Author's Note: Ah, a note before the chapter, so you know it's important. I have a friend who's sensitive to sexual excerpts (in that she wholeheartedly blushes and skips through like the great goose she is. An adult goose, with a husband and a child, but to each their own) and as such, I feel inclined to warn when a chapter includes such features. I don't (nor will I ever) use vulgar sexual language, but this chapter does include a heavily insinuated act of sexuality. I have separated the segment with horizontal lines; by skipping this section, you will not miss out on any points highly imperative to the story line. I do, however, feel it is important to the relationship between Chiyo and Shota, and as such stand by my writing choices. I really with there was a YA option between T and M, but such is life.
Enjoy! Thank you for all favorites, follows, and reviews. I never intended to continue writing this story but you, dear reader, keep me going.


Rain had cleansed the world overnight. The air felt- tasted- sharp, like the first bite into an apple. The lake's surface was a crystalline mirror designed to manipulate its silent surroundings.

I stood just as still. Calm. Collected.

With my eyes closed, I could just sense him.
Focus.
He still moved, though at an increasingly slower pace.
Focus.

There were tens of thousands of miles in each human body, none thicker than a single thread.
Capillaries. Arterioles. Venules.
Each delicate, with acute purposes. Cleave one, and there are consequences.

He persisted, growing bolder.

Focus.

He could move no further.

"Impressive!"
The exclaim wasn't born from excitement; Shota was nearly a field's length away from where I stood, though there were signs of a slight grin on his face. I released submersion with a weighted sigh, letting my shoulders slump at last.

"About thirty feet. Not bad," A familiar peach thermos appeared before me, held out by my pseudo-trainer. "How do you feel? Tired?"

"Not really," It was the truth- this had taken a surprisingly low amount of effort. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "Are you okay? I didn't feel anything out of the ordinary, but at a distance my awareness is limited."

He shook his head, the remnants of a smile still highlighting his features. I glanced away. Having someone look at me in awe- especially over my once-forbidden quirk, was something I don't think I'd ever get used to.

"I'm fine. Though the idea of you knowing my body's norms and inner workings well enough to notice irregularities is...interesting."

Tampering within the torso or abdomen was too dangerous, regardless of the overwhelmingly watery compositions of a being's organs. Instead I concentrated on the skin and muscles, careful in avoiding major arteries. When I said I hadn't felt anything out of the ordinary, I'd simply meant in the general sense that his heart hadn't exploded or a kidney hadn't ruptured by accident, not that I knew the regular flow of his blood or anything.

But the unguarded, near-pleased way he was smiling at me had my brain kicking this tidbit into a dungeon and throwing away the key.

"I'm going to come from a different direction, at a different pace. Yes?"

"Just don't, like, jump out of a tree or anything," I glanced warily around our forested area. I hadn't even known there was a national park anywhere near us. "I've never dealt with a target not on the ground; the suspension could prove dangerous to your...health."

Shota nodded, though looked distinctly more somber than before. Was he...really going to do something like that? That, or he was finally realizing what an unrefined little accidental-murderer I could so easily be.

I tried to refocus as he meandered off, not following with submersion to add more of an element of surprise. The drop in my guard allowed the phone call I'd received from Mom this morning to resurface like a plague.
Ignoring her forever wasn't an option and so I answered, despite my nerves bubbling like seltzer at the very idea of taking the chance. The relief in her voice put iron weights of guilt on my ribs, nearly snapping them from the pressure. I'd played the normal lines- busy at work, lining up lessons, forgetting to charge my phone- but there was a hesitancy in her forgiveness, like a child waking early on Christmas and not seeing Santa's gifts out yet.

Like she knew my words and reality were askew.

There was no way to avoid a battering-ram investigation on this route and so I'd caved, admitting there was a new certain someone in my life, asked if he could join us for brunch this Saturday.
Whatever suspicion she had was lost to the ear-splitting scream that raged through the phone, scaring poor Nasu off the back of the couch in her crazed enthusiasm. I still couldn't hear out of my right ear perfectly.
She hadn't even asked who it was.

"Chi-chan, honey. I knew the minute he caught you that day in the park, from the way you looked at each other. It was only a matter of time."

I knelt down, vision blurred by sudden, ridiculous tears. Why? Not just to the sudden emotion dampening my nose, but why to the whole situation? I loved Mom more than anything in the world; even if she had done such a horrible thing, lied about my accident, I knew I would forgive her. She knew me better than the stuffed elephant I'd had since childhood, who sat on my bed this very moment, worn from love and time. She recognized and felt my feelings as if they were her own, even when I hadn't.

This would- had- to work out.
Because I couldn't imagine a life without her.

