I was stress-working out.

If someone asked me a month ago what I did when stressed the answers would've included binging horrible television, burying myself in fantasy novels, or double-fisting 64-ounce gas station sodas until my limbs shook with such a sugar rush I went comatose just to save myself from actually dying.
The idea I would do squats on my own, not as a punishment given by a cruel, cruel Trunchbull-type, would have reduced me into a cackling witch, gleeful in the sheer stupidity of such an idea.

And yet, here we are.

Maybe it's because I've grown accustomed to waking at the ass-crack of dawn to train, I thought as I did warm-up stretches.

Maybe it's because I'm about to introduce my professional-hero boyfriend to my overbearing, highly incorrigible mother, I wondered, listening for my nosy neighbor's terrified shrieks as I blew up a water bottle somewhere in his kitchen.

Or, maybe, because Shota Aizawa asked me to stay with him in a voice that implied everything, and I'd reluctantly, horrifyingly, turned him down in order to prepare for this nerve-rattling brunch date, I decided after my upteenth squat, legs shaky and hair heated.

Nasu had shown genuine concern when I'd arrived home and promptly laid face-down in the hallway, quietly beating my head against the carpet at my jackassery. A soft paw had patted its condolences before wandering off to check his food bowl.

Sleep was an elusive thief, so I'd called Manami and spent three hours too many on the phone, analyzing every angle of my life, from what I should pack in an overnight bag to what manner was best in poking my sleeping-dragon mother about the very person I spent half the night talking to.

I showered and fretted over my hair. Mom always complimented when I wore it up, but wouldn't Shota wear his up? Would that be weird? Annoyed tangles formed after my third style-change. Forget it; I twisted half away from my face, pleasing Mom, and left the rest curling around my arms, satisfying my differentiating desire. My skin looked remarkably tan against my floral wrap dress, cut deeper than anything I could wear to school but subtle, considering my very moderate endowment in the chest department.
I wore a path down in the living room. Nasu watched exhaustedly.

Please, I begged no one in particular, please let this go well.

My soot sprite bounded from the couch at the sound of the door, simpering piteously and scratching off the paint before I could invite his new favorite person in. No one met my eyesight; Shota Aizawa was already kneeling, face serious and arms open. Nasu leapt like a dramatic princess into his lap.

Like I didn't spend thirty minutes every morning petting his fat little belly.
Like I didn't let him sleep on my pillow and rile my allergies just so he could be content.
Ass.

"Hello," Shota greeted after Nasu was thoroughly satisfied with his affection. Nerves tapped on my shoulder, reminding me of their presence. "You look nice. Is that a new dress?"

"What? Oh, no. I just can't wear it to school. For obvious reasons." He continued to look at me and I balked, hand fluttering a gesture at my chest. "Because, um, the top. It's a little revealing. There's nothing to see, really, but, you know-"

"Mineta." Shota supplied with a serious nod. A grin flicked the nerves off my skin, relaxed by his easy demeanor.
"You look really nice, too." I don't think I'd ever get used to casual Aizawa, lean and stupidly handsome in simple clothing. "Are you ready?"
"If you are."

Nasu watched Shota dolefully. I locked him in extra tight without saying good-bye. Discretion wasn't my strong point today, I noted, and the man behind me snickered. There wasn't an opportunity to be annoyed as he extended a hand, waiting.

"Well, look at you," I teased, offering over the troublesome keys I never had a pocket for.
"It's always shocking how little faith you seem to have in me, Tsutomi."
"It keeps me open to surprising pleasures, Eraserbrain," Whoops, that sounded more explicit than intended. A smirk cut my way and I hurried my steps towards his car.

"What do you say if she mentions the USJ attack?"
"I lie and say you weren't there. Are you sure you're the right person to be teaching about ethics-"
"And if she asks about your hygiene habits?"
"I floss and eat three balanced meals a day; unlike you, who thought frosted doughnuts counted as both a grain and a dairy product-"
He drove in such a slouched, open manner. Pinching his inner thigh was a cakewalk. Shota nearly ran us off the road with a hiss. "You can walk the rest of the way, you know-"

My nerves were buzzing about like bothered flies, drowning out half of his muttered complaints. I grabbed his hand, squeezed, trying to release more of the endless pent-up energy I'd woken up with and couldn't seem to escape. Shota's annoyance paused to glance in my direction. His fingers gave a gentle embrace in answer.

"It's going to be okay."

I nodded but didn't trust myself to speak. The car glided into a safe landing, a ways away from the open-air cafe already brimming with guests. I could just make out a form, back straight and clothed in something summery, already forgoing the final dregs of the spring season. Shota squeezed my hand again. I turned, took a deep breath. His lips were gentle against my temple.

"If it gets dicey, I'll just unload my sleeping bag and give her a sales pitch on its great features," He promised. I breathed a laugh through my nose.
"The ultimate distraction."
"The ultimate haven of comfort."
I shook my head at him. "Ready?"
The seriousness of Eraser Head appeared, made nonthreatening by the appearance of a dimple. "Ready."


"There she is!"

Mom seemed like the same Mom I'd always known, chest doughy and arms fierce around me, smattering a dozen quick kisses on my face. The age-old embarrassment of a doting mother burnt my skin crispy and I tried to stagger out of her grip. "Mom, please-"
"I haven't seen you in two weeks, don't you dare try and deny my affection,"
Into her embrace I went once more. Several nearby tables glanced in our direction, amusement clear. A kid with jam smeared across his face pointed. I released a sigh of defeat.

Even with all my training and new experiences, there would never be an escape from parental humiliation.

"So, you're the reason Chiyo's been too busy for her mother?"

She kept my head locked in her chest even as she viewed the unfortunate man I'd practically scammed into coming. Shota looked torn between providing a smart ass answer, lying, or fleeing. Baptism by fire, I guess.

"Mom, this is Shota Aizawa. Shota, this is Hannei Tsutomi, my mother. We're dating." That didn't sound right; I didn't introduce them in the correct order. I pinched the bridge of my nose. "No. Wait. As in Shota and I are dating. I'm obviously not dating my mom; that can't even be legal-"

"I'm Shota," His voice sounded a fraction deeper than usual, smoothed like a polished stone as he offered a polite bow. Mom released my burning face to return the action. Good. At least they functioned normally. Maybe I could just melt into the concrete and sit out this entire endeavor.

