"I could've driven myself-"
"The doctors said your vision may be off for a while; plus, look at your arm, how would you've turned the wheel with that mangled, deformed-"
"I get it, thanks."

By Saturday afternoon we were both given a clean bill of health- a weight limit for me and strict orders of bed rest and soft foods for the more-injured Lazy Hero, who was practically the human-equivalent of a cat anyway, so I doubted this would be much of a challenge for him.

Recovery Girl, with one last pucker, took off my final bandages, looking apologetic for the shallow scars left on my arm and leg. I brandished her sympathy with a sword-worthy amount of gusto. I was lucky to be alive- I could handle a few blemishes.

Guilt still addled my bones over Shota and his less-than-rhubarb condition and so, after running home to change clothes and feed a piteously languishing Nasu, I'd returned to the hospital, demanding the beyond-stubborn man to get in my car. I'd gone so far as to threaten him, raising my fingers like a witch willing to cast a spell. He stared at my stupid antics but finally, begrudgingly, submitted.

The same grumpy male was now using my head as a crutch, fumbling to find the right key for his front door. Someone had changed his bandages and left his face bare, save the new one under his eye, just smaller than a matchstick box. His clothes were changed, too. I wondered how he'd bathed. Surely the staff must have aided him.
Thank God. He'd smelled nearly as bad as the time I'd forgotten a bag of potatoes in a drawer for two months.

"If you'd just give me the keys-"
The door swung open and a snort furrowed my hair. "I'm not a damsel in distress. I can open a door."
Says the man using my head in his armpit to hobble his way to a couch, I thought with a little grin. My my, how the tables have turned.

I carefully moved myself out from under him and pulled the blanket from the back of the couch, folding it to cushion the seats before pulling more from the nearby basket. I rolled one into a thick sausage, debating which section of the couch his knees would land; elevation was key, right? Shota shifted behind me, fingers trailing through his hair.

"You don't have to go through all this trouble."
"Did the doctor say to keep your knees or feet up?" Or was it both? I sucked in my bottom lip in thought. Between the can and cannot list of foods, pain meds, and activities, I had been more than a little frazzled.

Interestingly, Dr. Nao seemed very adamant on No sex, in which a small blush highlighted even Shota Aizawa's face before he could hide it.

I shook myself before a full-body flush could rise. "Do you have any pillows?"
"In my bedroom."
Oh.
It's like my life was just one long, embarrassing comedy skit. Ashen eyes watched, crinkled, as I suddenly choked on my own saliva, covering the action with a cough. Nice save.

"Is it in the hallway with the bathroom?"
"Is there another hallway somewhere?"
I squinted, trying to look like a formidable, stocking-footed empress. Amusement licked its way into the curve of his mouth.

"I could make your life really hard, right now. But I won't, because I'm a benevolent God."
"Not goddess? Mineta's sure going to be disappointed."
He snickered and I wandered away to find the pillows, imaginary tiara toppling off my head in defeat.

His room was the grey-green of an aloe plant, walls bare save a shelf of plants I couldn't believe he'd remember to take care of. Tulle curtains, the color of sharkskin, tapered around the one lone window, a potted fern on the sill. I was taken by surprise at the chicness of everything; my room was a box-spring bed thrown against a wall, lovingly set in front of a television hooked to a Playstation. His bed, meanwhile, looked like the kind from those commercials where sheep jumped around and day dreamed about half-price sales and perfect-nights'-sleep, low to the ground and doughy. It was even made. The curtains, I noticed, matched the bedspread, and I was again taken aback by the elegance of it all. This from the man who asked me if fuschia was a color, a food, or both?

This baffling discovery was a discussion for another day. I took two throw pillows in one hand and a "real" one in the other, rigorously fighting the natural instinct to stuff my nose into it and take a whiff. Seriously, what's wrong with me?

Shota was waiting right where I'd left him, eyebrow raised. Probably judging how long it took me to do such a simple task. I hurried over, avoiding eye contact.

"Did you get lost?"
I fluffed the pillows, making a sort-of incline to elevate his upper body and head. "Just checking to see if you have one tacky black jumpsuit or multiple."
When he fell asleep, maybe I really could check. Is that too much an invasion of privacy? Must debate before crossing said bridge.

