DISCLAIMER: This chapter has some shifting in POV, so take the break lines as those POV transitions. Enjoy!
CHAPTER 16: SWEET'N LOW
The electric blue lights indicating the speed level on the treadmill violently went up 3 levels more. He needed to sweat whatever was crawling up his loins as quickly as possible. The weak flame that had been mildly glowing on his subconscious for the past weeks had burst and grown into a strong bonfire just as the ones witches used to set alive in the dark to chant their darkest spells, asking for the devil to grant them a favor in exchange of their seductive dances.
Shota ran out of breath and with a guttural grunt jumped off the treadmill. The sweaty cluster of slim muscles walked to the boxing area. There was no one else besides him, his aggressive puffs of air and, unfortunately for the man, his thoughts.
"What the hell Shota," he scolded himself below his breath as he bandaged his hands and got ready for a series of jabs and cross punches. He remembered himself all starstruck by the raven-haired lady sweating and panting on an elliptical machine a few moments ago. "She is your student," he separated every word with a cross punch.
The perspective of the memory changed, now to the aspiring pro hero. He remembered her glistening skin, her tender muscles barely showing on her arms as she bounced. The cadence of her body with every move. Did she always look that disarranged when she worked out? Shota was used to seeing her in class, her uniform tidy as ever, her ponytail sleek to the point of perfection; even on training, she always managed to look professional, clean, demure. But this workout session had shown a messy, wild, and unbothered side of her, and it suited her well.
Jab, jab, uppercut, jab, jab cross punch.
The small town timid peasant apparently had a dark, bewitching secret that could make the devil feral.
Jab, jab, uppercut, jab, jab cross punch.
"Fuck," he exclaimed without breath when he was interrupted by the annoying sound of a notification on his phone.
[MIC: U coming tonight?]
Shota had forgotten about tonight's gig. He angrily tapped the keyboard of his phone.
[AIZ: Not sure, I'm beat.]
He wrapped his broad neck with a towel, trying to stop the sweat running from the nape of his head.
[MIC: Tonight's important man.]
Aizawa rolled his eyes with the previous exhaustion of a social engagement. He knew how insecure Yamada could get about new material or new additions to his gigs. Everyone would always shower the artist with compliments and praises, but Shota had always been the one to tell him his honest opinion about these matters (and all other matters in fact). There was no escaping. He shook his head, trying to get the fat drops of sweat on the end of his hair off. That workout had not helped at all with his train of thought but rather had let his body fatigued. Maybe some drinks could numb his mind enough to get through the weekend.
[AIZ: Drinks are on you.]
[MIC: Fine. Dress like a decent human being. Shower. I slipped a bracelet pass under your door.]
"What?"
"I said, What can I give you, doll?"
Momo blinked a few times and awkwardly smiled. The bartender was indeed talking to her. His grey skin combined in a lovely way with the glitter he had around his temples.
"Water is fine," she answered. She might have spent a good minute with Jiro trying to change her appearance in order to 'take a break from life' and try to be someone else for the night, however, that didn't change the fact that her wallet was still the same.
"Just water?" someone implied with a judgemental tone. She turned to face a huge fellow with a boyish face. "Seems to me like you're begging for someone to buy you a drink." as bold as his statement was, Momo could tell he was nervous. He leaned over the counter. "Let blonde over here have her favorite drink, bro." Both males turned to her, waiting for the answer.
It was so weird to be called blonde. She had created a beautiful platinum blond wig for the occasion, and Jiro had lent her a pink mini dress with a slit on the right leg that revealed a little too much for her taste. They had paired up the outfit with fishnet stockings and a pair of Jiro's Doc Martens black ankle-high boots. It was so different from how she usually dressed that, in a way, it really made her feel like a totally different person, at least on the outside.
She really wished to unwind and step out of her comfort zone. Jiro had made a very good point about having fun while she still was under the radar before the pro hero reputation would hit. So, as a mental exercise, before security would check her bracelet pass, she had made up her mind to say yes to whatever the night brought her. That of course under the lines of the law and decent citizen behavior.
"Cranberry Vodka, please," Momo replied to the drink invitation. The humongous manchild took a seat beside her, introducing himself and asking her name.
"Blonde is ok," she replied. There was no way she was giving her true name to anyone tonight. They engaged in small talk, and he turned out to be quite sweet. He stayed for a while until he realized Momo wasn't about to give in that easy. She stayed there with the free drink.
She turned her stool to face the band. Mic was the lead singer, now interpreting some reggae beats. Momo could see Jiro rocking the base. The girl was surely in her element, enjoying herself to the max. The now blonde felt a mix of envy and pride.
"She is amazing," Momo mentioned to the bartender.
