He was nervous.
Palms slick on the steering wheel, heart beating a little too hard for his own liking.
You're being ridiculous. You've spent the last two months with her twenty feet away; she's been in your apartment multiple times. This isn't your first time alone with her.
But standing outside her apartment, hesitantly knocking on her door, felt entirely different than any other time before.
The door opened and there Chiyo Tsutomi stood, taking his breath away when a pearlescent smile greeted him, chipped tooth and all.
"Hey! Wow, you own a sports jacket? Very nice," She reached out and gave the right lapel a little tug for emphasis. Shota Aizawa continued to stare, words caught in his throat at the sight of her.
Panic slowly ebbed into Chiyo's features and she glanced down at her own outfit. "What? Does it look stupid? You didn't give me a lot to go on-"
"I definitely won't lose you in a crowd," He recovered, just barely.
His date laughed, doing a spin to show off the golden skirt that trailed from her waist down to the soft curves of her calves, feet strapped into subtle black heels. The scar on her arm was veiled by a black, long-sleeved shirt, snug on her chest and cut to reveal her shoulders. Hands disappeared into the pleats of the skirt as she stopped, wiggling her eyebrows like a cheesy car salesman.
"It has pockets."
Shota smirked. "Can't beat that."
"I wouldn't expect you to understand," She sighed. With a twist of the lock Chiyo shut her apartment door and dangled the keys in front of him. "Will you carry these? I hate bags."
Something hadn't quite recovered yet as Shota continued to gaze at her, hands buried in his own pockets. Light eyes widened and Chiyo pushed the hair back from her face; her own nervous tick.
"If you don't want to carry them you can just say so-"
"You look beautiful," He all but blurted, as if his brain had taken this long to come up with such an eloquent compliment. Color bloomed in her cheeks nonetheless, fidgeted her posture, and his body responded, drawing near to touch her jaw and tilt her face for easier access to her lips.
Worry gnawed at his edges at being so forward, but the sight of her, dressed for him and nervous, was too much to handle. Her mouth became pliable and fingers brushed across his cheek, his ear, before burying themselves into his hair, pulling him closer. He slid a hand across her waist, pressed into the small of her back.
The first time she had kissed him was right here, in this hallway.
It had been fleeting, far too quick, but played again and again in his mind's eye; the feel of her against him, the taste of her, how she breathed him in.
Kissing her felt like standing against the tide, letting the water shock and wash over every single surface, taking everything when it left.
A hand pressed against his chest, breaking them apart; too soon, just like the first time. Her breath drew in quickly between them.
"We- Do you have a reservation somewhere?" As if on cue, her stomach gave a demanding grumble. Chiyo flew back, covering her abdomen in clear horror. He gave a soft laugh before taking her forgotten keys.
"We do, actually."
"Where?"
He twirled the keys on one slender finger, heading towards the stairs. "You're just going to have to come along and find out."
Schoolteacher Aizawa and Date Night Aizawa were not the same person- they weren't even the same species.
Mild fear of the bandaged mummy-man showing up at my door had caused a lot of nervous foot tapping when I'd rushed to get ready earlier, until Nasu finally nibbled my toes to a stop, personally annoyed by the near-constant vibrations against his napping form. I'd shaken myself of the worry with a few well-chosen pop songs, dancing away from the shallowness.
I was going on a date with Shota Aizawa, who pushed me to be more and held me close, teased my clumsiness and wanted to count my sparse freckles. I didn't care what he looked like.
As if the gods had heard my pure thoughts I was blessed not with a mummy but a stripped man, dark jeans on his long legs and a well-fitted black v-neck above, covered with a sports jacket near the same color as his eyes. His dark hair was knotted at the crown, too-short tendrils softening the image as they maintained his almost-signature shagginess.
Yes, I supposed. There must actually be a Divine Power.
"Is dinner the only item on the agenda?" I doubted he'd give me any clues, but it was worth a shot. Charcoal eyes slid to my side of the car, crinkling. Figures. The buildings blurred by, becoming less and less frequent as Shota continued to drive. Curiosity was getting the best of me so I turned from the scenery, observing my mysterious abductor instead.
He followed all the speed limits but just barely, edging on the side of speeding without seeming risky, seat pushed back nearly as far as it would go; the opposite of me, where my knees nearly brushed the lower dash panel, every mechanic and their crew commenting on the funniness of it. Why no, I haven't heard that short joke before! Good one!
One hand held the steering wheel and the other rested on the central console, sleeve reaching just below his elbow. He'd cast the jacket off as soon as we reached the car, tossing it into the backseat without a second glance.
A scar similar to mine, still pink around the edges, glinted in the dying light, curved around his forearm.
His reaction was slight as I ran a finger over the dip of the scar, but the pounding heart against submersion's senses gave away his nerves as I smoothed my hand down his wrist, intertwining our fingers together. A glimpse of red poked above his collar until he shifted, eyes ahead.
His fingers squeezed against mine, just once, and I fought the stupid grin wanting to spread across my face like honey.
Houses now lined the road, surrounded by more greenery than any place in the city. Shota parked the car on a street already lit with yellowed streetlights, at my door before I could even undo my seat belt. I made a face, clearly not a damsel in distress. His answering smirk was well-earned as I stumbled on my heels, forgetting the curb and using his offered hands to balance myself.
Benches lined the outskirts of a restaurant made from peach terra cotta, soft music filtering from unseen speakers as we drew closer. I held on to Shota's arm as we walked across the cobblestone entry, noting the patrons nearly hidden by big, leafy plants dining in the crisp twilight. Most of the people seemed to live in the area, dressed casual and relaxed as they sipped from large wine glasses or shared a basket of cut bread. A tug on my arm brought me back to Shota, nodding his head towards a man in black dress pants leading us away.
"Laminated menus," I mused, leaving it flat against the table and opening the first glossy page. "Pulling all the stops, huh?"
The waiter recommended some house special and Shota nodded, now hiding behind his own giant wine glass. I was terribly reminded of Mineta's grape juiced head and bit back a snicker.
"Just the calm before the storm, Tsutomi."
"If you think I'm going bungee jumping or crime fighting, I'm not wearing the right shoes."
The same waiter returned, running through his own recommendations before folding his hands in front of him, waiting.
Since when do they not write orders down? There's no way I could remember more than one order at a time; even then, I'd surely forget special accommodations and probably end up with a negligent homicide accusation.
As soon as the waiter wandered off I ripped into the basket he'd left, manners be damned. Shota looked on with mild amusement as I melted into a puddle at the warm, homemade bread, eyes blissfully closing.
"That good, huh?"
I smiled in answer, gaze becoming a little too honeyed at his crossed arms leaning against the table's edge, the dimple just barely prodding his right cheek.
"How'd you find this place?"
"I do a lot of late night driving."
What does that even mean? Because he doesn't sleep well?
The dimple grew- my confusion was probably too obvious. "How are your classes going?"
"Good. I get a lot of questions before and after school, weirdly," I twisted the narrow throat of my glass, took a sip before continuing, "A kid from General Studies came in the other day and asked about mental quirks and whether they're ethical, even in heroism."
I'd been taken by surprise at such a question and considered deeply before answering.
Looking back now, with what was happening with my own mind, what my mom had potentially done, my answer might be different.
"And?" His voice was careful. I hadn't forgotten that he, too, suspected my mom of acts less than docile.