"Hello, Shota. Please, take a seat," Mom gestured at the table she had been occupying. Three chairs of vine-like wire were evenly spaced out to face every guest, metal cool through the material of my dress. I guess there wouldn't be any reassuring hand holding under the table, but at least it wasn't a booth for Mom to glower over at us like two kids on prom night.

"So," She began innocently enough after we ordered. "When did you start dating my daughter?"
Ah. Maybe I really would just be a wallflower through this.
No. I should comment too.
...You know, when I was again able to string a coherent sentence together.

"About a month ago."
Our first date was the starting point? Grey eyes glanced in my direction, reluctant to continue. "-But I had wanted to ask her out sooner."

Oh.
What?

I mean, I knew the night before the USJ attack there was something up with him; he'd even admitted to his lowkey stalking antics in running into me at the bar. But that was, what, two days before he asked me out? Was this even worth mentioning?

Mom watched him keenly, as if she already knew the answer to her next question;
"Since the day in the park, huh?"
The creeping telltale marred his neck, answer enough.

For someone with a liquid quirk I sure spent an indecent amount of time choking on water.

The duo watched me sputter and flail about with only lightly-veiled interest.
"Was she...always like this?"
"Oh, it used to be much worse," Mom revealed, sipping elegantly from her own glass. "The school called once a week until Junior High- if she hadn't tripped in the lunch line and ripped her uniform she'd locked herself in a bathroom stall after finishing a traumatically-ending book,"

Was my trouble-making days part of the reason Mom erased Manami from me, I wondered? Had these always been solo acts of disturbance? My stomach gave a rumble I passed off as hunger.

"You wouldn't happen to have any pictures of this childhood-Chiyo on you, would you?"
"Of course! Give me a second to figure out my phone- it's new, I barely understand technology these days-"

I thought back on how reluctant Shota seemed last night on the prospect of this parental date.
He was all but grinning at me now, leaning in conspiratorially when Mom offered him her phone.

"She's about six in this photo. Look at those chubby cheeks! Aren't they precious?"
"So precious."

Shota Aizawa calling any part of me precious was now my least favorite utterance of all time.
His eyes practically glowed in delight.

Our food arrived and I promised to donate half a paycheck to charity in gratitude for the distraction. If they were eating they couldn't talk and certainly couldn't pass around the phone doubtlessly holding every school picture I'd been forced to sit through, chubby cheeks and all.

"What happened with your last girlfriend? Did you split amicably?"
Well. So much for eating and delaying the inevitable.
He seemed prepared for this question, unwavering as he dug into his food. "Amicably enough."

What the hell did that mean?
"What the hell does that mean?"

Wow. The apple and tree metaphor had never rang clearer. Shota's dark shirt tugged across his chest as he straightened. He seemed a shade paler in the morning's bright sunlight, though his eyes were uncharacteristically clear for being in a public place.

"I don't- didn't- really date, before."
"Why? Does your hero work inhibit your ability to be there for others?"
"Mom," I hissed, slapping her hand in an act to shut her up. She continued to stare down the man across from her as if I wasn't even part of the discussion. A grizzly bear, too distracted by a predator to bother with a meddlesome cub.
"My teaching career composes the majority of my working hours now, but no, that wasn't the problem. I just didn't really see the point before meeting your daughter."

Even Mom was thrown off balance by the unwavering way he said it. The world went askew by such a bare-faced answer, as if someone tilted my vision by a few jarring degrees.
Mom was quick to recover.

"So you're telling me your past consists of a bunch of stringed-together one night stands?"
"'A bunch' is probably being a little too generous."

A little too generous? What did that mean? Three, four? Ten? How many bananas were in a bunch- was that applicable here? Were there repeat offenders and, if so, would I recognize them?

Which was worse- a bunch of hot, probably-professional heroines he'd slept with or a small handful of intimate partners?
I glanced between the two of them, focusing on not obliterating every water glass in a ten-mile radius.
Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask was struggling against the other side screaming for mom to be her nosy-ass self and ask, ask, ask.

"I see," Mom's voice blew in from the Arctic. "And I should just trust you'll treat Chiyo differently and not leave her high and dry once you get what you want?"

"I can't leave Chiyo. We have a cat together."

It wasn't even me who choked this time. Instead, the man directly behind us was gagging on a bagel, clearly eavesdropping. The feeling of astonishment was mutual. Shota continued to stare blandly at my mother, like his answer was more than sufficient. Mom's eyes were amber bowling balls. Panic jumped into my mouth.

"Mom, he's just kidding- what kind of question was that to begin with-"
"You're in love with her, aren't you." Mom asked in an astonished breath, not really asking at all.

Silence. Even the eavesdropper had paused in his hacking to hear the response.

"Enough," My hands trembled the silverware across the table with sudden alarm. Take a breath. Two, three. I couldn't look at them- either of them. "You've met. We're happy. Everyone's happy. Let's please move on."

"You don't sound very happy," Mom grudged into her water glass. I sent razor-sharp shards of ice through my gaze. She threw her hands up. "Fine, fine. I yield." She looked coyly in Shota's direction- who I still couldn't look at because, by All Might's ass, this line of questioning and realizations were going to send me to an early grave. "...For now."

"Do they serve alcohol this early?"
A foot tapped against my own, long-legged enough to easily span the distance between us. I curled my leg around his like a buoy keeping me afloat.

Mom returned to her early lunch, animatedly commenting on her friend's newest fad diet as if this were just a normal Saturday for her. In a way, I supposed it was; this was our usual meet-up day, in which I listened to her complaints and she mine, feeling ten pounds lighter after and not from the minimal athletics we performed.

"Chi-chan, honey?"
I blinked in surprise at the warm hand grazing my arm. Mom had leaned over, looking concerned. "What's wrong?"

Now. Do it now.

