Chapter 1: Echoes of Her Song
Notes:
I'm in the process of re-editing and in some cases rewriting parts the Chapters I've posted so far to bring the earlier ones in line with how the story has progressed and correct any inconsistencies. Just finished editing Chapter 22 (04/09/2025). If you're reading this story for the first time I'd recommend reading up until that point until I've finished editing as there has been quite a lot of new content added so unedited chapters are subject to change. I'm leaving chapter notes on the ones edited plus I'll pop a note here :) Enjoy!
Chapter Text
The dim light of the Twilight Tea House wrapped around Eva like a heavy cloak, thickening the air, quieting her senses. The room was still, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the rhythmic tick of the clock above the counter. The familiar scent of dried herbs, lavender, and mint intertwined with the warm, earthy undertone of brewing tea. It filled the space like a gentle sigh, wrapping around her. It should have been comforting, but tonight, the soothing aromas of the shop only deepened the emptiness within her. Her fingers rested on the rim of her favourite mug, a small comfort in her stormy sea of thoughts. The earthy scent of tea swirled around her, as familiar as the breath in her lungs, and yet tonight, its usual calming effect was lost to her.
Her mentor was dead.
The words reverberated in her mind like the distant tolling of a bell, each repetition heavier, duller, and more unbearable than the last. The quiet shop, once a refuge, now felt vast and echoing, every corner too sharp, too empty. She had replayed that moment with the officer in her head a hundred times, his soft voice like sandpaper against her fractured peace.
"It was a car accident. She didn't make it."
He had said it with care, his eyes downcast, his shoulders tense with the burden of delivering news he wished he didn't have to. Eva had stood frozen, her body numb, her thoughts scattered to the winds. In the days since, she had tried to piece herself together again, clinging to the routines that had once grounded her. But the routine failed. It couldn't fill the space that her mentor's absence had left.
She hadn't cried. Not yet.
Her silver-lavender eyes, dulled by grief, fixated on the swirling tea inside her mug, the soft glow of her Quirk muted beneath her usually vibrant gaze. The delicate shimmer that often danced in her irises seemed to be swallowed by the weight of loss. Her hands trembled slightly as she set the mug down, watching the tea ripple in soft, uneven waves - an echo of the chaos within her. Her life, too, had been unsettled, rippling out of control ever since the moment the news hit her, sharp and unforgiving, shattering her world like fragile glass.
Her mentor had been everything to her. Her saviour, her teacher, the only person who had seen her for who she truly was beneath the layers of pain, awkwardness, and the masks she wore. The one who had plucked her from the cruelty of her mother in England and given her a new life in this small, tucked-away corner of Japan. They had given her purpose, teaching her the delicate arts of healing through herbs and natural remedies, encouraging her to find strength in her craft, even as she kept her Quirk hidden away.
Her Quirk... she had hidden it for so long. The power to soothe and heal through song, to reach into others' hearts and offer comfort, all the while unsure of its worth. Her mother's biting words had ensured that. "For god's sake shut up, you sound like you're wailing," she'd screamed at her, the words still branding themselves on Eva's soul years later. So she had learnt from a young age to hide it, to supress it deep in the recesses of her soul. But her mentor had never judged. They had only offered silent understanding, a refuge in the storm.
The herbalist shop itself had become an extension of that refuge. Shelves lined with jars of carefully labelled herbs, the frequent sound of the kettle boiling, the soft rustle of her mentor's worn books. It had all come together to form a sanctuary, a sanctuary that now felt hollow, an empty echo of what it had once been.
She glanced at the corner of the room where her mentor's favourite chair stood, untouched and undisturbed. They had always sat there after long days, sipping tea in the quiet twilight, exchanging thoughts about the mysteries of herbs and the quiet magic that lived within them. Now, that chair was a spectre, a constant reminder of what had been lost.
She couldn't bear to look at it any more.
Her gaze drifted to the worn envelope on the counter, its presence heavy and inescapable. She had found it earlier, nestled in with the documents from the lawyer, an unexpected companion to the will. The sight of it had unsettled her, and so she had left it unopened, letting it sit on the counter as though keeping it sealed might somehow delay the finality of her mentor's departure.
But the silence around her pressed in now, and Eva knew there was no delaying it any longer. With shaking fingers, she reached for the letter and unfolded it carefully, her breath catching as the familiar looping handwriting came into view.
"My dearest Eva, If you re reading this, then I am no longer by your side. Please forgive me for leaving you with this burden, but I want you to know that I am at peace. And I hope you find your own peace too."
The words blurred before her eyes as the dam holding back her grief began to crack. Her hand tightened around the paper, and she forced herself to keep reading, even as her heart ached with every word.
"I've watched you grow into a remarkable young woman, so much stronger than you realize, my little angel. When I first met you, you were carrying so much pain more than any child should bear. I saw it in your eyes, the shadows, the bruises, the walls you built to protect yourself from the world."
Eva swallowed hard, her throat tight as tears began to spill down her cheeks. Her mentor had seen her struggles, her hidden battles, the scars her mother had left not just on her body, but on her soul.
"Bringing you here was the best decision I ever made, and slowly, quietly, you've helped build something beautiful here. You've learned to care for others, to bring solace and healing. And though you may not believe it yet, you've begun to heal yourself too."
Her breath hitched as she wiped at her tears, determined to finish the letter despite the flood of emotions threatening to drown her.
"There is something I never told you. I knew about your Quirk from the first moment I heard you humming in the empty classroom when you thought no one was listening, all those years ago. I never mentioned it because I believed it was your right to reveal it if or when you were ready."
The paper crinkled under her grip as the words cut deeper than she expected. Her mentor had known. All those years of hiding, and they had known the whole time.
"I know your mother's words wounded you. But, Eva, they were lies. Your voice is beautiful. Not just because of its power, but because it is truly beautiful and it is yours. Whether you choose to share it with the world or keep it for yourself, know that your voice is not something to be ashamed of. It is something to cherish."
Her heart felt like it was being wrung dry, every drop of sorrow, guilt, and self-doubt squeezed out with each line. The quiet solace her mentor had always offered now wrapped around her through their words, but it wasn't enough to fill the emptiness they had left behind.
"I leave you our little herbalist shop because I know you'll continue to use it to bring comfort to those who need it. But I also leave it to you because I hope that one day you'll feel able to use it to share your gift, to let your song be heard. You've spent so long hiding, but I believe the world needs your song. Let it heal, let it comfort, let it be the balm that I know it can be."
The letter trembled in her hands as she lowered it to the table. The grief she had held back for so long finally broke free, silent sobs shaking her frame. She buried her face in her arms, her loss flowing out in waves, unstoppable and raw. The weight of her mentor's death, their unwavering belief in her, their unconditional love - it all crashed over her, suffocating in its intensity.
For what felt like hours, Eva remained there, the only sounds in the tea house her slowly quietening sobs and the soft ticking of the clock. When the tears finally stopped, Eva sat back, her head resting against the wall. She wiped at her eyes, her hands trembling as she reached for the letter again. The final line stared up at her, simple, yet so full of love that it made her heart ache all over again.
"I m so proud of you, my little angel. Don't ever forget that."
Eva pressed the letter to her chest, her tears silent now as the storm of her grief began to ebb. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to go on without her mentor, without the one person who had always seen her, truly seen her. But as she sat in the dim light of the tea house, she felt a flicker of something deep inside her, a quiet resolve that had always been there, nurtured by her mentor's belief in her.
And as she whispered the final lines of her mentor's letter to herself, she felt the first stirrings of hope in the darkness.
She would honour her mentors memory. She would keep their little shop alive, and perhaps - just perhaps - she would find her own voice in the process.
Chapter 2: Finding Luna
Summary:
What does every potential tea witch need?
Notes:
**TW past child abuse, bullying, animal injury**
Edited to add new details to the story
Chapter Text
Eva's boots splashed in the puddles on the wet, empty streets, her cloak pulled tightly around her body to guard against the biting rain that had surprised her with its suddeness. The city at night was usually her comfort zone. Above the roofs, the moon hid and showed herself in slow intervals behind the increasing clouds, as if the night were blinking—patiently watching her cross the slick stones. The quiet hum of the rain against the cobblestones tried to soothe her nerves like a lullaby, the type she never received as a child, while the streets twisted around her like old friends, familiar and desolate. Tonight though this usual comfort was lost to her. The rhythm of her steps echoed faintly against the stone walls of the narrow alleys, the sharp, earthy scent of rain on stone, fresh but now with a bitter edge. It hung in the air like something washed clean yet still clinging to something unresolved. It was a smell that reminded her of damp mornings in her childhood, of a house that never quite felt like home.
