By the end of tonight, summer would be over.

Saturday began like every other weekend morning, with sleeping in and tickling hands until cat noses prodded us out of bed to check and find their barely-half-empty food bowl, upon which being filled both spoiled cats ate from ravenously. We muttered our shared grievances but took pity on them- we were, after all, about to spring a rather large upheaval upon them.
Because the dorms were ready for us, filled with duplicate hygiene products and the majority of my clothes and school supplies, along with a brand new cat tree to help with the transition.
I hadn't thought about the fact Toshinori and Kayama were also staying on campus. Endo would be reunited with two of her siblings, while Nasu…

Well. We'd take all this one step at a time.

By late afternoon, I could all but see the ants crawling under my skin. The Hero Licensing Celebration began at seven- a solid four hours from now- but with the newest development of Toshinori asking Manami to be his date, I felt four hours of prep might not even be enough.

"You're seriously leaving right now?" Shota watched in disbelief as I packed up my make-up and the garment-bagged dress into an over-sized tote. The dress had been under high surveillance ever since I'd caught him trying to sneak a glimpse.

"Manami's meeting me at the dorms so we can get ready together,"
"It's hours from now. We could watch a movie and still have enough time to-"
"What are you going to wear, again?" A scowl answered my skeptical gaze. "You can't wear your hero outfit. Are you going to wear your suit from the Bakugo press conference?"
"It's the only one I have."

Well, there was the black-and-blue tuxedo, but this didn't seem that formal of an event.
Plus I didn't want him to look too good, considering he'd have some other woman on his arm.
The ants turned into venomous wasps. I tried to ignore their target practice against my weak constitution.

Shota caught my waist, pulled us onto the couch where he proceeded to cuddle in as if we had time to take a nap. With every attempt on my part to get up, his bones only seemed to grow heavier. I momentarily gave up the struggle. His smugness wrinkled my nose and I twisted around, let the firefly warmth go ahead and light my chest at the sight of his dark, crinkling eyes.

"Remember, there will be photographers right outside and a few scattered about inside, too. They'll probably want a photo before you enter. This is a sanctioned event- even underground heroes can be approached."
"I know."
I licked my thumb, smoothed his right eyebrow. He watched me with an expression caught somewhere between amusement and disgust.
"Remember to dance a few times, so when and if we do, nothing will look out of the norm-"
"If? Did I not check your dance card in time?"

I hated when he did this, teasing with such a boyish smile all the air fled clean out of my lungs. Everything moved slower, seemed infinitely less important than simply being here, with him. I mustered enough strength to close my eyes before I could fully fall into his gentle-handed flirtation.

"You can't dance with Manami- Toshinori made it clear he won't be sharing."

Which fizzled my heart with joy for the duo. I'd debated sending Toshinori's worried text messages to Manami before deciding doing so would be a breach of friendship protocol. But by All Might's adorable infatuation, was he finally recognizing what Manami could be to him?
A dreamy sigh fell from my lips at the romanticism of it all. Shota rolled onto his side, head propped up to fully assess my state of mind.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?"

What a stupid question. Yes, I love seeing you dance with someone else. I love imagining your hands on her hips, when they belong on mine. No, the idea of remaining publicly "single" in order to be with you doesn't bother me in the slightest.

"Of course," I lied instead. And kissed him in the most distracting way possible, burying all the worries deep enough inside myself for logic to dig up later, once porous emotion wasn't in charge.

"I have to go," Came my statement, to him but mostly myself, pulling away when clever fingers found their way under the hem of my t-shirt. His face followed mine until I put a hand on his chest. He fell back with a sigh.
"Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like that," I tapped his sulking lips. He caught my hand, brushed his pout against my wrist. "Like I've cancelled the circus and closed all the theatres. It's a dance- it'll be fun," Shota busied himself with greeting my scar, ignored my insistent optimism. "Besides, I have a surprise for you."

"We're not actually going?"
He sulked some more at my answering look.

"In my notebook- the one Bakugo found with all the information about the people I knew, Mom, et cetera- I had written, 'A certain proclivity will be his downfall.'" I gave his cheek a loving pat. "Consider tonight, dear Eraserbreath, your last night among the living."

Enough curiosity sparked his eyes to assure me he'd actually show up tonight. I bent over to kiss him again, hands splayed across his chest.

"Oh," I recalled. "And if Fukukado touches your ass, I'll break her hands."
He hissed when threatening fingers found an unsuspecting pectoral.

"That would've been sexual assault had I done that to you!" He shouted after my snickering.