His movements were slow, my hands braced carefully around one bicep and his ribs, guiding him down onto my little creation. A wince ticked his jaw and apologies blabbered out of my mouth, only deepening the grimace. The lines smoothed once he was in position, settling into the cushions like sand in a quieted ocean.
There was enough room to sit on the very edge beside him. I extracted the reluctant hands that fought to stay wrapped around him, rewarded them instead with brushing the fluttery hair from his temple, stomach flipping in gratitude.

"You should rest. I'll start on dinner."

His right eye was significantly less swollen today, skin yellowed but still capable of rising wryly. I smoothed the unkempt eyebrow with one lone finger, feeling my own expression turning mirthful.

"I went in with a crabby coworker and came out with a domesticated housewife. I should feign death more often."
"Not funny," I deadpanned, pinching his nose with no actual malice- he had just been released from the hospital, after all- before standing. "And you should be so lucky."
"You really don't have to go through all this trouble, Chiyo."
I waved off his words.

I would spend the rest of the decade trying to compensate for what Shota Aizawa had done for me, and not just the body-sacrificing, give-my-life-for-yours fighting.

He hadn't told me to stay back, or hide.
Protect our students.
As if I had power, an ability to fight back instead of just running away, like I had my entire life.
What would life look like, if I became someone who fought back like I'd done yesterday?

Then again, I was a weak-muscled ethics teacher with no training, no license, and as much experience with utilizing my quirk outside my body as a toddler did driving a vehicle.

Nervousness churned my stomach. I rummaged around the refrigerator and freezer, finding a perfect distraction and pack of chicken. With a quick investigation I discovered a canister of rice and a pot big enough for both, filling it with water and swimming the chicken in piece by piece.
I furtively poked back into the living room. The tightness of his shoulders had relaxed, but I could just catch the movement of his eyelashes, eyes still open. He watched on as I dragged an ottoman over to the couch, knees catching between the two cushioned walls.

"You're not going to sit there and watch me sleep," He looked mildly horrified. "I refuse."
"I'm not going to get in trouble for using my quirk yesterday, right? We were under attack; it was in self defense. That's okay, right?"

The thought hadn't crossed his mind yet either, apparently, as he batted an owlish blink.

"Not that there was anyone involved who would really question it, but no, you wouldn't be in trouble. Your quirk served to protect yourself and others after being attacked. If you had attacked first, the situation could potentially be spun in differently, but you didn't."

I nibbled on my lip in thought. He closed his eyes, breath calm.
"How did it feel?"
"Mm?"
"Using your quirk like that."
It was my turn to be pensive. How had it felt? I hadn't thought about it.

There had been all this noise, pain ringing across every synapse, and suddenly a calmed quiet, limbs humming with the invisible magnetism floating from my pores.

It'd felt...good.

"What's it feel like to you, when you use your quirk?"
"Like using any other muscle, I guess." His eyes opened, staring ahead. "But more powerful."
"Is that why people do it? Become heroes and villains?"
The bandage on his face came undone as he turned towards me. I quickly reached out, re-sticking the tape. Two serious eyes didn't waver at my touch.
"It might be why some people become villains, but that's a morally poor choice for a hero to become a hero. It just means they're in it for power."
"Yeah?" I asked with a smile. "So what are you in it for?"

Shota took in a long breath, catching my wrist with his unharmed hand. His eyes grazed my skin, the crescent-moon-shaped mark now permanent on my forearm. A bubble of self consciousness burst in my stomach, spilling its oil across the surface.

"To better society, help scrape some of the scum off the streets," He raised my wrist and with it went my arm, bending my spine at the tug. His breath was warm, lips gentle as they kissed my scar. Every coherent thought in my head fled like the wind at the touch, filling with sizzling lights and warmth.
"To stop injuries like this from happening."

He let go of my wrist, taking my hand instead. I wondered when my heart would return from space.

"I'm trying not to be a damsel in distress all the time. You're not doing me any favors by coddling and regretting my minor injuries." I said.
His lips grew mischievous. "You mean there's other "minor injuries" I should be coddling elsewhere on your body?"

Not ready. So not ready.

"Boiling- chicken- I'm not chicken, but the chicken-" There was a Public Speaking trophy out there with my name on it one day, I just knew it. "I need to go check on the food."

Every nerve in my body felt fine-tuned to his snicker, retreating shoulders jumping at the sound. In the safety of the kitchen I covered my face with both hands, hoping to cool my steaming face.
The water was at a jolly boil. I dumped in the rice and slammed a lid on it, subtlety be damned, and set the oven timer for forty minutes before leaning against the counter in peaceful wait. The kitchen meant safety, far from the smirking, aggravatingly attractive face of my tormentor.