"We have a woman at UA who goes by the name Recovery Girl. There's an instructor check-up once a semester; the most recent was about two weeks ago," This was a lie Manami and I concocted last night. The base facts were mostly there with a few key details and timelines altered to better fit a passive situation- one that wouldn't send Mom howling.

Her hand began to retract. I caught it, held it in mine.

"Over the past few weeks, I've noticed the tremors I used to experience have subsided."
"That's...That's wonderful," It was the voice she used to hide herself, like when I had brought home a three-legged cat or the time I'd cut my own bangs. I knew this tone. A glimmer of fear shone through her dark eyes by the turn of my chair fully facing her.
"I started having these...dreams. Mom, what really happened with Manami Seto?"
This question line had been Shota's idea.
Allow her an opportunity to answer, show her hand.

Show me, Mom. Show me you are who I know you to be.

She took a breath, then another. I gave her space, as patient as she had always been when I'd come home crying over the death of a character, listening and rubbing my back as I hiccuped through the storyline.

"You don't understand what it's like, being a parent," She was barely audible. I leaned in close, gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Her smile was warm but damaged, like a book that had been dog-eared too many times over.

"Watching something you love so much try and survive on their own, out of your hands and in this dangerous world full of violence and abuse."
"What did you do, Mama?" I asked quietly.
"I did what I thought was right. What was best for you."

The nosy bagel-eater paid his bill and stood, brazen in his slowness to pull on his windbreaker and trudge away. Shota glared from my periphery and the man quickened his pace.

"Manami didn't hurt me on purpose, did she?"
Her head shook just once. Another slow breath.

"Manami was your best friend, honey. But she was wild, and obsessed with quirks and supposed superheroes. It was only a matter of time before something terrible happened."
She swallowed, looked at our connected hands.
"The two of you were playing in the yard and suddenly I heard screaming. You both looked like someone had stuck your fingers into a fuse box; there were blisters on your cheeks and your hair was fried at the edges like something out of a movie. I knew it wouldn't be safe to allow your friendship to continue."

This story aligned with the one Manami told; the one I vaguely remembered. Except for the blisters- had that really happened? I'd have to ask Manami later.

"Why- how did you get me to believe the other version?"

Her eyes slid away, hesitant. I followed her gaze. Shota had been quiet the duration of this confession, arms crossed and body lithe in his distanced chair.
"Mom, it's okay. I trust Shota; he's only here to support me," I promised gently. Was she afraid I brought him to arrest her, turn her in? The thought pained me.
"I took you to a special kind of children's psychologist."

The leg serving as a grounder shifted, surprised at her answer. Mom and Shota watched each other, some sort of understanding passing between them. My heart drummed two notes faster.

"What?" I wanted to jump the next plane from the way they were looking at me. Like I was some poor, naive puppy, too dumb to know where the car was headed. "What does that mean?"

"There are licensed psychiatrists who have been given authority to use mental-influencing quirks in serious cases of trauma; particularly when children are involved," Shota explained in a tone I couldn't place. I tried to lift the hem of his pant leg with my foot, reaching out with submersion to get a better grasp on what was running through his jaw, unsettling his eyes. "It's highly controversial."

I stared.
Watched as tears swam through Mom's lashes, drowning the both of us.
"Chiyo, I'm so sorry."

I should be happy. This was what I wanted; we knew she had deceived me in some way.
I'd wanted to know my mother had betrayed and lied to me for fifteen years, taken my only friend away and kept me in captivity like a helpless goldfish swimming around the same bowl.

My hand pulled away from hers.

"Chiyo, please, please try and understand; this was just a minor accident- what if you had been sparring? Manami would've convinced you to use your quirk again, no matter what promises you both made-"
"You didn't do it yourself?"

Lions were roaring in my ears. I couldn't hear her answer, so much as read the confusion on her face.

"Do you have a quirk, Mom? Did you erase my memory yourself?"
Anger spouted like dandelions, multiplying rapidly. "Of course not. You know I don't have a quirk, which I'm thankful for every day."

Breathe. Breathe. I could only look at her, submersion working to fight the storm for me.

Her story made sense. Shota seemed to know of these psychiatrists, even if his opinion didn't seem to match Mom's. Had this person ingrained the tremors in me, too? That seemed beyond any ethical code I could think of.
She was thankful, but was her quirklessness the root of her fear? Questions about my father vibrated my lungs. Was he the reason? And what about her lack of data in the systems?

"You are the greatest accomplishment of my life, Chiyo. I would have done anything to keep you safe," The whisper escaped with the tears trailing down her face. "I know what I did was unforgivable, and I'll spend the rest of my life living with that. But I had to keep you safe."

Funny. The person who fought so hard against this meeting was the exact person she sounded like.

"And now?" I asked. My voice sounded like I'd swallowed a handful of tacks. "Now that I'm an adult, are you still doing everything in your power to keep me safe?"
"I'll never stop looking out for you. But you're an independent woman now, free to make her own choices. It doesn't mean I won't worry," She gave a furtive glance towards Shota. "-but I love you and trust the person I raised."

Memories flew by on a freight train, casting me in their shadows.

Of my silly, stern, laughing mother, who picked me up from school every time I had a belly ache and bought me popsicles every Friday as a treat. Who never turned me away when I had a nightmare, cuddled in next to her and listening to her soft singing until sleep returned. Who had never dated or even went out until I moved to college, focusing solely on raising me for eighteen full, unwavering years.

"We really do have a cat together," I wiped quickly at my eyes, feeling that wet choked-up sensation bobbling in my throat. "Her name is Endo. She's about as old as our relationship, so it will be an easy way to remember."

Mom laughed this disgusting cry-noise, which made me laugh, which made her laugh harder until her face became a snotty, damp mess that no concealer could fix. She nearly broke my neck in a hug. My arms circled hers, slowly but surely.

"Did you let her name it after another vegetable?"
"Unfortunately." Shota answered, expression dull. I felt personally attacked.
"You think it's cute! Admit it."
"No, yeah, vegetables are perfectly adequate terms for house pets."
I shook my head in dismay. "Tell her what your cat's name is,"

Shota's nose twitched and he looked away, unhearing. But a foot pressed against mine, pulling at my face like marionette strings. Mom sighed dreamily.