"Who? The chick in the base? Yeah, I think she's new." he answered as he started to shake a drink to the chill beats of the song. Momo felt her body loosen up as the red liquid disappeared from her glass. "By the way, someone sent you this." The man behind the bar served her another cranberry vodka. "I added some cherry in the mix."
Momo looked at him surprised. "Oh my! How kind of you! This is fun," She answered. The woman who had bought her the drink presented herself. She was a tall, beautiful black amazon. They chatted for a while, her name was Venus. They danced for a couple of songs. Momo could feel her stuck up self farther away in the back of her mind. It felt so good to act carelessly for once. Venus's friends called for her and she invited Momo to their table. However, she felt like spending her impostor night alone and opened to adventure, so she kindly declined. Venus bid her farewell by giving Momo a kiss on the hand, which made her chicks the color of her drink.
"Oh my, I feel quite flattered tonight," she told the bartender (who introduced himself as Max later on) as she grabbed her face between her hands. She tried to cool down her blushing with her cold drink.
"You should be expecting more of these tonight," Max replied, winking, signaling the cranberry vodka. "I am the eyes and ears of this place and, not to burst your ego to the ceiling but," and with this, he leaned over, Momo made the same. "Rumor has it you're the eye candy of the night."
The heat on her face could have melted the ice on her drink. The ghost of dark-haired Momo leaned close to her side, dripping anxious thoughts on her ear. You were supposed to pass unnoticed tonight.
She shook her hand beside her ear, trying to make her imaginary self disappear.
"No one knows who I am," she said out loud.
"That's part of the charm I guess," Max added, cleaning the bottom of a glass.
"You, the sad one." the bald chain keeper signaled him.
The sad one? Really? That's how he looked tonight? He sighed and got closer among the crowd outside the club.
"I'm with Yamada." Shota raised his voice over the noise coming from inside. He showed the chain keeper his neon green bracelet, to which he nodded and allowed him the entrance.
Loud music making the most silent corners of his body vibrate with every beat; The smell of cigarettes and pheromones in the air. It all made a nostalgic echo in his heart as Aizawa reminisced about those nights of Mic's firsts live presentations at lousy unknown bars.
He went up to the middle of the room where a 360° oval-shaped bar was set and took a seat.
"What's it gonna be tonight man?" the barman approached him.
"Old Fashioned. Buchanan's." Shota replied. "Oh and put it in Yamada's bill." the barman asked to verify his bracelet which in fact, had Yamada's signature.
"Alright man but any drinks you want to send over are on you." was the answer he got. Shota raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"Does it look like I'm planning on sending any shots tonight?" he made sure his voice sounded as fed up as his face looked.
"I don't know man. There's a babe getting quite the attention tonight. Thought I might warn you."
"How's the band doing tonight?" Shota asked, brushing off the warning. He chatted with the barman for a while.
Her mind was as light as feathers on a windy day, and her thoughts would dance like a flirty summer breeze on a hot night. How delightful it was just to enjoy the moment. The air was full of cigarette smoke and questionable humidity. She loved every single minute of it.
"This song is so good!" someone said beside her.
"I know right? This band is awesome, especially the woman in the bass," Momo replied between dance moves. "The lady in the bass is bad-ass, haha, get it?" had she always been so afraid of being goofy? What the hell did it truly matter? As 'blonde', she was almost entitled to be whatever she pleased.
"If you love this song so much, you should get up there and dance." a stranger's face advised her, pointing to the bar table.
Before she had time, she was already stepping on a stool to get up in the bar.
There was a movie she used to watch in secret when her parents were out on some benefit dinner or away on a trip. The movie was Coyote Ugly, and she had always admired those ladies that seemed to live freely and wild. She tried to mimic (probably poorly) the dance moves of the girls in the movie. Some people were clapping and cheering her, some were looking at her with judging glares. The most important thing was she was minding her own business.
She finally understood what those girls were all about. They didn't care what people think, or what high society demanded of them. They only cared about minding their own business.
Her skin was trying to keep pace with the speed of her movements, making her hips and thighs jiggle. It felt like freedom. The lights contrasting with the darkness of the room were almost hypnotic. She started walking across the bar table, still trying to avoid tripping on someone's drink. The ones sober enough knew better than to let their drinks sit on the bar. There could've been a multitude or a black whole down on the floor, she couldn't care less.
Take that, asshole. She thought, remembering the lilac eyes that used to chase her in her nightmares. She wasn't even sure she was dancing to the beat of the song, but to hell with that, not even the band was going to rule over her own rhythm.
But as expected, it was rare to see a bar without some spills and water rings coming from the cold drinks. Momo stepped on an almost invisible puddle of condensation from a whisky cocktail.