"Chiyo-"
"No." My voice called flatly. "Nope. Go to sleep. The doctor said rest, so that's what you're going to-"
"Your phone is ringing, Chiyo."
Shit. I forgot. I hustled into the room, glancing around for the bag I'd dumped near the door, doing a little panic-shuffle to swipe open the phone before the ringing could end. "H'llo?"
"Chi-chan, honey?"
"Mom!" My voice sounded way too chipper for the play-sick I was supposed to be. I picked at my lip, nervous. A look of mild disgust peered over from the couch. I scratched my nose with my middle finger. "Hi! What's up?"
"Just wanted to check in. When you texted earlier about not feeling well, I got a little worried."

I paced the width of the foyer, careful not to limp under the careful gaze of one impish Shota Aizawa. "It was just a little bellyache. Probably just nerves, you know how I am. I took an alka seltzer and cuddled with Nasu on the couch. I feel a little better," It wasn't a complete lie; my mind was wrapped around potentially snuggling on a couch with a cat-like something, who was still skeptically watching me.

"It's still so lucky you were at school subbing those classes when those villains attacked," The voice in the phone was grave with undertones of complete obliviousness. My thumbnail smoothed my bottom lip, looking for cracks. "I really wish we had found another job opening, Chiyo. You know how I worry-"
"I'm safe, Mom. I was far away, in a building with some of the strongest heroes and reinforcements known to man. Nothing happened. Nothing will happen."

I couldn't tell her the truth. She would storm UA like it was the Bastille, rip my classroom door off by the hinges and stuff every item belonging to me in her purse before dragging me, kicking and screaming, into the sunset, never to be seen again.

Add another Deadly Little Secret to the collection. Submersion now had a companion.

"What are you up to now?"
Shota hadn't stopped watching me. I sat beside him on the ottoman again, picking at the cast encasing one of his arms.
"Just watching trash TV."
"Chi honey, those shows will rot your brain-"
"I have to read the subtitles though, right? So if anything, I'm learning!"
A very un-ladylike sound reverberated from my usually very-ladylike mother.
"Go to bed at a proper time, okay?"
"I will."
"In a bed-" Her volume increased with my eye size. Aizawa looked on as if viewing his own favorite tv program. "Do not fall asleep slumped on your couch without brushing your teeth like you do every other night-"
"Ha ha ha! Such a kidder, Mom. Good-bye! Love you to the moon!" And then with the gravitational rush headed directly towards the sun.
I hung up with the speed of Tenya Iida and took a ragged breath, smothering my face in my hands.

"You didn't tell her about yesterday."
"Are you kidding? You met her," I shivered; the sun was lower in the sky. I busied myself with retrieving another blanket. "She would've flipped out, broken into the hospital, and abducted me, point blank."
"You're a grown woman. She can't tell you what to do."
That's what you think. I shook out the blanket, loosely tucking it under his arms. Shota looked away uncomfortably. I swear roses bloomed under his skin. My hands remained on either side of his chest, enjoying his squirminess. How often did it feel like I had the upper hand?

"Are you warm enough?"
"I'm fine,"
"Are your pillows okay? Do you need me to rearrange them?"
"I'm fine."
My peevish boldness grew with his increasing embarrassment, leading a leg across his waist, suspending me over his suddenly-rigid body. Two charcoal eyes lighted my face, somehow looking a shade darker than before.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Tsutomi."
"Maybe, but with your injuries I think I could outrun you. Aizawa."

The dressing on his face was unsticking again, peeling at two edges now. I scooted up his body and earned a strange, muffled grunt- from pain or something else, I couldn't decipher- and leaned in close.

"I'm going to take this off, okay?"
"Can I see your medical license first?"
"Left it in my other bag, sorry."

He shifted, catching my hips when I began to tumble with the movement, but remained still otherwise, right eye closing in preparation. Probably in fear I'd poke it out with a rogue finger or piece of gauze. Valid.
The tape proved more viscid than its edges. I leaned closer, biting my tongue in effort as I tugged, slow and gentle. Another indiscernible breath fell out of Shota's mouth.

"Do you-"
"Shh," I answered, focusing on the task at hand. Someone else's hand, though, had left my hip, brushed against the exposed skin between my leggings and shirt. Every nerve ending suddenly hummed where his fingers grazed and I felt myself fading from focus, blurring at the edges. I force-beat my blood, slowing my heart back into reluctant submission.