Four hours felt like two sweeps of a make-up brush once Manami and I settled down enough to actually get to work. I'd brought the products she'd asked for but hadn't realized all the shit she would bring, too, including a terrifying roll of what she called boob tape, fake lashes, and enough palettes of eye shadow to open her own cosmetic store.

I allowed her, after far too much giggling from grown women, to position my chest until breasts suddenly appeared, full and elevated like a window display. Is this false advertising?
Our hair rested in pin curls while we took turns doing one another's faces, fretting over eyeliner shapes and whether hairspray actually frizzes your hair more than maintains it.

"Your final touch," Manami said reverently. I took the tube of liquid-red from her hands.
"Thanks. Oh! You've described your dress, but I haven't actually seen it. Do you need help getting it on?"
"Hm? No. It has a plain, old zipper," She laughed. "Why?"
I curled my fingers around the gifted lipstick. "I'll put this on at Gang Orca's agency; don't put your dress on until after I leave. That way, we'll both have a surprise for one another."
"Now I'm even more excited," Manami tested one of the bobby-pinned twists above my brow. "You're ready. Come on."

She brushed out the curls until we looked like vintage film stars, sans passive-aggressive undercurrents and the inability to hold a conversation not involving the un-farer sex. By the time the intercom noted Gang Orca's driver waiting outside, we were ready- physically and mentally.

"If you need saving, let me know." I held her hands fiercely in mine. "It's, you know. Sort of my job now."
"If you're ever made too uncomfortable, give me the signal and I'll go cut in on the Joke," Manami also assured. My meticulously-painted face cracked with a grin.
"If Toshinori doesn't sweep you off your feet, Manami Seto, I sure as hell will."
"I'll hold you to that," She returned my love with a rabbit-curved smile. "Now go!"

I should've gone to Toshinori's room first and threatened him. Too late now; Sakamata's usual driver gaped when I approached, forgetting to open the door until I was already halfway in the car.
The looks continued all the way to Gang Orca's office. Doubt crawled up my skin with every new stare. The dress had a more revealing top and a bit of a slit, but it still practically kissed the floor with its long length. I definitely had more coverage than your average party outfit these days. Didn't I?

Sakamata wasn't behind his desk, nor did I see him marveling over his saltwater tank of exotic fish. The first time I noticed the aquarium I'd been struck with the horrifying notion it might be a living snack box. He'd noticed my attention and, to my great relief, kindly explained his attempt to preserve a small fragment of endangered sea life through the display.

I used the aquarium now to recheck my appearance. Do I add the lipstick? I had to; I told Manami I would. Insecurities be damned.

"Ah, Chiyo. You're ready, I assume?"
As expected, the usual white suit stretched over his broad chest. I turned with a weary sigh.
"Kugo, you're not wearing the tongue tie. I absolutely refuse."

He stared.
After a moment, I realized it wasn't because of my demand.

"Do I look stupid? Is it too much?" I gestured at my face, lips seven shades darker than usual. Actually, they nearly matched Sakamata's eyes. Beat that level of complementary, Fukukado. "Well?"
Sakamata cleared his throat. "No, you don't look stupid."
"Is it too much, though?"
"I'm...not sure what that means," He admitted like a very self-aware man. "But...I don't believe Eraser Head is going to like me accompanying you tonight."
What? "And why's that?"

One time I stopped in the middle of sparring because a rib had given a sickening crack. He'd been on me in seconds, adding three more fractures to the collection. I'd never seen Gang Orca hesitate over anything.
Until now, looking me over again with trepidation.

"Because if I were him, I do not believe I could handle another man laying a finger on you."

Well, that was an unexpected answer.
My face probably matched my lipstick. I tucked back the side of my hair Manami had given me permission to touch and examined the floor.

"Aizawa's going with Fukukado, remember? Don't worry about it."
"Mm."

This sort of embarrassment felt somehow new, reminiscent of my recurring nightmare of using the bathroom in front of an entire crowd. I hurried towards the door. Sakamata kept two conscious steps behind.

Maybe Shota had been right.
Maybe we should've just stayed in bed.


Sakamata had returned to his normal rough-and-tough self by the time the car purred to stop, laughing as he relayed which poor students now had remedial training with him, tossing the car door open with unneeded gusto in his glee.