As Eva walked, her thoughts drifted back to her life before she found the quiet sanctuary of her shop. Before her mentor had rescued her. A suffocating weight settled in her chest whenever her mother crossed her mind. The woman's voice still haunted her like a persistent shadow. "Why couldn't I have had a normal child!". Normal, the word her mother wore like a brooch and a blade, the kind that glinted at every perceived difference.
Eva had learned early on that her voice, her Quirk, was something to hide - something ugly. Her mother's cutting words had been worse than any slap, though she had often received both. She couldn't remember how many times she'd flinched, not at the physical pain but at the relentless verbal jabs that tore at her soul. The endless cycle of cruelty at home had been mirrored at school, where the other children had learned to bully her for her awkwardness and sensitivity. Autistic. Too quiet. Too strange. She was different, and they despised her for it.
Her mother had taught her one thing though, how to keep herself hidden. So Eva buried her voice just like she buried the rest of herself. No one would hear her sing, not if she could help it. She masked her Quirk, locked it away so deeply inside herself that it almost disappeared.
Almost.
The first time she discovered what her voice could do, what it could truly do, was the day she found Whisper, her family's cat, lying gravely injured in the garden. She had been so small then, just a child. She remembered kneeling next to him, her hands trembling as she whispered, "Please don't leave me". Without even thinking, she started to hum, a soft, broken melody. As her voice filled the air, something miraculous happened. Whisper's ragged breathing slowed, and the wounds that had looked so hopeless began to knit back together. The shock of it had nearly stopped her heart. Her voice could heal.
But the effort had drained her. The power of her song, the desperate emotion she'd poured into it had left her feeling drained and weak. She collapsed onto the cold, unforgiving concrete, her small body going limp.
When she awoke, it was to the harsh sound of her mother's voice, sharp and cutting through the cool evening air. "What do you think you're doing, daydreaming again?! I told you to do the washing up and the kitchen's a mess. Why do you expect me to do everything". Her mother's hands grabbed her roughly, pulling her to her feet. "Stop being lazy. I ask you to do one little thing, what's the matter with you?"
The scolding turned into sharp, angry slaps, each one a reminder of the chores left unfinished. "You think you can just sit around while I do everything? When are you going to learn". Her mother's voice dripped with venom, and all Eva could do was stand there, too weak and dizzy from exhaustion to resist or defend herself. She clenched her fists into the fabric of her dress, trying to bite down on the urge to cry, knowing from bitter experience it would only make things worse, but tears streamed down her face regardless.
It took many more years for Eva to block her tears.
She never told her mother about her healing powers. She never told anyone. If her mother found out she might use it against her, twisting it into something dark. Eva couldn't risk it. She'd learned long ago that her survival depended on silence.
She quickened her pace now, the memories of her mother's cruel smile fading as the rain intensified, drumming against her hood. The Twilight Tea House was still behind her, a warm light glowing softly in the distance, but tonight, the weight of its emptiness had been too much to bear. Her mentor had been gone for just over a week, and tonight the shop felt like a ghost of its old self, hollow and cold. The familiar scents of dried herbs and old books no longer bringing her comfort, only memories.
I need air, she had muttered to herself before fleeing into the night.
And now, she wandered aimlessly, the rain her only companion.
A flicker of movement caught her eye as she passed beneath a sputtering streetlamp. A breath of wind lifted her hood as if to turn her head for her, and the lamp’s sputter steadied for a heartbeat, laying a crescent of light across the puddles.She halted, squinting through the rain to make out a small, dark shape huddled against the base of the lamppost. Eva took a cautious step closer. It was a cat- a black cat with fur slicked from the rain.
"Hey", she whispered, her voice gentle as she crouched down. The rain eased for the space of a breath, as if the weather itself were listening.
The cat's wide, fearful yellow eyes met hers, and Eva's heart clenched. One of its back legs was twisted at an unnatural angle, blood pooling beneath it and mixing with the rainwater. It was hurt badly.
Her instinct kicked in, and she reached out carefully. "It's okay", she murmured, her voice barely audible over the rain. The cat flinched but it didn't move away. It was too weak to escape, too frightened to trust.
Eva's hand hovered for a moment, trembling, before she slipped it beneath the fragile creature and lifted it into her arms. The cat's tiny body was shivering, its fur soaked through, and its heartbeat rapid and uneven beneath her fingertips. As she cradled it close to her chest, the smell of damp fur and the sharp tang of blood filled her nose. She pulled her cloak around them both to shield the cat from the cold, the warmth of her body the only comfort she could offer as the rain continued to fall around them.
"You're safe now", she whispered, though she wasn't sure whether she was comforting the cat or herself. From above them the lamp buzzed twice more then settled, as if satisfied with the handover.
The tea house felt miles away as Eva hurried back with her new charge, her breath coming in shallow bursts as the rain fell still harder. She fumbled with the key when she finally reached the door, her hands trembling from more than just the cold. The door creaked open, and the familiar scent of dried herbs hit her, wrapping around her like a warm blanket as she stepped inside. She bolted the door behind her, the soft click reassuring her that they were safe.
She set the cat down gently on a towel, quickly lighting a fire in the hearth behind her, before her eyes began scanning the small creature's broken form. The twisted leg looked bad, and there were deep gashes along its side. Eva's hands hovered, her heart racing with indecision. She knew that the cat would need more than just a few bandages and some herbs to survive this.
Her eyes fluttered closed, and she took a deep breath, bracing herself for what she was about to do. This was different from her usual work bandaging wounds, mixing herbs, offering quiet comfort through simple human presence. What she was about to do would take more from her. Her Quirk, which she never intentionally used, stirred. She could feel the melody long before she made it, a pull like the tug of a far tide, steady and patient, asking only for permission. The pull in her chest was not new, only newly remembered, the same tide that had answered a kitten’s failing breath years ago, and the same tide, she later suspected, that had walked her out into the rain that night. She hesitated before letting it out, aware of the strain it could place on her. But she couldn't leave the fragile ball of fur beneath her to suffer. Not when she had the power to help.
Slowly, she began to hum, the sound low and soft at first, almost like a lullaby. The air in the room seemed to shift, growing warmer, heavier. The rain on the windows seemed to learn her rhythm and tapped along, not obedient, exactly, but companionable. As the melody built, Eva's voice wrapped around the cat like a protective cocoon. She could feel her energy draining with every note, but she couldn't stop, not yet.
The cat's frantic breathing began to slow, the tremors easing as her song worked its magic. Slowly, so slowly, the wounds along its side started to close, the broken leg beginning to right itself. But the effort was taking its toll on her, the room spinning as her strength ebbed away. The same throb of exhaustion rose in her as that day in the garden so many years ago.
Still, she kept singing, kept pouring everything she had into the cat before her, until the last note faded, and her body gave out. She collapsed onto the floor beside it, her limbs heavy and numb.
The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting a warm, flickering light across the room. Eva's breath came in shallow gasps, her vision blurring as the exhaustion washed over her. But then, a soft, rhythmic purring reached her ears, and she smiled faintly.
The cat now breathing steadily had curled up beside her, its small body warm and safe against her side. Eva's eyelids fluttered, the weight of sleep pulling her under.
She awoke to the soft light of morning streaming through the windows. The rain had finally stopped, leaving the air fresh and cool. Eva groaned as she sat up, her body stiff and aching from the night's exertion and sleeping on the damp hard wooden floor. But the pain was worth it. The cat was still there, nestled against her, its golden eyes half-lidded in contentment as it purred softly.
Eva reached out, her fingers brushing gently through the soft black fur. "Luna", she whispered, the name falling from her lips like the last word of a song. The cat blinked slowly, as if acknowledging its new name. For the first time since her mentor's death, Eva didn't feel quite so alone. The cat had brought something back to her, a flicker of life in the cold darkness that had settled around her heart.
As the days passed, Luna remained by Eva's side, a quiet companion in the long hours of running the shop. The black cat often perched by the window or curled up by the fireplace, watching over the little shop with a quiet presence that soothed the space. Eva, in turn, found comfort in Luna's silent company, her presence a reminder that even in the depths of loss, there could still be warmth, still be healing.
Perhaps, Eva thought, as she brewed her tea one morning, it wasn't just Luna who had been saved that night beneath the rain. Perhaps she, too, was finding her way back - one step at a time.
Chapter 3: The Nightingale's Song
Summary:
Eva gets her "hero" name.
