She should've had nightmares about what Aizawa had done.
Her sleep should have been putrid and trembling with the knowledge of how he'd killed her offender. His confession should have left her horrified. Stricken. She should've felt the need to get away from Aizawa then, and she wouldn't have been wrong to put as much space between them as she possibly could. But she didn't run. She stayed right where she was and watched his movie with him.
Her sleep…She dreamt of him, yes, but it hadn't been with fear or disgust. Momo awoke with a sharp breath, heart racing, palms damp. She didn't move, her senses afire — even as she woke from sleep — with the recognition that she did not know where she was.
Blue light was moving across the ceiling and walls from the television. The volume was off. She was warm underneath the weight of a blanket, and Momo breathed in its smell — it didn't smell like cologne. It smelled like a whisper of fresh, clean soap; a man who lays to sleep after his shower. The faint scent of detergent from a recent wash. The material was soft and the feathers inside gathered in small clusters — it was an old blanket. Well-used and comfortable. Momo breathed it in once more before pushing it off and sitting up.
She had only a split second to take a mental snapshot of the sight in front of her. Aizawa was in his chair, slumped back. His head rested against a wing. He didn't have a blanket over him — Momo saw he must have showered after she'd fallen asleep, because he'd changed his clothes into sweatpants and a shirt, and his clean hair hung curling and disheveled around his face, still damp. The sleeves of his shirt were pushed up to his elbows and she could see the tattoos on his forearms, curling and winding down from underneath the sleeves of his shirt. He'd cleared away the ash tray, and his capture tape sat in a pile on the end table beside him. The butt of a gun showed, tucked between his hip and the chair. At first she thought he was sleeping before she noticed a finger tapping steadily on his knee. At the sound of her moving though, his eyes opened.
He said nothing when he saw that she was awake, instead only taking his phone from a pocket to glance at the time before tucking it away. He put the gun away at his back next, tugging his shirt over it, and sat up straighter.
"Thank you," she managed. Momo folded the blanket as best she could where she was sitting. "Where does this go?"
"My room. I'll take care of it."
His room. It was his blanket, the one he laid beneath every night when he went to sleep. Momo breathed in and gave a nod of respect, laying it on the arm of the couch.
"Did anything come of the car?" she asked cautiously as she sat back down.
"Highly sus, as you kids say," Aizawa said. "The person stayed sitting in the car until a little over an hour ago, then they left."
"What time is it now?"
"Almost five."
She felt like she'd been sucker punched in the stomach. Momo covered her mouth with one hand in unabashed shock. She had spent the night at her teacher's house. The entire night. He'd allowed her to stay out of concern for her safety — and had stayed awake the entire night to keep guard.
The things he'd done for her were unspeakable. He'd committed murder and mutilated a handful of men to keep her safe the night she'd met his alter ego. He'd dared to lie to her parents' faces to protect her dignity, then he'd brutally tortured, maimed, and murdered the man responsible for the vulgar offense. And last night he had kept vigil the entire night after tucking her in with the blanket off his bed.
She wondered how many more layers were left to discover of Shouta Aizawa.
"Don't," he said abruptly, interrupting the drifting of her thoughts. His eyes were narrow and his tone was a warning. "Don't romanticize it."
"I wasn't," Momo lied hastily, but her cheeks were burning hot. "I would never."
"You need to learn to lie better." He stood and gestures toward a door. "There's the bathroom if you want it, then tell me where you want me to drop you off."
She accepted the offer of the bathroom. Momo used the facilities and freshened up, then made new clothes — she very well couldn't go out at this hour in the clothes she'd come in wearing. A pair of comfortable black leggings, a plain gray shirt, and a gray duster. She made a pair of flats to wear, too, instead of venturing out those boots. Her hair looked oily from sleeping in the wig, but it was best if she kept that on until she and Aizawa parted ways anyway. He was waiting in his chair, car keys in hand, when she emerged.
"Can you throw those out for me?" she asked, showing him the small pile of her clothes from the night before. He nodded.
"Sure. Let's go."