"A great method I learned in college is deflection," There was only one piece of bread left. I cut my eyes to his, moving quickly. His hand shot out, just as fast, but was deterred by my sharp nails. "-asking another building question to make an individual look at the problem in a new light; for example, if the quirk is used for good intentions, like protecting a life or to draw out information from a kidnapper, would an outside source view the use as positive?"
Our food arrived, steaming and smelling of heaven.
"Of course, if someone is using a mental quirk against someone's will and using their own subjective views to make decisions for said person, you run into a dilemma," I stabbed into the pasta a little too aggressively, hitting the dish's bottom with a loud clink. A watchful gaze reddened my skin.
I'd sworn to lock this drama in the drawer alongside the notebook where it could fester, burning and smelling of sulfur, until tomorrow.
Or next week.
Or never.
The boy who asked, though, wasn't someone I could see abusing his quirk. He was quiet but watchful, like an animal unsure whether making himself seen by others was safe.
A panther, hiding its spots.
Shota gave me a moment of peace, focusing on his food so I could deal deal with whatever racing thoughts plagued me. I reached down and unbuckled my heels, hiding my feet in my chair. This alone brought a new sense of calm.
He looked unsurprised when I reached over to sample his meal, even assisting by pushing his plate closer to mine.
"How often do you go on missions?"
Shota snorted into his plate, winding a particularly long noodle round and round before inserting it into his mouth. "I'm not a ninja, Chiyo,"
"Okay," I answered slowly, annoyance evident in my tone. "How often do you do hero work? I'm assuming less often since you became a teacher at UA?"
"Of the few assignments I take these days most involve stealth, so they usually occur at night. I don't run into many conflicts with my school schedule."
Is this why he's always so tired? How often must he go out, saving people and being a hero, juggling a teaching gig during the day?
"So, you take assignments in the dark of night, cloaked by shadows and mystery...But you don't see a ninja-esque connection."
The dimple waved hello across the table.
"Is that why you're always so tired?"
"I'm tired because people are tiring; it has nothing to do with my nightly activities." Two dark eyebrows rose, suggestive. The newly-minted scar under his eye only fed into his roguish inappropriateness as he drank from his wine glass, not breaking his stare. My stomach flipped and my conscience quickly told it to shut up.
"What do you do on your ninja- on your assignments?"
"Surveillance and infiltration, mostly. Kidnappings, on the livelier occasion."
He had my undivided attention now, food forgotten. "Really? Like actual damsels in distress?"
"It's usually children, taken by an angry split-up parent who didn't get custody."
Oh.
Shota smiled, trying to lighten the blow. "Sometimes there's damsels."
"Yeah?" The idea of Shota, cool and mysterious in his yellow goggles, literally swooping a woman off her feet, suddenly seemed a lot less appealing. "Young, attractive ones?"
"Mhm," He hid a smirk, as if I couldn't see him sitting across the damned table. As if I wouldn't catch on to his purposeful aloofness. I'm not falling for that, Eraserbrain.
"I bet you find a lot of...perks, with your job, huh."
Well, so much for the cool-girl route.
His low chuckle twisted my organs, wringing them dry to fill them with more green jealousy.
"Pretty sure I've told you before, damsels in distress aren't really my thing." Shota looked at his plate. If I didn't know him I might think he'd suddenly grown shy. "Just the ones with crooked smiles and ridiculous hairstyles."
"Who like to take naps," I added for good measure. He gave me a serious nod. I picked at my food, pathetically giddy.
After trying his dish, I realized mine didn't hit the desired palate notes. I looked pointedly at the two plates before sending a doleful look his way. He rolled his eyes. I leaned in, sure to rest my chest against the tabletop, and one eyebrow twitched, red ivy creeping up his neck before a heavenly plate slid over, accompanied by an aggravated sigh. I beamed, pushing my plate across to him.
"You're a pretty great date, Shota."
"The night is young, Chiyo."
Most girls- especially on first dates- were the stock image of demureness, ordering nothing but the lightest meal and forgoing any sort of appetizer.
Chiyo Tstomi was not one of those girls.
She'd eaten nearly the entire basket of bread before he'd taken a single piece, then almost took his hand off when he tried for the last scrap. Her selected entree was just as large as his own and, after realizing she preferred his, had pressured him into trading, impish in her victory while she feasted.
Her eyes proved much larger than her stomach and was asking for a box in less than ten minutes.
"No dessert?" He'd asked coyly. Chiyo's nose lifted in disdain, waving a hand.
"I'm not paying an arm and a leg for a piece of cake."
"You're paying?"
"No," She answered, grin slow and still a little devious. "But that's ridiculous all the same. You can buy me something later though, if you're so put out by it."
She leaned back in her chair and patted her stomach like a little Buddha, blissfully unaware of how ridiculous she looked. "That was great. This is great. What now, Shota?"
The way she said his name, breaking the two syllables apart until they were nearly their own words. He looked away, fighting the hike in his blood pressure.
"The real event of the night, Chiyo. Ready?"
She practically waddled to the car, as if she'd eaten an entire buffet instead of four pieces of bread and half an entree. When she eased her seat back and closed her eyes, a smile still on her lips, Aizawa paused, debated on boldly leaning over and kissing her again.
Recalling the garlic and parmesan dusting of the bread she'd scarfed down, he decided against doing so until a later moment.
"When was the last time you went out on a date?"
"I don't remember."
Her eyes blinked open in surprise. He glanced at her but said nothing more.
"I went on a lot of dinner-and-a-movie dates."
He didn't particularly want to hear or think about her on dates with other men. "Oh?"
Chiyo looked out the window, face irritatingly unreadable. "I went out a lot, actually."
An unjustifiable heat was starting to smoke his lungs, asphyxiating his ability to respond.
"We would go to dinner, go to a movie, and then I'd have them drop me off until the next time there was something good to see. No hand holding, no kissing. Looking back, I guess that was kind of shitty of me."
"How so?"
She shifted, getting comfortable in the reclined passenger seat, eyes still on the passing lights. "They paid for my food and movie ticket, but I didn't really give them anything in return; I'd never even call them back, sometimes. I-" Chiyo hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully. "I didn't let people get close to me, before."
"Before?" He was really hitting her with the hard questions tonight. She turned anyway, smiling.
"Before starting at UA, I guess. Before making friends and getting close to the students. Before you," If he looked at her warm face any longer he'd turn around and drive straight home, keep her in his apartment until Armageddon. He glanced away just in time.
"It wasn't shitty of you; you don't owe anyone anything for taking you out to dinner and a movie."
"Yeah? No sex for you, then."
Shota Aizawa, the very essence of calm, nearly crashed the car at her comeback, glaring as the small space filled with her snickering.
An old, towering house came into view and Chiyo sat up, suddenly alert. A wave of something- nerves?- flashed across her face as he brought the car to a stop.
"What is this?"
"Your surprise," He was feeling a lot less sorry for her now, grabbing his jacket before opening her door with a smug expression. "Let's go."
Chiyo was a vision of reluctance, arms crossed tightly over her chest as they neared the ancient-looking mansion. A line snaked down the large porch steps and sinister music streamed through tower speakers, pocked with sudden screams emanating from the house. Chiyo stopped abruptly, metallic skirt swaying with the movement. Her pupils had grown considerably in the past thirty seconds. Aizawa grinned, wrapping his jacket around her shoulders and subtly pulling her into the line.
