This was not going to be his day.
Or week.
Or maybe even month.

Shota Aizawa preferred to have all lesson work completed ahead of time; that way, he could wait until the last possible second before having to leave his warm apartment for...This.

He stared abysmally at his barren classroom, bathed in the golden sunlight of the evening. It was Saturday and the school was silent- empty but for him and perhaps a few janitors. The students had enjoyed a brief half-week break; an award after finishing a bout of country-wide, mandatory exams the week prior. Not a single student had failed and, truth be told, Aizawa was mildly impressed.

The upcoming week held a lot of physics lessons and the very idea of teaching them was pounding a migraine into Aizawa's temples. Some of the students, though possessing great talents in physical ability, were greatly limited in terms of science and written work. This was still a high school, after all; general education coursework, like the exams, still had to be taken. A great sigh fled through his lips, head pulsing with phantom pains of previous years' reactions to abiogenesis and other fun subjects. His mood was already foul and class hadn't even resumed yet.

"Good morning, and welcome to Ethical Studies in the Culture of Today,"

A cringing shiver snaked down Aizawa's spine at the soft voice drifting through his partly-open door.
It was that new-hire, Tsutomi. He scratched his head, feeling the uncontrollable annoyance building in the back of his throat.

He couldn't even explain it; there was simply something about her that bothered him. She was too calm. The way she smiled, the liquid movements. The only other interviewee who was so perturbingly unruffled clearly had some sort of mental quirk keeping him that way. So what was this woman's story?

No one is that placid naturally.

His footfalls were near-silent in the hallway. He wore the dark, looser jumpsuit specifically to be stealthy, and it did not disappoint.

Her professional clothing had fallen away. Instead the woman wore a loose olive shirt and black leggings, a large knit sweater encompassing her arms and swallowing her down to mid-thigh. She was narrow but soft-looking, like she'd never lifted anything heavier than maybe a textbook, face pinched with lingering baby fat whenever her chin angled down. That great mass of hair was piled up on her head and hardly moved as she talked to herself, lips muttering silently as she shuffled through a stack of papers on her desk. If she wrote a script, she should just quit now.

Dark eyes surveyed the room and Aizawa's dread grew exponentially.

She'd turned the classroom into an unrecognizable place of mats, pillows, and spherical chairs. Two lone tables, parallel to one another, stood on either side of the room, though not possessing enough chairs for an entire class. Decorated boxes held plethoras of mismatched clipboards and there were different colored canisters around the room, filled to the brims with pencils and pens of all various shapes and sizes.

Most horrifying was the ceiling. Where there was once the standard fluorescent lights she'd attached a great length of navy material with soft, glimmering christmas lights spread across the insides like some surreal Van Gogh painting.

What the actual hell has this woman done?

"Good morning, I'm Miss Tsutomi. Welcome to ethical studies- No, welcome to Ethics Class-" She was still muttering to herself, pacing what looked like the pelt of a Ferbie. Aizawa sauntered into the room just as a pin came undone in the ceiling, spilling out a strand of small white lights. Tsutomi sighed and climbed up on a chair to fix the upset and Aizawa watched, bemused.

"It'd be in your best interest to take all this shit down before the students arrive Monday; wouldn't want them to mistake your class for a kindergarten one,"

Having worked with more physically-astute and consciously-aware adults for so long, he'd expected her to at least be moderately aware of his presence before he'd announced it. Likewise, based on her stoic behavior during the interview, Aizawa figured her largest response to being surprised might be a slow eye blink.

The idiotic girl instead let out a small squeal, staggering on the chair before losing her balance together.

He moved on reflex, catching her flailing body without much effort. Wide eyes swallowed his, mouth opened to form a little "o". He suddenly felt smug, about to give an additional sneering comment, when a hand made contact with his face, hard.

Aizawa touched his smarting cheek and she rushed out of his grip, standing on wobbly legs. He stared, dumbfounded, as the woman came to realize what she'd done. Instantly she fell into a deep bow.

"Excuse me, Mr. Aizawa; I-I'm so sorry. I didn't realize- you scared me, and my natural reaction was to-"

"Strike?" He offered helpfully. Color filled her cheeks despite her obvious efforts to seem unfazed. Good, he thought, at least she's able to feel some sort of human emotion. "I sincerely hope that's not the first reaction you'll have around my students."

An eyebrow twitched. It was minuscule, but his perceptive eyes missed nothing: he'd annoyed her.

"Obviously not."
"Just towards fellow staff, then?"
"I sincerely apologize, Mr. Aizawa. If needed, I could try and ease your pain."