"Ah, young love."
"Don't let his looks deceive you. He's really just a grouchy old man," I deadpanned. A waiter braved approaching our dramatic table and Shota took the bill with an ill-natured look.

"It's unfortunate you never pointed out Chiyo's terrible sense of humor to her, Mrs. Tsutomi. I'm afraid she's beyond the point of saving now."
"Says the man who thinks petrifying his students with expulsion is comical-"
"It is," He paused, handing the waiter wallet to our passing attendant. "To me, anyway."
"Mm," I hummed. His eyes scowled at my patronizing smirk. "I'm sure this has nothing to do with why the students prefer my classes-"
"Is this your version of foreplay?" Mom propped her head on her hand, looking interested. "I noticed your car has a backseat."
"Mom, no."

She grinned cheekily. My body vacated to Death Valley, boiled in the sun for a few hours before returning to the cafe. "Okay, meal over. Good talk. Everyone's met everyone, nothing to see here, folks."

"Shota, it was very nice to meet you. I was always Team Eraser," She waved a hand after sliding her purse over one shoulder, noting the raise of his brow. "As opposed to Team- what did you used to call it, sweetie? Operation Thunderbuns?"

"Mom, I'm going to disown myself if you don't stop," I slapped her leg hard enough to leave an imprint. She hissed, moving to slap me back and knocking her water glass off the table in the process. Without thinking I suspended the liquid before quickly reaching down to grab hold of its stem, inches away from shattering.

The air, for a split second, felt thick enough to slice with a knife.

Tree-sap eyes watched me sit upright, not a single drop misplaced as I put the glass back on the table.

"And you call me a clutz," I tried to chastise, feeling weirdly, suddenly, on edge. Mom blinked back to life with a playful smirk.

"One good save doesn't compensate for the million-plus times you've tripped over your own feet, Chi-chan, but I'm glad to see your new friends have at least improved your reflexes."

We parted ways, waited for Mom to drive away as she continued to wave from inside her car. The moment she was out of sight my shoulders nearly hit the pavement.

"I take back what I said last night- this was the most exhausting event of my life."
"I don't know about that," I didn't like the slyness in his voice. I peeped up only to have him watching me like a vindictive cat. "We learned quite a bit. I look forward to telling All Might about Operation Thunderbuns."

He laughed at my furious attacks. I punched harder, only to have him keep me at bay by placing a palm against my head. "What? Why are you so embarrassed? If anything I should feel bad; all I got was Team Eraser as a codename? Really?"

No, not really. I definitely shared another term with Mom but by some divinity she'd had the decency not to utter it out loud in front of him. I kept this to myself, making sure not to give anything away with a stupid blush.

"Get your pasty hand off my forehead." I slapped him away, indignant. "I wanted to get some shopping done while I was here. Why don't you go take a nap in the car?"
"I can't come with you?"

Of course he could come with me. I just hadn't thought he'd want to.

I needed to work on hiding my thoughts better; his eyes crinkled, hands burying in pockets and standing at attention.

"Ready when you are, Chi-chan."

This was going to be a very long day.


Long, but maybe not an awful day.

He followed me like an observant shadow, interested in the items I held up for him to sniff and honest about the outfits I tried on, uncomplaining when I used him as a clothing rack or bag carrier. When he grew tired he found a quiet corner or a vacant "husband chair", keeping a watchful eye on my purchases and seeming relatively content. He picked out dinner and I paid for the ingredients to compensate for our earlier lunch, ignoring his complaints.
My mom had accused him of being in love with me, for shit's sake. The least I could do was buy him dinner.

The memory jerked my shoulders. Shota glanced across to the passenger seat in unguarded curiosity. I shook my head quickly.

"Muscle spasm. Sorry." Sorry? Why should I apologize over something so stupid? "I mean, I'm not sorry, but, you know. I guess for startling you. I'm sorry for that."
"Mhm," He was looking at me like I was an idiot.
"You know what I mean, so you can stop doing that thing with your face at any time."
"Mhm."
A dramatic sigh whooshed out. He chuckled.
"Do you think she was telling the truth?" I asked suddenly.
The scruff of his face shifted, slow to an answer.
"I think your mother fully believes what she did was in your best interest."

He looked bemused when I yanked open his car door just as soon as we entered my apartment complex's parking lot.
"Yeah, but do you think she's telling the truth."
"There are quirk psychologists capable of altering and erasing memory," Again his words were carefully chosen fruit, sidestepping both the question and my physical body to collect the clothing bags from the backseat. "They're rare, and it's hard to get approval for memory erasure; usually there has to be an extreme circumstance."

A mild electrocution probably wasn't enough. How did she even get me to the doctor? Nasu zipped past me to fling himself into Shota's once-again waiting arms. Would a doctor erase the memory of himself or herself, too? I supposed that made sense; if I remembered the doctor, it'd only be a matter of time before I questioned what he was doing in my memory bank.

"Do you mind if we take Nasu? He gets anxious if he has to stay alone overnight,"

"I will never say no to a cat," Came Shota's fervent response. Which would explain the five cats he had living under his porch. "Does he need a carrier?"

"He'll let you carry him to the car. Just keep an eye out for his back claws," I tossed my bag over one shoulder with a final glance around my apartment. There was nothing else I could imagine needing. I moved to the door, letting the two file out before me.
Nasu sat like a lump of coal in my lap, brave enough to investigate the passing landscape through the closed window with my arms secured tightly around his tubby body. I was glad to see he remembered me in his time of need, like a toddler with a security blanket.

"You didn't mention your quirk training to her."
No, I certainly hadn't. "I thought we could climb one mountain at a time, you know?"
Shota seemed to accept this answer.
"She said she doesn't have a quirk. Did you notice anything, I don't know, weird?"
"No."
"Do you think she has a quirk?"
Nasu looked between the two of us, his quiet purr the only sound in the car. Shota finally sighed.
"I don't know."

I wanted to argue, defend Mom; her story made sense. She'd used someone else with a quirk to achieve this outcome, not her own secret power.
But my mouth couldn't form the words, gunked like chewing gum in my lungs.