"Shota."
"Mm?"
"Shota, what is this." She didn't even phrase it as a question, eyes staring straight ahead. His grin grew several curling inches.
"You can get licenses for using your quirk outside of hero work; an example of this would be haunted houses."
He caught her shoulder just as she tried to bolt, pulling her back in line.
"You'll be fine-"
"No."
"They can't touch you, I made sure to find one that specified-"
"No."
Her usually-golden pallor had gone ghostly as she tried to make another run for it. Aizawa caught both arms this time and she turned, burying her face into his chest.
"No damsels, remember?"
She grunted a response. He smiled, running fingers down her back.
"If you do this for me, I'll do something for you."
"Anything?" Her answer was muffled by his shirt.
"...Within reason, sure."
At last two light eyes looked up to his, nearly rueful. She breathed a shaky breath and nodded.
"Fine."
The line moved slowly. With each step forward Chiyo squeezed his hand one ounce tighter. By the time they reached the entry his fingers were numb beyond feeling.
Another short line awaited after paying, the room filled with animatronic jump-scares, erupting out of black curtains or bouncing from invisible wires strung to the ceiling. A statue dressed as the grim reaper came to life when they neared, grinning menacingly and winding through the line to prey on the feeble. Chiyo tucked her face into Aizawa's arm, like an ostrich taking cover from a predator, both hands grabbing on to his hand. A chuckle escaped his best efforts and she huffed in return, refusing to lift her face.
It felt like someone was pouring hot wax over his bones, warming at the base and growing through the birdcage of his ribs. He pressed a kiss to her temple, squeezed her hand. She at last surfaced, quavery but looking determined.
He'd witnessed her catch a fucking spider on a textbook just last week, screaming when he'd tried to kill it before carrying it lovingly outside in her bare hands. She'd stood up to a creature with the power of All Might and lived to the tale.
And she was afraid of simulated fear and jump scares.
"What?" Chiyo asked, voice immediately defensive. "What are you laughing at?"
When Shota Aizawa said he had a surprise, I'd expected something soothing. Like a night stroll, or even a nap center.
I hadn't thought to prepare for Sadistic Aizawa, who pranked his kids into fearing fake exams or expulsion after failing pre-tests.
All my life I'd been trained to be a fear-avoider; Halloween was meant for trick-r-treating, scary movies were for other people.
And I, under no circumstances, would ever choose a haunted house. For fun.
We can do this, we can be that girl, I pumped myself up, swallowing my fear. New outlooks, right? How bad can it be?
If the entrance was any indication, it could be bad. Very bad.
For the first time all day I allowed submersion to take full control, steadying my heart rate, slowing my nerves. Shota glanced down; had he noticed? I sucked in my lips and didn't look at him. A light pressure squeezed my hand anyway, prod gentle as we at last entered the main house.
The rooms were done in purposeful decay, cobwebs hanging from light fixtures and dust caked in every nook and cranny, furniture like something out of a period film. A grand staircase, suited with worn velvet the color of dried blood, rose before us.
At the top stood a person clad in tattered black clothes, hair grimy and head lolling as if in a trance. I held my breath as we ascended.
They can't touch you, it's fine. You're totally fine.
They didn't need to touch me to strike panic throughout my nervous system; with every step we took the ghoul took one itself, teleporting from stair to stair, silent except for the rigid way its body began to move, as if awakening. Even submersion failed to keep my heartbeat in check. Shota veered, just barely, and with the movement I slid behind him as we reached the midway point, the ghoul standing right before us. Are those blood marks? Do they have a blood user here?
Ever the hero, Shota ambled towards the stuttering creature, pulling me along. I released a sigh; it disappeared, just as it had done step by step.
A cold, stale breath whispered against my ear.
It had moved directly behind us.
Shota had no time to react as I ripped at his arm, sprinting up the last half of the staircase. With every slam of my heels the teleporter followed, growing in speed until we stood, face to face as I moved through the threshold of the next area.
A skull cap was pulled all the way down past its nose, leaving only a pale, blue-veined neck below a mouth full of yellowed, grinning teeth. My chest heaved, fear caressing my features, but it didn't move any closer.
"They're assigned to areas; I don't think it can follow us," My voice sounded ridiculously calm in comparison to the adrenaline racing like crack through my bloodstream. If possible, the stained grin grew larger. A hand squeezed mine. I finally looked away, at my date who was trying very hard to hide his smile between our connected fingers. I scowled just as he kissed the back of my hand, turning us back to the path.
Staticky, cheerful music, as if being played through a hollow metal tube, greeted us in the next room.
It was Shota's turn to go rigid.
The walls, every last inch of them, were covered in doll heads, from cracked porcelain to pliable rubber, in every color and shape, hair creating a dripping rainbow that masked any extra space on the wall, every smiling face harboring a matching silver nail struck through their flesh-colored foreheads. The tinny music filtered through a music box set on a table where a little ballerina figurine twirled in a slow circle, moved by the cadence. Her limbs were of perfect posture, but where her slicked hair could have been there was nothing; someone had splintered her head clean off.
What a waste, my strange mind thought.
Let's fucking bail, Shota's mind must have thought, as I was suddenly being dragged across the room at top speed. Compared to the last room this seemed like a cakewalk; what was so scary about some disfigured dolls?
The exit door slid shut before Shota could grab the handle.
A lilting voice- young, innocent, but somehow terribly wrong- alerted me to the fact that we were not the only ones in the room.
"You don't...want to play with us?"
Shota didn't even turn, face hidden by the consuming darkness of the room. I glanced around, looking for the voice.
"Daddy said you were here to play with us."
Two little voices, huh.
A tall crib, ivory bars like long, carved bones, was just apparent in the far corner. A small hand crawled between the rungs, using them to climb out. Obsidian hair, wet and clinging to her face, slinked out like gooey seaweed, tumbling to the floor where she paused. She looks like she's really just a kid. Is there an age limit for these things?
A scratching drew my gaze across the room. A boy looking no older than the girl was combing the hair of a dismembered head on the wall. The girl clawed closer, limbs disjointed and frightfully pale, and the boy stopped, turning towards us.
One half of his face had been gnawed off, flesh dewy and pulled at the edges.
"She won't let you leave until you play with her. Mommy tried to leave, too." He gave a beaming smile, blood and pus oozing from his wound with the effort.
"Now mommy can never leave."
A thunderous clash jolted me off the floor, whipping around with better reflexes than I'd ever displayed in my life.
Only, it wasn't "mommy".
It was Shota Aizawa, violently slamming his fist into the sealed exit.
A croaked gasp breathed from the girl, halfway across the room. I caught Shota's fist before he really did splinter the door into a thousand pieces.
"Shota-"
"No."
What kind of answer is that? He refused to look around the red-shaded room so I did instead, catching sight of a ball.
"Chiyo," His voice had never sounded quite so pleading. I paused to savor the moment. "Don't-"
"I'm fine, don't worry."
The ball was just some cheap drugstore brand, bouncy and light. The crawling girl hadn't paused, still lurching towards Shota who looked five seconds from flying through the roof and into the night. I bounced the ball and she shuttered, halting in her gait.
