Aizawa laid his hand on the top of Momo's head, fingertips slipping through the hair, and he tilted her head back so that she looked up at him. She swallowed hard, running her tongue across her lips. He had that amused, crooked half smile on his face as he looked down at her. Sweat gleamed on his forehead and at his throat, his shirt clung to his chest. A few strands of his dark hair had come loose from his ponytail and were slick to his skin.

"You're getting good at this," he exhaled. His breathing wasn't quite back to normal yet. "Stand up."

Momo obeyed, rising from where she'd been sitting waiting for him on the bench outside the gym, and his hand fell back to his side, shifting her wig slightly on her head as he let go. She took a moment to quickly adjust her disguise before falling into step with him. His gym bag bumped against his leg rhythmically as they walked.

"I thought you'd given up stalking me," he said once they were out of earshot of anyone who might be listening. "You almost got into trouble the last time you tried to follow me here."

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't," she cheeked at him. "This is just the only time I waited for you at the door, but at least I came in disguise."

"Yes, I almost didn't recognize you at all," Aizawa mused, not looking at her. She'd dressed in black leggings with a white tunic-length button down dress shirt. Over it she had layered a black and white Ahegao t-shirt. Black high heeled boots had a line of silver buckles up the side. Her wig was a light shade of brown and hit just past her shoulders in a blunt, straight cut with bangs.

"So what's this about?" he asked.

She'd know he would ask what she was doing here, and had rehearsed in her head what she would say. Now the words were stuck to the roof of her mouth, and the circuits in her mind went utterly blank. She had nerves of steel when she'd sat down on that bench to wait for him to finish his workout, and she felt herself wilting. He noticed it, too.

"I thought your confidence would have improved," he said, and she knew he meant the exam. "What's wrong?"

"Did you let me capture you?" Momo whispered, squeezing her hands together in front of her and keeping her eyes on the ground. "Or did I really earn that victory?"

"Why," Aizawa drawled, "would I have let you capture me?"

She'd gotten over the first hurdle only to be confronted with the next, and they were approaching the perimeter of the parking lot to his apartment now. Momo stopped walking, closing her eyes and balling her hands into fists. She still couldn't look at him when she spoke.

"Because you want my help."

Momo finally dared to look at her teacher, and she saw him glancing back and forth down the street. She wondered what he was looking for. He leaned in to whisper into her ear.

"We can't have this conversation out here," he hushed and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him.

Her gasp was audible, but he covered it with a laugh as he guided her across the lot. She was very aware of his physique pressed against her. She could feel the warmth of his body, pumped up and radiating heat from his workout. The way he held her, enveloped under his arm and tucked against him, was the most intimate she'd ever been with someone. Heat raced up her neck and cheeks.

His reasoning occurred to her quickly. Something had spooked him. He'd noticed something that was out of place, and he was protecting her. She was the smaller target now as they walked, and anyone watching wouldn't have guessed what her real reason was for being with him this late at night. She had to do her part and play along.

Momo made herself laugh with him, and she turned in toward him, laying her palm flush on his chest and her hip bumped him. His thin shirt was damp with sweat under her fingertips, and she felt only firm muscle beneath the soft material. Her fingers traced down his chest to his abs. She thought of his tattoos. His entire body went rigid. Momo lost her breath, lips parting as she looked up at him. There was still a jovial smile on his lips, but his eyes were sharp with displeasure. He'd noticed — he'd felt it, that moment she forgot she was supposed to be playing pretend, and he did not like it.

He unlocked the door and ushered her in first, and then he secured it behind him. Momo stood in the center of the room, holding herself, caught off-guard by how she'd shocked herself. She'd crossed a line she'd deliberately given such wide berth and the horror was sharp as she recognized the new emotion for what it was.

Aizawa kept his distance now, tossing his gym bag in a corner before sitting down on the edge of the chair. He pointed her to the couch.

"I can wait while you shower," she offered, and he shook his head.

"I'm not leaving you unsupervised in my apartment," he said plainly as he took the elastic out of his hair then tied it back again, more neatly. "Take off your shoes. You'll probably be here for a bit — there was someone sitting in a car diagonal from my apartment."

"Are the police monitoring you?" Momo asked, surprised by the measure of alarm in her voice, but she did as she was told, bending to undo the buckles of her boots.

"Not unless you've decided to rat me out at last," he said. "No, but dealing with the mess you girls left behind has been making my life more difficult. I left men a pinky short for the sake of getting you out of there, and none of them are happy."

Her mouth opened into an 'O' of surprise. She'd never even thought about there being repercussions for him getting them out of that situation. He was Danchou, he was the oyabun — she'd never considered there would be push back.

"Is—Was one of them responsible for the security footage incident?" she asked.

Aizawa ignored her question.

"I didn't just let you capture me at the exam."

She didn't want to be derailed from the train of thought she'd been on, but he had moved to the issue most urgent to her.

"I just…I made a mistake launching the capture tape at you, and I thought for sure you could've evaded it if you'd wanted to—"

"I saw your mistake." He drummed his fingertips rhythmically on the arm of the chair. "But I didn't have time to correct my course. Your win was all your own doing. You thought I let you win because I actually wanted your help?"

"You said—"

"You needed an incentive for the exam," Aizawa said, leaning back in the chair. Her eyes traced his long, lean body as he began to relax into it. Except he caught her eye and he shifted his position, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You lied to me?" she balked.

"I had zero intention of ever following through on giving you a reason good enough for me to leave my life behind," he said.

Momo pushed herself off the couch and grabbed her shoes, shoving her feet in. He was on his feet before she could get the buckles done.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," she said, not looking at him.

"You can't leave."

"Why not?"