Chapter Text
The Twilight Tea House was named long before Eva and her mentor ever set foot in it. Her mentor, captivated by the poetic resonance of the name, had kept it when they first bought the shop, telling her that twilight was a time of healing, a gentle transition between the harshness of day and the unknown of night, a moment in between. It was a time for reflection and recovery, much like the space she sort to create. Eva had always loved the poetic quality of the name, the soft glow of the fading light, the way the word "twilight" lingered on the tongue. Occasionally, confused passers by would wander in, expecting a tea house, only to find shelves lined with jars of herbs and salves. Her mentor always found this amusing, smiling warmly as they explained the real purpose of the space. Over the years, the shop had lived up to her mentors initial plans - a sanctuary for the lost, the weary, those who sought a healing that modern medicine couldn't offer. Inside the shop, the warm glow of lamplight illuminated the shelves of herbs and jars, the earthy scent of dried flowers and herbs mingling in the air. Luna, Eva's sleek black cat, stretched luxuriously by the hearth, her golden eyes lazily observing the room, occasionally flicking to the movement of shadows cast by the rain-splattered glass.
And now, it was hers.
Eva sat behind the counter, her hands wrapped around a mug of milky black tea, the warmth seeping into her fingers. The rich, familiar scent of the tea curled around her as her thoughts wandered back to the small changes she had made to the shop since taking over. There was now another small table by the window, a place for her customers to sit and relax. She had added a comfortable chair and a couple of bar stools beside the counter, inviting people to rest their weary bones. The hum of a kettle was now a constant, and herbal teas had become part of her treatment. Eva found herself serving blends of lavender & lemon balm to those who needed not just healing but a reason to pause, to breathe. Her late mentor had always been generous with their time, and Eva wanted to extend that warmth in her own way.
The shop's hours had shifted too. Twilight suited her, and it suited her customers who, like her, found comfort in the stillness of the night. The soft glow from the lamps illuminated the shop, casting long, lazy shadows across the wooden floor. The amber light flickered, reflecting off the silver-rimmed jars and glass bottles, creating a warm ethereal shimmer that made the space feel alive, as though it were breathing with her. Outside, the streets were quiet, the rain creating a steady rhythm against the windows a song in itself, though less complicated than hers.
Luna gave another languid stretch beside the small fire in the hearth. Her sleek black fur reflecting the flicker of the flames. The subtle warmth of burning wood reached Eva's skin, the heat a steady, grounding presence against the cool dampness that tried to cling to the air. Luna had claimed her spot, much like she had claimed Eva's heart. Since their chance encounter, Luna had filled a void, and bought a quiet companionship that gave both Eva and the tea house a new life.
Still standing behind the counter Eva began gently tapping a rhythm on the edge of a well-worn wooden stool, her lavender-silver eyes shifting as they caught the warm light of the shop. She hummed softly to herself, unaware that the melody slipping from her lips was weaving through the air, curling like tendrils of smoke around the room. Her Quirk, reawakened since the night she healed Luna, often acted on its own, as though the melody knew the needs of the space better than she did.
The room felt warmer, softer, a small cocoon away from the world's harsher edges.
She had noticed that when she hummed, customers seemed to relax without knowing why. It was subtle, this Quirk of hers, something that soothed the restless and softened the anxious. Eva never sang outright; her tune remained in the background like a breeze through the trees, gently stirring. She had once hated her voice, buried it so deep that even she had forgotten its true strength. But now, in the stillness of her shop, her song filled the gaps, like her mentor's belief in her had filled her heart.
The soft tinkle of the door chime interrupted her reverie, and she looked up to see a worn figure enter. The man who walked in was soaked from the rain, his coat clinging to him, his shoulders drooped in the way of someone carrying too much weight. He wasn't one of her regulars, but something about the weariness in his eyes tugged at her.
"I... I heard you help people here," he said, his voice hoarse, his hands wringing his soaked coat. His eyes flicked around the shop, lingering on Luna, on the glowing fire, on the table by the window where the warmth of the shop seemed most inviting. "People who can't go anywhere else."
Eva offered him a small, understanding smile as she set aside the cup of tea she had been nursing. "What do you need?"
The man hesitated, as though the answer was more difficult than he expected. "It's... my mind. I can't sleep. Nightmares, mostly."
Eva nodded, already moving toward the shelves of herbs. She didn't need to ask more; there was a language here, unspoken, between those who came to her door. It was in their eyes, in the way they shifted as if they were afraid the world would notice they had broken down. Nightmares, sleepless nights these were familiar guests. Her fingers worked with practised ease, reaching for valerian root, lavender, and a touch of oatflower.
"If you would like to take a seat," Eva said gently as she began to measure and blend the ingredients, "I'll bring you over something that will help. It will calm your mind, ease the nightmares."
As she spoke, Luna padded over to the man, her small, elegant body brushing against his leg. The man looked down, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he knelt to stroke the cat's soft fur. The purring that followed seemed to echo the peace settling over the shop. It was remarkable, how the simplest of touches could change a person's mood.
Eva filled the kettle with fresh water, before scooping the herbal mixture into some muslin tea bags and folding them neatly in a paper packet, keeping one aside. As the kettle began to whistle she picked up a cup and poured the steaming water over the freshly filled tea bag. The scent of the brew earthy, with a hint of sweetness rose into the air with the steam, mingling with the fragrant herbs that lined the walls. Her hands moved with quiet efficiency, though her mind wandered as the soft hum began to leave her lips once more. The melody flowed naturally, wrapping itself around the moment like a delicate thread, weaving comfort into the space.
The man, now sitting at the small table by the window, closed his eyes as the music and warmth enveloped him. "That's... beautiful," he whispered, his voice softer now, the tension leaving his shoulders. "Like... a nightingale."
Eva paused, the word lingering in her mind. Nightingale. It was a name that had begun to follow her, whispered by those who sought her out for comfort and healing, likening her to Florence Nightingale, the famed English nurse known as "The Lady with the Lamp". Florence had worked in the stillness of night, moving through shadowed, filthy corridors, bringing light and care to the wounded soldiers. But her true legacy wasn't just in her nursing skills it was in how she made people feel safe, as if they weren't alone in the darkness.
Word had now spread in the poorest, most forgotten corners of society about a healer, an Englishwoman, who quietly tended to those in need - humming soft, beautiful melodies like a songbird. Her shop's lamplight spilled onto the worn, dirty streets, a beacon of warmth even on the darkest of nights.
She poured the tea into a cup and set it in front of the man, her eyes glimmering with a quiet thoughtfulness. "I've heard people call me that," she admitted "Nightingale."
The man took the tea, cradling it in his hands as if the warmth might seep into his bones. "It suits you," he murmured. "You help people. People like me." he added, shrugging into himself.
The sound of the rain outside intensified, a steady tattoo against the window, but inside the Twilight Tea House was at peace. Eva leaned against the counter, the wood cool against her palms. There was a quiet satisfaction in watching the man's face soften as he drank, the lines of stress smoothing out with each sip.
"You can take the blend home," she said softly, shifting the small paper packet forward on the counter. "Steep it in boiling water each night. You'll find rest again."
The man blinked at the packet, then nodded, gratitude evident in his eyes. He walked over and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a crumpled wad of bills, which he placed on the counter. "Thank you... Nightingale."
Eva only nodded, accepting the name that had once seemed foreign but now felt like a piece of her. As the man stepped back into the rain, the warmth of the shop followed him out, lingering like an invisible thread.
Her gaze drifting to Luna, who had curled up once again by the fire as a sense of contentment settled over the room. The soft hum of Eva's voice returned as she started to tidy the counter, a gentle lullaby that filled the space, unnoticed by her but felt by all who entered.
In the quiet sanctuary of the Twilight Tea House, Eva had begun to find her voice again - not in loud declarations or grand gestures, but in the gentle hum of a song that healed, soothed, and offered solace to all who stepped into the warmth of her shop.
Chapter Text
The Twilight Tea House held its usual serenity, with only the soft rustling of pages to disturb the stillness as Eva leafed through an old, leather-bound herbal manual. The late autumn wind howled outside, sweeping through the narrow streets, making the dry leaves skitter like restless whispers along the cobblestones. A biting chill clung to the air, its sharpness pressing against the windows, but inside, warmth flickered from the fireplace, casting long, lazy shadows that danced across the shelves of herbs. Condensation pearled along the lower panes where the room’s warmth kissed the night air, the glass rattling in soft, obstinate tremors each time the wind shouldered the sash; the copper kettle answered with a low, companionable murmur that made the furniture feel less like objects and more like old friends. The scent of steeping tea blended with dried lavender and rosemary, filling the room with a familiar, comforting aroma.
Eva hummed under her breath, her tune barely above a whisper, yet it filled the space like a gentle embrace. The melody, soft and unassuming, seemed to anchor her thoughts, soothing the ever-present hum of emotions that swirled beneath her surface. As the notes meandered through the shop, the faintest shimmer moved through her irises—no more than a suggestion of colours caught in twilight. Her fingers traced the faded edges of the book's pages, though her mind wandered, half-focused on the rhythmic rattle of the window as the wind continued to press against it. The contrast between the chill outside and the warmth inside always grounded her, a reminder of the cosy quiet haven she had built within these walls.
