After the seventeenth day of Chiyo Tsutomi's graceful and abrupt abdication out of his life, he set up their cats with Toshinori Yagi, packed a bag, and left to follow her fading footprints.

A somberness had befallen each household- his the most impacted, from the air that smelled of her, held her presence in every room as if she'd only just left moments before, to the melancholy habits their felines portrayed immediately upon her departure. Both- her shadow, especially- lacked a will to move farther away from the pillow still bowed from the shape of her head, the echo of her body in the farthest left couch cushion, for any reason other than minimal survival, eating habits lacklustered, slumping back into the bedroom to curl against one another in an off-colored Taijitu immediately after.

No one had any detail on her whereabouts.

Chiyo wouldn't have simply taken a vacation, however- her final words stood in testament against the notion.
Which meant she had truly moved underground.

Her mentor smelled as strongly of suspicion as he did seawater, but revealing her location would not only betray her trust; it could potentially jeopardize whatever mission she was on.

And so Shota Aizawa could do no more.

The bonds between his underground connections were dusty, congealed from sitting idle after his UA residency swept up most of his attention, but there were still a few favors he could cash in for intel.

Jamon Azakuku, age 38, known creatively as The Boss. His arteries bled out more methamphetamine than any other single entity in Japan, veins carrying back billions in cash he quickly laundered and lined notable pockets with until he became the type of invincible even All Might couldn't dream of.

Word between whispers was Azakuku had a new strand out- one more powerful, more expensive, and infinitely more addictive. The flow currently sat at a trickle, but already a spike in crime and drug-related deaths had rocketed; it was only a matter of time before the rest of Japan fell prey. For now, however, the majority of cases resided in Jamon Azakuku's home location.

And here he'd hoped she'd chosen Hokkaido to see the active volcano and flower gardens while busting a few purse thieves.
Instead Chiyo Tsutomi was investigating the most notorious drug lord in the entire country.

"You're a difficult woman to track down,"

Adrenaline burned brighter than any drug could when her eyes caught his, unimpeded by his goggles, as if she could see right through them just by being angry enough.
Was she angry at him? The sentiment would be rational, Aizawa knew. He had pushed her away, a rowboat into a tsunami with no anchor.

The looks he'd misplaced as indifference, now recognizable as loneliness.

She had needed him to be there, to believe in and support her in the new landscape of her life.
He had failed in those regards and instead succumbed to his own white-knuckled fears.

But didn't he also have a right to be angry at her, for running away without warning?

Her hand, despite its violence, felt small in his. Warm like a summer ocean and familiar, even if the circumstance, the oily darkness of clothing, wasn't.
Hair like wet sea glass barely grazed her shoulders when her chin lifted. His heart beat directly into her chest with the look she cast upon him.

And then she vanished.

Using his arm to propel herself, dashing into the night. Not to escape him, he quickly realized, but to pursue the quietly-roused salamander attempting to make a break for it, a gleam of white still tucked in his front pocket.

"We can't let him escape," Chiyonex's hiss felt like a threat, though he was glad to hear her use the term we. "Keep your distance from him."

The salamander moved with astounding speed and slicked into shadows; erasure would have no effect if he couldn't see the target.

Submersion traced the slimy body's movement until she became his shadow, vines pulling from her right arm in an intricate design. They entangled around the drug mule's body but the bastard was too agile; in an instant he slipped from her grip.

Good, but not good enough.
The adrenaline gave him an edge. He predicted their target's movements as they sliced through the darkness, predicted movement through repetition, surpassing his female counterpart. A binding of cloth produced an angry shout from the salamander.

"It's over."
A set of yellowed teeth grinned upon his lazy approach.
"Should've listened to the little lady," He commented snidely. A burst of sharp ivory needles sliced through the capturing weapon like wet paper and the salamander sprang forward, head angled in an alarming manner, before letting out a grunt; whatever he expected to happen didn't, nulled by a red-tinged glare.

"I told you to keep your distance!"

She didn't even pause to assess the damage, though an undetectable sweep of submersion did inform her of his well being.
The villain veered towards the water. Chiyonex pursued, a gymnast vaulting from the dock's railing and landing with little sound on the waves, using their inclines as leverage to propel forward. Eraser watched from atop a storage container, unable to follow.