The miasma of thought was dense; too dense for me to have realized my mistake.

I pivoted, sprang to my feet.
Two charcoal eyes narrowed in concentration, body frozen in a position of attack. A foot, aimed at my head, levitated inches from my raised hand. The attacker's limbs trembled, fighting my submersive hold.

"You got distracted."
"On the contrary, I've got you right where I want you."

I spoke too soon; with a flash of red submersion melted away, evaporating with the movement of his leg. I barely had time to duck, stumbling back before he turned, the heel of his swift foot cratering towards me. His knotted hair went limp in the process.

"Coming on a little strong, don't you think?" I panted, crouched underneath the now-immobile leg. A jolt of defiance jerked his calf and I blinked in surprise. Move, idiot.

"You sleep on the job, people die." Shota answered, pulling back. Abashed annoyance tickled my throat. I rose, matching his stance. "Block my attacks with submersion."

I barely had time to think before a hand struck at my throat. It bounced harmlessly away, deflected as if hitting a trampoline. Eraser Head's next move was quicker, brushing my ribs before I had time to react. Sweat cooled the back of my neck, slid down from my hairline.
Focus.
I couldn't predict his movements- not in the way a trained fighter could. But the tensing of a muscle before it strikes, the subtle pulls in reverse for more momentum- those I could sense, feel in my own body. I was so slow in comparison though, barely able to do more than raise my hands to push away his attacks like parallel magnets.
A fist grazed my cheek. He was pulling his punches, but using enough force to definitely leave a mark.

Focus.

In a bout of energy I flung his arms with submersion before slapping the palm of my right hand onto his chest. I could barely breathe, every pump of my heart rushing blood to my brain, tingling the tips of my fingers. The lungs in his chest were rising and falling quickly, too; I'd at least winded him. Shota took a small step back. I collapsed on the wooden slats of the dock, panting.

"Well done." He sounded as surprised as I felt.

I laid flat against the dock, calling the lake to cool my burning limbs. The sensation was delicious, droplets rolling off my bare arms and legs before depositing themselves back into the body of water. I could use submersion's regulation to charge down quicker, but the accompanying mental fatigue seemed more burden than the act itself was worth. Shota situated himself beside me before offering a protein bar. "Eat it. You need it."

It tasted like cardboard and chalk. No amount of suavity could hide his little smile at my grimace, even as he looked away.

"If you expect me to file these into my regular diet, I'm fine going back to my couch-potato life,"
"We'll find some alternative." Shota took our wrappers and deposited them in a pocket. I was surprised he hadn't worn the entire Eraser Head ensemble; he barely looked any different than our running days excursions. "Want to test your holiness, or strength?"

"Is this why you asked me to bring another set of clothes?" I asked flatly. "You plan on watching me walk directly off a pier?"

For a second I froze, wondering if I'd imagined his sleepy comment about secondary clothing yesterday. His brow knit with clear confusion, unsure over what the hell I was referring to. With a blink Shota returned, along with a cheeky dimple. "Mhm."

The water mirrored the overcast sky in color and stillness. I filled my lungs with as much oxygen as possible, slowly expelling every last ounce. A cool hand took hold of mine.

"If you start to sink, I'll pull you out."

Sizable amounts of water always gave off a near-gelatinous feel to me; something almost solid, but pliable. I focused on this idea, stabilizing the area I would descend upon.

The moment I stepped off the dock I began to sink, quickly pulled out by the strong grip on my arm.

"Damn," It's not going to work like that. I mulled over the consistency of water, how I was already able to manipulate droplets, reshape its figure. I'd just mentioned last night how my abilities were impacted by weight.

"I'm going to try again," I announced. Shota's hand found mine before his head gave a slight nod.

Focus on the weight. This time the water swirled in a circular motion, imitating the disc I'd created yesterday. The water can only hold as much weight as I can.

One hesitant step. Then another.
With a steadying breath, I moved from Shota's grasp.
I was standing on the lake's surface, perfectly dry.
Holy shit. The strain was eating away at my focus and energy, but I was doing it.
I looked up, too prideful not to make sure Shota was seeing this.

That glowing, perfect smile waiting for me snapped every coherent thought from my brain.

The water was dazzlingly cold, entering every overheated pore and bringing the soothing relief only water ever could for me. Feeling the alive presence of the lake, I wondered why I'd never sought out such a sanctuary before. My mind felt like a tightly-bound knot being pulled loose by the water's soft hands. What is this?
There was no sound, no humming thoughts or racing hearts; just the solid, enveloping comfort of the water.

Something tangled itself in my hair, yanking to the point of injury. The air felt violent against my skin upon reemergence, body shooting from the water onto the pier. His eyes were panicked, roving across my stupidly-grinning face, my perfectly-in-tact appendages.