The soft ring of the door chime interrupted her reverie, its delicate sound pulling her attention from the book. A gust of cold air swept into the shop as the door swung open, and with it came a tall figure, his form wrapped in a shifting veil of dark mist. The shop’s warmth met him first; along the threshold the mist lifted in thinner curls, brief threads unspooling and then knitting again as if the hearth’s breath were curious about this guest. For a moment, he stood silhouetted against the pale light from the street, the swirling darkness around him making him seem more shadow than man. His glowing yellow eyes pierced the dimness, scanning the room with an unnerving calm before settling on Eva.
Though she had grown accustomed to unusual visitors in her shop, people who came seeking more than just herbs, there was something different about this man. The mist that clung to him like a second skin whispered of something... other. It wasn't threatening, exactly, but unsettling in its quiet presence, like a storm waiting to break. Yet Eva quickly masked her surprise, her hands steady as she closed the herbal manual and offered him the same quiet politeness she extended to all who crossed her threshold.
"Welcome", she said softly, her voice a gentle note in the stillness. "How can I help you?".
The man stepped deeper into the shop, the mist swirling around his feet, never quite dissipating, as if it was a part of him. He moved with a deliberate grace, his glowing eyes briefly drifting over the shelves of herbs, the flickering fire, as if filing away every detail. His gaze was sharp, assessing, but not invasive. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and formal, the kind of controlled calm that came from someone used to holding the weight of the world on his shoulders.
"I require certain... supplies", he said, his tone careful, measured. "Herbal remedies. For pain relief. And to accelerate healing."
"Are you treating specific injuries?" she asked, her voice even, professional, but with a note of quiet care beneath it.
"A mix of injuries", he replied, his eyes never leaving her. "Pain and exhaustion, mostly. Time is of the essence".
Eva nodded, her fingers instinctively reaching for the jars behind her. She sensed the unspoken need for discretion in his request, as she often did with her more secretive clients. Her hands moved with practised ease. She reached for willow bark and meadowsweet to ease inflammation and pain, yarrow to stanch infection, and comfrey to press over stubborn bruising, never once asking unnecessary questions. In her line of work, silence was often more valuable than curiosity. She simply wrapped the herbs in neat parcels, attaching labels and instructions in her small neat handwriting. "These will help", she said, setting the packages on the counter. "Some you steep in water as tea, others are to be used only as a compress. They will aid in recovery, but rest is still necessary".
The man inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, his eyes lingering on the parcels before reaching out for them. Ethereal darkness swirled as the misty swathed hand carefully took the packages. For a brief moment, as the edges of the vapor brushed against the parchment-wrapped herbs, Eva felt a subtle shift in the air like the faint echo of something unspoken, a weight beneath the surface of his calm exterior.
"Thank you", he said, his voice still composed, though there was a note of something softer beneath it. Perhaps relief for the ease of the transaction, or perhaps it was simply the rare peace that settled over him in the quiet of her shop.
Eva nodded, her gaze flickering towards his face. There was something about his presence, something about the way the mist seemed to cling to him. She didn't pry, though. She had learned long ago that some burdens were too heavy to name, and it was not her place to demand answers from those who carried them.
As she handed him the last parcel, the man hesitated, his eyes drifting toward the corner of the counter where a teapot sat, steam curling gently from its spout. For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze thoughtful, almost distant.
"Is that tea?" he asked, his tone casual, though there was an undercurrent of something more purposeful in the question.
"It is", Eva replied, following his gaze. "Would you like some?"
A pause stretched between them, and then, with a slight nod, he accepted. Eva moved quietly, pouring the tea into a delicate cup, the faint clink of porcelain and the crackle of the hearth the only sound in the room. She placed the cup on a small table near the hearth, where the soft glow of the fire bathed the space in a warm, amber light. Without a word, the man settled into the chair, his mist pulling back slightly, as though the warmth of the shop had begun to melt the edges of his carefully maintained composure.
Eva returned to her tasks, giving him the space he seemed to need. She could feel the stillness deepen in the room, a sense of quiet that wrapped around them both, as if the world outside had been momentarily forgotten. The man's posture relaxed slightly, his presence less rigid, as though he allowed himself, just for a moment, to sink into the calm that the tea house offered.
Luna, with her usual quiet grace, padded from behind the counter and circled around the man's feet before curling up beside him. She seemed to understand, in the way that animals often did, that he, too, was in need of comfort. The man glanced down at the black cat, his expression unreadable, but he made no move to disturb her, allowing her soft purring to fill the space between them.
For a while, there was only the sound of the fire crackling softly and the occasional soft sip of tea. Eva continued her work as various customers drifted in and out the shop, though she couldn't shake the quiet curiosity that tugged at her thoughts about her mysterious tea drinking guest. There was something about the man, something that lingered just beneath the surface of his composed exterior. It wasn't just the mist, or the way he moved with such deliberate control. It was the faint echo of something... lost. Something buried deep beneath the shadows that clung to him.
After what felt like twenty minutes, the man stood, placing the empty cup neatly on the counter, paying quietly before moving to the door. Just as his hand reached for the handle, he paused, turning slightly to glance back at her.
"This place... it's quiet", he said, almost as if speaking to himself. "I might come back".
Eva looked up from her work, fleetingly meeting his gaze. "You're always welcome", she said softly.
With a final nod, the man still wreathed in his strange mist stepped out into the chill autumn air. The chime above the door rang softly as it closed behind him, leaving the tea house in its familiar, soothing silence once more.
Eva stood for a moment, staring at the door, as Luna hoped onto her window seat to watch him go. There was something about him Eva couldn't quite place, but she knew, instinctively, that he would return. Quietly, she turned back to her work, resuming the hum of a soft melody under her breath, the gentle rhythm of the tea house seeming to breathe gently with her.
Over the next few weeks, the man returned to the Twilight Tea House with increasing regularity. He would arrive quietly, order his supplies, and then sit at the same small corner table near the hearth, sipping his tea in silence. Luna would always join him, her soft presence a constant. “Luna-sama, you honour me,” he quietly remarked, bowing his head to her a fraction, each time she chose to grace him with her company. For those minutes the chill that clung to him seemed to borrow her warmth, the air knitting close around the pair of them.
Though they rarely spoke beyond the necessary exchange of pleasantries, Eva began to notice small changes in him. His visits, once brief and businesslike, grew longer. His posture, once rigid and guarded, softened as he settled into the peaceful routine of the shop. And though the mist still clung to him, it seemed less imposing, as if the calm of the tea house had begun to ease the weight he carried.
For Eva, his presence became a quiet comfort. Though their words were few, she found herself looking forward to his visits. There was a simplicity to their shared silence, an unspoken understanding that didn't require explanation. In a world that so often demanded too much of her, his quiet presence was a welcome reprieve.
And yet, even in the stillness, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to him- something locked away, hidden beneath the mist. It flickered at the edges of her awareness, a distant echo of a life not fully gone. Whatever it was, she knew it was not her place to uncover it.
Kurogiri never mentioned the tea house to the rest of the League. He kept it for himself, this small, quiet sanctuary that offered a moment of peace in the chaos of his world. He told himself that he saw no need. As long as the necessary remedies were acquired, there was no reason to involve the others. But perhaps, deep down, he valued having this small, quiet space to himself and he carefully protected it by ensuring no League activity came anywhere near it. Whether by subtle direction or quiet manoeuvring, Kurogiri made sure the tea house remained untouched by the chaos of his other life.
The quiet stillness interspersed with Eva's humming, the unspoken acceptance, and the soft flow of life through the tea house drew him back week after week. He appreciated that Eva never pried, never asked questions he wasn't prepared to answer. In her own way, she seemed to understand his need for silence, and that understanding allowed him to let his guard down, if only for a few moments each week.
Notes:
Updated with new details :)
Chapter 5: Mochi
Notes:
**TW for animal injury**
Edited to add more backstory for Mochi.
Chapter Text
The streets of Eva's neighbourhood held a hushed stillness in the early morning. Pale light threaded its way through the mist, tracing a familiar path as Eva stepped out of the Twilight Tea House, her breath visible in the cool air. A fine drizzle had begun, settling lightly on her skin, the droplets cold against her pale cheeks. Somewhere far off, a delivery truck coughed awake and a convenience store shutter rattled up its rails, the city-sounds leaking through the mist like whispered secrets. She pulled her dark woollen cloak tighter around her, the heavy fabric comforting as it brushed against her body. Beneath the cloak, the familiar scent of lavender clung to her clothes, blending with the crisp scent of damp earth and rain and her own notes of vanilla and shea butter.
