Chapter Text
Saturday, March 9.
It was late, past-midnight, when Aizawa Shouta left the club. His friends, Yamada Hizashi and Kayama Nemuri, were still dancing but the noise was getting to be too much for the dark-haired man. To be frank, he hadn’t wanted to come out in the first place. But it was Nemuri’s 21st birthday and she was his friend, so he’d endured a few hours of loud, shitty music for her sake.
Now though, Shouta was alone and the streets were blissfully quiet. Perfect. He loved the late night hours best -when sound was muted and everything was still, as if the whole world held its breath.
It was a bit of a hike back to his neighborhood but Shouta didn’t mind.; he didn’t even mind the slight chill in the air or the mist that settled in and curled between the buildings, just walked unhurriedly, reveling in the peacefulness. He’d been going for about ten minutes when he noticed a lone figure on the bridge up ahead: a girl about his age with long opalescent hair, walking along the guard rail like a balance beam. He shot a glance over the edge of the bridge to the river about 30 meters below. The girl took eight steps then spun gracefully and started back the other way. What the hell was she doing?! Shouta opened his mouth to call out but reconsidered. She hadn’t seemed to notice him yet, what if he startled her and she fell?
As if the act of thinking it alone made it so, Shouta watched in horror as the girl’s boot twisted wrong and her body pitched hard to the side. Time slowed. The girl swung her arms and teetered dangerously; for a moment it looked as though she might be able to regain her balance. But then…she tipped and careened into the open air.
Shouta sprinted forward, crossing the distance between them in seconds. He leapt over the railing, keeping one hand firmly on top, and reached for the girl. His fingers closed around her wrist and his heart soared - Yes!- Shouta actually smiled as his onyx eyes met the girl’s large, lavender ones. He did it, he saved her!
Then, time sped back up.
The girl wasn’t heavy but her weight and momentum yanked Shouta’s arm harder than he’d expected. With a cry, he felt his fingers lose their grip on the railing and his stomach dropped as they plummeted through space.
Falling, cold air whipping past, pain, pressure, water pushing into lungs, roaring sound, darkness everywhere.
Shouta kicked hard, coughing and gasping as soon as his head broke the surface. He’d lost hold of the girl. Treading water he spun in place, searching; relief flooded his body when she surfaced a few meters away. Shouta crossed the distance quickly, “Are you okay?” The girl’s sputtering coughs were his only answer but she began to swim toward the shore so he followed.
At last, the two crawled up the bank of the river and collapsed in the cool grass, chests heaving. Once his breathing slowed mostly to normal, Shouta rolled his head toward the girl and tried again, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“What…the fuck…were you thinking?” She panted. Well, that wasn’t the response he was expecting… “You could’ve died!”
“Me?! What were you even doing up there?”
“Thinking.” The girl rolled to her hands and knees, coughing.
“Thinking?” Shouta pulled himself into a sitting position and caught her eyes with a disapproving glare as she sat back on her heels. She just narrowed her eyes in return. “Most people don’t tempt death while thinking.”
“Yeah, well most people don’t throw themselves off bridges after complete strangers either.”
“I didn’t throw myself off. My hand slipped.” She rolled her eyes as she stood up and began climbing up the embankment. Shouta stood as well and wordlessly followed her up the steep hill. The soft spring ground did not make things easy. Both slipped and fell often, and when they finally emerged onto the path that ran along the river’s edge their hands, knees and shoes were caked with mud.
They stood there for a minute or so, panting again, and caught their breath. Shouta tried not to stare at the girl before him as she wrung the water from her long, white hair. Thick-soled boots, ripped denim overalls, faded flannel button down, undershirt soaked through… He blushed and looked away.
“I’m Aizawa Shouta,”
“Good for you.” The girl whipped her hair over her shoulder and brushed past, knocking his shoulder as she stomped away.
“Are you mad at me or something?” He’d raised his voice without meaning to, the words hard and accusing. The girl stopped. Slowly, she turned to look at the dark-haired young man shivering across from her. Her eyes searched his face, for what he didn’t know, but whatever she saw there must’ve been enough. Her expression softened, wide lavender eyes almost…sad? She wrapped her thin arms around her torso, curling her shoulders forward protectively.
“I’m sorry. I, um, I’m not used to…this.” She gestured between them as if that explained what she meant; it did not. “I’m Mochizuki Kokoro. Thank you for trying to save me.” She bowed deeply, her opalescent hair falling forward, tips just brushing the ground at her feet. After a moment Kokoro straightened but kept her eyes down, sniffling quietly. “I, um, live pretty close by. I can make tea, dry your clothes if you want…” Shouta would’ve declined but a strong wind blew past and he shivered violently. The apartment he shared with Hizashi was still a twenty minute walk away so he nodded instead.