"That was amazing."
"Yeah?" His voice could cut a diamond in half. I quickly lost the grin.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I was just-" Just what, exactly? Enjoying my own cocoon of solitude like he did in that caterpillar sleeping bag? "I've never done something like that. I've never thought I'd be able to do something like that."

His features began to soften with the fading panic. The sun had partially broken free behind him, lightening the scruff of his face, catching the ivory of his skin. Something knocked against my rib cage, as if applauding the sight. I took a slow breath just as he sighed.

"You could've warned me, or something. At least assured me you could swim."

I paused, face running through a few reactions before landing on incredulous. "You mean you watched me walk onto a lake without thinking I could swim?" He didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed. "What kind of teacher are you?"

He shrugged. "Sink or swim."
Instead of repelling the water from my body to the lake I stood, shook the chilly droplets in his direction.
"Your reward." I explained plainly.

My limbs, regardless of their now dry state, felt oddly waterlogged. I felt the weight of every bone with even the slightest movement. Shota peered up at me with a squint; the sun continued to push through the weighty clouds, remembering there was a world just beyond. I offered him a hand to pull him up. He took it to be polite, using his own momentum to stand.

"You look dead."
"Ah, there's the Aizawa we all know and love." Shit, was it weird to say stuff like that now? I tripped between the dock's lip and solid ground, saved from eating dirt by the quick efforts of one Eraserbrain.

"Ah, there's the clutz Tsutomi we all know and love," He mocked back. His hand remained on my forearm the way one would do with a little kid, doubtful they can make the trek without tumbling again. All in all, a valid act. The fact that he reiterated the joke and didn't seem bothered by the word 'love' steadied my steps even better than his assistance. I shook my arm until his hand fell, intertwining it with mine instead. The little jump in his heartbeat didn't go unnoticed.

His car still sat lonely in the gravel parking lot, warming itself in the new sunlight. I oozed into the passenger seat with a groan. Shota turned the air vents towards me, cranking the engine to life.

"Take a nap. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, and it's probably going to hit you hard,"

I nodded, already feeling drowsiness tug at my eyes. I eased the seat back a little farther. Between the heat of the sun and the iced air of the car, I was in the perfect state of equilibrium.

I dreamed of white seals and penguins, tanning themselves with sun reflectors and lounging in beach chairs.


I woke with a start, nearly scaring the shit out of a usually-reserved pro hero.

"Where'rewe?" My words slurred together, consciousness trying to slowly catch up with my jumpy reflexes. Pain burst into my neck at the sudden movement. I hissed, falling into the seat again.

"Back in the city. You slept the whole trip; we're almost to my place." He nodded at a bag by my feet. "I stopped to pick up some items. You didn't even stop slobbering, that's how out you were."

I wiped at my mouth self-consciously. His eyes never left the road but crinkled all the same. Damn. Wasn't the park nearly an hour and a half outside city limits? I downed the rest of my thermos's contents, smacking my lips after.

"How do you feel?"
"You know those old American cartoons, where the wolf that chases the roadrunner gets duped and runs into a brick wall? I feel like that."
"Coyote."
"What?"
Shota chuckled quietly to himself, gliding into his habitual parking spot. "He's not a wolf, he's a coyote."

We sat for an extra moment in the car as I digested two bits of information: one, that I had mistaken a rudimentary aspect of my childhood television watching for twenty-something years, and two, Shota Aizawa had grown up watching the same silly, dubbed cartoons I had.

"I would kiss you, if I weren't so tired."

A little smile played his lips like a melody. "Thank you. I appreciate the respect given to my cartoon knowledge. Now come on, you'll feel better once you've eaten."

Bold little furballs trotted to greet us before we could even get the door closed. Animated voices meowed their excitement, curling around our legs and assisting in untying shoelaces. For a disturbing moment I reconsidered Shota's idea of keeping them all.

Stand your ground. Six cats. How much cat litter would you have to change out with six cats, Chiyo? You can barely handle Nasu's.

"Why don't you go take a shower? By the time you're done I'll have dinner ready."
"You're cooking?" I asked with a yawn. A shower did sound nice; I could shake off the rest of this fatigue with a nice hot douse.
"You need a meal high in protein and carbs. Ideally, you should eat directly after a workout like that, but you're still nearly in the prime peak hours, so you'll be fine."

My blank expression displayed all the knowledge I contained of post-workout meals. I turned down the hallway quickly, spurred by the interest lighting his eyes at the opportunity to explain.

"Okay, I trust you completely!" No need to explain what I won't remember! I added silently.