Her ethereal eyes flicked to the sky, a soft, grey expanse that stretched as far as the eye could see. The washed sky found its echo in her irises; silver caught in lavender, a tide that seemed to shift of its own accord. It was still early, the world balanced on the fragile line between night and day, where time felt slower, more deliberate. The early morning hour was peaceful, a moment when the world hadn't yet fully woken, and the chaos of life had yet to intrude fully.
After a long evening spent tending to her regulars, Eva had decided to visit the local grocery store as she was running low on milk. She glanced back at her shop, the soft glow of its windows a beacon in the mist. The Twilight Tea House had always felt like a refuge, not just for those seeking her care but for Eva herself. Its warmth lingered behind her like an embrace.
Eva's steps were light on the cobblestones, the quiet rhythm of her boots tapping a familiar beat against the stone. The morning mist blurred the edges of the world around her, softening the lines of the buildings and trees. It was a world cloaked in peace, save for the occasional rustle of the wind through the ivy that clung to the crumbling walls of the alley. As she approached a familiar corner, her pace slowed. This was where she left food for the local strays a ritual that had become as much a part of her day as brewing her first mug of tea.
The mist hung low, wrapping around her like a blanket, soft and comforting as she knelt, her fingers brushing the damp ground as she refilled the bowls she had set out. The alley’s brick still held the night’s cool in its pores, and the bowls clinked softly against the cobbles. She whispered a quiet greeting to the shadows, her voice a gentle murmur that carried in the stillness. A few sleek, silent figures emerged from the darkness, eyes reflecting the faint light of dawn as they approached the food. They moved with cautious grace, their bodies taut with the instincts of survival. Whiskers tickled at her damp hem as a thread of purring vibrated through the stones like a kettle coming quietly to boil. Eva watched them with quiet affection as a couple of the more friendly cats rubbed against her legs. Eva had always felt a strong kinship with animals. When she was younger they had always believed her voice was worth hearing and accepted her for who she was, even when people did not. She felt she owed them a hundred small kindnesses for that early faith.
As the last of the strays retreated back into the shadows, Eva stood, trying to brush some of the moisture from her cloak. She turned down another deserted road that led to the grocery store, her thoughts wandering. The mist clung to her, its chill biting at her exposed skin, but it was a welcome contrast to the warmth of the tea house, keeping her thoughts in the present moment.
A soft, plaintive sound broke through her reverie. Eva halted, her breath catching in the cool air as she glanced around. There it was again, this time clearer, a faint distressed cry. Eva followed the sound, her steps growing cautious, clutching her keys in her hand as a makeshift weapon as she turned down a narrow alley.
The alley grew darker as she advanced, the mist thickening like a shroud. This part of the city was less inviting. The familiar scent of dew and stone gave way to something sour, decay and trash left too long in the cold air. Eva wrinkled her nose, her senses sharp as she navigated the debris scattered around her. There, in the shadow of a tipped-over trash bin, she found the source of the cry. A small, trembling form - a Ragdoll cat, pale fur matted with dirt and rain, wide blue eyes filled with confusion and fear.
Eva's heart clenched at the sight. Ragdolls were house cats too trusting, too vulnerable for a life like this. He didn't belong here. "Oh, you poor thing", she whispered, her voice barely a breath. She knelt, careful not to startle him, her hand outstretched in a gesture of comfort. The cat flinched but didn't flee. He was too weak to run, too exhausted. Eva's empathy surged, wrapping around her chest like a tight band. She knew that fear all too well, the kind that made you freeze, made you small, made you feel like the world had forgotten you.
Her Quirk stirred within her, a gentle hum at the edge of her consciousness. Her irises caught the growing light of dawn, silver and lavender stirring like minnows in a deep pool, the faintest glow pooling as she began to hum softly, her song wrapping around the trembling cat like a blanket, the melody carrying the promise of safety. Her nameless quirk, her gift that was once her burden. The notes wove through the air, soothing the cat's fear, calming his trembling body. His wide blue eyes blinked slowly, the tension in his limbs easing as her voice washed over him.
"‘Alright, brave boy" she whispered to him gently, "let's get you out of the cold". Her hand moving to carefully lift him and true to his breed, the Ragdoll went limp in her arms, his body soft and trusting. She wrapped him in her cloak, shielding him from the cold as she cradled him close, the weight of him settling into the crook of her arm as she stood. She turned back toward the warmth of her shop, her soft humming continuing as she made her way through the cold streets.
The journey back to the tea house was swift, the streets still empty as dawn began to break. Inside, the warmth of the hearth greeted them, the soft crackle of flames a welcome contrast to the cold outside. Eva set the cat down on a thick towel in front of the fire, her eyes scanning his frail body. He was malnourished, his eyes dull with fatigue, his fur matted and his ribs too prominent beneath his skin. She checked quickly for a tag, because kindness, like medicine, worked best when you read the label. No collar; only a ghost of one in the flattened fur at his neck. She rubbed a thumb there, thoughtful. ‘We’ll see if someone’s missing you,’ she murmured, already mentally composing the notice for the neighbourhood board by the grocer’s door.
Luna, her sleek black cat, stirred from her spot by the hearth, sitting up, her golden eyes gleaming as she watched the new arrival. She didn't move, her gaze steady as she observed the bedraggled cat, assessing him with quiet curiosity. After a moment, she seemed to decide he wasn't a threat and laid back down in loaf form, tucking her paws back beneath her as if to say he might stay provided he understood the rules.
Eva moved quickly as she prepared a small bowl of food, mashing the pate to a warm slurry and adding a pinch of slippery elm for his stomach. "Here you go", she said softly, placing the bowl beside him. He hesitated for a moment, his caution warring with his need for food, but hunger won out. He ate slowly, his movements careful as though unsure if he was allowed such kindness.
As he ate, Eva hummed quietly, her voice filling the small room with a gentle melody. The cat's trembling slowed, his body relaxing as the warmth of the fire and the effects of her Quirk began to take hold. His wide blue eyes softened, and soon, he was curled up on the towel, his frail body at rest.
Luna, after watching for a while, padded over and circled the new arrival. She sniffed him once before settling a few feet away, accepting his presence with the regal indifference only a cat could manage. Eva smiled at the sight, a small, quiet joy settling in her chest. She remembered, quite belatedly, that she had gone out for milk and returned with a cat, which was, strictly speaking, the sort of shopping list error she didn't mind being prone to and never once regretted.
Later that morning, once the shivers had eased and his belly held something warmer than rain, she bundled the pale lump in a clean warm towel and walked the three streets to the little clinic that always smelled faintly of disinfectant, hand gel, and wet newspaper, where the nurse—kind-eyed and brisk—parted the damp fur with cool fingers and passed the scanner’s plastic wand along his neck until it chirped an efficient green, a number blinking up on the monitor. When they rang the contact on file the voice that answered sounded peevish and tinny on speaker, insisting they were a new tenant and that whoever had kept a cat there had long since moved on. The denial might have been believed if it hadn’t arrived a heartbeat late and if Ragdolls weren’t so famously dear in both temperament and diet, a fact that pricked at Eva’s temper like a pin. She left her number for the statutory wait and stood outside a moment with the towel wrapped Ragdoll warm against her chest, the city damp and busy around her. As the little lad, Mochi she would later call him for his softness and sweetness, pressed his face into the crook of her elbow with scandalous trust, Eva decided that whoever had cast him off had traded kindness for convenience and deserved neither, and that their loss, by any sensible arithmetic, was entirely her gain.
Over the next few days, Mochi slowly regained his strength. His fear melted away under Eva's care, replaced by a deep, almost comical affection. He became a constant presence in the shop, often draping himself lazily over her shoulders as she worked. His soft, fluffy body was a comfort, his purring a steady rhythm that soothed her through the quiet moments of the day.
Despite his size, which grew considerably as he regained his health, Mochi never outgrew his need for affection. He would often flop down on her or beside Luna, his presence a warm, reassuring weight. It wasn't long before he became a familiar sight to her regulars, his antics drawing soft smiles and quiet laughter.
One evening, as Eva sat by the fire, her hands wrapped around her favourite mug of tea, she watched Luna and Mochi curled up together by the hearth. The two cats, once strangers, now shared a quiet companionship, their presence filling the room with a warmth that went beyond the fire. Eva smiled softly, a contentment settling over her.
Her life was still marked by loss, by the absence of her mentor and the weight of her past, but in moments like this, moments of quiet peace with her small, growing family Eva felt happy.
While she still sometimes felt lonely, with Luna and Mochi by her side, the quiet company of her little family was enough to make the silence feel less empty, the nights less cold. The Twilight Tea House, with its warmth and the scent of lavender and tea, had always been a sanctuary. Now, it had begun to feel like more than that again; it was a home, and in the soft purrs and the kettles’ whistle, she could almost believe that what was broken in her might choose, at last, to knit.
