There were two new faces on the trail; one I was pleasantly surprised to see, the other giving me acid reflux.
"Ms. Tsutomi, hi! I hope you don't mind us joining you," Izuku Midoriya gave his hair an apologetic scratch and I was distinctly reminded of Toshinori. The same nervous blush even danced across his nose. I slowed my pace, brows raising at my two usual running companions.
I'd returned home still hot and bothered by the impromptu makeout session to find a co-op email from Yaoyarozu and Asui, inquiring about our running routine. I'd answered quickly, happy to have a distraction for the next few sluggish off-days.
Monday moved at a snail's pace, lackadaisical in activities; I caught up with my shows, daydreamed about Shota, meal prepped for the week, daydreamed about where we'd go on our first official date, sat still as a statue and reached out to see if I really could use submersion to feel out others like Shota mentioned (three people in the apartment below mine, just one in the apartment next door. If I didn't already know he was male I certainly did now, with how often he stood in the bathroom peeing), and finally texted the man haunting my thoughts.
-Who is this? Was the groundbreaking response I'd received.
-Some stealth master YOU are.
I mean, really. How did he not have my number? They were all available in the faculty directory (which, praise common sense, was only available to said faculty. The last thing I needed was purple-ball pics sent from a certain first year).
The baubles returned me to the moment at hand. I stared down at one passive-faced Minoru Mineta, trying to gauge how guarded I should act. He wiped his nose innocently, eyes bouncing up and down my outfit. "'Sup Miss Tsutomi. We runnin' or what?"
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, head lilting in Yaoyarozu's direction, but Midoriya was the one to step up, hands out in a placating manner. "We've all been really worried about you, Ms. Tsutomi. When Yaoyarozu mentioned she and Tsu go running with you after school, I asked if we could come as well," He gestured at Mineta, who was looking a little more reserved now.
"We owe you our lives. We just wanted to say thanks."
It was my turn to throw my hands up, stomach flipping at the notion of having done anything other than delay the inevitable if All Might hadn't shown up. "You're giving me way too much credit. I didn't-"
"You stopped that guy with the creepy hands from melting Tsu's face off," Mineta interjected, words altered by his strange way of speaking. "And Midoriya woulda been a pile of broken bones like Mr. Aizawa if you hadn't stopped that Nomu from using him like a rag doll."
I visibly flinched, mind surfacing the image of Shota and the bubbling pool of blood he'd been submerged in. A swift slap hit Mineta upside the head, whip returning to Asui's mouth.
"We owe both of you a great deal. Thank you, for keeping us safe."
I waved off their comments, awkward and strangely bashful, hiding my face as I bent down to retie my shoestrings.
I had made a difference.
"So, you wanna get in the tip-top shape I'm in, huh?" Mineta puffed out his chest, seemingly forgetting his six-year-old physique. I scoffed, turning instead to Midoriya.
"I'm trying to get in better shape. I...You all know I'm not a frequent quirk user, and I've never been very athletic. But I want to get stronger. Better." My hands clenched, unable to fully relay what I wanted, and how I needed to change.
To protect my students.
Nervousness flitted through my stomach; four sets of eyes were suddenly glued to my face, mouths all gooey and smiling. I stomped, hissing at Mineta, and burst through the circle, quickly being surrounded by my new training crew.
And so began Operation Submersion.
-You could've just said it was you and saved me the time of looking it up just to make sure.
-I could've, but where's the fun in that?
My phone began a steady vibration. I grinned, swiping open the screen.
"Shota Aizawa, calling a girl? I'm shocked."
A noise of annoyance grunted through the phone.
"What are you doing?"
I stalled in the driver's seat of my car, leaning back to give my body a moment to cool. Midoriya, ever thoughtful, had pointed out some new methods he thought would expand my lung capacity and endurance. It wouldn't be long before they were buying me weights and trying to force protein powders down my throat.
I kind of loved it.
"What am I doing? Bothering you, apparently."
Another nonverbal sound. "Your breathing is off."
"Are you an expert on my breath, Shota?" I cradled the phone between my ear and shoulder, shutting the car door and turning on the ignition.
"I've become well-acquainted with your slobbery sleep breathing and the way your breath catches when your body's against mine, so yeah, I'd say I have a pretty good feel of your range."
A car honked, driver waving an angry fist in my direction as I almost ran a four-way, body as red as the stop sign I'd nearly ignored.
"You shouldn't talk on the phone and drive, Tsutomi. You're clearly bad at it."
"Thanks for the advice, senpai,"
"Don't ever say that again. Ever."
I laughed. He shifted, phone catching the sound. I asked,"What are you doing?"
Crickets.
Realization struck me like an exclamation point.
"Aizawa, you don't...miss me, do you?"
"I just saw you yesterday."
That's not a no. I hummed a response, taking a left and guiding my beat-up car into the residential parking lot.
"You've been resting, right? Have you finished off the leftovers?"
"Now who's nagging?"
I let the comment go, replaying everything I'd seen in his cabinets that was edible and easily thrown together. He moved again, probably wandering into the kitchen to suss out what he both could find and was willing to make.
"When Toshinori asks why I asked for your number, feel free to explain why,"
Toshinori. How would he react to this new development? It's not like we were ever really dating- he kind of admitted that too, hadn't he?
Nasu gave a meow of contempt as I entered the apartment, pretending not to care as I came in and spent three years petting his silky fur and tickling his chin. Then again, it's not like Shota and I are dating, either. Right?
"I can smell your brain frying from here, Tsutomi."
"Why didn't you just look me up in the directory?" My voice came out snippier than I anticipated, clearly frazzled. Submersion ticked in to calm me, mellowing out the blood rushing from my heart. Would he feel betrayed? It would be wrong to keep this from him.
"The number in the directory isn't yours."
"What?"
"I texted the number listed and got a "wrong number" response. You'll have to go to administrations and have it changed. Or don't, and become an enigma."
How many people have tried to contact me, I wonder? I'd sort it out later; the husky voice in the phone had gone into a tangent about how providing such information was a breach of privacy and not part of our original contract, prattling on and on. It was the most I'd ever heard him speak at one time.
Before I knew it an hour had passed, spent on the phone with the dryly witty, sometimes snarky Eraservoice, pulling tidbits of information and memories from one another. Nasu watched, mildly interested, as I puttered around the house, sat fifty different ways on the couch before just lying on the floor, eventually lounging in the empty bathtub and pulling water droplets from the spigot.
He liked the night and hated the beach, enjoyed every genre of music and film, despised early mornings and inconsiderateness.
I told him about my leather-bound book collection and how my friends and I named our freckles and beauty marks as kids, self-consciousness an unknown concept as we'd shed our clothes and count the rogue ones on our ankles, the space between our shoulders.
He laughed, asked in a murmur if he could count them himself. Nasu let out a yowl when his water bowl exploded in the next room over.
We discussed the Sports Festival and how each class and grade would be involved. After ten minutes of assuring me everyone would be fine (save, probably, Midoriya, who seemed to break a bone every two minutes) I had steeled myself for what was to come- enough to at least not break down before the event actually occurred. Maybe we can discuss the efficacy of public violence in class, once this is all over, and use their individual experiences to form arguments.
The next two weeks would be slow; the calm before the next storm. But I was ready now, for what was going to unfold.
I just hoped the students were prepared.