She had him leave her off at a breakfast cafe, and tried not to "romanticize" the drive. His car was a nondescript, unexciting blue sedan, but the inside was meticulously clean. She noticed a first aid kit, a small hamper bag of white laundry, and jugs of bleach and detergent in the backseat when she got in, but it was the only thing worth noting. No wrappers or garbage, no bottles or half empty drinks. His music played quietly and he didn't speak. He didn't look at her.
He was the most fascinating person she'd ever met.
She said "Thank you," as she climbed out of his car outside the cafe. That was the only time he soared a glance at her, giving her a brief nod as she shut the door.
Once she was inside, she went to the bathroom and stuffed her wig deep down in the garbage and fussed with her hair for a few minutes before she called Mina. Momo could tell she'd woken her up, but Mina didn't seem upset once Momo invited her to breakfast.
Mina settled into the seat across from her half an hour later, and it was impossible to tell that she'd had her sleep interrupted. She was bright eyed and pink cheeked, glowing with excitement for the day. She gave Momo a slow once over.
"Did you sleep last night?" Mina asked. "You look…tired."
"No, I didn't sleep well." No use in lying about it. She'd slept as good as could be expected for sleeping on her teacher's couch and having dreams about him the entire night. "So I thought I'd just have an early breakfast."
They ate salmon and onsen tamago, and shared the rice. Mina had enough energy for both of them, and happily accepted when Momo invited her to come back to her house for the day. It would solidify her story about where she'd been the night before. When they were done eating, Momo called her house for a car to take them home.
She hadn't been prepared for her mother to be in the foyer when they walked in. Her mother was dressed in her tennis clothes, and carried a racket in one hand. She must have been waiting for her own car to be brought around so she could go to her tennis lesson. She gave them a smile when they came through the door.
"Did you girls have fun last night?" she asked, swinging the racket absently as she looked out the door past them, searching for her car. She missed the wild look Mina threw at Momo.
"Yeah!" Mina said. She could be quick, Momo appreciated that about her. "We had a great time, and thank you for letting me come by today."
"Of course. I'll be back in a few hours," her mother said, pausing only to kiss Momo's forehead as she passed by to the door, and Momo shut it behind her.
Mina's gave a poignant stare, but Momo said nothing.
They went up to her room, and Momo got Mina set up on her computer with the television on before excusing herself to shower. She closed her eyes against the water.
She thought of his tattoos, and sliding her hand down his chest.
She turned the water colder to jar her out of the headspace. Don't romanticize it. It was dangerous to even entertain. Momo spread her palms flat on the cold marble of the shower wall in front of her, sinking her chin to tuck against her chest as a shiver trailed down her spine. He'd been so warm. She grabbed the handle and the temperature of the water dipped further, and she exhaled a trembling breath.
When she opened the door back to her room twenty minutes later, cold but clean and dressed in comfortable clothes, she was hit by the deep, throbbing bass of a song playing through the speakers connected to her computer. Mina was trying to bob her head to the song but it wasn't working, and she skipped to the next. A new rhythm played.
"I didn't realize you listened to so much rap," Mina commented, glancing over at Momo. "So does he go to Shiketsu?"
"I'm sorry, what?" Momo said with a blink.
"Future Hero in training here! I can put the pieces of the puzzle together. You were supposed to be at my house last night, you didn't sleep well—" Mina wiggled her brows suggestively, and what she was driving at suddenly began to dawn on Momo. "And your transfer application to Shiketsu is sitting out."
Oh shoot, Momo sucked down a narrow breath. What to say? She couldn't let Mina know where she'd really been, that wasn't even an option. She would have to lie no matter what, and Mina had given her low hanging fruit.
"Yes," she said, and had the decency to look embarrassed.
"So what's his name? What kind of Hero does he want to be?" Mina suddenly covered her mouth with her hands. "But what about Shoto?! He definitely has a thing for you. I can't let you transfer just for a boy anyway. Shoto—"
She was off and going with no more encouragement needed. Momo sat on her bed, only half listening as she remembered the scent of his blanket.