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You had always enjoyed tea- a mellow fire that spread through your chest with a delightful warmth and the soft bitterness of herbs and honey. It was a light burn through your chest, a fragrant aroma wafting in the air- a gentle sear on your tongue. The caress of your hand and a fond gaze- fluttering lids and parted lips.
And suddenly you weren't describing tea anymore.
You pulled away from him, his arms still around your frame. But then you inched forward again- delicately placing your soft lips on his with a rapidly beating heart. You could feel his light stubble against your chin, his cotton shirt under your fingertips- his soft hair brushing the back of your hand.
It was everything you'd imagined and more.
He tasted like dark coffee and smelled like mint. He was the most euphoric thing in the world- a rush of adrenaline coupled with a longing for the man in front of you. He brought you joy- and for a moment, you felt him pull you closer.
And then, in a puff of smoke and regret, he was gone.
The bell above the door jangled after him, and the universe felt severed.
-
The rest of your week was spent with regret. Did you regret the kiss?
You couldn't say.
It may have ruined whatever you had- a fragile friendship based on café beverages. But you wouldn't have described it that way before. Before, it was something you greatly looked forward to. The approaching night shift now spelled doom for you- and your stomach twisted in anticipation of whether he'd appear at all. Still. It was the best kiss you'd ever had. The best person you'd ever met.
He left, though. He left- maybe because he didn't feel the same, maybe because you had simply repulsed him that much. He didn't come to the café the next Saturday- and the quiet sent your misery into a frenzy.
-
He didn't feel the same way you did. You were sure, and even though he had never spoken to you after the incident, you were close enough friends to be aware that your bold move was detrimental to your relationship. There was nothing in your memory to prove that he saw you in a romantic light, and nothing to confirm your hopes. Maybe you were just enchanted by the way he seemed to worry over your health or be concerned over your obvious sugar highs. You even felt as if he supported you in your lows.
He seemed to care.
You didn't really know.
Your fingers itched to pick up the phone and text, call- anything- but your mind fought against the idea. You doubted he would reply.
God- you knew so much about him, and now, you knew nothing. You knew how he cared for those kids and how he hated washing that odd scarf. You saw the scar on his knuckle and the bruise on his elbow. He told you of his students and a small part of his work- but he told you more without words at all. You witnessed his liking for spinach croissants and his desire to keep his workspace clean, as well as his laziness that kept his papers messy. He was skilled at baking -somehow- and could easily whip together a meal, though he never bothered. He hid his smiles behind his sleeve but one could tell his emotions from his eyes- and he was quiet when he was content but loud when aggravated.
You liked his smile when he would show it to you. You enjoyed his light chuckles and indignant huffs. He was kind- helping you clean up or prepare supplies for the next morning. You saw his grins when he marked an answer correct on an exam. He was darkly humourous and somewhere along the way, you associated him with comfort. You associated him with mirth and with joy.
Damn.
You had it bad.
You buried your head into your pillow with a muffled groan.
Not that the realization of that fact helped anything at all.
-
"Hey, Shou-"
You inhaled. No first names. Hell- he probably didn't want to hear your voice at all.
"Hey, Aizawa," you started, "I'm sorry about last week...but if you want to, you know, sort things out...my shift at the shop is still the same."
You paused.
"I want to apologize in person...or at least apologize to you.
A shaky sigh.
"So, call me- if you want to, that is."
Your call was sent to the answering machine.
The next day, your phone didn't ring once.
-
You found yourself yearning for someone that wasn't there. It hurt.
However, it didn't pain you as much as the radio silence; the uncertainty that plagued your mind.
A co-worker jostled you out of your trance, and the sudden movement sloshed the tea around inside your mug. The simmering liquid spilled over the rim and onto your knuckle, and you bit back a hiss.
There were worse things.
-
Your TV flickered before settling on the news channel, the voice of a female anchor coming through the speakers.
"UA High School has released its first official statement since yesterday's attack at the USJ. According to reports, two faculty members were extremely injured, though none of the students were harmed. We've been told that everyone present at the facility is undergoing hospital treatment or is being monitored closely by the school. Here to confirm these statements: Principal Nezu of UA High."
A white, mouse-like figure popped up on the screen, and you bit your lip. The USJ- you had heard of it somewhere...had you seen it on the media?
"Last week, villains ambushed the Unforeseen Simulation Joint during Class 1-A's training session. Our faculty members defended the students bravely, and are currently being treated for their injuries. As for the students, none of them suffered any major physical injuries. However, we take the safety of our students incredibly seriously, and we've determined that none of them suffer major psychological trauma as well."
The television kept speaking, but you tuned it out.
The USJ...Class 1-A...you had seen those words on paper before. You had marked essays with "Class 1-A" scrawled at the top. That was Aizawa's class.
That was Aizawa's class.
The words of the news anchor brought you out of your thoughts.
"Principal Nezu, insider sources say that the children's teachers were badly injured. What can you tell us about the state of their health?"
He gave a sigh.
"Well, there were no casualties from the attack, but the instructors put themselves in the line of fire to protect the students. If they hadn't, we cannot predict how many lives would have been lost."
"Is UA going to compensate the teachers for the hardships they've endured?"
"We've placed them under the best medical care in Japan. We expect they'll make a full recovery, and UA will try its best to aid everyone impacted by the attack."
"Sir, are those statements true? Our staff say that one of the patients had his orbital floor crushed. What can you say about these observations?"
No.
There was no way.
There were two teachers- and you had no idea if he was even at the facility then. You were simply being irrational. Yeah- just assuming the worst.
Your heart still beat at a mile a minute, and you stared at the screen- wishing for some happy ending.
"Well...we are currently dealing with the situation at hand. A hero has been gravely hurt, yes, but it is our responsibility to make them as comfortable as possible."
"The nation is currently sending its love- would you care to inform us of the injured heroes? Many people in the workplace and at home would like to send their thanks."
Nezu shook his head.
"Some staff members prefer to remain unnamed..."
Your panic drowned out the rest of his sentence.
That was Aizawa.
It had to be- the issues with privacy, and the fact that it was his class under attack made it very clear to you. Sure, there were two teachers present, but you paid attention and you remembered. You recalled that he spoke of some training exercise- this had to be it.
He would die for those kids.
He would-
You shook your head frantically.
He wasn't dead. The principal said so himself.
But he could've been. Your heart jolted painfully.
"...make them as comfortable as possible..."
That's what Nezu had told the reporter- and it was also what medical staff had told your mother when your grandfather was being hospitalized- when your grandfather was dying.
Was Shouta dying?
Your hands found your hair and tugged- mind searching desperately for an anchor to reality. Your exhales came out quicker now. Gulping and blinking furiously, you marched to your front door- grabbing a jacket and throwing it on. Nevermind that your hands shook. You were going to see him.
You didn't think the staff would even let you in- but confirmation- that was all you needed.
Confirmation. Confirmation that he was alive.
You also needed hope- but somewhere in between your foolish longing for romance and a desire for some form of contact, you forgot about it.
It hadn't helped you in this whole situation.
Why would it help now- when something much bigger than your heart was on the line?