An extra towel was already hanging beside the shower. I recalled the last incident that landed me in here and the testy handles that required certain care. No one busted in the bathroom this time- both to my relief and mild disappointment.

Baths seemed nice, but nothing beat the drum of a nice, hot shower, pinking your skin and fumigating the stenches of the day from your pores- in my case, the dregs of lake water grit and its earthy, pungent scents. I sighed out in a fog of clean-smelling mist.

Shota had made a good call with bringing an extra set of clothes. The cotton of my t-shirt dress felt almost soothing against my bare legs, reminiscent of my favorite pajama shirts but sleeker, fitting a little tighter than I'd find comfortable to sleep in. I emptied my damp hair down the sink's drain, watching it bounce back into place as if having never been wet at all. My previous clothes sat in a neat pile, ready for pick-up when I left later. The door barely made a sound when I exited into the hallway.

Shota strolled in from outside, closing the door with a foot. Two plates filled with lightly-steaming food preoccupied his hands. "Table, or couch?"

Lounging on the couch sounded ideal. If we hurried, I could catch the end of my favorite game show. "Couch, please. I didn't know you had a grill."

His mumble was blocked out by the kitchen wall. I assumed it was something smart assy, like how I didn't need to know everything about him or that I just wasn't observant. Both true, I mused. My limbs hummed, eased by the shower but still a little achy. It'll probably be worse tomorrow.
Shota watched curiously as I groaned about, pushing the ottoman near to stand as a makeshift table. I sat up and he fell in beside me.

"This looks...really good."
A healthy chunk of salmon sat atop a hill of vegetables, glistening in a light sauce. Rice cushioned the plate, white and fluffy. "You made all this? For me?"
"I also need to eat," Shota gestured to his own plate. I blushed, feeling stupid. Obviously. I tried again; "Thank you. This looks really great."

I was hungrier than I realized; in five minutes flat half the plate was vacated, tasty occupants digesting in my bottomless stomach. It almost didn't seem fair, how food from the grill always tasted the best, regardless of seasoning or preparation. The grill always won against its kitchen counterpart.

I fell back with a contented sigh. Shota watched me from the corner of his eye but my focus remained happily on the television, hoping my favored contestant would come out on top. He leaned back upon finishing his own meal; slow at first, relaxing when I welcomed the risen arm circling around me.

Is this what dating could be like? Casual evenings spent together, watching tv and eating homemade meals? All my other experiences had followed such a different script- planned, public dates, once or twice a week, awkwardly stumbling into each other's homes only once in a blue moon and never for more than a few awkward minutes unless there was a precise, intimate reason we were there to begin with. I knew every step and play like there was a written manual.

And yet here we were again, comfortably tucked against one another on his couch, watching the snottiest contestant win the game and take home some ridiculous prize. Shota scoffed at the injustice, advocating for the very same contestant I'd been silently rooting for the entire time.

Maybe that script had just been the rough draft, needing countless rewrites and new characters to create the perfected final project.

"Ahck,"
He jerked away from my pinching fingers. I couldn't stop my splitting grin when his eyes went wide, perturbed. I pinched his sides again. He resisted, holding my grabby hands at bay. "What? Stop."
"Nothing," I answered. His hands spasmed when I curled my fingers in, tickling the skin of his palms. "I'm just really happy, I guess."

It was almost ridiculous, how pleasing it felt to watch color rise in his surprised face. To think he could be embarrassed or made nervous by something I said, like I felt every other minute with him. My aching muscles paused in their complaining to allow me this moment, abiding by my movement to reach Shota's soft mouth.

Something in the way he kissed me, being so close to him, made my brain malfunction to the point of uselessness. There was only lightheadedness and molten honey and the feel of his mouth on my neck, hands tugging me close, like I might drift away.

He shifted and there was a crash. I jumped, letting out an involuntary yelp, only to witness our empty plates and cups clattering off the ottoman. Shota stood. Instead of picking up the mess, though, a hand appeared before me, waiting for mine. My stomach lurched at his expression.

I took his hand, followed him down the quiet hall.


With the muted, cool shades of his room, I almost felt like I had underwater.
Calm. Quiet, outside of our shared breath, the subtle noises of landing on the bed, limbs tangling together.

His skin was so warm; nearly as warm as mine had been stepping out of the shower. I snaked a hand under his shirt to appreciate the toned dip of his stomach, the curve of his ribs. My fingers caught in the valley of the longest scar, and my brain foggily tried to remember to ask about its origin later.
Much, much later.
Shota began to conduct his own grazing search. A gentle hand had found the bend of my knee, caressing a thumb over the shallow blemish leftover from the Nomu's bone-crushing attack. My breath caught as the same hand slid up my thigh, slipping beneath the hem of my dress.
He pressed against the small of my back, lifting my waist, and then no barrier stood between his hands and my skin, sliding the lace down my legs and onto the bed.