Please, please don't let him try that stunt with Bakugo, I thought before a flash of lights took me by surprise. When Sakamata stepped out, towered over the camera crews in all his menacing glory, a hush fell over their speculations from his sheer height and size. He glanced back to assess the damage, surprisingly sensitive. I smiled, gave a small nod, and a sharp-nailed hand offered me assistance into the light.
The dress's slit happened to be on the very side we exited the car from; my bare leg appeared first, followed by the smooth lift of my body. The cameras clapped their appreciation in light bulbs and digital clicks.
Five minutes later and we still hadn't reached the inside of the building, pausing for several magazines and a local news station interview, questioning who we believed showed the most potential for the future of heroism.

I demurely referred to Gang Orca. He crushed the question like a soda can until even the interviewer looked uncomfortable.

I hope they didn't question Shota like this. If they had, he was probably already home in a blanket cocoon.
I forgot to tell him not to bring that stupid sleeping bag, damn it.

"Everyone's looking at us," I said through my smiling teeth.
"I look like a killer whale; you look like an assassin in disguise." Sakamata stormed past the final photographers, made impatient by all the dillydallying. "If Eraser Head starts a brawl, Chiyo, I don't know what you expect me to do."
"If he cancels your quirk, does- do you...become different?"
Red eyes glowered down like heat lamps. I looked away, smile a little more genuine.

I saw her fox-coat hair before anything else.
Dressed in the deepest shade of emerald, playing into that niche she'd always claimed to hate, silhouette beautifully outlined by a Hollywood mermaid shape.

Manami Seto looked like a true, incomparably seductive vixen.

Her eyes locked with mine. The same look crossed her features.
And just like that, my nervousness melted like passing rain.

"Do you see that absurdly attractive redhead over there?" I asked when Sakamata leaned into my nudge. I held onto his forearm like women did in movies, trying to stand on tiptoe to be heard. "That's Manami Seto, my best friend. Let's go over there."
"Are you sure? Eraser and Ms. Joke are nearer to us than them; you don't wish to say hello?"

So they were. The whites of Shota's usually-tired eyes were visible all the way around, they were opened so wide.
I shifted and one purposeful, scandalous leg revealed itself to the room, prominent against the midnight of my dress.
Like a command those dark, widened eyes roamed down, drinking in every inch, before lifting to mine.

"You are imploring trouble," Sakamata growled to my delight.
"Come on."

I held Shota's gaze until we were nearly side by side, hips taking a page out of Kayama's seductress book and swaying with each step.
And then I finally noticed his acquaintance-date, watching me with nearly the same slack-jawed expression as Eraserbreath's.

"Chiyo," Manami whisper-screamed. I hurried into her embrace, bouncing in my excitement.
"Manami. Damn." All I could do was shake my head. Toshinori looked presentable in a suit similar to Shota's, a blush permanently built into his pallor. Could I blame him? Could anyone?

I maneuvered Manami to face him anyway, expression severe.

"Toshinori. Does Manami not look perfect?"
"Divine," He agreed. A bashful hand rubbed at his neck with such a forward appraisal. Manami pinched me before I could even make eyes at her.
"You know, in some circles that would be considered sexual harass-"
"Did you see them?" Manami pushed a wave of glossed hair over one shoulder and slyly glanced at the couple doubtlessly in question. "What is she wearing?"

Bandanna still intact like her bright smile, Emi Fukukado's dress looked like a swirl of liquid-leather, tight above her waist to flow out in floppy diamonds down to mid-thigh, like the prickles of a pineapple. Sakamata was already chuckling when I solved the puzzle.

"I think it's a play on formal attire," Fukukado laughed at something; Shota continued to numbly stare into the crowd. "She's wearing formal a-tire. Leather in lieu of rubber."

Manami stared for ten more seconds too long in complete and utter bafflement. Shota's sudden notice pranced on Manami's nerves a moment later. I smiled, raised my fingers by my hip in a small wave. When he returned the silly gesture, a little more tenseness relaxed out of my spine.

"All Might!"

There was only one person whose voice uttered Toshinori's name in such wholehearted reverence. Midoirya and gang approached from the dance floor, adorable in ill-fitting suits and a rainbow of dresses, half of which probably came from one of Momo's twelve hundred closets. I barely reigned in a scream at Tsuyu's watermelon-pink dress and curled hair.

She's the frog princess. She's a literal frog princess.

I squished her rosy cheeks between my palms and everyone froze in place.

"Tsuyu, you look so cute! You all look so good!" And older, somehow. A piece of my soul practically withered at the idea. They all gaped as I tried to fix Midoriya's always-frumpled tie. "It's a shame Bakugo and Todoroki couldn't be here. Kaminari, button up your shirt, you look ridiculous-"
"Sen...sei?" Kirishima asked, incredulous. I glanced at Manami. She tried to contain her smile, face matching the scarecrow's beside her. Even Sakamata looked like an orca who'd found a kipper. I turned back to the students.