"You want to play?" My tone was friendly as I bounced the ball again. Like a defensive animal she rose, curious, before turning to face me wholly, thumping onto her bottom, bony legs spread apart. I sat down too, rolling the ball over to her. The off-putting music sang on about a puppy in a window. A thousand eyes- marble, glass, or painted- continued to watch as we began to play.
A hand on my shoulder turned my attention and Shota breathed a sharp, quiet breath; the half-faced boy had wandered over. Without a sound he knelt beside me, catching the ball as the girl pushed it towards us. The door, in response, swayed open with a groan.
"Was it the dolls that did you in, or the music?"
He was clenching my hand to the point of bruising, steps quick as we moved down the hall.
"All of it," Shota muttered, warily staring straight ahead.
Children- no matter how terrifyingly-dressed and rehearsed- just weren't scary to me. In a fight I knew I could take a few ankle biters without much fuss, paranormal or not. I snickered and he shot me a glare, just as a fist rammed into my temple.
What the hell? I don't know if I screamed or thought it as I fell to the ground, already halfway to tears. My deceitful date swiveled in surprise.
A hand, wrapped in grey mesh, was returning to its picture frame, immobilized once again. Two familiar hands pulled me close before I pinched his chest, slapping him away. Snotty panic wet my nose, hysteria eminent. "You said they couldn't touch us! What do you call that?"
"If we move carefully, they won't be able to."
They?
I looked, horror filling every pore, down the hallway.
Twenty feet of wooden floorboards, walls less than five feet apart, covered in grey-filled picture frames.
No.
"We have to go single-file."
No.
"It'll be okay," He sure as hell didn't sound as certain as he did when we'd first arrived. Shota took my hand again, moving in front and carefully walking in the middle of the hallway. "I'll go first, that way you can check the arm lengths."
Shota took a step; a hundred hands responded, shooting out of the paintings, stretching the confining grey film as they flinched and jerked, grasping in the air. The sound, like a thousand skittering spider legs, was almost worse than the hands themselves.
I was near vomiting by the time we reached the next stage, leaning against his arm in exhaustion. What kind of first date is this?
"A memorable one," Shota answered, because I'd actually spoken out loud.
We stepped into a morgue, a crazed mortician laughing maniacally as he chopped a shrieking woman to pieces. There was banging, shouts muted by the thick metal doors, from the mortuary refrigerators. Blood splattered across the walls, gushed from the limbs of the severed bodies. A regeneration quirk? Luckily, these whackos seemed perfectly content on their own; we moved right through without a struggle.
"How large is this house?" Whispering seemed the only plausible method of communication; after being punched by a picture, I had little doubt the walls also had ears.
"It could be a hallucinatory or expansion quirk, making everything feel larger," Shota murmured back. The air cooled- were we in the basement? Instead of leaky pipes and moldy bricks, however, everything had turned...tropical. Vines crawled up the walls, camouflaged the dim light pouring through the high ceiling. How deep down were we?
Therianthropic persons, with scaled legs and bony spines, scaled up the walls. Something whimpered like a wounded animal to our right before letting out a piercing shriek. There was a crunch and silence resumed, staccatoed only by the rustling of forestry as creatures moved through. Prowling.
Watching.
"I think it's almost over."
At some point both my hands had grabbed his right arm. I gave a squeeze in response. How dangerous was this, really, to scare the daylights out of people with unnatural, potentially dangerous powers? How is this allowed? How are there not more deaths?
There was a creature ahead.
She was leisurely leaned back on her hands, skin blended into the darkness if not for the tribal paint swatched across her legs, her torso, snaking along her arms. Her face, smooth as marble, had an otherworldly beauty to it. I stopped, transfixed, and she seemed to take notice, shifting to give us a better look.
In the next instance her body drew off the floor, spine bending to a perfect curvature as if drawn by an invisible string. She jolted forward, head twisting impossibly around to watch us between her scurrying limbs.
A scream, loud and unadulterated, split my mouth in half.
Without thinking I shoved the professional hero in front of me, jumping onto his back as the spider-crawler diverted her route, shooting around Eraser Head to peer up at me, joints sounding like wooden windchimes as she clicked and roiled, waiting for me to climb down.
"Go," I snarled, whacking Shota in the head as he continued to just stand there. "Go now."
My skirt's hem hiked up my legs and the elastic band pushed higher up my waist until I was nothing but boobs and skirt, but in the moment I really didn't give a shit; the faster we got away from that abomination the better. Cool hands held the underside of my legs. I stuck my talons into his shoulders, leaning in. "You're going to owe me so big when we get out of here."
"You mean, if we get out of here?" I dug my nails in a little deeper as he chuckled.
One hallway potentially separated me from liberation because surely- surely- this fresh hell had to be near an end.
Eraserbrain's legs carried us on cautiously. He seemed unbothered by the extra weight. I tried not to be impressed with the ease of his movements, breath the same as before. Refreshing, in comparison to some of the skinny-limbed dates of my past.
The hallway was as narrow as the one of the hundred hands, but seemed half-submerged; luminescent green mist, thick as water, filled the space up to Shota's waist. If possible, I shimmied up his body further, ass clenching in panic.
I could feel them, hidden under the surface.
"Seven," I whispered, close enough to feel the scratch of his cheek against mine. "There's seven people under the mist."
His temple pressed back against mine, eyes trained ahead. "Guide me through."
Cheating was something highly frowned upon in the classroom- using your quirk to unfairly gain leverage even worse.
In this scenario, however, I would've allowed even Katsuki Bakugo free reign to obliterate this obstacle.
"On your left, three steps away. He's moving closer." We sidestepped, just as a waif shot by. "Two are headed directly for us- stop." The mist swirled, suctioning like a riptide as the two slithered in our direction, deviating at the last possible moment and hitting us with a wave of fog.
A hiss sounding of death and decay caught my attention, focusing on not what lied ahead, but behind.
Shota let out a grunt of pain as I compressed his shoulder. He noticed my saucered eyes and turned.
"They've lined up. All of them," I breathed.
The feel of the teleporter and his sickly teeth.
The weight of the children, lost in the mist.
The laughter of the bloody mortician, still giggling crazily to himself.
The sound of the spider, clacking and gnashing.
He wasn't moving. Not fast enough.
My body reacted on its own accord, slamming to the ground before I took off in a sprint, just as the figures began to move as one giant, horrifying entity, each with their own sounds. My palms caught on a brick wall after I passed through a gate, pivoting on my heels to bound through the exit and into the ink-filled night, cold air razing gooseflesh and reinvigorating my exhausted senses.
My knees buckled. I leaned over, braced them with a pant. The cooled air turned my skin prickly, freezing the sweat on the back of my neck and dotting my hair with pinpricks. Footfalls echoed Shota's appearance, slowing in speed until he neared my bent form.
We stood, silent except for our hitched breathing, slowing as time progressed. Eventually I looked up, brow dropped and jaw clenched.
"No wonder you don't go out on many dates."
The entire experience- the fear, the sweat, the nausea- suddenly felt worth it as Shota Aizawa's face split into a true, handsome grin, throwing his head back and laughing into the sky.
"I just don't know how you thought I'd enjoy that."
"It had more to do with me enjoying your reactions than you actually enjoying it."
Chiyo's face pulled away from her ice cream, looking hateful. He smirked in answer, pulled at her wrist snag a taste of her ice cream.