Nerves and something else shivered down my spine. He pulled away, sensing my reaction, and refocused on my mouth, tugging me closer, turning our bodies parallel. My hair was thoughtfully pushed from under his arm and my head fell into the crook of his shoulder, muscles relaxing with the comfortable position. Fingers trailed down my body, grasping at my waist, running lower with each soft pattern he drew on my skin.
If I thought my brain was malfunctioning earlier, it had completely shut down at this point. No geek squad in the country would be able to reboot its system to even be able to tell the hour.

The unhurried manner, trailing from my scar to the inner sides of my thighs, taking great leisure in discovering every last area, was the most maddening. I bit his lip, unconsciously or not, and felt his mouth curl against mine, enjoying my minor discomfort. Before I could nip at him again a new sensation ran across my body, electrified as cool fingers reached their intended destination.

Again he took his time. No hurry to move on, finish whatever this was and find satisfaction elsewhere. He circled the bundle of nerves with slow, rhythmic movements, catching my quick breath with his mouth before moving across my neck, bristled jaw razing the soft flesh. His hand probed lower, finding the warmth between my thighs. Something shook loose in my chest, awakened my core with a need I hadn't quite felt before. A long sigh warmed my neck and his mouth paused, as if needing a moment to himself.

Cooled air goosed my skin when he suddenly sat up. I startled, panicked that I'd done something wrong to make him pull away.
He became a silhouette upon drawing the curtains closed, room darkened by the dying light barely skimming through the gossamer material. A dozen apologies started to form in my hazed brain to explain away my behavior.
But then he was standing, angling my body towards the edge of the bed where he stood for only a second more, pulling at my ankles as he knelt in front of me.
A thousand birds took flight all at once in my chest. I jerked abruptly, heart like a snare drum.

"What are you-"
"Just lie back, okay?" His voice was gentle. Blood rushed frantically to my head, lungs bursting with each nervous breath as his mouth greeted the scar on the inside of my leg.
I don't think I can handle this. There were so many what ifs I could've built a tower, each one like a Jenga piece that could topple everything.

"I- This isn't- you don't have to."

In the twilight I could just make out the grey of his eyes. He rested his temple against my knee. A last-breath-before-you-sink feeling toppled all my well-formed what-if towers when his eyes crinkled, half his mouth lifting an emotion I couldn't quite pin.

"I want to, Chiyo."

It was like when you've been laying down for too long and suddenly stand, equilibrium off as your brain tries to catch up with all the sensations your body's experiencing, deciphering what to do, what you want it to do.

He waited, patient. I continued to stare, trying to balance myself out.
I felt my head nod.

"Lie back," He repeated in a murmur. I closed my eyes, spine tensing against the sheets. A moment passed, as if giving me another moment to collect myself, before he adjusted. My body slid closer, legs parted and bent at the knee, carefully placed over his shoulders. I covered my face; the air was too much against my burning cheeks. This was all too much for the self-consciousness that had kept me timid and flighty my entire life.

But then his mouth wandered where his hands had before, and suddenly there wasn't a single thought in the universe that could've broken its way into my head.

His movements were just as methodical as before, slowly tasting from the soft folds to the peak. My hips gave a tense jump but steady hands were waiting, firm around my waist to keep me from escaping. A sound I didn't know I was capable of breathed out with the roll of his tongue, savoring the pearl of nerves as if it were his favorite piece of a dessert.
When had breathing normally become such a difficult task? I tried to reign in the wisping breaths, focus on not making sound, but my senses ignored the attempt, too distracted by other events taking place against my skin.

My arms fell to the sides, working against the comforter for something to hold on to. His fingers traced my skin, elevated one leg to brush against the scar below my knee before sketching a path down the inner curve of my thigh. He held me in place when my back arched, responding to the slow insertion of one slender finger, then another, unhurried in tempo.
His jaw felt rugged against such a sensitive area, creating a tantalizing sensation with the sudden inhale of his lips around the apex of nerves. Explicit words I didn't know were in my vocabulary fell out of my mouth in a near hiss.

This wasn't the first time I felt Shota Aizawa smile without witnessing it with my eyes, but it would certainly be the most memorable.

Growing up, struggling with my emotions and nerves, I'd always tried to imagine myself as a body of water; the more I worked on maintaining myself, keeping calm and guarded, the more still the surface would be, revealing nothing and, in turn, being vulnerable to no one.
Until I was a thousand leagues under the sea, so far away from the world that sunlight only came in through shallow rays of blue, sound a forgotten concept.
Meet expectations. Follow protocol. Never let anyone too close.

