His office, as usual, is quiet when you arrive. The soft light from outside reflects on a huge pile of documents and files stacked on the desk, in an almost obsessive order, and the familiar scent of Aizawa-sensei's perfume makes your heart flutter in your throat every time.
He's there, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, his hair tied back, and his gaze fixed on the floor as if he were struggling with something inside himself. You nonchalantly push the door open, smiling broadly, but as soon as your eyes rest on his grim, strained gaze, that smile you'd worked so hard to achieve fades as if someone had flipped a switch.
"You're here," he says, his voice stiff, without looking at you.
"Yes, sensei."
Silence. He inhales slowly, as if every word must pass through an invisible barrier. You sit in the chair across from his desk. And here I was thinking there had been a second round... all ours... maybe his hands on me... But maybe the situation is much more serious than I think.
"Eri... you're growing up." His voice is low, tense. "And I'm not doing a good job of managing it."
You swallow, without taking your eyes off him. Suddenly, you don't know why, but you start to feel nervous. Your hands start to sweat as you forcefully grip the armrests of the chair. You have a bad feeling. Maybe he notices, because he looks up and stares at you.
His eyes are beautiful... too beautiful. You get lost in them every time. You frown slightly.
"I don't understand," you mutter. "Did I do something that..."
"No."
His tone is categorical, his response too immediate. Too blunt. Your heart flutters in your throat.
He steps away from the desk and takes a step toward you. You're starting to get really nervous.
"You're really trying hard, I can see it," he says with a sad half-smile. "You've improved in school, you're learning to stand up to your brother, you're less shy than before, whenever you're around me. You did an exemplary job today, at the Specialization Festival."
He takes a deep breath. You look at him, visibly worried. Then, as if the words are burning his throat:
"And I... I shouldn't want to be close to you so much. Not like this."
Your breath catches. Your eyes widen, your heart begins to pound. What is he saying? What does he want to do, with me?
He runs a hand through his hair.
"Eri, I can't let you sacrifice your growth for... for whatever you feel for me. Nor can I let what I feel... affect you. We have a huge age difference."
His last words are almost a whisper.
You look at him, trembling. You feel a sharp pain in your chest, as if someone had stabbed you with a blade.
"S-Shouta...sensei, so you want me to stay away?" You ask, completely confused.
He closes his eyes, as if your question has physically affected him. Then he opens his mouth:
"No."
Your heart explodes in your chest. He runs a hand through his hair again, terribly nervous.
"You deserve to grow up free. Without anyone...without me...influencing your choices. Your feelings. Your goals."
His voice drops a notch.
"What happened last night was...a mistake."
Something inside you breaks. You feel your eyes pricking with tears, your heart ready to explode. How can he tell me these things only now? Why sleep with me... and then throw me away like this? Why didn't he think of this before? A mistake? I'm... a mistake?
You won't tolerate this. That word, no. Absolutely not.
He takes a step. Then another. You're just inches apart. He's never looked at you like that.
"A...mistake?" You repeat, your voice shaking. "Me...am I a mistake?" You ask. "Really?"
"Eri..."
"No. Answer me, sensei. Am I a...mistake?"
You ask again, a tear silently rolling down your cheek.
He remains still, as if you'd hit the wall of his self-control.
"Why, then?" you ask, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. "Why are you looking at me like that? Why did you touch me last night? Why do you keep getting closer and closer, and then...you say you can't? Are you kidding me, sensei!?"
Your hands are visibly shaking, both from disappointment and from the morning's tiredness. Your heart aches like hell, your legs are shaking, and your eyes are filled with tears.
"Why do you make love to me...and then say it was a mistake?"
Aizawa-sensei closes his eyes, as if those words hurt him more than any villain.
"Why did you use me and now...you're throwing me away, like it's nothing?"
"Hey... I didn't use you. I don't want to be a hindrance. I don't want you to be unable to achieve what you want because of me. I can't be by your side... the way you want me to be. I don't want to..."
"You don't want to?!"
Your voice rises slightly. You look at him. "Don't you want to be close to me? Don't you want to be...part of my life?"
His eyes widen. I know, sensei, you can't wait for me to leave, but first let me hear everything I want to know, then I'll go and stop bothering you.