After fifteen minutes of sitting in his car like a petrified duckling she'd finally awakened, crabby and whiny and- insanely- hungry.
Being Saturday, many shops were still alive after dark descended. They parked and found a sweet shop, both choosing ice cream even on the chilled night, wandering now around the city. There were still quite a few people out and about, chattering and acting similar to the couple, bars with rowdy crowds occasionally spilling into the street or playing outdoor games in the dying warmth.
Chiyo looked slightly out of place, dressed in her long gold skirt and heels, hair framing her face like some sort of actress in a soft-filtered movie. She seemed content with her ice cream choice, growing a little defensive when he reached for hers again.
"I just can't believe you're hungry again."
"Fear takes a lot out of you, Eraserbreath. I'm sure someone as tough and brave as you wouldn't understand."
He scoffed and she looked up at him, challenging.
"Being brave doesn't mean you aren't afraid of things."
"Something scarier than dolls to you, Shota?" She teased. There was a pink smear just to the left of her mouth, dripped from her cone.
I'm afraid of you. I'm afraid of what you mean to me, and the implications of that.
"Hey hey, I was just kidding," Something must have revealed itself in his expression as her voice became gentle, tugging on his shirt to face her. "I'm scared ninety-nine percent of the time, so you'll never have to worry about being the lamest in a group with me around. But you know what?"
Her nose wrinkled, mouth caught in a struggle not to smile as color filtered through her skin, making her seem like spring. "You make me want to be brave."
The knots in his stomach pulled loose, releasing everything he kept so carefully tied down.
"And look! I survived a haunted house. I even went out and faced my fear this afternoon."
The golden hum through his lungs, his head, was making it difficult to answer. "What do you mean?"
Her free hand tossed the hair in her face over one narrow shoulder. "I used the database at school to find Manami Seto."
"What?" It came out sharper than intended; she turned, taken aback, but didn't quite meet his eye.
"The doctors didn't find anything in my charts about essential tremors, or being hospitalized when I was younger. I tested it out last night and released submersion," Chiyo held a hand up for him to witness its stillness, calm as she held it before them.
"So I looked up Manami Seto, the girl I thought was responsible for my distrustfulness and trauma all these years. Manami- She didn't do it." Her voice was so quiet he had to lean in.
A bar of drunken fools appeared before them; Shota led Chiyo down a quieter street, filled instead with old arcades and sealed karaoke joints.
"What did she say?"
"She said we had been best friends. For years. And as she talked, it all started to kind of come back to me. I could see her silhouette, suspended on a tightrope just out of reach, locked away in my memory."
Chiyo crunched into her cone, as if what she had discovered wasn't earth shattering; as if her entire life hadn't just been spun on its head. Shota found a bench and she followed over, wiping her mouth with the back of one hand.
"Have you…"
"Asked my mom about it yet?" She finished easily, leaning against the back rungs and throwing her knees over his. "No. I just...I need some time, you know?"
The last fifteen years of her life had been strung by a lie, adding bead after bead of regret and worry and fear. Chiyo thumped a heel against his calf, drawing him back to her.
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know." She was growing irritated with the subject, pulling her legs back and fidgeting before a slow exhale warmed her lips. "Tomorrow I'll mull it over, hash out my thoughts. But for now? I'd just like to be a girl, on a date with a boy."
A blush crept into his face before he could stop it. Those pink lips smiled.
She was magnetic, pulling him closer without so much as a word.
The molten feeling returned, warmed his bones to the marrow. On instinct his face turned to fit against the edges of hers.
A freezing rush filled his nose and mouth, wet and sticky as it slid against his jaw.
Chiyo Tsutomi laughed like a madwoman as she sprinted away.
Mom always said laughter was the best medicine.
If that's true, Shota's dumbstruck, ice creamed-face, eyes shocked and jaw hanging ajar, would surely promise me good health for an eternity.
My feet didn't stop until there was at least a block between us, breath surprisingly light.
The training is actually making a difference.
I turned, expecting to see a furious, ridiculously handsome man still on the bench.
Instead there was no one.
Ninja, my mind deducted, glancing around to check for Shota-shaped shadows or maybe a tree stump, like out of an anime. I took a cautious step back, trying to fade into the darkness as if a stealth master myself.
Only, I wasn't stealthy. At all.
And I wasn't alone.
He stood like a pillar of stone, arms crossed and posture menacing; a direct contradiction to his sticky, stained mouth that was cracking chinks in my own somber expression.
"Did you really think you could outrun me?"
What was that proverb? In the struggle between stone and water, water eventually wins? I shook my head. Water's fast; faster than rock.
I aimed a swift jab at his stomach. He caught my hand lazily, as if swatting a slow-moving fly.
Just my warm-up shot.
He caught my other wrist as it went for his side, using my own momentum to turn me to the wall I'd failed to hide against.
"'A' for effort, but no dice."
I struggled and Shota watched, amusement tickling his features. I raised my chin in defiance; I wouldn't go down a coward. His lips curved, drawing close enough to brush his nose against mine. Something responded in my abdomen, buckling my knees and catching my breath, just before he lowered down to the soft underside of my neck and rubbed his sticky, gross face across my skin. I shrieked.
"Eraserbrain, gross! You jerk! Stop!" I felt his smile more than saw it. It mocked me as I vigorously wiped at my assaulted neck, ignoring his smug charcoal eyes as I stomped away. Was this the karma crap Shiozaki was always preaching about in 1-B? She could keep it.
We'd wandered far from the ice cream parlor- too far to tread with this sticky goop splattered on me. A meandering shadow followed, hands nonchalantly hidden in his jean pockets. I marched into the closest bar, ignoring the whooping drunkards and dancing queens as I caught sight of a napkin dispenser. When I turned, sullen but finished with my mostly-undeserving pout, Shota was already dangling a bottle of water in my face, expression clear save the one quietly winking dimple.
It was hard to stay mad when he consistently reduced my constitution to melted chocolate and heart-shaped balloons.
"Eraserbrain, huh. Better than how you refer to me with Toshinori," He commented as I dabbed a clump of napkins with water, swiping my neck clean. I wet another pile, grabbing his chin to wipe the vanilla residue off his face, too.
"I said that once, and you did used to be kind of a dick," I answered, cleaning his face and resting back flat on my feet. My heart skipped a beat when he smiled.
"Not anymore, huh?"
I felt my own mouth curve. "Not recently, anyway."
A honey glaze was ebbing out the background noise, surrounding just the two of us in a bubble of closeness.
Why would he even like someone like me? He was handsome, and thoughtful; he could have whoever he wanted.
Music, bright and incessant, broke through before the thoughts could spiral like a Whirl-A-Wish coin. I know this song.
"Welcome ladies and gents! Last call for sign-ups is now for the Dance-Off Competition! Get your groove on here and now!"
I changed my mind; maybe Shiozaki was on to something.
Shota looked at me and I looked right back, smile growing with each pounding beat of my heart.
"No damsels, right?"
Before I could change my mind, count every reason this was a terrible idea, I'd moved across the bar, signing my name with a flourish.
A man with a head full of spikes noticed me, eyed what I was writing. "Do you have a partner?"
"What?" I looked up. My stomach sank with his expression.
I'd heard the song and just assumed. Why would they be playing a console game in a bar like this, Chiyo? By Thirteen's spacesuit, I was such an idiot.