"Er, yeah? What's the matter?"

Class 1-A continued to try and pinpoint the distinguishing features of their ethics instructor- as if to verify I really was, in fact, Chiyo Tsutomi. I got the distinct impression this must be what an insect felt like while under a magnifying glass.

"You look like a woman," Mineta said at last.

For once, no one stomped him into the ground.

Ah.
"Well," I sniffed. "Contrary to whatever you thought before, I've been a woman this whole time."

They seemed genuinely surprised.

"Nah, we knew you were female," Mineta mansplained, "-but tonight, with your assets on exhibit, I at last see your true-"

He'd definitely need to have his suit dry-cleaned if he kept those sorts of comments up.

"There's a photo op near the refreshments. Would you mind taking a few with us?" Momo asked, referencing Tsu and Uraraka in the us. I looked to Gang Orca. He immediately bid me farewell, much more at ease away from the youngsters anyway.

With every five feet I took, a new tidal wave of students- from my own 1-B kids to complete unknowns from other schools- swept up against my ankles, commenting on my Kamino debut or asking for a photo themselves. By the time my own girls and myself reached the Polaroid photographer, my cheeks twitched from all the smiling and overly polite banter. Still, a soda-bubble energy kept my chest light. In small quantities, being a hero people recognized was a little exhilarating. Like I made an actual difference in the world.
Not that I needed public validation. It was just nice, to be so openly appreciated.

We took enough photos for each of us to receive a copy, then the girls freely gave themselves to the dancing glob of teenagers taking up the center of the room. I wandered around for a while, smiling and waving when required, trying to feign an extroverted personality I didn't usually possess.
Sakamata eventually rejoined my side and introduced me to various school instructors who seemed interested in UA's newly-founded ethics course. A slow ballad played and passed while I gibbered away with a tentacle-armed man; twenty minutes later and we'd exchanged information and lesson ideas, hopeful to create some sort of co-op learning experience between our schools one day. With the next swooner a familiar touch tapped my shoulder. I bowed out of my conversation and followed Sakamata onto the dance floor.

The burning of too many eyes still made me a little uneasy.
You're Chiyonex, remember?
But my hero status didn't really feel like the answer as to why we were being watched.

"If you keep sighing like that, people are going to assume I'm a boring date," Sakamata grumped. A spark of a smile made my apology more genuine, always tickled when he teased.
"Any aquarium visits on the horizon?"
"Two next month. Are you interested?"
"Yes, of course."

His hand ghosted my waist, either afraid of accidentally crushing the life out of me or a potential red-eyed gaze not set in a porpoise face coming over, should he somehow be the jealous type Sakamata worried Aizawa of being. I pinched the rubbery skin between his thumb and index finger, thinking.

"I'm sorry for wigging out last time-" I raised my chin, quieted his immediate protests of understanding with a simple look. "-I was in a weird place. After you pulled those strings and helped me...Well, get help, I'm better now. The ground doesn't shift under my feet so much anymore."
"I'm glad," My friend said quietly. Good thing none of his sidekicks were here; he'd never live down the sappy look on his face, more dolphin than killer.

The song ended and a conga line of students immediately broke us apart. I laughed when they circled me, demanding a sick move before I would be freed.

A cheerful round of oohs! and applause sounded after I pulled off some PG-13 move I'd learned from video games. I took a bow and beelined back to my less-gyrating adult friends before Mineta could make some horrible comment that would result in his demise. Manami handed me a flute of something pink and I let the weak alcohol chill out my lightweight bones.

Another hour passed. As expected, the media began to thin out once they'd taken their fill of money shots, focusing mostly on the youthful faces of our future. Sakamata and I posed a few more times before he became too fed up and bared his three-inch teeth in one photo, scaring off any further inquiries. Toshinori took half a dozen of me and Manami, per our demand.

"Isn't that Ashido and Iida?" Toshinori squinted towards the DJ. Sure enough, robotic movements stomped along beside a pink-skinned alien until they stood nearly behind the speaker set-ups. They held a short conversation before an all-too-familiar swirl of blonde hair jumped to its feet.
"Present Mic is here?" I turned to Toshinori. "Did you know he was here?"
"No, though I did notice Midnight lurking in a dark corner earlier. I could've sworn the man with her was the monk from Mt. Fuji-"

"Alright heroes and villains, it's time to mix it up."

I knew this move, knew exactly why a group of hoodlum teenagers were slyly grinning in my direction. Yamada had pulled this very same stunt months ago. I glared and his glasses deflected, unbothered and unafraid of consequence.