I'd never realized, through all that weighted silence, how alone I was.

The water swelled, demanding distance. But he was the moon, steady and constant and full of soft light, summoning the tide with a gravity that brought me crashing down like I'd never stood a chance.

Every muscle in my body processed the electric impact, rigid and burning.
And then the wave broke, stretching across to submerse into every pore, bone, and vessel, melting me into a girl-shaped puddle on his soft bed.

I closed my eyes, experiencing the moment.
I couldn't move even if I wanted to.

Shota returned the hem of my dress back to its modest length. I would have commented on the thoughtfulness if my mind had been anywhere near coherency.
He watched me, face tugged on the corners.
Embarrassment reared its ugly little head but for once my brain told it to take a fucking hike because, damn.

"You're looking a little boneless there, Tsutomi. Everything okay?"
I tried to form words. They traveled about halfway up my throat before the effort seemed pointless.

Shota looked rather pleased with himself.

I tried to scoff; it came out as a heavy breath of a sigh, only enticing him further. My limbs whined as I tried to stagger into an upright position. Everything still felt three times heavier than usual and someone had filled my head with moonstones, but energy was slowly ebbing back, allowing lethargic movement.

"Why- Are you- Should I-" I rubbed my face, stalling to reorganize. I tackled the easiest question instead of the ten dozen awkward ones disorienting my thoughts; "What's wrong with your eyes?"

He looked like he'd just given a two-hour lecture on quantum physics to a roomful of Minetas, veins creeping like spider legs in his scleras. My legs folded like accordion bellows to provide space for him on the bed. Something smirky was tugging at his mouth again. A strange sort of nervousness narrowed my eyes.

"You unconsciously activate your quirk when your heart rate increases, Chiyo."
"Oh. I see." I nodded, clearly unseeing. Regulation was second nature; that's what fifteen years of practice does to a person. A glowing smugness answered my clueless expression.

"It means you're harder to please because your body literally refuses. Luckily, I figured a way around that."

No.
No no no.

He was full-on beaming now. To the point where my skin ignited, crisped by the wattage of light streaming from his grinning face. He can't- you have to-

"I don't have to look at your face to use my quirk. I'm not saying I didn't, but-"

Once when I was a kid, I mistook a stranger for my mom and demanded she pick me up so I could better see an animal exhibit at the zoo. When the woman looked down, though, there was nothing but exposed fangs and dark, pitted eyes apologetic at my mistake, Mom laughing her ass off at my hiccuping shock just ten feet away.

I would rather live an eternity in that moment than be here, experiencing a full-body flush as Shota Aizawa animatedly commented on my facial expressions.

"Chiyo-"
"No."
Hands tugged at the fingers hiding my face, laughter warm and rich against my cheek as he nuzzled closer. I toppled over, still rigid in my fetal-armadillo ball of mortification. "Just let me die in peace."
"But you were so peaceful just a second ago, when I-"

I flicked his nose with all the might of Izuku Midoriya during the Sports Festival. Shota let out a hiss and I bounded off the bed, racing for the safety of the bathroom lock. He graciously didn't follow.

I took my sweet time, running the sink faucet to tamp out all other sounds as I jumbled through the realization that, yes, I had finally experienced what I'd only read about in smut novels or unrealistic romance films and yes, it was exactly- scratch that, better- than described. That I was actually capable of feeling something so terrifyingly pleasurable and, holy shit, because I'd thought there was just something wrong with me for the last decade or so. In reality, was it really the men I'd dated who were dysfunctional?
Careless, maybe. Self-indulgent.
Then again, I'd never allowed someone to do that before. The idea of bearing myself so vulnerably would've filled me with beehives.

Would it have been pointless, anyway?
I washed my hands, savoring the cold water. He'd activated his quirk to cancel out mine; I hadn't even noticed. When had he? Were there glowing red eyes watching me the whole time? My vision had been a clouded haze; it didn't even cross my mind to look anywhere but the ceiling when my eyes weren't closed or hidden behind my hands. If I had looked, seen him seeing me, my heart would've probably burst through my chest and then I would've ruined his entire day with a self-inflicted murder scene.


He wasn't in the bedroom anymore.
Instead he'd become a horizontal cat tree, clothes covered in kitten fluff and actual kittens as he lay on the floor, perfectly content. Mama cat had even returned, nestled under one of Shota's arms.

Intimacy had always seemed like an obligatory chore, where I mostly kept my eyes closed and then it was over and I could finally relax, finish the film that had been playing on the television all the while.

Watching Shota, the way he noticed my presence and sent me a lazy, sweet smile, pointing to Endo chewing viciously on his knotted hair, made me realize I'd been so ridiculously lost for a long, long time.