"This is kind of a couples thing, lady. As bad ass as it'd be watching you go solo, it's against the established rules. So unless you gotta dance partner, it ain't happening."
Embarrassment singed my face, crawled down my neck and knocked all my organs around like rowdy bumper cars. I tucked the hair away from my sweaty face, laughing awkwardly. "Yeah, I- I mean no, I don't, I'm sorry-"
"Where do we go?" A new voice, low and calm, interrupted my rambling, at my side and bent over the sign-up sheet.
I watched, feeling punch-drunk as Shota- lowkey, hater of social events, avoider of spotlights Shota Aizawa- straightened, raising two thin eyebrows at the administrator. Spike jumped, as if having been just as transfixed, before pointing to a large open area where a few people were already loosening up. Words caught in my throat as I turned back to him.
"We can just go, if you want. We don't have to do this."
This was too much; way too much to ask of him, of the guy who hid in layers and stayed out of the headlines, no matter how heroic.
A boyish smile turned his whole face golden. My legs gave a wobble. He tapped my nose, made me blink, before murmuring in my ear; "You make me brave."
"Rules are pretty simple; dance your ass off until the last beat, then let the crowd decide our winners!"
The beat was old, like something out of those cheesy, big-haired chick flicks my mom and I watched growing up. I closed my eyes, took a breath. When I opened them next, all I saw was him.
Just the two of us, in the entire world.
And then his head started to nod.
My shoulders fell in tempo, moving side to side.
His hips swayed. My feet tapped.
A hand found its way into mine, another catching my waist.
And suddenly we were off, wild and euphoric, ridiculous but done with every single ounce of courage and dedication in our bodies.
He spun me out and pulled me back in, lifting me into the air. Without thinking I kissed him, too fevered with happiness to feel self-conscious.
I could feel it, stroking the outer walls with a tender touch, whispering what was happening between me and Shota Aizawa. His face broke into a smile and I felt those final barriers falling like pillars of salt.
"Alright, ladies and gents, you know the drill. What did we think of couple 1?"
Friendly applause rang throughout the building. The couple, silver-haired and laughing, waved off the generosity.
"Couple 2?"
Shouts of praise mingled with the louder applause and the two girls beside us bowed, waving at their adoring fans. I took Shota's hand in mine, grinning.
It didn't matter what happened; I already had what I wanted.
"Let's hear it for couple 3?"
The crowd was like a thunderstorm, pounding into our sweaty, panting bodies as if we'd just performed a rock concert. Shota looked shell-shocked; even more so than after the ice cream surprise. I laughed, caught somewhere between awe and ugly crying as the announcer went on to list off the other two couples. Neither held a candle to our noise.
"Give it up for your weekend dance warriors, Couple 3!"
The dams broke and for the second time that day I was a hot, snotty mess, laughing as I was picked up, fist pumping into the air in victory. The cheers raised a decibel before Shota eased me back to the floor, hands lingering around me.
"I thought you didn't dance."
His eyes crinkled.
"I guess you're my exception."
The crowd died down, returning to tables and nursing their drinks with loving affection. I took Shota's warm hand in mine and pulled him away, back into the cool night air and quiet. A blister was forming where the buckles dug into my ankles and I knew my make-up was blurring, but someone had filled my lungs with helium, floating me along without worry.
Good dates were bittersweet; no matter how perfect, eventually, they had to end.
"You're going to fall asleep in the car."
"You think?" Yeah, right. My body was electrified, acutely aware of his and desperately debating how to proceed.
This was our first date; not our fifth, or sixth, or tenth. And no matter what had happened between us, no matter how at home his body felt against mine or how easy it was to be comfortable around him, I didn't want to ruin this by being some over-eager nympho.
How much is too much?
He pulled the passenger door open and I wondered over the lost art of such chivalry. Sure, I could open my own door, but how many times had someone ever done something so simple for me? It wasn't an act of infantilizing- he was just being absently thoughtful.
His eyes were trained on the road, quiet. I wondered if he was nervous too.
"What was your favorite part of tonight?"
Shota rubbed the stubble of his chin, mouth disappearing behind his hand in thought. I settled into my seat and closed my eyes.
"Hard to say."
I furrowed my brow but didn't open my eyes. He chuckled, trying again.
"When you first opened the door and smiled at me."
It was so simple, quietly spoken. I kept my eyes closed, trying to stay calm. "Or watching you scarf down an entire basket of bread with no reserve whatsoever."
"You had several pieces. I have no idea where you're getting these accusations."
"Maybe the way you were completely unbothered by the little demonic brats in the doll-head room. I would rather face a thousand villains in lieu of entering that hell again."
I pulled my heels up, undid my shoes and placed my feet atop the dashboard, legs able to fully extend with my stature.
"So which is it?"
There was a rustling. I glanced over but his expression had become unreadable, giving away nothing.
"When we were in line, and I wrapped my jacket around you. That moron was walking through the crowd and you took my hand and hid your face in my arm. That was my favorite part."
"That's-" My voice staggered. I licked my lips and tried again. "Why?"
He shrugged, head falling back against the seat. "You just seemed so sweet, and had turned to me to protect you. I-" He cleared his throat, readjusting and running his fingers through the top of his hair. "I told you I don't do the damsel thing, but...it's nice, I guess. To feel needed."
The car stalled; we'd reached my apartment.
And yet I was rooted to the seat, vines tying me to this moment, in this car, with him. In this dim light, his scar gleamed like his own moon.
"Are you going to put your shoes back on?"
"They've rubbed my ankle raw, so probably not."
He grimaced. "That's disgusting."
"Says the man who sleeps in a giant yellow sleeping bag. At school. In front of students."
Shota stormed out of the car and I settled in again to enjoy the peace. I'd barely sat up when my door opened and hands reached in, unsnapping my seat belt before scooping up my knees, one hand moving to steady my wavering spine. I yelled in protest, hands wrapping around his neck.
"My shoes! The leftovers!"
His scoff warmed my face as he leaned back down. I reached out with one hand, nabbing my shoes before swiping the white cardboard box; this would make an excellent lunch tomorrow.
"Do you remember which floor?"
"Mhm."
He struggled to find the right key and I reminisced about the last time this happened. Another disgruntled noise breathed into my face, just before the door gave way.
In a fit of nervousness energy I'd cleaned my apartment nearly top to bottom. I praised past-me for her brilliance as Shota carried me in, dropping my legs onto the soft carpet. A welcoming meow sounded from afar and then I stood abandoned, left alone in the hallway as Shota followed the feline siren. I used the opportunity to head to the bathroom, glancing in the living room to see my fat, ridiculous cat settled across Shota's lap, sagging belly out for the world to see.
It'd probably be weird if I brushed my teeth, right?
I wet the toothbrush and did a quick rundown instead, gargling water as quietly as possible. My skirt- the most recent indulgence- was straightening out, pleats fading after so much wear. I hung it carefully on a hanger and tugged on a pair of black shorts, careless that it was the same shade as my top.
"Look, I'm you!"
I struck a pose in the doorway, one knee lifted while my hands performed impressive knifehand strikes. He stared. Nasu jumped from his lap, too annoyed by the loud intrusion to continue batting at the wisps of Shota's flyaway hair. I relaxed my body, crossed my arms.
"Because you wear a black jumpsuit, you know? And this is all black."
"Mm."