"Find a partner to swoon with, but- a catch! Not the one you came with tonight!"

Apparently, these rules did not apply to number one heroes; Toshinori held his hand out for Manami to take. She hesitated, glancing to me.

"Go!" I urged, gently pushing her towards the object of our childhood desires. I breathed in the sweet smell of her perfume, mouth close to her ear. "Operation Thunderbuns, a-go."

I watched my two closest friends take to the floor. In mere moments they seemed to forget anyone else even existed in the same timeline.

"Chiyo?"
My attention slowly moved my shoulders, raised my gaze to find his. I blinked in surprise.
"May I have this dance?"


Chiyo Tsutomi was trying to kill him.

Emi Fukukado hadn't stopped talking since he'd arrived, wearing some bizarre form of wordplay and commenting on every passerby, cracking jokes that would've made even his poor-humored father cringe.

She had just made some comment about stairs always being up to something when a couple appeared on the very staircase she referenced.

For a moment, Shota Aizawa forgot how to breathe.

On a hanger, the long black dress had looked harmless- plain, even, with its heart-shaped neckline and benign length.
He hadn't thought to imagine what it would look like on her, golden skinned and tousle-haired, red lips dangerous enough to whip an egg inside its shell.

Her eyes caught on his.
His downfall slipped between the black sheaths of her dress, right up to the top of her thigh.

Photographers followed her like a trail of ducklings, one seductive look away from trying to glean her footprints from the floor. She smiled for all of them, cheerful and oblivious of her fatalities.

Fukukado convinced him into dancing twice: once, when Chiyo appeared too engrossed in a conversation to even notice the music, and again, now, several couples away from a seven foot fish and the woman of his dreams herself, swaying and lost in a private conversation. Did her skin feel the same under Sakamata's dark fingers? Could he make her blush with a few words, a certain smile, or did he, Aizawa, hold that singular ability?

"You've got it worse than I thought."

Emi Fukukado smiled when he looked down to her, having forgotten they were in the middle of dancing themselves. She'd been carrying on without need of response for as long as he'd known her- checking out had been a breeze til now. "Though I've gotta say, she's a lot better at stealing glances than you are."

"What?"

"Which leads me to the real puzzle," Fukukado continued on as if not hearing his question. She looked above, to where the mental pieces floated. "You're clearly in love with one another, but chose to come separately- with dates, even. Almost like you guys don't want people to know- or, probably, one of you doesn't-"

"You're really pulling at strings here, Joke."

She fixed him with a dry half-smirk. "You can't even go thirty seconds without scoping out what she's up to. And, here- watch this."

Fukukado held up three fingers, counted them off one by one and pointed over her right shoulder.
At that precise moment two ocean eyes glanced over, quickly retreated like high tide when they noticed him looking back at her.

"How-"
"Women's intuition," Fukukado explained with an airy wave. "So, back to the mystery. Something's clearly been going on since the beginning of Way Back When, at that shit-storm teacher conference. Remember? When you didn't have a single care who saw you chasing after her like a lovesick puppy?" She flicked a second finger up, ticking off the events. "Tsutomi becomes a kick-ass hero who helped save the day- and a friend- a few months ago and becomes a media darling. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she revokes her public status and goes incognito. Why would she do that, I wonder?"

The way Fukukado's eyes scrutinized his face made clear the question already had an answer.
A leaf blower would've been impressed with how much wind her sigh produced.

"Oh, Eraser. Either you're a chicken or the world's biggest dope."

His options of response all seemed abysmal: ignore her, and she'd certainly continue; deny or agree, and it might be worse. He was still processing the fact that this giggle box of a woman had so easily fit together all the events with near-precision.

"And how do you figure that?"
Fukukado snorted. "Tsutomi became a hero like us- like you- and suddenly she gives half the perks away? Why? Because that's the life you want and you weren't willing to take the leap with her? Spotlights are scary, sure, but I'd imagine standing alone must be infinitely worse."

Hot-bellied defensiveness rose up Aizawa's throat. "I didn't ask her to step down from-"

"She's doing this for you, Eraser." Fukukado cut straight through his words like scissors into paper, sharp and invincible. "She slaps on a smile and stands alone for you. No woman happily allows their significant other to take another woman out to a dance, no matter how secure she is." A green head shook in dismay. "I'm sure there's a great cowardly lion or eraser quip I could put here, but I think I'm just too bummed out to even attempt."
"She's the one who insisted we-"
"Did you ask her, though? Really ask her how she felt?"