"I just told you, there was someone in a vehicle outside. It may not be safe for you to leave." She was standing now, and her eyes darted between him and the door. He hadn't gotten up, but he had moved to sit on the edge of his seat. She could read on his face that if she went to the door he wouldn't stop her — and she knew instinctively that if anything were to happen to her in the parking lot, he would come to her rescue. But she saw he didn't want to be put in that position to start.

"I believed you," she whispered.

"I'm sorry," he said, and she could hear his sincerity. "But this is a life I cannot just leave, even if I wanted to. If there ever came a day where I had to choose, I would have to follow the darker path."

"But why? Yakuza isn't a life sentence, you can leave. You are a Hero! You have an entire other life to fall back on if you walk away. A good life."

"Choosing to leave this behind to be a Hero would cause more conflict than walking the line," Aizawa said as she sat back down. He took out a cigarette and lit it. "If I decided to be fully committed to being a Hero then any Yakuza who knows would consider me persona non grata. I would have become their enemy in truth."

"How many people realize you are also a Hero?" she asked.

"One or two that I'm aware of. I'm not a Hero who's interested in the limelight, I don't like eyes on me. I'm not All Might — a popular Hero everyone recognizes. Only the serious Hero fanatics like Deku really can put a face to the name Eraser Head."

"If it's so few people," she pointed out, "why would it matter?"

He sighed then took another pull from his cigarette. Smoke drifted around him lazily.

"I shouldn't even need to give you a reason. It's not what I want."

There was a pain in her chest. It was unfamiliar, deep and aching, as she struggled to find the right words — words that would convince him to leave the Yakuza behind. Words that would make him want it. She wanted to change his mind.

"I can't do this much longer," Momo said instead, lacing her fingers together in her lap and lowering her eyes.

"You can," Aizawa said, and God she wished that she could speak to him with that much conviction in her voice, because with only those two words he'd almost convinced her she could.

"What if I don't want to?"

"You already do," was his casual answer. "You have for a long time now, and you'll continue to regardless of what you do next about me. I told you already, you're capable of living with the guilt of duplicity. Accept that. It'll make you strong once you do."

His words were left hanging in the air between them like the smoke from his cigarette. She had no more rebuttals, and no response. Aizawa turned on the television, settling back in his chair. Momo drew her feet up under her on the couch, watching as he flipped through a library of streaming services before pulling up a movie on one. His attention was on the screen, and she watched at him from the corner of her eye. He glanced in her direction, catching her. Momo hastily looked away.

"Where do your parents think you are?" he asked.

"Mina's house."

"They afford you too much freedom."

To that she rolled her eyes.

"What happened to the person responsible for blackmailing my family?" Momo asked.

Aizawa's head fell back and laughed, a piece of hair coming loose from his ponytail to frame his face. She traced the hard line of his jaw, down his throat and across his shoulders. His laugh was curt, dry, and sarcastic. He snuffed the cigarette in the ash try on the end table next to him.

"What?"

His head lolled to one side, turning so he could look at her with his dark, wicked amusement. The haze of smoke lingered around him.

"Five minutes ago you told me you couldn't do this, and now you want me to tell you what I did to them," Aizawa breathed. "You can't have it both ways."

Her surprise showed, she didn't have a chance to mask it.

"What did you really come out for tonight — to bribe me into leaving the Yakuza, or to find out what other bad things I've done." He leaned forward, one arm resting on the arm of the chair, legs splayed, and looked her in the eye. When he spoke, his tone was taunting. "Is knowing I killed one man for you already suddenly not enough?"

"Mr. Aizawa!" she gasped, jaw dropping at his boldness.

That moment played inside her mind again, except now she could place his face in the scene. She tracked his movements by following the brilliant orange end of his cigarette — he stood, towering over them all. The cigarette flashed through the dark and there was a wet, hollow thud. Then the man was tumbling on top of her, his dead weight taking her to the ground, blood trickling on her. And Aizawa standing back in the darkness, just watching.

"You can't have both ways," he insisted, gaze hardening. He got to his feet and came to her, lowering himself to one knee in front of her. "You cannot excuse the acts that protect you and lecture me about the ones that don't. You must accept it all, even the truths that are inconvenient, internalize it, and move the fuck on."

Momo reminded herself to breathe as she stared at him. With it came a fresh, terrible realization — if anyone could make her do it, it was him. And with every second that ticked by she felt herself giving into him.

"I—"

"If you want to know then I don't ever want to hear you say you can't do this." She opened her mouth to speak, not even sure what she was going to say as she did, but he cut her off again. "You decide right now whether you can live duplicitously. What's your answer?"

She closed her eyes, inhaling so deep her lungs hurt, and held it. He touched her shoulder, but she kept her eyes squeezed shut. His voice coaxed her.

"Momo."

"Yes?" she whispered.

"Can you do it?"

"Yes."

He squeezed her shoulder, and she heard the whisper of air as he began to rise. Her eyes flew open and, not even understanding why, she grabbed him. Her fingers seized the material of his shirt, pulling him down, and there was a split second where she saw his face crease with confusion.

"Tell me what you did," she breathed.

Aizawa lowered himself back down, beginning to peel her fingers off him, but her grip tightened. He watched her for a prolonged moment, then relented.

"I ripped out his fingernails and toenails one by one," he said, their eyes locked together. "Then I cut them all off. I tortured him for hours, cutting him. I smoked like a train through it, and I put out my cigarette butts on him. I gouged out one of his eyes. When I was done I hung him — but I tied the rope so it wouldn't break his neck. I watched him strangle. I looked him in his one eye while his feet began to twitch."

He pushed her hand off him.

"Now let me watch my movie."