A scar, shiny and deeper than my own, appeared below his bottom lashes, jagged in shape and still wet with some sort of ointment. I marveled at Recovery Girl's ability; this would've taken weeks to heal on its own. In less than 24 hours the wound was already reformed, made tougher by the scarred tissue.
I dropped the bandage over the edge of the couch, folded my hands on his chest and rested my chin on them in thought.

The scar was still a violent red, exposed to the light of day, but didn't mar him. Something twitched in my lips and his brow raised, hand across my back tracing lazy circles.

"Do I look like Frankenstein's monster?"
"If he created a ruggedly handsome, badass monster, then I suppose so."
Seriously, who knew Shota Aizawa could blush?
"It doesn't look bad. I don't think, anyway. I can re-bandage it later so it doesn't get over-exposed."
Silence answered, but the fingers meandered up my spine again.

Would the scar make the great Shota Aizawa self-conscious? Mine were minor, easily-hidden marks.
He would have to wear his, visible to the world, for the rest of his life.

'Do you think he regrets it?' Recovery Girl's wizened voice played in my head.
Selfishly, I didn't want him to regret it; I didn't- couldn't- regret mine, when it meant I had bought us time, maybe even saved us.
So I could be here, with him.

And without another thought, I kissed him.

It was soft, unhurried. His lips moved against mine, hand falling from my shirt to caress my neck, pulling me closer. He'd planted seeds in my chest and now my ribs were bowing out of the way as their flowers bloomed, bursting through my skin and showering me in a smell and light an entire garden couldn't even fathom.

I'd kissed a handful of men in my adulthood.
None of them had felt like this.

His inhale was shaky when I pulled away, eyelashes on his cheeks, forehead warm against my own. A faraway part of my mind, as distant as the sea, worried over a potential fever.

"Chiyo,"
"Shota."
His eyes were still closed, as if trying to regain composure. I tried to fight the delirium taking over my features. Fingers fell out of my hair and ran down my back again, just as slow as before.

"The UA Sports Festival is coming up,"
"Oh," What? My head bobbed, as if this is what I expected him to say. A serious set of eyes opened to look into mine.
"Class loads are going to be light as they prepare, so next weekend shouldn't be too busy with prep. Specifically Saturday."
"Are you...Asking me on a date?"

He watched me watch him, still somber, but a shade of red had quietly began washing up his neck. The delirium of just moments ago took on a new level of moonstruck.
I didn't need to submerse into his chest to feel the quickened heartbeat; it thudded in tandem against my own.

"Will you sing karaoke?"
"Absolutely not."
I sucked in my lips.
"That's kind of a deal breaker."
"I'm sure I can make it up to you...In other ways." His sudden bedroom eyes jolted me from my lovesick stupor.
Not even Eraser Head was quick enough to catch my jumping body, halfway to the kitchen before he could even chuckle.


"It's just chicken congee; Dr. Nao said soft foods. I cooked the chicken long enough- it should just fall apart if you use your fork," She explained, having combed through the hall closet for two fold-up dinner trays which she set up, parallel to one another, in the living room. Her twittering fusses, helping him into an upright position, had been both maddening and endearing, like an unfathomably-attractive mother hen.

"Do you want something other than water?"
"No, this is fine,"
"It's really basic; I can get you soy sauce-"
"This is great, really."

She nodded to herself, flustered, before settling in the recliner across the room, two curved legs folding under her. Surprise and quiet disappointment over her distant set up, rather than beside him on the ottoman again, tugged at his chest before he burnt the sentiment, embarrassed at his desire to be so stupidly close to her.

Every move she made, every little breath and noise and smile, was suddenly driving a warm coil of craving through his abdomen, much stronger than his desire for food. He could feast on her and maybe never need to eat again. Or breathe. Or leave this apartment.
He swallowed the thoughts with the rice.

"Do you mind if I ask you about yesterday?"
She looked up, surprised. "Okay."
He landed on a bulge of chicken. It fell apart with a little exertion, just like she said. It was a simple dish, but soothing. Sitting together in the quietness of his living room together, it felt almost cozy.

"After that villain ran at you-"
"Tomura Shigaraki. He's the leader of the League of Villains, apparently,"
"-When he caught my arm and you rushed us, what did you do?"
The way she fiddled with her utensils, nervously tucking a loose wisp of hair behind her ear, twisted the coil tighter.
"I, um. I focused on the water in his blood and, you know. Pushed it."
Aizawa nearly choked on the rice. Chiyo's face reddened in response.