"What you're saying doesn't mean anything," he whispers. "I want to be in your life more than you think."
Your breath catches again.
"And that's...precisely why I have to walk away."
Your blood runs cold. He lowers his gaze, looking devastated. You look up, and inside you feel an almost uncontrollable rage.
"But... do I scare you?" you ask, suddenly stopping crying.
He slowly raises his eyes to you. He shakes his head.
"Because you've become important." He pauses for a moment. "It's just me... who doesn't know how to handle it."
Great, this is the final straw. There's no point in insisting if he doesn't want you in his life.
"Good."
He stiffens when he looks you in the eye.
"If for you... what we did was a mistake... if you really think I'm just a risk, an obstacle, or a problem..."
You get up from your chair, stepping back toward the door.
"...then I don't want you in my life anymore, Aizawa-sensei."
He blanches.
You open the door with a fury that scares even yourself. And with all your breath, all your pain, all your anger, you slam the door so hard it makes the hallway walls shake.
The corridor is deserted, not a soul in sight. It's lit only by the cold light of the streetlamps reflecting off the windows. Your legs feel like they're no longer yours... every step you take feels unbearable. Tears stream down your face as you hurry back to your house. You remember how long it's been since you cried like this: perhaps the last time was when you were a child, falling from the garden wall, you grazed your knees and Ryota, instead of helping you, had mocked you in front of everyone. But you're aware that kind of pain, compared to this, is truly insignificant.
You haven't even noticed someone walking behind you. You hear the sound of quick footsteps behind you, then a hand gently grabs your arm.
"Hey..."
Tess's voice is low, worried. You whirl around, your eyes swollen and watery, your lips trembling, but sadly you can't say anything. She doesn't hesitate. She holds you tightly, wrapping her arms around your shoulders, and with one hand she strokes your hair, like when you were little and your mommy cuddled you.
"Shhh, I'm here," she murmurs, her cheek pressed against your temple. "Whatever happened, you're not alone."
You cling to her, your fingers digging into the fabric of Tess's uniform, as sobs wrack your body. The anger is right here, just beneath the surface, burning your throat. How could he, Aizawa-sensei? How could he tell me I was a mistake, that he doesn't know how to handle his feelings, as if I were just a mistake that needs to be erased?
His words echo in your head. They never stop tormenting you.
"That asshole," Tess hisses, even though she still doesn't know what happened. But she knows you. She knows your looks, she knows the way you react when someone breaks your heart.
"I swear, if he did this to you, I'll rip his balls off."
A hysterical giggle escapes your lips, mingling with your tears. "I wish it were that simple."
She doesn't insist. She stays here, beside you, and lets you vent calmly, while her hands massage your back in circular motions. The hallway is empty, the world outside seems to have stopped for you. It's just the two of you, and this pain that won't go away.
When you finally pull away from her grasp, she meets your reddened eyes and dry lips. You run a hand over your face, as if to erase every trace of weakness, and sit up.
"I have to go," you murmur, your voice hoarse.
Tess nods, gets up too, and holds your sleeve. She'd like you to stay a little longer.
"Do you want me to come with you?"
You shake your head. "No...I need to be alone."
Tess doesn't move a muscle. Before letting you go, however, she grabs your wrist, forcing you to look her in the eyes.
"Whatever it is, don't close up. Promise me."
You don't answer. You simply nod, then turn and walk toward the exit, your shoulders hunched under the weight of a pain you still don't know how to handle.
The drive home is a complete blur. You don't even remember how you got home. You lumber up the porch steps, but the door opens before you can touch the handle. Your mom, Tara, is in the kitchen, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and her hands floured up to the elbows.
"Darling! You came back early..."
But the sentence dies in her throat as soon as she sees your face.
You don't look her in the eye. You simply give her a quick kiss on the cheek, and the smell of fragrant, freshly baked bread doesn't whet your appetite at all.
"I'm not hungry." You mutter categorically, already heading for the stairs.
"Hey... honey... what...?"
"Later." The word, without meaning to, comes out sharply. But you don't feel like talking. Not now. Not to your mother, not to anyone. Dad Mirio, on the other hand, is sitting in the living room, engrossed in a newspaper, but he looks up immediately as soon as he hears you pass.