"Alright?"
"Alright."
Endo clambered into my lap, already purring. "Clearly, I'm the chosen one."
Shota snorted. "Whoever refills the food bowl is her favorite."
I clutched Endo with an offended expression. Human eyes rolled.
"Friday they'll be ready to be adopted." He reluctantly admitted, giving Cat a scratch between her ears. She exposed her belly, greedy for affection. "She'll look for them when they leave."

His arm- the unoccupied one- opened, cushioned my head so I could join the horizontal cat-club. The kitten on his chest looked startled with the deep inhale elevating his playground as submersion drank in Shota's veins. I hoped it would dissipate some of the redness still rimming his eyes. "Endo can stay here, so she won't be lonely. We'll check on the kittens every day the first week to make sure they aren't depressed, either. I'll call Kayama and Toshinori; you handle Yamada."

"Why do I have to handle Mic?"

Submersion had mellowed him so much he didn't even react to my pinching fingers. "The fact that you're on a pet-name basis should be answer enough. Besides, if you take Midnight's she'll probably tie you up and I'd never see you again."

Shota stirred only enough to smile. "Would that upset you?"

"Obviously," Something jumped in his chest a little quicker than before. I marveled at the sentiment, feeling a little bashful. "Who would feed Endo and Cat, or help me with my quirk?" I bundled Endo between us, shifting to lie on my side, head propped up with my hand. "Who would check out my ass at school without Shota Aizawa, acting as if he hadn't moved my desk back into his line of view?"

Ah. There were those startled, mildly panicked grey eyes. My head tilted as I pinched his cheek. "Did you really think I was so clueless I wouldn't notice?"

"Depends. I did it a few weeks ago," His skin snapped back like a rubber band. He looked at me with about as much regret as a gambler hitting it big. "If you noticed, why didn't you say anything?"
"Because with my desk re-situated, I can see you, too."

Watching color bloom across his throat, I supposed I could understand why Shota enjoyed teasing my easily-distraught senses. His heart skipped like before as I leaned over and kissed the silvered scar beneath his eye.
I sat up with a valiant amount of effort. Shota watched with an unreadable expression, silently hashing out thoughts I could only fathom at. Gravity yanked at my shoulders, tried to force me back into his arms, but the sun had already set and there was nothing worse than a house guest who couldn't buy a vowel and leave.

Not that he had asked me to leave.
Not that I wanted to leave.
But decency. And appearances. And whatever.

"I'll text Toshinori when I get home and call Kayama tomorrow. I'm actually meeting up with Manami for lunch, which is exciting," Two long eyebrows rose. I smiled, walking my fingers up his chest to scratch his face. Again with the blissful body melt. "In the afternoon I go running, and then I'll need to prepare for the next school day,"

"I'm tired just listening to this."

"I was wondering," I continued anyway, feeling less and less great about my upcoming suggestion, "-if maybe we could meet up earlier, maybe? I- The deflecting training seems useful. We don't have to go to that park again- I could meet you here, since there's space behind your place. If you're not busy, that is. Just tell me no otherwise; it won't hurt my feelings," He listened to me ramble with obvious amusement. I flushed; I know I sounded ridiculous. He caught the hand trying to tuck away my hair, pulled himself upright with ease. "I mean, I obviously know you're busy; I still don't know how active you are with hero work, but-"

"Is seven too early?" My wrist lifted, mouth searching out my arm for the toughened weak spot. He spoke to the crescent, warm breath jittering my nerves. "If you want this to be a routine thing, we should utilize a time that will work with our school schedules."

Words tangled in my brain, unable to compute with the gentle way he was kissing into the bend of my arm. I swallowed. This time I did notice submersion reigning in my emotions. "Okay. Three times a week, or two?"

"Tuesdays and Thursdays; you don't want to overexert yourself. After a few weeks, we'll add Saturday, then proceed from there."

Unable to stand his soft touch any longer I raised my arm, turned his head and caught his lips with my own. The scruff of his face tickled when he smiled.

"Shota," It was a struggle to open my eyes, mind and limbs and heart dazed with delirium as his forehead pressed against mine. "I should go home. I need to go home, or I'll melt into a puddle or explode every aqueous organism and never be able to think a coherent thought again."

"Are you insinuating you ever have a coherent thought?"

I should've pinched him, or pushed him over, pulled one of the bristles off his jaw. But his eyes were still closed and I could feel the way his breath was fighting to stay quiet, denying what his heart unconsciously revealed beating against mine.

So I kissed him again with vigor.