"You blew him up."
"No! No. I just-"
"You put our hands on him and punched the blood right out of his body like a cannonball-"
"He was going to kill you, Shota."

He watched in wonder as the water from the congee began to drift around, floating out of the bowl to dance around the rim. He tapped a droplet; it split into two, rolling lazily around his finger. With a deep breath the liquid fell back into his bowl, a calmed Chiyo back in function.

Aizawa lifted his bowl to drink the rest, looking flatly at the tomato that had replaced his home nurse.

"Some weak ass quirk, huh."

The dregs of rice suddenly dashed at his face, clogging his nose and choking him. Snickering ricocheted around the room as he coughed, pinching his nose and glaring at the woman hiding behind her own bowl.

She was lucky his legs still had the consistency of jello.

"Maybe I could- I don't know," Her voice was strange, holding a new flavor of nervousness he hadn't heard before. "Maybe I could practice using submersion at school- train a little bit. Just to, you know." She took a slow breath. "I don't want to be a burden anymore."
"You're not a burden, Chiyo."
She nodded, but her features didn't lighten. "If something happens again, I want to be able to help. To protect our students."

He watched her, the woman who had started UA with an adamant will of quirk denial, pushing the students to picture a world without heroes, suddenly emerging from a calloused shell with eyes more determined than he'd ever seen them.
The muscles in his jaw ticked, fighting to raise.

"Good."
"Principal Nezu has cancelled classes for Monday and Tuesday," Chiyo informed, decidedly done with their previous conversation. She rose, bowl in hand. "Tomorrow we'll have to go back to the hospital- you have one more treatment with Recovery Girl, and then it's bed rest for two days."
"We?"

Her movements hiccuped, hand momentarily suspended as it picked up his bowl. The urge to grab that hand, pull her into him, was only fought off by the amusement of watching embarrassment tickle her features.

"I just- Sorry, I'm overstepping- I didn't mean-" She suddenly couldn't look at him, quickly nabbing the bowl and hurrying to the kitchen. He gripped the couch's edge and heaved himself up, legs shaky like an unsure fawn's.

The coil sprung loose, wild and honeying his vision, watching her move around his kitchen, hands quick and surprisingly efficient at locating the garbage bin, the drawer of lids, the cabinet of containers.

Her dark hair nearly reached the small of her back when her head listed, standing on tiptoe to reach a plastic bowl on a high shelf.
His footfalls made no sound on the wood floor, chest brushing her head when he reached out and easily plucked the desired item from the cabinet. Chiyo jumped, just as expected, but he didn't step away, lowering the bowl to the counter as she turned to face him.
Her face was singed. Upon glancing up, seeing his smile, it cherried.

"Where do you like to go?"
Chiyo still wasn't looking him in the eyes; something must have been very interesting about his shirt. "Hm?"
He nudged her aside with one knee, focusing on pouring the remaining dinner into the leftovers container. The bowl would just fit it all, by the looks of it.
"On dates. Where do you like to go?"
"Oh!" She seemed abashed by the sudden enthusiasm in her voice, reigning in her reaction with a swallow. His heart quietly skipped a beat.

"Well, you've shot karaoke dead in the water, and I'm not really a big drinker," She ignored his pointed stare. "I...like everything, really. I love to eat, and movies, and nature's pretty great. I like to know what to prepare for beforehand, but otherwise whatever you like to do is good with me,"

"So agreeable," It came as a mumble. Trying to close the lid on the bowl was proving difficult with his one-handedness. Chiyo noticed, quickly reaching over and holding one side down as he sealed the other. "I was expecting some high standard, three-course meal expectations."

"Is that what your- Do you go out with a lot of high-maintenance women?" She tried to ask innocently. He released something between a scoff and a chuckle.
"I don't really date."
"Ah."

Shit, that came out wrong.
Chiyo seemed unbothered, holding the fridge door open for him to find a space for the leftovers. The shelves were mostly barren. Too late to try and hide the takeout box growing limbs in the back- she'd already poked through here earlier.

"Do you?"
"Do I not seem like someone who goes on a lot of dates?"
He didn't respond right away; a new coil of something hot and distinctly tasting like jealousy was snaking between his lungs.
"Do you?"
She shut the fridge with a sullen inflection. "No."