"Are you okay, Princess?"
You pause for just a moment, long enough to shake your head.
"I'm tired."
Then you go up the stairs two at a time, and without meaning to, you slam the door of your room violently behind you.
The afternoon passes so quickly. You've been lying on the bed the entire time, staring at the ceiling, your arms crossed over your chest as if you could hold yourself together. You haven't cried, though. Anger has now replaced the pain, becoming a fire coursing through your veins.
In the kitchen, Mom and Ryota are preparing evening tea. He's leaning against the counter, his chest out, his tight shirt showing off his bulging, tense muscles.
"Mom, I don't understand why you insist on using that chipped cup," he says, gesturing with his chin to the fine tea set she keeps in the pantry only for special occasions.
"It's ugly and uncomfortable. Throw it away."
Mom smiles, calmly pouring the boiling water.
"Because your father, Katsuki, gave it to me when I was pregnant with Eri. It has sentimental value."
Ryota snorts, but doesn't insist. Then, as if the devil had put it in his mouth, you hear him add:
"Anyway, if Eri starts acting cute with that half-hero Aizawa-sensei and then cries like a fountain, it's her fault. She should have known by now that he doesn't want serious things, but just wants to have fun."
The silence that follows is so sudden it feels like thunder.
You're standing in the doorway, about to go down to the kitchen. Your fingers grip the banister of the stairs, and you feel your face turn as pale as ash. How dare he, this idiot brother of mine? How dare he discredit Aizawa-sensei and my pain? Who is he to speak like this?
You move before your brain can stop you.
At a quick pace, you approach him. Your fist flies straight, precise, charged with all the anger you've built up over the past few hours. You hit Ryota squarely in the cheek, with such force that his head bangs against the locker behind him. He remains paralyzed, his eyes wide, his hand on the spot where his skin is already starting to redden.
"Don't you ever say something like that again." You mutter, in a low growl. Your eyes blaze with such intense fury that it doesn't seem like you anymore. Your hands are shaking with rage.
"You don't know shit about what happened. And even if you did, it's none of your business. You're sick of me."
Ryota stares at you, his jaw clenched. He's not used to being hit, you know that well. But he's not used to seeing you like this either. You know there's something wild about you right now, something that scares him more than any opponent in battle. Or maybe it's just Mom's presence, keeping him calm.
Mom sets the teapot down on the counter with a thud.
"Ryota," she says, her tone stern. "Go to the living room. Now."
He hesitates for a moment, then nods without saying a word. His eyes are fixed on you as he walks away, and he rubs his cheek. You don't wait. You turn and run back up the stairs, slamming your bedroom door so hard it shakes the paintings hanging in the hallway.
After a few minutes, Mom follows you, knocking gently before entering. The room is lit only by a single golden light bulb. You're sitting on the bed, your legs curled under you and your arms wrapped around your knees as if to protect yourself from something. Or someone.
Mom closes the door behind her and sits down next to you, the mattress sagging slightly under her weight. She doesn't say anything at first. She simply places a hand behind your back, a simple, motherly gesture, enough to bring tears to your eyes again.
"What happened, darling?" she asks finally, in a voice so soft it manages to chip away at the icy shell you've built around yourself.
You swallow hard, your fingers digging into your thighs.
"I...I slept with Aizawa-sensei..."
You confess, the words coming out with difficulty.
"And he...he told me it was a mistake. That he doesn't know how to manage his feelings."
You laugh, but it comes out bitterly, devoid of joy. "As if I were the one who made the mistake."
She pulls you close, enveloping you in a sweet embrace. You let go, your face pressed against her shoulder, your tears wetting the fabric of her blouse.
"I'm so sorry, Mom," you sob. "I don't know what to do. I don't know how...how not to hate him."
She strokes your hair, her lips brushing your temple.
"You don't have to hate him, darling. You just have to find the time you need to heal."
She pauses, then adds, a note of firmness in her voice.
"And when you're ready, if you want, you'll have to show him how much Eri Togata is worth. Because you, my dear, are not a mistake. You are the most precious thing I've ever created. I'll help you, you can be sure of that."
Hold your mom even tighter in your arms, and you'll let you go.