The calm way she was spoke put an irrational bug up his ass. The realization he might potentially be hearing her voice for years to come, wandering into his room from time to time, caught in the hallways and during meetings, on a regular basis, was like fingernails on a chalkboard. He had caught several glances of displayed emotion when she wasn't aware of being observed, such as a few moments before he'd made her aware of his presence, so why was she such a robot in front of others? Did she think it made her look more professional, older? It was like she had no personality of her own.
He stood, brushing off his pant legs.

"I think I've had enough physical contact from you to last a lifetime, thanks."

"Pity," She answered. He turned, surprised, only to be struck with that same blank smile. "That you're unwilling for me to aid you, that is. I've always felt it says a lot about one's character when they refuse help."

"Oh?" She was baiting him. He knew it, responded anyway. "And what does it say?"

"Dr. Seltzer, who's done a great deal of work in psychotherapy, would believe you're simply too prideful. Or-" Her mentality of cool passiveness returned with just a hint of derision, body lither as she stepped closer, watching him. Once she was only inches away her head tilted, smile lifting in one corner. "You might live in the camp of belief that taking aid from others puts you in a position of vulnerability to the provider. Are you afraid of being put in a subordinate position by me due to internalized trust issues, perhaps? Mr. Aizawa?"

Murderers. Thieves. Villains.
Classroom disruptions and small talk and wild students; Aizawa had dealt with all coolly and efficiently, never having his heart rate rise any more than a few beats.

This woman was able to make his blood boil and pulse skyrocket with only a few shrewd words and the curl of her lips.

"What are you hiding?" He asked.

A chink in Chiyo Tsutomi's armor suddenly appeared as her eyes widened then narrowed, confused. He leaned in close, trying to control his sudden rage at this imposter, this fake, who had the balls to come in here with such an attitude, as if he owed her respect based on her newly-employed status. She was as green as a banana; new on the scene with no experience in anything, and in turn was owed nothing.

"You may have all the others here fooled, Tsutomi, but there's something decidedly off about you. Eventually it's going to make itself known and you're going to come crashing off that little cloud of serenity. You might've scraped by in a normal high school, but you and I both know you're not cut out for a place like this."

He was inches from her pale, frozen face. Like a deer caught in the headlights of a semi truck; too late to move out of the way. His delivered the final blow, voice soft as a murmur.

"You and I both know the only vulnerable one here is you."


Every hair on my body stood on end; skin clammy and foreign to me.

His breath smells like coffee, was all I could think as Shota Aizawa, the primary teacher of Class 1-A, breathed into my face what I already knew, deep down.

Honestly, I originally went to nursing school. The reality of bruises, broken arteries, bodily fluids, and my newfound awareness that I could sense all the above flowing through a person's body due to my quirk, had scared me away pretty quickly.

Having no interest in politics or law school, I'd turned to the only thing I could think of: teaching.

I could read books that interested me and spread the knowledge of them to others. I'd have significant breaks that no other profession could enjoy. And, if I got a position in a place like UA, I knew I'd be pulling in a reputable income.

Was I motivated by the growth of students? To a degree, maybe.
But was I doing this for them?
I knew the real answer. I'd always known, probably.
It wasn't until I was in that final semester of school that I really realized it, as I watched my class graduate without much feeling.

But there was no way that this snarky, spiteful man could be any better; as if his heart was more rightly placed than my own.

My mouth felt glued shut. I couldn't even force myself to meet his dark eyes. I tried twice before my voice broke through, hollow even to my ears.

"I don't know what you mean."
I felt a soft rush of air on my face; he had chuckled.

At last I exerted enough energy to lift my eyes up and meet Aizawa's. A perfect, pink imprint was starting to appear from where my hand made contact, and that gave me an ounce of strength. He leaned in again and I fought the urge to turn and bolt.

"You will, Tsutomi. You will."

Without another word he left, as quiet as he'd arrived.

I wobbled, landed in a nearby chair. My skin still felt electrified; not the best experience for someone with a liquid quirk. I closed my eyes and let regulation run its course. I could feel it, every ounce of it, running through my chest, my legs and arms, through my fingertips. I willed it to slow.

Ever since I was a child, when we learned I possessed a quirk, mom and I had worked on this; suppressing the fear, the anxiety, slowing everything down, creating something safe out of something so many used for destruction.

People will never understand, Chi-chan. People will never recognize how devastating quirks really are.

A shuffling sounded near my door. I didn't lift my head, letting it rest between my cool palms for a few moments more. I wasn't strong enough to handle more of Aizawa's coldness, not right now. "I got the message earlier, I'll stay out of your way-"

"I think you're mistaking me for someone else," Came the response.
I rose quickly, turning in surprise to see a tall, frightfully skinny man standing in the doorway. His hair was wild and looked mostly fried, flopping into his sunken face, and the clothes that hid his skeletal body seemed several sizes too large. Frankly, he looked like he could use a good, hearty meal.
His expression seemed sinister but then his face broke out into an apologetic grin, a long-fingered hand reaching out to scratch at his hair. "Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."