Her whole body collapsed. But the void she expected to fall into felt irregularly bulky and warm.
She looked around, trying to understand what she had fallen into. The sturdy breathing of what seemed to be a bull collapsed against her clavicles. Her hands had clasped around a thick fabric. She felt as heavy as an asteroid, crashing into a pale irregular moon. Some blond strands of the wig crossed her face as she lifted her sight.
Her dark brown eyes sunk into the black abyss of his stare.
"You're…" she started, reckoning the lagoons she had drowned before.
"A great safety net?" he answered in the most uninterested tone.
"I'm not sure about great," she replied. When had one of her arms wrapped around his neck? His brows raised in disbelief.
"Well you're welcome from saving you from permanent brain damage." he scoffed.
"I'm sorry nobody saved you, though." her words had set free before she could close the gates of back talking. Momo might have drunk at least 5 cranberry vodkas, but she was pretty sure there was not enough alcohol on earth to confuse the person she was sitting on. This was no other than Profesor Aizawa. And she had just insulted him. "I'm so sorry, I-"
The man in black shirt and grey coat leaned his head back as he laughed, displaying a defined Adam's apple and a sharp, fuzzy jawline.
"Serves me right for trying to be a hero." was his answer. She blinked a couple of times with curiosity.
"Is being in the right place at the right time and being a hero the same thing?" The naiveness of her tone was as endearing as authentic.
A diplomatic and almost elegant laugh poured from his lips. "Can't both things converge in the same situation?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. She lifted her shoulders, not even pretending to know the answer.
Sober and dark-haired Momo was screaming in a frenetic anxiety attack inside the locked chest sunk in the deepest darkness from the sea of consciousness inside her mind. What was he doing here, on her free night? Why, of why, from all the people in Japan, and all the pubs around town, had Mr. Aizawa chose this one? Now he had seen her in all her street-like glory, how could she even begin to explain to him what she was doing right there?
"Look, I'm-" Momo started, looking down.
"I'm Aizawa," he answered back.
Why was he introducing himself? One of his fingers slowly brushed away one of the blond strands from her face. Surely a wig wasn't enough to fool him, was it? Maybe it was the smoke, the makeup, the clothes, and the whole cornucopia of elements surrounding the situation that were playing an important role in her disguise.
"I'm," Momo repeated, trying to put her thoughts in order. "Thirsty."
Mr. Aizawa lifted his sight and raised a hand, calling the bartender and ordering a glass of water. He then politely asked the man beside him to borrow his seat for her. In a matter of minutes, Momo was already sitting straight and clearing her mind as the cold water hydrated her brain. She couldn't help but to shortly glance at the man beside her. He seemed as taciturn as ever, only focused on the band. Of course! Present Mic was playing.
"You're here to see the band," she stated pointing at him as if having an epiphany.
He hesitated without taking his eyes off the band and leaned over to speak above the ruckus.
"Partially, yeah," he acknowledged, taking a sip of his drink.
"Partially?" Momo responded.
"I needed a good distraction tonight." Mr. Aizawa replied after finishing his drink. "Another, please," he asked the bartender.
Momo leaned her arm on the bar and rested her head on her hand, looking far off in the distance. "Same here."
He sneered at her response. "Distraction from what? Being the knockout of the night?" Momo couldn't really tell if he was being sarcastic.
"You don't mean that." she resolved, shaking her head, making the strands of platinum hair around her face slightly dance.
Mr. Aizawa lifted his glass as he carelessly looked around the bar as if looking for something specific.
"There are about 6 or 7 fellows waiting for this conversation to end to approach you." the man augmented. Momo knew he was probably right, it had been her reality since she was 14 or 15; however, Mr. Aizawa implying that she was good looking felt as foreign as taking a glimpse into another dimension. An almost neon blush crossed her face. "I can't blame them."
The light feathers that had gracefully danced in her mind before were now turning into an almost intoxicating fog. What was even happening?
"Blonde!" huge bulky baby face was back, even drunker than before. "This song is pure gold! Come dance with us! You mind bro?"
Momo glanced back at her professor, only to see him gesturing approval with his glass towards the man inviting her to dance.
"By all means, go have fun." Mr. Aizawa responded after a long gulp of his drink.
Babyface took Momo's hand and before she knew it, both were already on their way to the dancefloor.
It was a cheeky pop-rock song. Jiro and the band were nailing it so well that almost everyone was dancing to their vibe. Momo's mind softly fell back into the numbness of thought, and every wall of alert drowned in sweat and rhythm. There was something about being surrounded by strangers and shadows that freed her from her constant state of alert. The clothes, the makeup, even her perfume were so different from what she knew that there was nothing left but to enjoy herself.