I chewed on my bottom lip. "What? You look like Kaminari when he overexerts himself by trying to answer a question in class."
"I have this...proclivity, for your legs." He was leaned back, neck bent around the curve of the couch and eyes closed, practically boneless. He waved an airy hand. "Your skirt was nice, but I'd been denied so much exposure. Now you've overstimulated me."
I felt myself flush. He remained perfectly still on the couch, seemingly unaware of my blitzed nerves.
No damsels though, right?
I slid one leg over his, moving into his space. His eyes slowly opened to catch mine.
With one staccato heartbeat I took the plunge, leaned in and caught his mouth with my own. He breathed in, raising, hands sliding up the length of my bare legs to hold the curve of my waist. A shiver cut down my spine, still unused to the feel of him so close, and he moved, only drawing me closer. I touched the bones of his collar, curled into the hollow between before sliding down the planes of his chest.
He didn't kiss me in the wet, slobbery way men had before; it was gentle, purposeful. He nipped at my bottom lip just as a hand lifted to the small of my back, pushing me against him as he deepened the kiss. My entire body seemed to glow anywhere he touched. I moved my hips, testing, and his sharp intake of breath felt like a carnival prize. The hand on my spine glided up the vertebrae, knotted in my hair and gently pulled, revealing the curve of my neck.
This time, I didn't stop him.
His breath warmed my skin, kissing a trail from my jaw to the end of my shoulder, brushing my hair away, searching for more. Coherency felt like a foreign concept; the lightness in my chest floated to my temple, made my knees weak as he traced a slow line back to my face. Hands had found their way to the hem of his shirt and slithered under, feeling for the warm, taut skin beneath. I flexed my fingers. He reacted immediately, giving me a hazy glare. My smile moved against both of our faces. I tugged on his shirt, drawing away. Without much thought Shota grabbed the edges and pulled, tossing the clothing towards the other end of the couch.
I don't know what I'd expected.
His body, smooth and toned and so pale, as if having never been outside for a single summer, was a canvas of nicks and scars, lighter in color than the flesh surrounding them. They were far apart; only a handful spread across his chest, his abdomen, the skin of his arms, but stark against their surroundings.
One long mark, the color of rose quartz, sat atop one set of ribs, curling around his pectoral. I ran a lone finger down its length. What even makes a mark like that?
"If you start crying I swear to God, Chiyo,"
I jumped at his voice, pulling my hand away. Shota chuckled; a throaty noise, deeper than before. He caught my fleeing hand and kissed the heartbeat in its wrist. Every action felt so much serious, intimate, with the way his eyes never left mine. I removed myself from our cuddled position and alarm froze his features, splitting my face with a grin.
As if I could leave this. As if I have any power at all.
He'd fallen into the center cushion when cooing over Nasu. I nudged him to the left and he complied, sliding onto the couch and pulling me with him, head finding the armrest. I straddled his waist, torsos perpendicular to one another. The quietly-cool Eraser Head's passivity was given away by the murkiness of his eyes as they roamed across my face, waiting for my next move.
"You didn't tell me your favorite part of tonight." He said suddenly, voice just a murmur.
My favorite part?
My mind wandered over the events of the night, selecting the moments that shined like the brightest starlight.
"When you traded entrees with me, even though mine wasn't as good. At the bar, when we danced like loons," When all I could see you, the way you smiled at me. I carefully slipped my own shirt off, aiming for where his was without turning. Submersion drew out his quickened heart. His careful hands brushed against my arms, found the freckle to the left of my navel. I'd felt ridiculous choosing a showcasey bra over one more comfortable; now, watching him squirm, I knew I'd chosen well.
I shook my head, smile too much to contain. "But my favorite part was at the ice cream parlor."
Shota was just able to look up, still distracted by the newly-revealed landscape. "What?"
Two fingers walked across his muscled stomach, gauging sensitivity. He stifled a grunt but didn't pull away, watching me with increasing attention.
"I was looking at the ice cream selection while you ordered, but was close enough to still hear you talking to the cashier. The door opened and you both glanced over as this woman walked in, right out of a teenage boy's wet dream," I gestured at my chest, hands curved, emphasizing what I'd never have. "Curvy, full-mouthed, shiny hair. Very well-endowed." Shota gave an indignant scoff, pulling my hands away. His touch was gentle, hesitant. Honey filled my chest. I tried to stay afloat, despite its sinking density.
"The cashier did this really gross low whistle and made a comment, something about her being the perfect dream girl. You laughed, and smiled, agreeing, and I nearly exploded every ice cream carton in the store."
"I didn't-"
"But then you looked up, and you were smiling at me."
He shouldn't have been worried about me crying before; I was way closer to the edge now, taking a deep breath to steady myself. "You hadn't even seen her."
There was an undeniable blush in his face, as if I'd caught him in something embarrassing. His throat bobbed, voice quietly breaking the silence.
"All I can ever see is you."
His heart thumped against mine when I fell into him, bodies flush, crushing any space between us.
There suddenly wasn't enough time to feel and breathe him in, to admire every scar on his body and taste his skin.
There would never be enough time.
Fingers fumbled against my back, throwing off the cadence of our connected mouths. I snickered into his mouth.
"Impossible torture devices," Shota muttered.
I greeted the dimple as I twisted, vanquishing the bra with ease. He tossed away the garment with a little more gusto than necessary, burying my laugh by licking into my mouth, fingers aligning between the spaces of my ribs and gliding around my body. Knuckles slid across the peaked focal points, splaying to cup around their full form. My body wavered, vibrated at the sensation. His breath caught and suddenly I was suspended in the air, wrapping my legs around him like a spider monkey to keep from falling. With a quick swipe he knocked our discarded shirts away, laying me delicately onto the couch and finding my mouth again, arms braced on either side of mine.
The loose tendrils surrounding his face tickled my own. Before I could reach to smooth them back, tuck them away like I did my own, he was pulling away, meandering a path across my neck, nuzzling the dip beneath my clavicle.
I realized, dazedly, I'd never really been with someone with facial hair; the gentleness of his mouth on the rise of my chest was accompanied by the bristling sensation of his scruff, razing my nerves and catching my breath. Warmth radiated down to the base of my spine and seeped into my abdomen at the feel of his tongue against my skin, hardening the apex of one breast with the pull of his lips. The hand warming the other slid away as his attention turned, considerate in observing both sides.
Fingers cut across my navel, slow in sliding between the elastic of my shorts, remaining above the lacy barrier of my underwear as they explored. A tremor ran through his shoulders at my revealed desire, body stilling for a fraction of a moment. The spreading warmth burst into molten heat and I quickly pulled his face back to mine, afraid of the temptation clouding my senses.
He abided, breath heavier than before. I had free access to his parallel chest once again, finding the shallow carvings that marked his career, caressing the skin pulled over muscles made from hours of training and dedication, still so shivery under my touch.
Unlike him, I didn't suffer from clothing incompetencies; with steady hands I loosed the button of his jeans and pulled the companion zipper open. His mouth drifted and captured my neck as my hands smoothed against his lower abdomen, tentative. His heart quickened when my hand sank lower, running against the difference between our bodies.
I'd dated a guy once who was the knower of all acts, pretentious in his experience and constantly bragging about his conquests before me, like an all-knowing, talking Kama Sutra.
