Saturday morning was the bane of last night's existence, merging dream and reality into a nauseating swirl of headache and amnesia. Rather than vomiting everywhere like I might've in my teenage years, I realized I could put my quirk to a good, terrifying use- by separating the remnants of alcohol from my blood in a mildly painful, sickening way, the nausea dissipated almost as quickly as it had arrived.
Now I understood what Tsu had meant about "disgusting but useful quirk aspects".
Skin was made to be water resistant; I couldn't just pull the poison out, so I had to find other...methods.
Clear-headed and mildly amnesiatic from last night's events, I was able to meet up with Mom for our regular morning run, though visions of an all mighty prince charming, holding me close, kept swirling in my memory.
Did that- Was that...real?
I remembered arriving early and consequently being saved by Kayama and Yamada, the hero-vixen's hands on my hips, the laughter and music. I remembered dancing with Toshinori, mostly, his warm smile still in my eyes.
But the last part- the fantasy of kissing All Might; was that just a drunken, feverish dream? More importantly; did I care if it was?
At least it was beautiful while it lasted.
Rather than alerting my mother of last night's misadventures and the confusing tale of my love life, I instead relayed the strong emotions concerning a different mysterious man; the easiest choice and distraction from last night's maybe-reality.
"He hates me,"
"I feel like you're probably exaggerating-"
"He glares whenever I accidentally look in his direction! And the other day he pretty much let the door slam in my face; I dropped all of my essays and spent ten minutes just putting them back in order-"
"Well, maybe he's just childish and has a little crush on you,"
I let out a barking laugh that quickly devolved into a pant. Mom paused, jogging in place and turning to watch me with poorly hidden amusement. It was a cloudless morning and the sun felt just as relentless as my mother's badgering. She gave me a pointed look. "That's how little Haru acted when he liked you,"
"That was fourth year!" I exclaimed, exasperated. Mom rolled her eyes.
"As if men change all that much."
She probably just likes him because he can cancel quirks. I realized grimly. It was frightening how much more information she'd gleaned from the internet than myself. I didn't even have to tell her about the awe-inspiring professional heroes I now worked with- she knew everything, down to most of their favorite foods and weight- without me uttering a single word.
I didn't know what was more terrifying: her dedication or that the internet actually contained information like that.
Weren't old people supposed to be bad with technology? Or was I really just worse than the average person? Anxiety slid down my bones as the thoughts kept building: What if I'm not utilizing technology enough in the classroom? Should I be assigning more work online rather than handwritten? I don't remember Principal Nezu mentioning his personal preference; would this reflect poorly in his eyes? I wonder how much the other teachers do-
A cool hand lifted my chin and brought me back to the present moment. The spiral was in its genesis but my heart was already thumping, breath quick and shortened. Mom had finally stopped her pacing, silhouetted by the sun and smiling so tenderly that the panic attack fled away in a rush, weak in her presence. The light resembled a halo around her dark hair and I was suddenly swept in by the unconditional love she radiated. My nerves warmed, as pliable as children's play doh, fears drifting away.
"You're such a dunce," Mom commented. My head fell again.
So much for an endearing moment.
I heaved myself to my feet and we were off once more, taking up the majority of the sidewalk.
I'd shared every second concerning working at UA during breakfast and now our exercise route, each moment as memorable as the next. I confessed my mild guilt about the close connections I'd already made with some students (Tsu, Midoriya, and Momo, namely) and the general distaste I had for other UA members (Aizawa and Aoyama for various, specific reasons), but certainly it was natural to hold these sentiments...right? So long as I showed no bias towards anyone I was safe but damn, it was so hard sometimes.
"Chiyo-"
If you're better than others or have a quirk that's powerful, you use it. Otherwise you're just as pathetic as the rest of them.
Bakugo's words had been rattling around in my brain all week. The following lesson, Todoroki had indeed explained his reasoning (after constant and vigorous prompting by Bakugo), leading to the majority of the class agreeing with his position. The blonde firecracker went disdainfully quiet and spoke very little after, except to dole out a few smart remarks. By the end of the week I'd started to unlock his angsty-boy brain, gaining access to a breakable voice and reddened features, but his point still felt unnaturally personal.
Otherwise you're just as pathetic as the rest of them.
"Chiyo-"
I sincerely doubted my opinion on quirks could be changed by a pack of students, but I couldn't deny how his words had infected my mind. Was I weak for not openly using my quirk? Would it help anything- anyone? In the past, my answer would always have been a resounding no. But now, seeing my hopeful students and listening to their ambitions, feeling their resolve-
"Chiyo!"
Too late; my attention only caught when another object in motion slammed into me. I bounced like a racket ball against solid brick, breath leaving in a gasp as gravity descended my whole.
Before my cranium burst like a watermelon on the sidewalk a hand stopped its momentum, cradling my damp, flyaway hair, fingers spread and molded to the shape of my skull, the connected arm against the curve of my spine. I grasped at the forearm near my waist, trying to help catch my dumbstruck body.
Why are you such an idiotic clutz? My brain all but shouted, doing nothing to help clear the stars in front of my eyes. Who runs without looking where they're going?
I stood only through the support of something- or someone- else. Air rattled through my lungs, sharp and sobering, coherency mildly returned as I looked up.
His t-shirt was loose but I could see and feel the muscles underneath, the toned tendons in the arms holding on to my body. Black hair was fixed somewhere between a ponytail and a bun, brushed off his pale, serious face.
Scratch that- not serious. Mostly, he just looked tired. Dilated blood vessels were apparent in the corners of his slightly-widened eyes, as if sleep was nothing more than a distant memory. His mouth, nestled between two defined jaw bones sprinkled with dark, sparse facial hair, was parted, perhaps just as surprised as I was that this impeccably hot, physically-fit man was holding a clumsy jackass such as myself in the middle of a public park, intimately gazing at one another without exchanging a single word.
In Gestalt psychology, the main principle consists of the brain being able to perceive ideas and images based on their whole, rather than the sum of their parts.
My brain, being nearly caved in by the unforgiving cement, was slow in putting the features of this once-hidden face together.
A slow, crooked smile just barely graced his lips, crinkled his eyes, and I felt my heart beat outside of regulation's mandate.
"We've really got to stop meeting like this."