Nasu rolled into an angry ball as I carried him out of the car and into Shota's citrus-smelling apartment. "Did you clean?"
"What?" He asked, trying to throw me off. I squinted. His mouth gave away the answer without saying a word.
"Shota."
"Chiyo."
I took his cold hands in mine. "Thank you for coming today. It really means a lot to me,"

He looked at me like I was a puzzle he still couldn't quite figure out. A long spine bent when I pulled, wrapping my arms around his neck in a tight hug. Which were underrated, I realized. Had I ever hugged him before? His hair tickled my nose and smelled like rain. Men didn't even need fancy shampoo to have nicer hair than most women. There really isn't any justice in the world.
Shota's arms caught my waist before he straightened. My feet dangled nearly a foot off the ground, swaying with the movement.

"She wasn't as scary as I expected," Shota commented, warm against my neck.
"Really? Maybe scary isn't the right word," Psychotic, maybe. Frighteningly aggressive. "Again, I'm really sorry for the personal questions. She has no boundaries."

The stinging recalling of a bunch of one-night stands threw a dart into my exposed back. I wiggled but he didn't let go, maintaining my suspension.

Had they come here? Did they kiss on his couch and watch nostalgic kid movies together, too? Eraser Head was an underground hero; surely that entailed some avid groupies. Did he miss that easier-catch lifestyle? I let my body go slack, washing the thought-spiral down the drain.

None of that mattered. It was ridiculous to be upset over events in his life before we'd even met, let alone before we started dating. And like I was even one to talk- I'd spent a few weeks going out with Toshinori. Even if the dates were really just happy hang-outs, doing couple-like things without any of the couple-like intimacy outside public hand-holding.

"We won't have to cook dinner if you keep frying your brain, Tsutomi."
"So put me on the couch and eat me then, Aizawa."

I jerked so suddenly even the pro hero couldn't catch me, unceremoniously crashing into a heap on the floor. My face could start a new wave of global warming. "I didn't mean it like that, I was just trying to make a joke- obviously, um, I-" I sighed, too exhausted by myself. "I'm already hungry, so why don't we just start cooking now?"

"Appetizers are always nice," His boyish grin was too much. I covered my face for a moment of peace.
"Shota, I'm going to die. Then Nasu will scratch your eyes out and be a never-ending furball of despair and- Wait, where is he?"

There were no glowing eyes from the couch- above or under- and the shadows proved vacant of my little eggplant. Shota helped hoist me up before checking the kitchen. "Not in here,"

He wouldn't really eat a kitten, right? Sure, he was a little hateful sometimes, but he wouldn't hurt a fly.
Except for real flies, which he killed for sport.
And the gecko my neighbor had when it made the unfortunate mistake of slithering under our front door.
...And maybe a handful of house plants.

"Nasu?" I called, steps a little more frantic.

A nervous peek into Shota's spare room unveiled the most surprising sight of my adult life.

My chubby, violently anti-social cat, looking annoyed but tolerating the white-footed kitten pouncing about him, trying to catch his flicking tail as Nasu lounged tensely near the window.

"I guess miracles really can happen," I realized aloud. Shota observed the scene from behind me.
Endo caught the tip of Nasu's tail between her teeth. He bopped her with clawless front paws, toppling the kitten over before jumping into a bookcase too high for such a young sibling.

Well. At least he hadn't eaten her.

"You were seriously afraid Nasu was going to eat her?"
I really needed to work on keeping thoughts inside my head instead of verbally articulating. I pulled him to the kitchen, leaving the embarrassment behind.

"You cut the meat, and I'll make the marinade," I directed, turning on chef mode and retrieving the grocery bags I'd thrown into the refrigerator. We were going to use them all- it seemed pointless to put everything "away" before we even began. Shota got to work, washing his hands and rummaging around for a cutting board.

"I noticed she didn't ask you any overexposing questions."
"Who, Mom?" Measuring cups were hidden in a low drawer, looking uncannily new. "Well, she's known me my whole life. She knows who I've dated and my...history." I said the last word with air quotes. Charcoal eyes looked on and a blush quickly turned me away.
"So?"
"So what?"
"What kind of dating history do you have, Tsutomi?"
Hm. Maybe I wasn't the only one who suffered from an overactive what if brain.
He offered assistance as I unscrewed a bottle, annoyingly impressed when I defeated the lid myself.

"I mostly just dated in my latter years of college. You've met my mom, you see how she is. Dating in high school would've been nearly impossible. Plus, I couldn't be bothered to give up my sacred free time to pretend to be interested in activities I didn't care about," Like sports. Activities involving loud, drunk idiots. I attended one school dance, and that was only because I was secretly dating a boy who'd asked me.

Turns out, teenage-Chiyo did not know how to make small talk among large groups and spent most of her time by the snack table until a chaperone kindly thanked her for manning the table all night.

I skewered the meat slices with the sharp-edged sticks, marveling over the fact that I'd willingly become a high school teacher when my own experiences had been abysmal, at best. But doesn't that mean I'm in my prime now instead of peaking then?

"I dated a bit, I guess. But they were mostly the see-a-movie, kiss-good-bye, never-see-again type. Not like-" Not like your hot-and-heavy love trysts with tall, curvy superheroes, I'm sure. "I dated one guy, Seiichi, the longest. He's how I got my job at the rental store."
"Oh?"
I grinned. "He was the manager."
Shota snorted. "Sleeping your way to the top, huh."
"Something like that."
It was slight, but there was a sudden tenseness in his limbs, eyes focused on the long strips of chicken he was cutting into skewered lengths. "How long were you two-?"
"Um. Maybe a little under three years?"

He couldn't stop himself from quickly looking over. I tried to smile, feeling like I belonged in a penitentiary for my utter lack of common sense. But he'd never asked, and I'd spent enough time hammering the memories out of my head. I deserved my own psychiatric license for erasure.

"Can I ask what happened?"
I shrugged uncomfortably.
"He was nice enough. I, er, kind of stalked him out until he finally realized why I kept renting the same two movies- ones I'd heard him recommend to someone else- and asked me on a date. I started working there in my third year of college on weekends. We'd work Friday nights together. It was actually kind of great."