Chapter 6: Tea for Twice
Summary:
I wasn't kidding when I said this would be a slow burn romance with Aizawa! Our favourite sleepy boi will be turning up soon-ish. In the meantime here's Twice's introduction to the Twilight Tea House.
Edited for a little bit of extra dialogue.
Chapter Text
Jin Bubaigawara better known as Twice stumbled through the dimly lit streets, each step as unstable as the thoughts ricocheting through his fractured mind. The mission with the League of Villains had gone disastrously wrong, leaving him both physically battered and mentally frayed. His muscles ached, his ribs screamed with each breath, but none of that compared to the storm raging inside his head.
"I'm fine, totally fine!" he muttered under his breath, his voice shaky with uncertainty. "No, no I m not yes, I am!" His words, like his thoughts, spun out of control, pulling him in opposite directions, leaving him lost in his own fractured reality.
The darkened streets felt like an endless maze of cracked pavements and flickering street lights, all blurring together as his mind spiralled. His surroundings were as bleak and rundown as his thoughts, boarded-up windows, the occasional skitter of a rat in the shadows but none of it registered. His inner turmoil was far too loud, drowning out the world around him.
That was, until a soft, warm glow caught his attention. He froze, his breath ragged as his eyes locked onto the source of light a small shop tucked between the decay. Its golden light spilled out into the cold night, a quiet beacon in an otherwise indifferent world. The sign above the door read Twilight Tea House, but the name meant little to him. What drew him in wasn't the words but the sense of calm radiating from the shop a feeling so alien to him that he found himself stepping closer without fully understanding why.
With trembling hands, Twice pushed open the door. The soft chime that followed was barely audible, but the warmth that enveloped him was undeniable. It washed over him like a blanket, wrapping around his bruised and battered body. The scent of herbs lingered in the air subtle, earthy, and soothing. A gentle hum drifted through the space, almost like a whisper, weaving itself into the atmosphere of the tea house, calming his chaotic mind for a brief moment.
"Wow, this place is cosy. I could stay here forever", he muttered, a flicker of wonder in his voice. Then, almost immediately, he contradicted himself. "No, no, we don't belong here. We're villains, remember? "
His rambling continued, a stream of disjointed thoughts spilling out as he shuffled further into the shop. His eyes darted around nervously, half-expecting someone to kick him out or look at him like he was crazy. He was used to that kind of reaction, the stares, the disgust, the rejection.
But instead, he was met with a calm warmth.
Eva, standing behind the counter, looked up from her work. Her silver-lavender eyes, calm and steady, met his gaze without a flicker of fear or judgment. She didn't flinch, didn't react to the flood of words pouring out of him. Instead, she regarded him with quiet neutrality, her presence like an anchor in the chaos.
For the first time in what felt like forever, the voices in his head faltered.
"Hello", she greeted, her voice soft but clear. "Are you looking for something?"
Twice blinked, momentarily startled by the simplicity of her response. No fear, no disdain, just a gentle question. It threw him off balance and for a moment, the confusion inside him quieted, unsure of how to respond.
"Yeah, yeah, something for the pain. No, no, it's not that bad. Yes, it is. Please help!" His words tumbled out in a rush, the internal conflict visible in every stammer and contradiction.
But Eva didn't bat an eye. She simply nodded, acknowledging his scattered request, and turned to prepare a cup of tea. Her movements were slow, deliberate, every action filled with the quiet precision of someone used to calming troubled souls. There were no questions, no intrusive looks just the silent understanding that he needed help, and she was willing to offer it.
Twice, feeling the tension begin to drain from his body, sank into one of the chairs near the counter. The warmth of the tea house seeped into his bones, easing the aches and pains that had plagued him since the mission. It wasn't just the temperature, though it was something about the atmosphere itself, a pervasive calm that seemed to soften the edges of his jagged mind. For someone like him, who was constantly at war with his own thoughts, the absence of judgment was a balm he didn't know he needed.
As he waited, his gaze landed on two cats lounging lazily around the shop. One, a sleek black cat with bright yellow eyes, perched in the window, her gaze watchful and curious. The other, a fluffy Ragdoll with wide blue eyes, padded over to him without hesitation, tail swishing lazily. Twice couldn't help but narrate the moment.
"Aw, look at this cute kitty!" he cooed, only to second-guess himself immediately. "Wait, maybe it s not that cute. No, no, definitely cute!"
The black cat, Luna, continued her watch from a distance, her gaze unwavering but calm. But the Ragdoll, Mochi, had no such reservations. He hopped into Twice's lap, purring loudly as though they were lifelong friends, his large eyes gazing up trustingly. For a moment, Twice felt something inside him soften, the chaos of his mind momentarily stilled by the warmth of the cat curled against him. Mochi didn't care who he was, didn't hear the conflicting voices in his head he just settled in, offering warmth and companionship without question.
"This cat likes me", Twice muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief. "No way I'm bad news for everybody. No, I'm fine, I'm a good guy! He knows it." Mochi kneaded his lap with solemn biscuits. “He’s stealing my soul,” Twice whispered. “He’s returning it,” he answered, equally earnest. Mochi purred louder as if in agreement.
Eva watched from behind the counter, her movements quiet and steady as she prepared the tea. There was a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she saw Mochi's usual magic at work. The cat had a way of calming even the most troubled souls, and Twice was no exception. She let the moment unfold, knowing that sometimes, the simplest gestures were the most powerful.
When the tea was ready, Eva approached with a cup in hand. “Sip this slowly,” she said, setting the cup so the steam didn’t blow in his face. “White willow, valerian, a touch of ginger. It won’t erase cracked ribs, but it will make them less opinionated.” The corner of her mouth tipped as if surprised by her own joke before rearranging it back into her professional mask. She waited for him to drink, offering no judgment, no pity, just quiet understanding.
Twice looked up, his confusion plain on his face. People didn't usually treat him like this. They either recoiled in fear or stared at him like he was some sort of freak. But here, in this little tea house, he was just... a person.
He sipped the tea cautiously, letting the warmth spread through him. For a few fleeting moments, the war in his head quieted. The voices softened, drowned out by the gentle hum of the tea house, the steady purring of the cat in his lap, and the calming presence of Eva moving quietly around the shop. It was a kind of peace he hadn't known in years.
Eva returned to her place behind the counter, her presence unobtrusive, allowing Twice the space to simply exist. The shop was quiet, save for the occasional clink of porcelain or the soft rustle of herbs. The silence didn't press on him the way it usually did; here, it felt... safe.
As the minutes ticked by, Twice found himself sinking deeper into the chair, Mochi still purring contentedly in his lap. The chaos inside his head wasn't gone it never would be but it was quieter here, softer, like a distant hum rather than the usual roar.
After that first visit, Twice found himself returning to the Twilight Tea House not because he needed something, but because of how it made him feel. For the first time in a long while, he had found a place that offered him a kind of peace. It wasn't just the tea or the cats or the warm atmosphere, it was Eva's quiet acceptance, her ability to let him be without demanding anything in return.
Over time, their interactions grew easier, more comfortable. Eva learned to navigate his erratic energy, finding a rhythm in the contradictions and chaos he brought with him. Twice, for his part, began to relax in her presence, the voices in his head quieter whenever he stepped through the door.
Each time he visited, Mochi would plop into his lap without hesitation, purring as though he belonged there. Luna, meanwhile, would maintain her position in the window, her watchful eyes always on him, curious but never hostile.
For Twice, the Twilight Tea House became more than just a stop on his chaotic journey, it became a sanctuary. And while the world outside continued to whirl around him in a storm of violence and confusion, inside those quiet walls, he found something he never expected: peace.
As he left one evening, the tea warm in his chest and Mochi's purring still lingering in his mind, he paused at the door and glanced back at Eva. His usual contradictions seemed quieter than usual, and for once, his voice was almost steady.
"Thanks", he said, his tone softer than she had ever heard it. "For the tea... and everything".
Eva nodded, her eyes shimmering faintly in the soft light. "You're always welcome here, Twice".
And for the first time in a long time, Twice believed it.
Chapter 7: Twice the Fun, Twice the Chaos
Summary:
**TW for mention of intrusive thoughts / OCD**
Edited to add some flavour text
Chapter Text
The door to the Twilight Tea House creaked open, and the soft chime echoed through the quiet space. Eva’s eyes flicked up from the counter, where she was measuring out dried lavender. She already knew who it was, the chaotic energy arriving even before the man stepped fully inside.