They walked in silence for a block or two before arriving at a thick apartment building squished between two taller structures. After climbing the worn stairs to the fourth floor both were panting yet again and now sweating from the heat of the stairwell. Kokoro unlocked her door and went in, Shouta hesitated just a second before crossing the threshold; he hadn’t been in a woman’s apartment before -other than Nemuri’s that is- and wasn’t quite sure what to expect.
Once inside, he closed the door and paused in the entryway taking it all in. Kokoro moved around the small room turning on lamps, illuminating more and more of the surroundings. There was…a lot. The walls were plastered with artwork: sketches in charcoal, pencil, pen; paintings in watercolor, oil, acrylic, even spray paint. A small tea table with two pillows was clustered into the corner to his right, half of the table obscured by a stack of books almost a meter high. In fact, nearly every flat surface Shouta could see -including the floor- had books piled haphazardly on top.
“Sorry, I, uh, don’t have any guest slippers…don’t really have guests.” Kokoro rubbed her neck with one hand, the other shoved deep in her pocket. “Um, bathroom’s there if you wanna, y’know, get cleaned up. I’ll find something you can wear while your clothes wash…” There were two doors directly to his left, she nodded him toward one then disappeared through the other. The bathroom felt oddly empty in comparison to the previous room. It was tiny, just a shower stall, toilet and pedestal sink with a small mirrored medicine cabinet on the wall above. Everything was plain white, no color anywhere which seemed at odds with what Shouta was learning about the girl who lived here.
“Here, um, these should fit okay…” Kokoro mumbled from behind him, holding out a towel, a thick knit sweater and jogging pants. “Just toss your stuff out the door when you’re ready. I’ll pop ‘em in the wash.”
“Thanks,” Shouta took what was offered and Kokoro retreated almost immediately back to what he assumed was her bedroom. He started the shower and set the towel and clean clothes on the edge of the sink, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Wow, he looked like absolute shit . His cheeks and lips were chapped pink by the cold wind, the dark circles under his eyes stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his pale skin; his black hair sat plastered to his head, clothes clinging to his lithe frame. Still too skinny …he thought, frowning.
With a sigh, Shouta turned away from his reflection and pulled off the sodden clothes. He set his phone, wallet and keys aside then froze. What should he do about his boxers? He can’t very well have a random girl he just met touch them. That’d be weird. And he can’t not wear underwear while borrowing her pants. That’d also be weird. Shouta considered the situation for a moment before deciding to wring them out and just drape them over the edge of the sink and hope they dried a bit. He scooped up the rest of his clothes, cracked the door and plopped them on the floor of the hall then hopped in the shower.
There was surprisingly good water pressure and, after quickly rising off all the mud, Shouta took an extra moment or two to simply stand under the pounding spray, letting the heat seep into his body. Still, he kept it short and, somewhat reluctantly, turned the water off sooner than he’d have liked; he imagined Kokoro would also like to warm up so he shouldn’t use all the hot water. He toweled off quickly, pulled on his cold, damp boxers and dressed in the clothes Kokoro had provided. The joggers fit a bit snuggly, but the sweater -the sweater! - was fantastic. For one, it was huge , easily twice the size that Shouta would’ve needed and the thick, dark gray wool was warm and soft against his skin. He loved it. Would it be odd to ask where she got it?
Shouta draped his towel over the door of the shower, grabbed his belongings and walked out to the living area. The plush rug beneath him tickled his bare toes as he turned in place. He was alone. “Mochizuki-san?” Maybe she was still in her room? He called her name again. No answer. Alright then… The dark-haired man perched awkwardly on the very edge of the futon. After a moment, he tilted his head to read the titles of the books on the table before him. Shouta made a small sound of mild surprise upon discovering that most of them were in English.
Taking the top book from the stack and paging through, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to decipher the text. He’d thought his English was pretty good, but apparently he was wrong because he could hardly make out a single word. He flipped back to the cover to read the title, “Canterbury Tales” by Geoffrey Chaucer. Hm, sounded vaguely familiar. He set it aside and picked up the next two from the stack, “Call of Cthulhu and Other Dark Tales” by H.P. Lovecraft and “War and Peace” by Leo Tolstoy. Judging from the covers alone Kokoro’s taste in literature seemed as varied as her taste in art. Shouta wondered absentmindedly if she was a university student.
The apartment door opened loudly and Kokoro barreled inside. Her long, opal hair, while still wet, had been brushed and fell in a thick braid over her shoulder. She’d changed clothes, too, now sporting an oversized UA sweatshirt over simple black leggings and fuzzy mismatched socks.