Seiichi was great; he never pushed me to do anything I didn't want, bought me flowers every holiday, the whole dream. Mom had been in love with him way before I thought I was, inviting her friends to my imagined wedding "just on the horizon". A shiver cut down my spine. I guess there are worse questions mom could've asked.

"We had a lot in common, but it kind of felt like we were already this old married couple, you know? There wasn't any spontaneity; we did the same thing every week, had the same conversations. I'm pretty sure Mom even knew what days we had-" By Gang Orca's Fins, Chiyo, shut the hell up. Shota had given up on cutting entirely, face holding the pallor of a bloodless ghost.

I did already have an overnight bag packed.
I wondered which psychiatric hospital was the closest.

"...Anyway. He was nice, but we just weren't meant to be together like that. So I broke up with him and we remained okay friends. I kept working at the video store, though he changed our hours so we never worked the same shift."

The sticks were too long to dip into the sauce. "Do you have a ladle, or something?"
He didn't respond. I finally turned, wondering if ladle was one of those words men didn't seem to recognize, only to get caught up in his expression.
Was he...sulking?

"Shota."
The muscles of his face spasmed a little. After a moment he returned to life, producing a spoon that would act well enough. His eyebrows lowered, irritated, as I continued to stare.
"Shota Aizawa."
"What?"
"Are you jealous?"
He chopped the meat a little more violently than necessary. "Don't be absurd."

"I dated a guy whose best quality I can come with is nice enough. You had a bunch of one-night stands with a harem of supermodel-quality heroines. You have no reason to be brooding right now."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Shota turned into teacher-Aizawa, expression as if he were viewing the idiot Baku-squad up to more ridiculous antics. I blinked, unsure which point he was criticizing.

"You said a bunch was a little too generous, but I Googled how many bananas are in a bunch in the car-"

"First of all, that's insane," He interrupted with a flick to my forehead. I grunted, hands flying to the stinging skin as he continued; "Secondly, a person can go on dates and not bring them home- you said so yourself. So probably divide that number by half again. Thirdly- and I'm going out on a limb here, knowing how your nutcase brain works- I didn't mean I didn't see the point of dating because I could get everything I wanted from a one-night stand. I'd appreciate a little more credit than what you're archaically giving me." He mocked me with the air quotes I used before.
Snarky Shota was kind of an asshole.
A hot asshole, who noticed my dopey expression and thumped my forehead again.
"Idiot."
"So what'd you mean, then?"
His jaw went taut, chewing on irritation. I couldn't tell if it was directed at me or the question itself.

"Relationships seemed more exhausting than their overall worth, and I'd never felt an overwhelming desire to get close to someone, before. To let and want them in my life and be a part of theirs, and all the responsibilities that entails." He chopped the rest of the chicken, profile passively watching his hands at work. "I...feel differently, when it comes to you."

Honestly, I was just glad we were both petty enough to harbor jealousy over each other's pasts and big enough to admit to it.

"You're supposed to let it soak in the marinade for at least thirty minutes, you know."
Shota's gaze narrowed in on me. I tried to mirror his cool demeanor, hiding the growing hunger like a predator on its last leg. "Set a timer. I'll be waiting for you on the couch."

I didn't even make it past the entryway.


"You're giving her a passing grade for that? It's written in three different shades of ink-"
"Her thesis makes sense, though, and she supported her argument well."
"She wrote each paragraph in a different size."
"By the end, yeah. Haven't you noticed how sloppy everyone's writing becomes after the second page?"

Rouged lips pursed but fell silent. I forgot I was- had been- wearing lipstick. Shota glanced up and I hid behind the essay I was reading, decidedly not mentioning his new look.

He agreed to help me finish my grading for the week and we'd sprawled out near the sliding glass door, using the fading light over artificial, legs stretched out with plates of food between us.

There was one yakitori left; I pulled half the meat off and offered the rest to him. "You're following the rubric I gave you, right?"

"Mm," He hummed ambiguously around the last gifted bite, eyes boredly roving across Tsuyu's essay. I'd intentionally given him the higher-performing students' work, aware of his skyscraper expectations- especially when it came to his own Homeroom kids.

Kaminari and Mineta should worship the ground I walked on after a save like this.

Grading Class 2-B would've made more sense, I supposed, but with all the hero courses out training with agencies, I'd utilized the four extra class periods to knock out everything but a small handful of 1-A's papers.

"What are you doing?"
Shota stared in mild horror. I glanced around, confused.
"What?"
"What did you just put on that paper." He spoke slowly, as if speaking to an American tourist.

"You mean these?" I held up the miniature sticker book Mom had given me in a Teacher Care Package when I'd first started student teaching. He jerked as if I held a severed head.

"I don't know what's worse; the fact that you're awarding stickers like they're children or that you're putting one on Yuga Aoyama's."

"They are children, and Aoyama put forth good effort," His essay spent more time discussing his own personal difficulties with gastro-intestinal issues than the broad spectrum of problems facing heroes in rural and remote areas, but I'd take anything over the first paper he'd turned in, half in gibberish French that mostly consisted of listed favorite foods than actual sentences.

"They're in high school."
"I had teachers who gave me stickers for a job well done in high school,"
"That explains a lot," Shota muttered under his breath. I frowned sympathetically when his glass tipped over near his thigh.
"You could also reduce your grading time if you stopped writing half a novel of commentary, you know."

"Probing questions for future efforts," I brandished the hand offering him a napkin. "Fostering relationships to let them know they can come to me when and if they need to."

A small smirk played on his lips. "If you're not careful they're going to start accidentally calling you mom."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm much too young and attractive to be their mother." I failed to mention that this occurrence had already happened and- terrifyingly- with a kid from his very homeroom.

Some secrets were best left buried.
Thirty feet deep, under poured cement.