"Too quiet—no, perfect! Wait, too calm! No, just right!" Twice’s voice ricocheted around the room, a frantic mix of contradictions that bounced around the shop’s usual tranquillity.
He shuffled in, eyes darting about, fingers twitching as if they couldn’t quite decide where to rest. Eva gave him a quiet nod from behind the counter, her expression as neutral and calm as ever. She had grown accustomed to his erratic energy over the past few months. Twice was a regular now, one of many who sought refuge in the Twilight Tea House’s quiet sanctuary, despite the overwhelming noise in his own mind. Eva had grown fond of Twice in a quiet, unspoken way, finding his chaotic visits oddly endearing. His fractured mind reminded her of the intrusive thoughts she herself battled with, remnants of her struggles with OCD. Though her own thoughts had calmed over the years, she still remembered toil of the war within - the constant mental friction – that in moments of stress still resurfaced even now, and it made her feel a quiet kinship toward him. His turmoil was something she understood, even if their battles were different.
She also couldn’t help but be amused by the blossoming friendship between Twice and Mochi. Watching Twice’s anxious energy melt away when he was around the fluffy, docile cat had become a small source of comfort for her. Their antics—Twice’s hesitant petting, his wild internal debates, and Mochi’s unbothered, lazy responses—were both comical and endearing. Eva often found herself smiling at the sight of them, the chaotic man and the calm cat forming an unlikely but heart-warming bond.
"Hi Twice," she greeted softly, her voice a balm against the storm of his ramblings. "Do you want your usual blend?"
"Yes! No—wait, yes! The usual!" he responded, his words tumbling over one another as if they were racing to get out. His eyes caught something near the counter, and he froze mid-ramble. "Look at this lazy furball! Too cute—wait, no, too cute! Should we pet it? No, don’t touch it!"
Mochi, her docile Ragdoll cat, stretched luxuriously from his spot near the counter, completely unbothered by Twice’s indecision. His fluffy white belly on full display, Mochi blinked lazily up at the erratic visitor, seemingly offering himself as a living contradiction to Twice’s frantic energy.
Eva watched silently, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. The man hovered, hands twitching as he debated with himself—should he pet the cats tummy? Would Mochi even want that? His mind was a battlefield, and every little decision seemed to weigh like a mountain.
"You can," Eva said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, but enough to reach through Twice’s inner noise. "Mochi doesn’t mind."
Twice hesitated for another moment, then finally gave in. His hand reached out slowly, gently touching Mochi’s soft fur. The cat purred, a low rumble of contentment that seemed to wrap around the room like a warm embrace. Twice’s frantic expression softened for a moment as if the storm inside him had quieted, just for a heartbeat.
"This is... nice. Too nice! But not bad. Not bad at all." His voice wavered, the edge of panic still there but dulled by the simple comfort of the cat’s presence.
Eva, always observant, watched as he settled into the moment. Her Quirk, Symphony of Solace, thrummed gently beneath her skin, the ever-present hum of emotions that surrounded her clients, like waves brushing against the shore. With Twice, it was always a storm—his thoughts were a constant whirl, colliding, breaking, reforming. But here, in the quiet of her tea house, there was a brief lull. A fragile peace.
The door chime rang again, cutting through the stillness, and in stepped Kurogiri. His tall, imposing figure was wrapped in the familiar dark mist that clung to him like a second skin. A thread of cold bled into the room and the chime’s echo seemed to vanish into his mist, which carried with it a faint scent like that of rain upon limestone. Twice froze, his hand still resting on Mochi’s belly, and Eva caught the flicker of panic in his eyes.
Kurogiri’s glowing yellow gaze swept over the scene, his expression unreadable behind the swirling darkness. His eyes lingered on Twice, who quickly snatched his hand back from the cat, looking as if he’d been caught doing something wrong.
"Never speak of my being here" Kurogiri muttered, his voice calm but edged with the kind of authority that left no room for argument.
Twice nodded rapidly, backing away from Mochi as if the cat had suddenly grown claws. "Right! No problem. Didn’t happen. We never saw you. Yes we did. We’ll just... forget!"
Eva busied herself behind the counter, hiding her amusement as she prepared Kurogiri’s usual tea - green tea with lemon balm and rosemary, a blend for calming nerves and relaxation, something she kept prepared specifically for his frequent visits.
The tension between the two men hung thick in the air. Mochi, ever unbothered, simply got up and padded away, his fluffy tail flicking lazily as if dismissing the entire incident.
Kurogiri sat down at his usual table near the hearth, his mist swirling softly as he reached for the tea Eva set before him. Luna made her way towards him with a regality that only a female cat can muster, before settling in the seat beside him. The shop fell into its usual rhythm if slightly disjointed—quiet, soothing, the crackle of the fireplace blending with the soft rustling of leaves outside.
Twice, trying to make himself invisible, slid into a chair as far from Kurogiri as possible. His leg began bouncing uncontrollably, a rapid staccato against the wooden floor. He crossed his arms, uncrossed them, then tugged at the cuffs of his gloves before folding his hands tightly together as if trying to physically contain the energy bursting inside of him. His fingers drummed on the table, betraying his attempt to be invisible. Every few seconds, he would shoot a glance over at Kurogiri, his eyes wide with nervous panic. "So awkward!" he muttered, his foot tapping faster now. "But also kinda funny? No, definitely not funny." He hunched his shoulders, pulling in on himself as if to shrink from sight, only to twitch with a sudden burst of nervous movement, drawing more attention than he intended. "Wait—yes, funny!" he whispered, his fingers tapping out a rhythm of barely contained chaos.
Eva, ever the calm eye in the storm, poured another cup of tea and placed it gently in front of Twice. He blinked at it, his mind clearly racing again, but the warm scent from the steam seemed to ground him.
After some twenty minutes Kurogiri rose with that meticulous grace of his, returned the empty cup & saucer carefully to the counter, and inclined his head towards Eva in a wordless farewell. Twice, who had been trying very hard to resemble furniture, let his heel fall still at last and exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath since Kurogiri first entered, then immediately ruined his own composure by whispering to Mochi—now returned to his post like a soft, non-judgmental cloud—that he hadn’t been hiding at all, merely practising advanced stillness for tactical reasons, absolutely not afraid, except perhaps a little, though not enough to count.
The following days passed in much the same rhythm. Twice continued to visit, drawn to the shop’s calm. However from that day on he would always peek through the window first, ensuring Kurogiri wasn’t there, before shuffling inside with his usual mumbling contradictions.
One evening, as Eva was closing up, the familiar sound of arguing echoed outside the door.
"We need help—no, we don’t! Yes, we do! Oh, we’re a mess!"
Twice burst through the door, his arms flung wide in a dramatic gesture as he stumbled into the shop. Eva, ever the patient observer, merely raised an eyebrow and gestured toward his usual seat.
He flopped into the chair, still muttering to himself, before his gaze landed on the jar of herbal candies sitting innocently on the counter. His eyes lit up with curiosity and suspicion. "Candy! No, wait, it’s probably healthy, boring stuff. Maybe we should try it. No, definitely not."
Without another thought, he grabbed a handful and stuffed them into his mouth. His face twisted in confusion.
“These taste… weird! No, wait, great! No—like soap? Or mint? Soap? Did I eat soap?!”
Eva fought back a smile, her hands moving deftly as she brewed his tea. Mochi, sensing a shift in energy, leapt onto the counter, watching the scene with his usual calm.
Twice’s eyes went wide as he stared at the cat. “Mochi! You’ve got to help me. I ate soap. Or maybe medicine. Or poison? You know what it is, right? You’re smart. Tell me!”
Mochi blinked, entirely uninterested in Twice’s theatrics, before rolling over lazily.
“That’s it!” Twice declared, pointing dramatically at the cat. “Play dead—smart move, Mochi! We should play dead too!”
And with that, he collapsed onto the floor in an exaggerated display of mock death, arms sprawled out as he whispered, “Soap got us in the end.”
Eva set the tea down on the counter and knelt down beside him with a soft chuckle. "Twice," she said gently, her voice wrapping around him like a soft melody, "it’s not soap. It’s a mint herbal candy. You’ll be fine."
He bolted upright, brushing himself off as if nothing had happened. "Oh, right! Knew that. Totally knew that." As he sat back down, he picked up the tea with exaggerated nonchalance, giving the jar one last suspicious glance. Leaning toward Mochi, he whispered, “But seriously, if it was soap, you’d tell me, right?”
Eva couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips as she turned back to her work. Twice, chaotic and unpredictable as ever, always brought a splash of humour and life into the quiet of her shop. In a world so often filled with pain and tension, his visits were like a storm—wild, unpredictable, but strangely refreshing.
And as he sipped his tea in the peace of the Twilight Tea House, the storm inside him seemed to quiet, if only for a little while.