Weren't there various types of salamanders? Could a human with such a quirk actually breathe underwater? Surely he'd have to surface; when he did, she would be waiting.

But he didn't.

Ten minutes passed. A girl-shaped watermark ascended a liquid staircase that continued to grow until leveling with his vantage point. Though her suit flowed with undercurrents, Chiyo seemed completely dry herself.

Dry and scowling.

"He was singing like a canary, you know," She dug out a bit of grit underneath one short nail. Had she been digging through the ocean's bottom? "Complying without prompt, bragging about his boss and the source of this new volatile drug," Chiyo meandered a slow circle around him; a cat deciding whether it was still hungry enough to be bothered with such petty prey. Again his goggles provided no coverage as she seemed to laser beam right through them until his skin felt prickly under her gaze. "...And then you showed up."

"If you're waiting for an apology for taking down my target, I wouldn't hold your breath."

A perfect hit- Chiyonex's eyes widened. Eraser Head let out an indignant scoff, ignoring his body's desire to swallow hers whole, tangle her into himself like a fisherman's net stumbling upon a mythical sea creature. Here. Alive. Real.

"Word underground is a new drug's been making a slow circulation- The Cure, they're calling it. Azakuku's stench is all over it," He didn't move, didn't dare to; instead he kept his eyes trained on her prowl, voice level. Unafflicted. "Now, normally, taking down a wealthy darling like dear old Azakuku is as easy as finding an honest politician, but even the upper brass won't be able to look the other way when the Cure hits the streets in full swing."

"Which is exactly why I needed that little creep and all the information he was so willing to give!"
Impatience was written in all her features, like the time he took too long in choosing what brand of cat food they should buy once Endo moved up in weight. "Without tangible evidence- namely, an actual sample of the cure, we're back at square one."

A flicker of Chiyo- the Chiyo he knew, his Chiyo- peeped through her gaping fish face, moon-filled eyes caught on the little white back suddenly dangling between his thumb and index finger.

"It's a good thing I snagged this then, huh?"'

Chiyonex looked like she'd just eaten something bitter. Eraser Head tried not to smirk too churlishly, even as her face cooled into something almost sensual.

"What are you doing here, Eraser Head?"

He wasn't an idiot; stalking her to the ends of Japan would've just enticed her anger further. And so, with great surprise from Principal Nezu, he'd taken a job in the underground investigation of Azakuku's newest drug cartel, attendance record still sparkling upon being granted a brief sabbatical.
They would both return to UA at precisely the same time.
And, he hoped, together.

"The same thing you are- working to put an end to this new drug variant before it takes off."

She'd approached him until they fought over the same salty air to breathe, she was so close. Her saccharine smile knotted itself around one of his left ribs.

"And here I thought you came to save a damsel in distress,"
Chiyonex's words gave the polar opposite vibe of her kiss-me expression.

It's a trap.

And yet his body moved like a tide to her shore, desirous of smoothing the rough-drawn angles in her irises, at last confirming by touch she was here, she was alive, that this was real.
Her eyes grew half-lidded, then closed. The faint scent of her perfume wafted through his senses, fogged his brain to the soft touch of her hand in his, the shifting of his legs as she moved between them.

Stars danced across his vision, grew faces and laughed at how easily she suckered him into defenselessness.
He fell to his knees with a croak, having been dealt the most painful, insidious of blows a person could deal a man.

A glistening bag of white dust shimmered in her hand- a hand well out of reach, standing as carefully balanced on the ledge as the smirk on her face.

"Thanks for the assist, Eraserface." Chiyo gave him a little wave. "See you around."
And then she was gone, pirouetting over the edge and into the night.

Winning her back over wouldn't be as simple as before- carefully chosen words wouldn't bridge the hurt he'd nurtured inside her.
Instead he could only hope to reach her by action; a new game, one they hadn't played before.

Shota rose with a groan.

She knew the rules, built the architecture of the board.
But what he lacked in knowledge he supplied in stakes; for her, he would not lose. For her, he would defy any obstacle.

Even if he had to sustain a few shattering injuries along the way.


A/N: *quietly debating if a second posting is needed due to smallish word count*