"Besides, aside from Izuku Midoriya, everyone knows you're the father figure of Class 1-A; don't even try to fight it."
A collector of cats and hazardous teenagers. I wasn't quite sure which was worse.
"I'm only doing my job in preparing them for what lies ahead. It would be irrational to waste the potential of gifted students by not giving them my all."
"See? You give moving speeches-" I held up a finger, a big, yellow smiley face on its tip. "-and I give stickers. Not so different."
"Clearly."

My face mirrored the sticker now on Hakagure's paper. Nasu gave an alarmed glance from the couch when I stretched, releasing a sound unknown to all species.

With three-fourths of my kids gone for hero training, I was practically done for the week and it hadn't even started yet.

Something- rather, someone- caught my ankle, slid me across the floor towards them. The skin of my legs looked golden in the fading sunlight, bare under my floral dress. I watched Shota warily.
"It's your own fault when I kicked you in the face, if you touch my foot."

"I'm not really into that sort of thing," He ran his fingers up my calf, searching. "There's the scar on your knee and a freckle on your left shin. A small cluster, oddly, on the inside of your right thigh-"

"Hey!" I yanked my leg away, whipping out a distraction before I skated into the land of Awkward Giggles and Embarrassment for the next seven days. "You never let me try on your goggles! Did you get them fixed?"

Shota gave a benign smirk, recognizing my antics. Gotta sell this good, Chiyo.
I jumped to my feet. "I fought off a Nomu and added vegetables as a consistent food group in my diet. I've earned this right."

"If you can find them, go for it."

A challenge. He probably didn't have one of those clunky metal carriers the students had- that seemed too obvious. The cats followed me from room to room as I tapped walls and looked for suspicious floor linings.

"Again, I'm not a ninja, Tsutomi."

Exactly what a ninja would say, I thought with a snort. But this was the home of Eraser Head, known at school by his desire for the uncomplicated. Nasu perched on the foot of Shota's bed, watching Endo try and horrendously fail at mimicking his jump onto the bedspread.

Poking through his dresser seemed sketchy- everyone knows they're the designated hiding spot for unspeakables better left in the dark. I deemed the closet safer and voila; resting on a wooden hanger, tangled in the mass of his surprisingly-heavy "scarf", sat the goggles.

Why did he insinuate they'd be hard to find? I'd have had more trouble finding junk food in Rikido Sato's backpack than this lazed "hiding spot".

The slats were equidistant to one another, bent at an angle to allow peripheral vision. They, too, were heavier than I expected, cool to the touch and made of some kind of alloy.
The last time I'd seen these they were in fragments scattered across the bloodied concrete. Ghost fingers scraped down my back and the memory. The League of Villains attack felt like a lifetime ago now. Had it really just been a month or so?

"Announcing the newest, coolest sidekick to the enigmatic Eraser Head...Whiteout!"

I struck a heroic pose, head angled patriotically, chest puffed like a peacock. Eraser's goggle straps pinched my hair and the scarf looked truly ridiculous with my low cut dress, swallowing me from nose to mid-chest. I rose into a mantis pose, glaring menacingly at my audience.

Something weird was happening to Shota's face, pinched on all the edges, twitching his lips and furrowing his brow.

"Dance pose," I informed gruffly, shifting positions. He gave a round of polite applause.
I crouched, one leg shooting out, palms together before me. "Ninja."
"Whiteout, huh?"
I executed a Twisting Goddess stance which, personally, I found outstandingly impressive. "Yeah, get it? Because they both erase mistakes?"
"Oh I got it, all right."

Shota observed as I shook out my hands, huffed a few breaths. I went statuesque before turning my intense goggled look in his direction. "Prepare yourself."
"Consider me thoroughly prepared," He answered just as seriously.

With one final inhale I bent at the waist, bracing my forearms against the floor. This would've been smarter to do on carpet. I focused on equaling out the blood in my limbs as one leg lifted, steadied my breath before elevating the other. Better yet, I should've thrown his stupid jumpsuit on, I realized as my dress blanketed my head.

Yoga was one of the primary exercises for regulating breathing and heart rates; even Mom had been on board with this sort of training when I was a teenager, hoping it would calm my anxious disposition. And, after so many years of practice, I was practically one flight away from becoming a Hindi Yoga guru in the mountains somewhere.

"I actually have really strong thigh muscles. That's why my legs are so- you know," I split my legs for emphasis, completely at ease. "I mean, soda and potato chips have also given hefty donations, but there's muscle hidden under there. Somewhere."

I brought my legs back to earth, rolling onto my butt, hands lifted like an Olympian. Shota didn't clap this time. He'd moved nearer the couch, head slack against the cushions. I pushed the goggles up my forehead, rubbing where they'd bit into my skin. Was my head larger than his? Why were these so tight?

"I mean, I know it wasn't an Eraser Head-level demonstration, but you could at least give me a "good job" or something," I tried to throw the scarf at him like he'd done at the USJ.

It fell heavily to the ground, as if I'd thrown a piece of metal toilet paper. How'd he do this?

He'd closed his eyes, body boneless.
"Shota?"
I shuffled closer, poking his side. One corner of his mouth curved upward. "Shota? Are you tired again?"

"Not at all." He flicked the goggles back down my face without a glance. "You just displayed my greatest weakness with a full show. I just need a moment to...process. Lock this down in my memory."

It was probably wrong to do but I reached out anyway, felt his quickened heartbeat, revealing what he hid behind an unreadable face.

"Have you really liked me since that day in the park?" I heard myself ask.
A skipped beat, one-eighth increase in speed. "I...became more aware of you, after that."
"If you felt something for me, then why didn't you ask me out sooner?"

In, out. In, out. The notes turned staccato, still in four-four time. "I'm not exactly the social type. I've been alone a long time, and I'd grown accustomed to a certain kind of lifestyle. Plus, you're-" He took another slow breath, ineffective against the tempo strumming his chest. "You terrify me, Chiyo."

I was starting to understand why he hid beneath all these weapons, safe when the liquid grey of his eyes tried to see mine through the shaded glasses, sunken in the many wraps of the scarf.

"Why?"
"Because in a life dictated by logic and rationality, I find myself focusing on you an irrational amount. Where you are, what you're thinking. The impact you have on me. To the point where imagining a life without you now seems lacking in purpose. And that, in itself, is terrifying."