Good.

"What about Toshinori?" His voice betrayed his nagging conscience, too curious for his own good. He followed after her, noticing the wiped-down counter and pot soaking in the sink. He wondered if she treated her apartment with the same care or if this was just guilt-cleaning about his injuries. She hadn't apologized again since last night, to his utmost relief.

"We went to places together. Sometimes we held hands," Chiyo shrugged, glancing at the clock. Aizawa's chest revolted against the notion of her leaving, though logic provided no reasoning for it. "Toshi really is a great, great friend, but something always felt a little...I don't know. It's like when you think you're biting into one food and it turns out to be another, you know?"

"Do you...often mistake your foods?"
She sent him a swift pinch- one he was too slow in his current state to dodge.
"He's a dog person. I'm Team Cat," Chiyo added with another shrug, lips giving a crooked quirk. "Lay back down and I'll redress your wound."
"In a minute," He answered, heading down the hall towards the bathroom. She nodded.
"If you fall in, just give me a yell!"

He had ignored her tease, though doing everything one-handed proved much more than a little tedious. Washing just the one hand felt distinctly wrong. He looked up, observing the yellow-brown curve of his eye coupled with the barbed scar, right over the bone of his cheek. Which attack had caused the permanent reminder?

It wasn't how others would view the mark that particularly bothered him- it was what she would feel, every time she looked at him now.
He didn't want her remorse. Or worse- pity.
He hadn't been more sure of any other single action that day than protecting her in that moment. Remorse had no home here.

"Shota? Did you actually- Do you need help?" There was hidden worry creeping into the voice outside the bathroom door, too hesitant to try the handle. Aizawa shook himself and opened the door, entertained by her sudden jerky movement and nervous smile. Had she had her ear against the door?

"I should probably go after this; Nasu gets vindictive when I'm gone too long,"
"Shame," The word fell out of his mouth before he could catch it and, for the third time that day, Shota Aizawa felt heat rise up his neck. "That you didn't just bring him, I mean."
Chiyo nodded in pleasant agreement. "You're the only person I've seen my little prince adhere to. He's usually a hateful little shit to visitors."

Visitors including All Might? He didn't dare actually ask as she settled him back into the pillow fort creation, smoothing his hair away from the area of attention and blotting his cheek with an alcohol wipe. The pink tip of her tongue was already poking between her teeth in concentration. His lips curved and her attention momentarily wavered before she decidedly ignored him.

"What time will you be over tomorrow?"
The ointment was wintry on his skin. "Oh, now you want me to take you?"
"I never said I didn't."
"Mmm," She ripped a piece of tape with her teeth. He marveled at the unsanitariness of such an action. "She said 8 AM, since you'll be tired after and probably need to rest."
"What will you do during?"
"Work on lesson plans. Watch tv," Light eyes flicked to his, mirroring his mischievousness. "Go through all your drawers and closets, line up all the skeletons and compare them to mine."

She had made quick work of the injury, already zipping up the pouch given to them at the hospital, leaving it on the ottoman for easy access. A bottle of water, two pills, and the remote to the television were also in a perfect line beside the bag, thoughtful in placement and curiously tightening Shota's stomach.

Chiyo hopped around, pulling on the shoes she'd left by the front door. The curve of her spine straightened, feet perfectly hidden in ankle boots, and threw out her hands in protest as he began to rise. "Don't get up. You're supposed to be resting; I can see myself out."

The sentiment of playing polite hostess was not the primary reason he wanted to see her off.

Something in his expression must have portrayed this as a devious smirk twisted her lips. She quickly unlocked the door and slid away, becoming nothing more than a floating head of stupid hair in his apartment. A cheeky hand blew him a kiss.

"Goodnight, Shota. Don't forget to floss," She cooed.
"Goodnight, Chiyo. Try not to fall down a flight of stairs before you get me to the hospital tomorrow." He cooed right back, earning a disdainful sniff from the clutz in question. The door closed with a resounding slam and he fell back into the pillows, mildly disappointed.

His eyes had just closed, wondering if sleep was even possible, when there came a rush of noise, door flying and boots like hooves against the floorboards before two warm hands were on his face, turning him to her soft lips.

She was gone as fast as she'd come- a flash of pearly whites, apples of her cheeks rosy, and a farewell of "for real this time," his last taste of her until tomorrow.

Life was distinctly less-terrible with Chiyo Tsutomi around.