibly further. Watching Akira sit like a daddy hawk. "All Might is good friends with Tensei. Good. Friends."

"Uh huh," not good, actually. "Thanks."

Aizawa's eyes blaze. Ratty hair flaring upwards and Akira smells heat coil around him. Aizawa was using his quirk.

"I like him," he says, mopping his face with one hand. "Satan help me, I've been woo'ed."

"You've been woo'ed?" there was a frown in Aizwa's voice. "Go on."

Akira mopes. Here he was, a demon shat from one universe that had ended all because he couldn't kill the guy he loved to the next. Trying to live an incognito life. Keeping under the radar. Putting up with frost-bitten bodyparts.

Wooed by an upcoming hero who smelled like the Garden of Eden and probably thought disco music was an underrated sub-genre.

"I don't like disco music."

"Good to know," nods Aizawa, disturbed by the second. "Tensei tells me you two are going to take it slow?"

This shocks the mope out of Akira, who peeks up through his hands. "...I only just got back from the restaurant."

"He called two minutes ago," Aizawa grins wryly. Sighing, he scooches closer to pats him on the shoulder. "Sounding real chuffed and excited. Says you're a surprising gentleman."

Akira feels a cold lump sink into his stomach. "He likes me." There was no stoping this and he knew it.

"A lot," Aizawa confirms. "God help me, I don't know why."

He hisses.

"He says you're staying friends until he's ready, did you really agree to that?"

Akira nods.

Aizawa leans back on his hands, appraises him and says, "You're going to have to stop sleeping with people."

"Yeah," Akira grouses.

"And keep a steady job. Clean up your playboy act."

"...Yeah."

"God-speed."

He hisses harder and kicks Aizawa in the ribcage. Gently, of course. Couldn't have someone die in his room.

The man barks into bright laughter and rolls over to his feet.

"Hey, you got any beers besides flowery tap water?" he points to the lilly-filled sink.

Akira would have scoffed were he not paling faster than a nun watching porn. Though in slow motion, Aizawa reaches for his fridge door. He shouts, "I just remembered! I've got a photoshoot to prepare for."

"You?" Aizawa nearly pops a joint he whirls so fast. Giving Akira a grudging once-over, he says, "Alright I can see that. Who for?"

"The cafe. They want my face to be the seller. Have you," he fumbles for the right excuse to get the detective away from his body-chopped fridge. "Got any face-masks?"

Going by the look he was getting, Akira is sure Aizawa has never been asked such questions in his life.

"I want my complexion to come out dewy in the photos."

Least to say, Aizawa leaves his apartment without hazard.

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Thoughts? feelings?