Every half-second freeze in her eyes, the mask of polite indifference she smiled back at Fukukado; the tense-shouldered way she fielded questions in Hokkaido, before all the beans spilled and everyone learned of their relationship.
How much happier she'd seemed when the Hopper brothers had smothered her in tears and hugs, lamenting the loss of their potential bride.

Saltwater took residence in his stomach, bitter and nauseating.

A line of Operation Submersion kids burst between Gang Orca and their laughing ethics instructor. Chiyo performed some sort of drop-and-rise dance move to their howling satisfaction before slipping off. Fukukado gave his arm a slap.

"You've reached your dance limit with me; I'm off to find someone with a better sense of humor."
He peered down at her, curious. "If you knew, then why did you keep tormenting me? Better yet, why did you do so in front of Tsutomi?"
"Oh, that's easy," She cheesed with all thirty-two teeth. "Your angst-and-horror face is totally hilarious. Plus, I wanted to see if that quiet, pleasant-eyed girl from the teacher conference would finally snap and just kill me."

Aizawa chuckled. Fukukado's eyes widened, having never been able to accomplish such an impossible task as getting Eraser Head to laugh before.

"She did threaten to break your hands, should you get too touchy."

Ms. Joke threw her head back and all but cackled.

Time passed on. Kayama slithered in and out of sight, dragging around a clean-shaven man who seemed entirely out of place and desirous of a confession box- to profess his already-made sins or try and exorcise the demonic heroine, Aizawa wasn't sure. He hadn't even known other UA instructors were here.
But then a well-known DJ spun a tale of deja vu, yellowed shades glinting in his friend's direction, words verbatim from the first time he'd pushed Aizawa into the direction of a certain woman.

And just like last time, Chiyo Tsutomi stood in the spotlight, alone.

He moved towards her, hand already halfway raised to glance across her arm, when the unthinkable happened.
A shadow overtook Chiyo, tapped her shoulder for a dance. She turned in surprise to find Sekijiro Kan from class 1-B asking for her hand.

Shota Aizawa returned to his first original belief: they simply should've stayed home tonight.

Gang Orca stirred when a sour-faced man took the bar stool to his left. He motioned to the attendant and another round appeared. Aizawa nodded his thanks when one glass slid in front of him.
"Eraser Head," He acknowledged. "Are you faring well?"
"Well enough,"
Gang Orca snorted.
"I hate these events. I understand the idea behind them, of course, but- some people aren't made for dance floors." He gestured to his giant frame, amber-filled glass in hand. "I'm one of them."

Chiyo liked parties, though. Anything that allowed her to dress up and experience something outside of the norm.
That's not exactly true, his conscience argued. She skipped every school dance growing up.
But she did still rave about the Azakuku soiree on occasion and- despite the slight tension of going separately- Chiyo had seemed genuinely excited for tonight, smoothing out his clothes days earlier to make sure they'd be perfect, a blush between her freckles when he caught her in the act.

So what had changed between then and now, from avoidance to bright-eyed radiation?

Gang Orca chuckled when his drinking mate rested his forehead against the bar and let out a low, painful moan over his own sheer stupidity.

"I am heartened to see you two have worked through your relationship, truly. Words cannot express how horrible I felt before, that day after the aquarium incident." His glass landed against the counter with a heavy clunk. "In a lapse of common sense, my words were completely insensitive. If I caused any additional strife, please take this as a most sincere apology."

Aizawa could barely lifted his head beneath the weight of idiocy. How had he been so blind? "What are you talking about? What aquarium?"

"When Chiyo accompanied me to the aquarium for a presentation a few weeks ago. I'm a bit shy about the subject, and she was very kind to help me." The killer whale gestured at himself. "Children often flee in terror at the sight of me, but her pleasant, calm presence seemed to relax all parties involved. In fact, Chiyo acted quite heroically when a little minnow appeared lost after the show, carrying him all around until a flustered mother arrived to collect him. His uncle dropped him off, you see-"

Unease ballooned in Aizawa's bones. "When was this?"

"Two weeks after Kamino, perhaps?" Gang Orca probably preferred bar stools over conventional chairs, dorsal fin shaking free with his head. "I made some comments on the drive home which, upon realizing Chiyo's condition, were horrifyingly inappropriate."

"Such as?"
Discomfort hesitated his words. "Perhaps I shouldn't-"
"Sakamata, please."

The quiet tone coupled with the please loosened Gang Orca's lips once more, albeit in a lower, shamed decibel. "I had made some remark concerning her excellent maternal instincts and proceeded to dig a tunnel of absolute foolishness. She asked if children- if there were deal-breakers in relationships, such as if one's partner didn't want children. I didn't- obviously, put into context, I would have never so breezily given the answer I did. I had never considered the inability of having children, versus simple preference."