The goggles took a few stray hairs with them, rested heavy in my hands.

"You kind of seemed like this unachievable dream to me."
I saw the signs of surprise from my periphery. Just because I'd taken off the glasses didn't mean I was brave enough to look at him.
"Even when I thought you hated me, I think I admired you. You're so confident in who you are- you bring a sleeping bag to work, for shit's sake- but don't come off as arrogant, even when you probably are being a little too pushy. I can barely walk and talk at the same time." I laughed at myself, tugging free of the strange scarf around my neck.

"Even when I knew I was attracted to you, I tried to push the feeling away. You're so put together and mature; there wasn't a tangible reality I could see us being together in. But then you kept pushing me, and showing up, like a recurring dream I couldn't shake myself awake from."

Conveniently appearing when I arrived for school. Chatting casually between classes, showing up during my prep period with a snack. Like he could sense me thinking of him and would then suddenly appear, aloof but present, listening to my babble with genuine interest.

He watched as I absently knotted the capturing weapon around his wrist, forming my thoughts with care.

"No one's ever really believed in me before. I've always been the wallflower type, the last to be chosen for sport's teams, that kind of thing. People look out for me and I've always let them, thinking I needed it." My chest gave a nervous waiver as I looked at him. "But you kept harassing me, made me second guess myself. And then at the USJ you didn't just see me as another bystander. You told me to protect our students. No one had ever asked me to fight back before, like I had the ability to do so. No one had ever thought I could."

"I shouldn't have criticized you like I did. I'm sorry," His voice was quiet. I shook my head.

"If you hadn't, I'd have never been brave enough to stand up then. I would've never pursued Manami, and I definitely wouldn't have confronted my mom. It's not just your stupidly handsome face and sleeping bag that make me stir crazy; you make me a better person. And I-" I caught the words before they could fall from my mouth, startled. "...I can't imagine my life without you in it, either. It would be colorless."

What was I about to say? My heart had jumped into my throat before my brain could suppress it, nearly failing.

Shota took my wrist, found the scar with his lips.
I tugged the scarf, pulled him up and led him down the hall.

Nasu hadn't left his treasure hunt perch, glowing eyes blinking as we entered. I took the material from Shota's wrist and trailed it out the door. Nasu followed accordingly, enticed by the game of Cat and Anything That Moved Too Quickly. A lamp I'd mistaken for a rock lit the room in a soft glowing ambiance. I was struck again by the surprisingly good interior decorating of a man whose clothing palette consisted of the absence of color.

"Ready to see the primary reason this dress is a no-go for school?" I moved closer to him and, by default, to the bed he was standing next to, seeing that the rock-turned-lamp sat on his bedside table. I lifted my right elbow, revealing a nicely-tied bow. "Pull this string."

Shota's eyes widened uncharacteristically; with one little tug the dress unraveled, falling open as easily as a bathrobe. For maybe the first time in my life my bra and underwear matched- another brain child of Manami and mine, discussed in detail last night in my insomnia. I didn't receive the exact reaction I intended, as he seemed far more perturbed by the scant stitching of my dress than the skin it revealed.

"This- people really wear this kind of thing?"
"Well I wore it all day, Aizawa. So yeah, people wear them."

The dim light caught his shaking head, brow furrowed. The expected reaction for addressing him more formally as I stood in his bedroom, mood lighting and sensual areas revealed, was abandoned as he pulled the tie back together, looking bewildered. "Shota, what are you-"
"I could've taken this off at any time. Anyone could've taken this off you at any time."

I wasn't sure I liked the implication of his ability to undress me whenever he felt like it, but the mildly protective fear of anyone disrobing me was kind of nice.

"I know. I was saving this for my first date with All Might, but then I met you, so."

His darkened expression lightened mine. Shota continued to glower as I lifted the hem of his shirt until his eyes disappeared behind the material, skin pale even in the low light. I let the dress slip from my shoulders and turned, brushing the hair from the nape of my neck to get the inquiry over with quickly.

"There's one somewhere between my shoulder blades, and maybe one on the left side, by my ribs. Which, if you didn't know, are attached via ligament to your spine." I was blabbering; I knew it. He surely knew it. The tips of his fingers were cool against my blushing body, tracing an invisible map between the two points of interest.

"Your ribs are attached to my spine?" I felt more than heard him ask, finding the blemish below my neck. Already my head was growing light, neurons sparking like fireflies as his mouth kissed a trail to the next freckled destination.

"One of the primary purposes of ribs are protection; they're the keepers of your heart and lungs,"

Too tall to reach the cluster of freckles near my hip he had knelt down, looking to my face when I abruptly turned, caught by a revelation I'd been stupid not to see before. He paused, waiting for my hesitant words.

"If my ribs are attached to your spine, it means yours are mine."

Articulating myself had never been my strongest suit; this wasn't a romantic-film-level confession, born from brilliant writing and endless dress rehearsals. But it was sincere, and I suddenly felt overexposed under his intense, unblinking gaze, to the point where I tried to edge away, stumbling against the edge of the bed and my idiot cat, who had stealthed between the shadows back into the room.

A hand stopped my rushing momentum, cradling the back of my head like something fragile, connected arm against the curve of my bare spine. His other hand fitted around my waist as if it were home. I gripped his forearms, trying to help catch my lovestruck body.

Shota Aizawa's smile was just as boyish as that day in the park, eyes crinkling with an emotion I recognized, now.

"We've really got to stop meeting like this."


Author's Note: The next chapter will be listed as Chapter Thirty-Five - B, a continuation of this night. You can skip the next chapter and not miss anything imperative to the immediate storyline. Chapter Thirty-Five - B will have heavily implied sexual content (always without vulgar language, and as tastefully as I can manage) and, while I again find these matters important and tantalizing to write, skipping the chapter will not take away from the narrative; Thirty-Six will pick up with a very simple written-in over-cap. Thank you for the follows, favorites, and reviews!
Chiyo's last clumsy fall in this chapter is a sort of parallel to their first encounter, if you didn't pick up on that. Ah, my heart.