“Everything’s in the wash, should be about 30 minutes until it’s ready to switch to the dryer.” Kokoro padded quietly to the kitchenette just as a kettle began to whistle and poured two, large mugs of tea. Shouta held back a smirk as she shuffled forward, taking the tiniest of steps, tongue peeking out between her lips in concentration, trying not to trip or spill. The girl set one mug on the table next to the stack of books Shouta had been perusing, “Careful, ‘s hot,”
“Isn’t that the point?” He didn’t even try to hide his smirk this time and picked up the mug, grateful both for the warmth and for something to do with his hands; Shouta noticed absentmindedly that his mug was shaped like a cat. Kokoro made a face and laughed mockingly as she curled up on the opposite side of the futon, leaning her back against the wall to be able to look at him directly. For a few minutes they sat in silence, blowing on their tea and taking small sips. Shouta thought the quiet should feel awkward but it was surprisingly…nice.
“Did you go to UA?” Shouta asked after most of his tea was gone. Kokoro’s face contorted into the epitome of confusion so quickly Shouta had to hold back another smirk. He nodded toward her sweatshirt and realization spread across her features.
“Oh, no.” She shook her head and continued quietly, “My parents did though, hero course ‘n everything.”
“Yeah? Did they go pro?” Kokoro gave another head shake but didn’t elaborate further.
“Did you? Um, go to UA that is…?” Lavender eyes gazed curiously over the edge of her mug, silently cataloging every detail of the man across from her. He’d be a great face to sketch…excellent lines…
“Hero class, graduated just over a year ago.”
“Ah, that explains why you were so eager to jump off a bridge,” Kokoro scoffed softly. Shouta opened his mouth to argue until he saw her lips curl into a smile and, almost like a magnet, he felt his own lips mimic the expression. The dark-haired man expected her to ask about his hero name and was already preparing a response about personal safety and how it’s dangerous to let people know both his real name and his hero persona, but the question never came. Maybe because her parents had gone through the program she understood.
“What about you then? You didn’t go to UA but,” he nodded at the stack of books before them then at the portraits on the walls, “I’m guessing you are a student, right? English major? Art?”
“Oof, 0 for 3. That’s all just for fun.”
“Fun?” Shouta stared at the girl incredulously. “You read…” He glanced back at the stack of thick books, “...classical English literature…for fun ?”
“I do, yes.” Kokoro laughed, a beautiful tinkling sound, pale eyes glittering with mirth and mystery.
From there conversation flowed easily and they bantered back and forth with each other like long-time friends instead of recent acquaintances. Kokoro popped out to swap the laundry to the dryer and, before they knew it, that cycle was done, too. Even though it was nearing four in the morning, Shouta couldn’t help but drag his feet. He changed back into his own clothes slowly, pocketing his wallet, keys and probably dead phone with a sigh. Carefully he folded the joggers and sweater and, with a reluctant pat, left them on the edge of the sink.
As Kokoro walked him to the door he asked where she’d gotten the sweater. To his dismay, she’d picked it up at a thrift store years back; there was no designer tag on the inside so she suspected it had been homemade.
“Ah, I see.” Shouta knelt to put his shoes on and found they’d been cleaned of mud and were dry again. He looked up to say ‘thank you’ to Kokoro, but she’d gone from the room. He waited a moment but, when she didn’t return, the dark-haired man turned and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Shouta padded down the stairs easily and emerged back into the misty night, already missing the warmth of the cozy little apartment.
“Aizawa-san! Wait!” Kokoro ran towards him clumsily in unlaced boots; her shoes, he noticed, were still covered in mud. “Here,” She pressed the sweater into his arms. “Um, you should keep it. As a ‘thank you’ for saving me.” A pale blush crept along the tops of her cheeks as she held the gift against his chest.
“I didn’t save you. We both fell.”
“Yeah, well, you tried. And, it fits you better than me,” Lavender met onyx and Shouta’s arms finally got the message to close around the bundle. Kokoro dropped her hands and shoved them into the pockets of her sweatshirt as she walked backwards towards her building, “Anyway, I’ll, um, see you around?”
“See you,” Shouta nodded, dark hair falling to cover his face a bit, hopefully obscuring the matching blush that spread along his own cheeks.
. . .
The sky began to lighten just as Shouta reached his apartment building, exhaustion weighing heavily on his limbs. It wasn’t the lack of sleep -he was used to late nights- but rather the 30 meter jump into frigid water that had left his body tired and aching.
“Shouuuuu! Where you been, man? You just disappeared! Ooh, whatcha got there?”
Shouta ignored the questions from Hizashi, choosing instead to trudge past and go straight to his room. He closed the door and collapsed fully dressed on top of his comforter, still holding the sweater. Something crinkled… paper? Without opening his eyes Shouta rolled to his side and pawed around on the bed for the source of the sound. The crinkling was… inside the sweater. Sitting up, he discovered a note safety pinned to the thick fabric - ten digits, handwritten in neat script. With a genuine smile, he pulled the sweater to his chest and fell back into his pillow.
Not usually one to dream, Shouta’s thoughts as he slipped into unconsciousness were of pale lavender, tinkling laughter, and tangled opal.