The building pressure snapped his bones at last.

That day.

He had wondered why there were no discarded clothes on the floor of the bathroom but fear-laden anger kept his senses from fully utilizing all the clues: her shoes missing by the front door, how the shower wall held no shadow of her body.

As if she were slumped on the floor, fully clothed and silently crying.

That day, he'd thought he'd felt true, crunching heartbreak.
It didn't hold a candle to not only the state he was in now, but what she must have felt that day.

Alone- so desperately alone in her suffering, needing him.
When he'd taken her heart in his hands and offered it to the fire.

"I'm glad she found her peace in Yokohama. And then later you two rekindled in Hokkaido, so I suppose all's well that-"
"Yokohama?" Aizawa's brain felt close to exploding, overstimulated like a virused motherboard. He shook the blinding light from his mind, forced breath into his lungs. "She went to Yokohama?"

Sakamata nodded slowly, as if suddenly questioning the validity of Aizawa's relationship to his apprentice.

"Why? When?"
"She asked me to find a place for her there. Said there was something she needed to do-"

Gang Orca watched the slender man stagger to his feet, bar stool erupting in loud protest upon being knocked off kilter.

Hizashi Yamada had harbored the same sulky disappointment as the UA students when the incorrect homeroom teacher approached the ethics instructor. A perfect song, wasted on a confused woman and the bulldog-faced vampire hero. Across the room, raccoon eyes turned so furious her classmates had to hold the romantic back from ramming her horns between the ill-fated couple.

But a movement, swift and urgent, perked up the DJ's shaded eyes.

Playing two slow ballads in a row totally wasn't his modus operandi, but Yamada had a good feeling about this one.


I had a crawling suspicion Vlad King had asked me to dance upon Neito Monoma's psychopathic tendency to try and "one-up" class 1-A.
Which- apparently- even involved their homeroom teachers, as one tried to move into a territory once claimed by the other. There was simply no other rational explanation over what was happening here.
We talked about nothing. I tried, once, only to realize we had very little in common outside of our students and a love for animals.

He preferred dogs. I'm team cat.
The conversations felt like waiting in a dentist's office.

So when a breathless man showed up beside us, regardless of his severe expression, despite the way his eyes set my ribs aflame with nerves, I was still happy to have the interruption.

"Aizawa?"
"Hey, Vlad," Shota said in a weird tone of casualness. Nothing about him currently spoke in casual terms. He made a vague gesture, eyes never leaving mine. "Do you mind?"

I would have pushed Vlad into oncoming traffic if he did mind, all too ready to switch partners.

The familiar pressure of Shota's hand against the small of my back, pulling me close enough to nearly wrap his arm around to the other side of my waist, felt like a bath after a long, exhausting day. His own body seemed to relax in a similar manner, home against mine. A smile drew my face like piped icing.

"You danced with Fukukado a few times and there doesn't seem to be a lot of photographers left, so there shouldn't be much to worry about," I assured with a slight glance around, double checking.

"I don't care about any of that."

Okay, then. Maybe Sakamata had been right about the red-eyed jealousy monster. A smirk poked about my lips. Shota didn't return the joviality and I sobered, pace slowing. "Hey, hey. What's wrong?"

He was looking at me so intimately I felt self-conscious about the potential onlookers. I squeezed his hand, growing more concerned by the second. He released a slow breath.

"Chiyo, I don't ever want you to ever worry about who sees us together again. I'll hold your hand wherever, whenever. I'll be the black tie next to you at every single party until you grow tired of me, and even then I'll still be there, waiting and praying you take me back. I won't ever let you be alone again."

Neural fireflies blinked with the quiet seriousness of his words, filled my mind with enough light to blind the unseeing. They fluttered down my spine, woke their neighbors in every last inch of my skin.

"Shota," Speechless, I could produce nothing more than his name.

His dark eyes continued to gaze at me with unfathomable depth, truths slowly rising to their surface.

"Why did you go to Yokohama?"
I thought I'd spotted him at the bar next to Sakamata. That little weasel.
"I- Did he tell you about that day?"
"He did," Again with that quiet voice, drowning in a melancholy state of regret. "Chiyo, I'm- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you- I should've-"

I pulled my hand from his, pressed it over his mouth. Smiled, even if he couldn't seem to.

"We were both experiencing pain, Shota. I don't need any sort of apology. In fact, I won't take my hand away unless you promise not to try again. Okay?"