The two-handed, head-tilted-to-the-perfect-angle, no-space-between kind that seemed so stupid and ridiculous on tv and reality until this exact moment, surrounded by five interested felines and kneeling on a wooden floor dusted with cat hair, submersion willed out of my veins and having nothing to ground me but his hands around my waist.

"Christ, Chiyo." He muttered, breathless. I hummed, brain still too stupid for words.

I placed the palm of my hand over his heart and released submersion.
Only instead of feeling my calm, regulated body, he felt exactly what he did to me.

"Just so you know," I tried to explain, looking him in the eye. "This is what it feels like when I'm with you ninety-nine percent of the time."

For a second I thought he was going into cardiac arrest, eyes wide with shock at the hummingbird pace of the heart coursing through his veins. I tried to pull my hand back quickly. Shota stamped it back in place.

"Is this...normal?"
For someone wholly infatuated with another human being? Probably. "Define normal."
"I mean for you."
I bit my lip, contemplating. My treacherous heart increased its vibrato and decided for me. "Only around you, Eraserbrain."

He looked like the cat who figured its way into the cage of a canary.

"You're already making me regret telling you."

He followed at a swaggering pace, watched as I collected my clothes from the bathroom and bundled everything in my bag, trying to force my shoes on without bending to untie them. His smirk could burn the varnish off the floor beneath us.

"You never asked how I knew."

"Knew what?" I begrudged. The running shoes Yaoyaruzo created looked silly with my dress, but it's not like anyone would see me between here and my apartment, save one judgmental Nasu and maybe the crybaby next door who was too nosy for his own good. One shoe proved too tight to squeeze on without unlacing. I sighed with all the force of a monsoon.

"You didn't think it was weird when Toshinori kept giving updates on students- namely, students you seem to subtly favor?"
I dropped the shoe I'd picked up in surprise. He was still smirking but looked a little more uncomfortable about it.
"Which seems a little unethical for an ethics teacher, Tsutomi-"
"Cut the crap," I interjected, eyes trained on him. "What are you saying?"
"I knew you'd be sitting next to Toshinori, so I might have texted him some interesting...updates, as the festival unfolded. Knowing he'd share them with you."

Now it made sense; I knew I hadn't mentioned my partiality towards Yaoyorozu or Tsu. This explained how Toshinori knew who to comment on, who I was watching out for. That stupid humming was vibrating the sense out of my ribs again. I doused it with water, maintaining focus. "You knew I'd left my seat at one point, though. How?"

Hands in pockets, edging slowly closer to me, I'd say Shota looked almost...bashful.
With a healthy note of sullenness. This was Shota Aizawa we were talking about.

"By tricking Mic into a game of 'I Spy'. 'I spy the most unprepared student.' 'I spy the worst dressed hero'," He tugged on a curl around my shoulder, dimple poking through just one corner. "I spy the woman with the craziest hair."

"Did it really look...crazy?" I asked hesitantly, raising a hand to touch my temple. Inspired by fantasy novels and led by internet tutorials, I had wound it into a thick, braided crown for the festival, feeling monumentally bad ass and highborn in my bare-necked, shining-crowned glory. I'd thought I looked cool. Were people making fun of me? Did other people think I looked crazy, too?

"No, but you're the only instructor at UA who changes her hair every other day," My hand fell with his. He squeezed my fingers, just once. "I knew you would come to mind before he even scoured the crowd and, being Yamada, would have already scouted out where the teachers were situated, where the tech and business scouts would be, that sort of thing. And then there you were, in another ridiculously peppy-colored dress, breaking Toshinori's arm like a terrified mom watching her kids at a sporting event."

"Yamada didn't realize your objective?"
Shota snorted. "Of course he did. Then I had to deal with his exhausting energy and pointless questioning. Luckily the tournament was distracting enough to give me at least a few moments of reprieve."
"Moments to text Toshinori observations that you thought I'd be interested in."

Again with the smile. Again with the humming increasing in volume, poking holes in my senses.

"Among other things. Watching you vomit was both tragic and hilarious."

Both shoes on and extra clothes under my arm, I swung the door open with gusto. His chuckle burned my ears. I paused in the doorway, too polite to leave without saying good-bye.

"So that's my secret, in return for yours. You are an incessant daydream clouding my thoughts, no matter where I am."

Every shred of dignity fought the swoon leaning me against the door frame.
Shota looked away, slight smile aimed at the floor, and the rest melted through the cracks in defeat.

"Kiss me so I can leave," I blurted, like the actual awkward idiot I was, "Because if I don't leave now I swear to God you're never going to be able to get rid of me."

Shota smiled.
"Promise?"
I charged.
He caught me, tilting my face to his, already waiting.


Author's Note- Take II: *happy noises* *happy hand movements* *silently wigging out*