And yet, the first time we'd moved past just kissing it had rested, limp and soft, much to my embarrassment and his fiery agitation.
Shota Aizawa was not suffering from such ailments.
I ran a thumb over the tip and he breathed out against my collar bone, hands running down my body, searching out every inch. I glided down the length, taking my time. This would be easier if we had more room. The bedroom was off-limits- I'd promised myself not to go that far.
Making out on a couch, in an open space, was one thing; everything that happened in a bedroom felt distinctly more intimate, real.
I found his hand and guided it around my waist, pushing at the other arm to move. He breathed through his nose, as if trying to regain something that had been quickly fading, and followed my lead, keeping me safe with the arm now underneath me.
"Um, do you?" I gestured awkwardly behind us; a box of Kleenex was just a few feet away, right where I'd sat last night playing video games in front of the television. He gave a slow nod. I reached out and he steadied my flailing, drawing me back as soon as I caught the edge of the box and flung it onto the back of the couch. Unsatisfied and feeling particularly bold I drew away, pulling the waist of his jeans down to relieve space before returning to his embrace.
The scruff of his face was swelling my lips better than any gloss ever could, scratching patterns as his mouth moved against mine. I wandered down his body again. He gripped my top thigh, squeezing the thickness of it, sliding it over his waist before trailing those fingers up my body again.
What would it be like, to do this everyday? To be in a relationship with Shota Aizawa, whose first impression was of distaste and apathy, hidden in layers and distanced from everyone. His mouth caught the lobe of my ear, hand lost in my hair, body shivering with the movement of my hands on him.
Shota, with his impressive arsenal of sarcasm and quick wit, tender heart and boyish smiles, hidden from daylight and saved for the quiet moments between us.
"Chiyo."
His hand moved from cradling my head to the top of the couch before quickly pushing aside my stroking hand. His ribs spread wide before his whole body went lax, melting into the couch with soft, heavy breaths. Eyelashes pulled to the bones of his cheeks and his hairline glistened, just faintly. I bit back a grin, sliding up to rest my head against the armrest as he rearranged himself. My bra was too far out of reach and putting on the spandex shirt without one was completely out of the question.
A dark, crumpled pile sparked a new plan.
I scooted into the couch after pulling his shirt over my head, snug against the back when he shifted back in beside me, lying face to face. He still seemed dazed, breath taking a few seconds longer to tumble in and out. I prodded him with a knee and his legs opened, closing around mine to increase space.
This feels familiar.
"Stop staring at me, Chiyo."
He didn't even have to wake to know. I smiled.
"Why?"
His eyes were like river stones, smooth under still waters. "It makes me nervous."
I snorted. "Eraser Head does not get nervous."
"Yeah?" He was stirring back to life, tugging me closer and drawing lazy patterns on my back, tracing the silhouette of my profile. "I'll let him know next time I see him."
A black hole suddenly jumped onto the back of our makeshift cocoon, watching us through two giant green orbs. He settled down, paws tucked beneath him, and let out a purr. Shota reached up and gave his ears a scratch. Nasu nearly fell over himself in delight.
"I still can't believe him. You are, legitimately, the only other person I've ever seen Nasu let touch him," My dark prince attempted to roll over. One fat leg lifted to give access to the white bout of fur on his stomach. "It is truly the highest honor."
"He's a cat of good taste," Shota answered seriously. My head shook and the space beside his eyes crinkled.
It was late; way later than when we'd arrived, the clock on the wall standing witness.
He knew it.
I knew it.
And yet neither of us moved, lingering in the moment for a while longer.
"It feels wrong to ask you over so soon," His features grew feline just as he took my wrist, searching out my arm. "-but I still haven't found all the freckles."
A laugh born from nervousness erupted out on its own, low in caliber but horrifying all the same. I threw a hand over my mouth. A playful smirk responded. His fingers wandered up my shoulder and coasted down the front of his own shirt, landing at the hem well past my hips. "I'm pretty sure I know where the other scar is, too-"
"I need to go to bed," Wow, what an excuse. I shot up, nearly knocking him off the couch. "Sorry! Sorry. I- with the Sports Festival coming up, I think I need to, you know, get some stuff in order, and- not that I don't want to, but- Yeah."
Shota and Nasu watched interestedly as I blathered like a total idiot. He nodded, brow furrowed again in absolute seriousness, hands steepled on his chest. "Stuff. I see."
Ten minutes ago I thought I was going to float away.
Now I really wished I would have, just to get away from my own idiocy.
"I promised to have their grades up to date before it happens. Which, by the way, I find it absurd their academic status doesn't affect their eligibility at all."
Reluctantly I climbed over his shirtless body, smoothing my wild hair while trying to stagger into a standing position. His shirt fell to mid-thigh; the perfect length for nightclothes. If this were just a T-shirt he wouldn't be getting it back, shirtless drive home or not.
My dejected bra sat crumpled clear across the room by the television. I wandered over, marveling at my still-tingling lips. They felt plump and a little raw; the aftermath of kissing someone with a face like his.
I couldn't care less; I'd do it all over, again and again, until there was nothing left of me but two chapped lips and a puddle of delirium.
He openly watched me change clothes, subtlety forgotten.
A grunt sounded when a balled shirt hit him in the face.
The late hour was weighing down my bones. He stood with a stretch, bidding Nasu a pleasant night before heading towards the entryway, slipping on his shoes without untying them. Such a kid.
"I won't walk you to your car," I said.
"I think I can handle it," He replied.
The dimple appeared for its own farewell. I sighed; too dreamily, considering the way his smile grew. Gravity moved on its own accord, drawing us together.
"Drive carefully."
He cradled my face with both hands, mouth already on mine. "Stop nagging."
The floaty sensation filled me with helium once again, swept up in the feathery caress of his hand in my hair. Submersion, striking at an opening, peeked its nosy head through my skin and flooded into him. Shota's entire body became malleable, pulling the oxygen from my lungs with his inhale. I braced his forearms, quickly yanking away.
"Sorry! Slip of the mind," Christ, Chiyo, you're going to cause someone's death at this rate.
He shook his head. It was his turn to breathe out a dreamy little sigh.
"Date me, Tsutomi, so I can sleep with you. Literally."
He meant it as a joke- I knew that- but my stomach lurched all the same. Shock abruptly made an appearance on his face, taken aback by his own words. "
That came out wrong-"
"Seriously. Will I never get sex out of this? You should've given a disclaimer beforehand."
I could've replaced his face with a cherry.
He tried to answer but I leaned up, kissed him instead. With poise I didn't usually possess I took hold of the door handle and pulled, moving one of us into the hallway without breaking contact until the last second.
Just a man and a woman, undesiring of the good-bye they had to express.
"I'll call you later," I promised. A fat cat did an excellent job of blending with the shadows, aiming for the hallway. I caught him between my legs without looking down.
"Good-night," Shota answered with a too-formal nod. That sappy feeling was turning my face stupid and he hesitated, leaning down to kiss me one final time.
Nasu and I watched his retreating figure with various forms of yearning. He glanced back upon reaching the end of the hall and inexplicable embarrassment knocked about my chest. I gave a quick wave and ducked back into my apartment.
I'd gorged myself on bread, nearly died in a haunted house, won a dance competition, and kissed a boy I liked.
Nasu cast clear and heavy judgment when I curled on the carpet, too happy to take another single step.