His rugged face moved with a nod against my fingers. I slowly pulled away. True to his word, no offerings of remorse slipped out. My hand slipped back into his as we proceeded into another slow ballad. I can't believe Yamada would play two back-to-back.

"What happened in Yokohama?" Shota asked softly.
"Originally I went to visit that clinic you mentioned. And I did, eventually, but Sakamata had found a wellness retreat in the same area that I spent a few days enjoying. That's how Kayama's monk knew me already."
"And?"

I couldn't read his expression, no matter how I turned my head or narrowed my eyes.

But I didn't regret my decision.

"And, I checked out the facility. Talked to a few happy-to-help guides and learned about a regeneration program for people who've experienced some sort of organ loss."

His breath caught. I chuckled, realizing my cliffhanger game was cruel in such a fragile situation.

"I didn't get the treatment."

Nearby, Midoriya finally mustered the courage to ask Uraraka to dance. Her face burned brighter than Antares- both of their faces did. Kaminari and Jiro, sneakily distanced from the group, swayed a little too close for this to have been their first time together. Mineta sobbed piteously as Pony Tsunotori held his hands like one would a little kid, humoring him with the most school-appropriate dance in history, and Tsuyu looked happy in a three-way dance between Momo and Ashido.

In two short days, we would all be on to the next semester of school. On to the next struggle, the next adventure, the next class and shared laugh and embarrassing moment, learning and growing together.

A slight flush warmed Shota's neck at my unabashed smile, full and completely, endlessly in love.

"I have a family already. We already have children to raise."

Submersion always gave me his heart, but I think Sheru Aizawa was right; I think he'd sewn it into place himself, long ago.
Maybe even before I had stitched mine into his.

"I didn't have that ring to hide your injury, Chiyo."

All the balmy warmth from the fireflies winked out in unison.

"What?"

Shota sighed- a long, flustered noise, suddenly unable to keep eye contact. "The day you left for training with Gang Orca. I went to visit my parents as soon as the students reached the training camp, to ask my parents how this is supposed to happen. I've been carrying it around with me ever since-"
"What?" I asked, confused and feeling too light-headed to even understand the words coming from his mouth. My fingers felt dipped in ice, tingling like my nose, frosting the confused air in my lungs. I hadn't learned full control over my newest little quirk development; if I wasn't careful, the air's moisture might begin to freeze and sprinkle a powder of snowfall on everyone's nice clothes.

But then we weren't dancing anymore.

And he was holding on to my hand.
Falling in a purposeful kneel, slipping something infinite and familiar on to one of my trembling fingers.
He took a slow inhale, the grey of his eyes never leaving mine.

"Marry me, Chiyo. Marry me so we can get up together and fight over the sink and whose toothbrush belongs to who, so I can watch the way your eyelashes grow heavy only halfway through the string of favorite movies we watch on repeat, so I can carry you to bed and do everything all over again the next day. Marry me and I promise to be all your ribs and you'll be mine, to protect and love your heart until there's nothing left of us."

His breath caught. Or maybe he'd used all the air there was, dark eyes on mine, looking at me as if I were the ocean and he was the salt.

"Marry me because I'm irrevocably, madly in love with you, and I'd like to raise twenty-something reckless teenagers together, with you, if you'll let me."

When I was little, Manami and I planned out every last detail of our lives, from where All Might would propose to what color gems best matched our eyes. We wrote one another proposals, wedding vows, even begged our moms into taking us to some public meet-and-greet event, just to try and hear his voice in real life to imitate better. Manami always deemed me the groom and I didn't mind; I liked seeing her happy.

It never really crossed my mind that, one day, someone would ask to play that role for my own life.

The music had disappeared.
A halo of friends and familiar faces circled us.

And Shota Aizawa was still kneeling before me, asking me to marry him.

"At least now I won't have to worry about trying to convince Principal Nezu to let us share a room."

A dimple mocked my naivety.
"I was always going to be sleeping next to you, Chiyo."

"Yes."

He blinked, as if needing to be perfectly sure what I was agreeing to.

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll marry you. I'll be your ribs, if you'll be mine. I'll marry you, Shota Aizawa."

When he smiled, when he laughed and pulled me into his arms and kissed me in front of all our students and friends, surrounded by warmth and cheering and an ongoing celebration from confetti poppers borne out of Yaoyorozu's creation quirk, I knew nothing I had ever imagined could have been as perfect as this moment actually was.


A/N: I'm crying because I am totally, irrevocably pathetic.
For the full effect, just go read Chapter Thirty then this one again.