The piercing eyes of a raven over the bar locked with hers as she danced. He was carelessly sitting on a stool, unbothered, reclining his weight on the arm leaning on the bar. Unbothered, yet alert to her every move. His black and somewhat loose black shirt let part of his pale chest visible. She felt a section of her lower abs tighten inside as she took in the pale vision dressed in black. Suddenly she felt her hips accentuating the dance moves, her hands reaching for her now blond hair, disarranging it as she pleased. His inquiring eyes bordered her silhouette. The dark pupils got caught in the fishnets of her legs, and sooner than later, Momo felt delightfully possessed by his stare.
From all the men that had pried on her looks before, never had she felt as claimed by a set of eyes as those obscure obsidians.
The very same intensity of the eye contact stopped her dancing at once. The fire of a primitive impulse smoked her insides.
Only the cheering around Momo made her turn over to the stage. Present Mic called Jiro to the center of the stage and asked the crowd to give her a warm welcome. Momo's chest overflowed with pride resulting in small enthusiastic jumping and screaming. Jiro raised an arm and hugged Mic with the other, thanking the public. She was definitely made for this. After introducing her, Present Mic let her pick the next song. After a few seconds, Jiro chose a classic from The Bangles, a song called Eternal Flame.
"Man, what a way to kill the mood," Babyface whined as he walked away from the dance floor. Most people did the same. Others paired up to slow dance. Momo stayed in her spot, slightly shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her hands clenched together close to her chest. It didn't matter if she was alone in the middle of the dancefloor. She was listening to Jiro sing and play, and it was mesmerizing. Was she dedicating the song to someone? Her interpretation seemed to be of someone aching for a loved one. Momo sighed, her eyebrows as well as her heart clenched, touched by the performance.
The unavoidable presence of someone taller beside her made her turn. The man in whose arms she had fallen moments before was now standing there, facing her. He stood silent, she said nothing. His fingers entwined with hers, his other hand grabbed her by the waist. It felt like lightning striking the sand. Electric, yet completely natural.
It wasn't the kind of impressive dancing. Nothing complicated. Just the compassed weight shifting kind of dance moves. Momo could sniff tobacco and the manly natural perspiration of her teacher. Her head felt light again, so she rested her cheek on his chest. She felt him instantly gulp, after all, his throat was at the level of her forehead. She felt as if she was 15 again. Clumsy, confused, and awkwardly excited.
"Why did you come tonight?" she asked, closing her eyes lullabied by his breathing.
"I told you, I needed a distraction." the echo of his voice vibrated through his neck to the corners of her mind.
"From what?"
She felt his chest deflate as a whisky-scented exhalation brushed her eyelashes.
"A dark-haired fantasy," he answered, burying his face on her platinum mane.
If there had been a honey tasting warm feeling down her throat, it now felt like a gelid poison running down as slowly as his nose gracing her neck.
"Shota!" a familiar voice made him raise his face. Momo looked around to find the owner of the voice.
Her beautiful dark cascading hair and bountiful curves were unmistakable. Miss Kayama, pro hero Midnight, was waving and heading towards them.
The dark-haired fantasy of almost every single person in Japan.
She felt so stupid, small. Momo abruptly broke contact, turned around, and started walking.
"Wait!" she heard him exclaim. She hurried her step and in a matter of minutes, she was out on the streets.
Black-ish tears smudged her face as she walked home. It was so stupid to have these feelings of rejection. Her only goal for the night was to have fun and feel free. And yet she had been yet again used. And by someone she admired. It wasn't even about Midnight. She knew Aizawa and her had known each other since they were younger. But to dance with her that way, only to admit she was being used as some cheap sugar substitute for coffee.
"Damn him," she muttered, clenching her jaw partially from anger, partially from cold. "Damn him and his Sweet'n Low flavored coffee." Momo surrounded herself with her arms, trying to fight her trembling thorax. It sickened her to the chore to have to strive for the bare minimum human respect.
Ever since her first year, her image had been that of a weak, frightened, stupid bimbo. The infuriated lava inside her started to leak out of the volcano inside her heart, eager to leisurely destroy the very image that had been imposed on her.
"It's time to settle things," Momo's rage dominated the trembles on her body, overcoming the gloomy fog dressing the streets. "Mei Hatsume."
This has to be the hardest chapter for me to write so far! I wanted to give you a nice long chapter to enjoy! I really tried to post earlier but know that if I don't post weekly it's because I am working my best on the chapters to come! It's almost 4 am where I am but I really wanted to upload a chapter for you! Thank you as always for reading my story! Tell me on the reviews what you think of this one, I would really appreciate it! Anyways, have a great weekend! love -LB