I quickly swiped at my face, ascertaining no little waterworks had spilled out, and quickly put on the best smile I could manage before standing, hand extended. "I'm Chiyo Tsutomi. Please, call me Chiyo,"

His fingers was bony but absurdly warm, like Nasu when he dozed in the sun. The man started to answer but stopped himself, blushing.

"Er, Toshinori. Please call me...Toshinori. Or Toshi, maybe."

"Maybe?" I laughed despite myself and Toshinori reddened some more, quickly burying his hands in the deep pockets of his baggy pants. He looked up before surveying the classroom as a whole. Wonder brightened his eyes. "This is really amazing. Did you- is this your classroom? You did all this yourself?"

"Mhm," I hummed, rubbing at my face again. What if my mascara had smudged across my face? Would this guy comment if it had? "Sorry, I didn't catch what you do here."

"Oh! I, uh, I aid the...hero program. I work in close proximity to All Might, since, um, he, uh-"

"Just started teaching this year?" I filled in. Toshi nodded, grateful for the aid. Violent talons grabbed his arms and he staggered, caught off guard by my steel grip and severe expression.

"You...work with All Might?"
"Er, yeah?"
"So, what do they feel like? Are they as perfect as they look?" I asked, dead serious. His eyes were blue, widening with my words. The previous blush paled in comparison to the new shade taking over his entire body.

"I- what do you-"
"His muscles," I stated plainly, not relinquishing my tight grasp on his skinny arms, "Are they rock hard? Is his skin soft? Are they ever not-flexed?" I stared dreamily off into space. "When I saw him in person, all I could think of was rib-eye steak: thick, juicy, perfect-"

"Ahahaha! I, uh, I have no idea what they- I don't just- that's not really the sort of thing I-"

Toshinori displayed an array of embarrassment tells, face ruby-red and sweaty as his entire body swayed side to side, matching his shaking head and arms. He seemed caught between awkward laughter and panicked, gasping breaths. I wiped at my mouth, making sure I hadn't started drooling during my little fan-rant, watching the frail blonde man have his own little meltdown. Was Toshinori harboring a little crush on the symbol of hotness, too?

"It's okay if you're attracted to him too, Toshi- it's the twenty-first century-"

"THAT IS MOST CERTAINLY NOT THE CASE HERE!"
Blood erupted from his roaring mouth. I blinked in surprise; both at his chosen decibel level and the newfound crimson staining his chin. Toshinori quickly covered his mouth and coughed, turning his back to me. I shook my head with a smile, snatching a few tissues from a nearby box and wandering over to him.

"Are you not used to being teased or something?" My voice was casual as I pulled his hands away and wiped the blood up myself. He stilled at my touch and I flicked my eyes to his, trying not to smile too widely. "Do they not poke fun where you come from?"
The stiffness in his spine began to loosen. Finally a sheepish smile rearranged the sharp edges of his mouth. It was a strange look on his almost-haunted face. I shook my head, banishing the thought, before pulling away to thoroughly inspect the face in question.

"Good as new! Try not to freak out so much next time I joke around, Toshi-chan?"
"I'll try," He offered, though still a little pink. I looked away, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed myself.

Here I had been so upset, terrified of the upcoming first day of teaching and then of Shota Aizawa and his ominous foreshadowing. Now I was casually flirting and pulling jokes with another UA teacher, albeit one far less intimidating than the ones I'd interviewed with. I took in a calming breath and glanced around us, at the room I'd worked so hard on.

Eraserbrain be damned. It was a cool room, and I was entitled to create whatever atmosphere I chose for my students.

"I think I'm done here for the night," I commented, feeling fulfilled. Regardless of how much practice I did, I'd either mess up or I wouldn't; there was no controlling the overall outcome or slip of the tongue. Tossing the bloodied tissues into the trash, I scooped up my bag and water bottle (fifth of the day; I should really invest in a large thermos or something) and turned to my new friend. He held my gaze. We smiled at each other.

"Did you have more work to do here?" I asked.
"Hm? Oh, no. I was actually heading out when I noticed the light on in this- your- room."

"Great! We can walk together to the parking lot," I cheered, flipping the light off as I went. Toshinori lingered behind. I turned my attention to him and a long arm bent, fingers scratching the back of his shaggy blonde head once again. Is he...nervous, or something?

"Toshinori?" I inquired gently. He seemed flustered, looking down at the linoleum floor.

"Actually, I was wondering if you'd want to, maybe, get coffee somewhere? There's, uh, a cafe down the street. It's actually pretty good,"

So. He was nervous.

He looked up, hopeful, and my brain offered the answer it always did, with all the reasons why I should say no.

But, strangely, I heard myself respond with a yes.