Chapter 8: The Cat Cafe
Summary:
Aizawa finally stumbles into the Twilight Tea House
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The streets were quiet in the early morning, a soft drizzle falling from the grey sky, casting a muted glow over the city. Shota Aizawa, better known as Eraser Head, trudged through the rain, exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. His hair, wet and tangled, stuck to his face, as droplets threaded through the frayed edges of his capture scarf, the fabric hanging heavy over his shoulders. The sharp ache behind his eyes warned him he’d pushed one patrol too far again. He had just wrapped up a gruelling one and his body screamed for rest, though his mind refused to quiet.
As he wandered through a less familiar part of the city, a soft scent reached him—something warm, earthy, and inviting. His eyes, half-lidded with fatigue, caught the faint glow of a shop just ahead. 'Twilight Tea House', the sign read. Aizawa slowed his pace, squinting through the rain at the small building. His gaze drifted to the window, where a sleek black cat lounged lazily on the sill, its golden eyes meeting his for a fleeting moment. He paused, the cat on the window sill more persuasive than any neon sign.
A cat café? His exhausted mind clung to the idea as if it were a lifeline. It didn’t quite fit with the aged wooden sign with its slightly peeling gilt lettering, but given his love for cats and his state of near-collapse, it wasn’t a leap he minded taking. The thought of sitting somewhere warm, surrounded by purring critters, was more appealing than heading back to his apartment to sleep in his sparsely decorated room.
The chime above the door tinkled softly as he stepped inside. The warmth of the tea house hit him immediately, a stark contrast to the cool drizzle outside. The air was thick with the scent of herbs — rosemary and mint undercut by a secret breath of vanilla, the fireplace offering its soft, comforting crackle like an old friend. The quiet hum of life weaved through the space—the gentle rustle of pages turning, a large pale fluffy cat batting around what looked like an errant sweet between old wooden table legs, and somewhere, a faint melody being hummed.
Aizawa blinked, taking in the interior. It was cosy, the kind of place that wrapped around you like a blanket, with low lighting and shelves lined with jars of herbs. And then, there was the cat—the same black one from the window—padding silently over to him, its sleek form winding between his legs as it purred.
“Hello, how can I help you?” came a soft voice from behind the counter.
Aizawa’s gaze lifted, and there she was—the owner of the tea house. A woman with dark brown hair that flowed loosely down her back, with two narrow braids tied back, framing her face. Her eyes were strangely arresting, otherworldly, an ethereal blend of silver and lavender, with hints of colour that seemed to shift in the light. Her gaze flitting gently between the counter top, the black cat, the space just to the right side of his eyes, like a bird finding somewhere to perch. They were soft, though, calm, like the rest of her, as if she belonged to the peaceful atmosphere of the shop.
Aizawa nodded once, his tired voice barely above a grumble. “I saw the cat in the window. Thought this was a cat café.”
The woman’s lips curved into a subtle smile, one eyebrow raising in amusement. “It’s not, but Luna”—she gestured toward the black cat—“does enjoy the window seat.”
Aizawa crouched down, running his hand over the cat’s sleek fur. Luna purred louder, arching into his touch. “Figures,” he muttered. “But you serve tea, right?”
Her smile softened, and she nodded. “Yes, we do. The Twilight Tea House is known for its herbal blends. I can recommend something to help with... exhaustion?” She tilted her head, her gaze scanning his worn-out appearance.
He straightened up, feeling a bit more at ease now. The space was calming, strangely so, and he could feel the tension in his shoulders starting to ease.
“Whatever you recommend ,” he replied, glancing around at the rows of herbs behind her. His gaze lingered a moment longer before he moved toward the window, choosing a seat by the black cat, Luna, who had hopped back onto her perch, watching him casually. As he settled in, the warm glow of the tea house wrapped around him, the rain outside becoming little more than a distant whisper, another world seen through the droplets meandering down the window.
Eva nodded and turned to her tea station, her movements deliberate and precise as she selected a few herbs. Aizawa watched her hands move, the way her fingers seemed to know exactly which leaves to pick, how much to measure. There was something almost hypnotic about it, and despite his usual wariness, he found himself curious about her.
As she brewed the tea, he let his gaze drift back to Luna, who had now settled herself beside him. His mind, still heavy with the lingering weight of the night’s patrol, wandered. The tea house felt different, almost... otherworldly. As the kettle began to softly hiss, Eva hummed under her breath, the delicate melody weaving through the warm air of the tea house. The sound, gentle and unhurried, seemed to harmonize with the crackling of the fire, creating a soothing rhythm that settled around them. As it threaded through the room the stiffness he’d been ignoring loosened by degrees, as if the song had found the knot and was patiently working it free. Aizawa found his gaze drifting back to her, the quiet movements of her hands as she busied herself, the way the light caught the faint shimmer in her eyes. There was something about her—about the calm that seemed to emanate from her - that tugged at him, an inexplicable pull of curiosity he couldn’t quite shake.
The soft ring of the door chime cut through Aizawa's thoughts, pulling his gaze away from Eva just as the melody of her hum faded into the background. Another customer stepped in - the man smelled of rain and engine oil, a heteromorph’s tail tucked neatly beneath a waterproof. With a quiet word of greeting Eva handed him a small paper parcel from behind the counter, prepared as if she had anticipated his arrival.
"Thanks, Nightingale," the man said, giving her a shy smile as he left, excuding the quiet relief of someone used to being watched everywhere but here.
Aizawa’s eyebrow lifted slightly as he watched the exchange. "Nightingale, huh?" he questioned, glancing at Eva as the door closed behind the customer.
A faint blush crept across her pale cheeks, her iridescent eyes lowering for a moment. "It’s a nickname some of the regulars gave me," she explained, her voice soft with a touch of embarrassment.
"It suits you," Aizawa responded, his tone flat as usual, though there was a flicker of sincerity behind his words.
Eva approached his table, placing a steaming cup of tea in front of him. “It’s a blend of passionflower, peppermint, and liquorice root,” she said softly. “The passionflower will help calm your mind, the peppermint refreshes and clears the senses, and the liquorice root is good for fighting fatigue.”
The scent wafted up to him immediately—refreshing and sweet, with an earthy undertone that lingered. Aizawa held his hands near the warm cup, the heat seeping into his chilled fingers, but before he could take a sip, Eva’s gaze flicked to the table. “You’re dripping,” she remarked wryly with a sense of concern not for the old wooden floors but for him. Looking down Aizawa noticed for the first time the small pool of rainwater gathering beneath his elbows. She reached behind her and pulled out a soft towel, offering it to him with a slight smile. “Here, just ask for more if you need them.”
Aizawa glanced at her, muttering a quiet "Thanks," before taking the towel and wiping away the dampness from his sleeves and the table. The towel was warm from a radiator and faintly lavender-scented. Luna, approving of hospitality batted at a loose thread dangling from his scarf, demanding scritches before settling beside him again like a paperweight. Aizawa couldn't help the small crooked smile that momentarily appeared, softening his worn features like a flash of lightning suddenly revealing a landscape in the darkness before settling back to black.
Eva’s iridescent eyes flickered with quiet amusement at the pair, but she said nothing, returning to her quiet tasks behind the counter. Aizawa appreciated her lack of prying; small talk was the last thing he wanted right now.
Lifting the cup to his lips, he took a slow cautious sip. The warmth that spread through his chest surprised him, soothing out the lingering tension in his muscles. The taste was refreshing and surprisingly to his taste. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the heat chase away the last remnants of the night’s chill. “Good,” he muttered, his voice low and approving as he set the cup back down on the table.
The tea worked its magic quickly, his exhaustion lifting just enough for him to feel a little more like himself. He sank into the chair, his body relaxing into the warmth of the room. This place... there’s something about it, he thought, the edges of his mind drifting as his free hand absently stroked Luna's fur, earning him a pleased purr that vibrated along his fingers.
Suddenly, with a less than graceful leap, another cat—this one the large fluffy one —jumped onto the counter and began waving its front paws at it's owner like a dog begging for a treat. Eva bent down as the cat climbed onto her shoulder then draped itself across her like a ridiculous fur stole, its large blue eyes staring curiously at Aizawa. Eva didn’t seem to blink at these shenanigans, her hands continuing their work as the cat—Mochi, she called him—settled into place as though he had done this a hundred times before.
Aizawa watched, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips at sight of the large fluffy Ragdoll draped casually across Eva’s shoulders as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He had never seen someone carry a cat like that before, and yet Eva moved with an ease that made it seem entirely fitting. There was something about the way she handled herself, the way her iridescent eyes shimmered softly whenever she glanced at the cats. It stirred a quiet intrigue in him, a pull he couldn’t quite explain. For reasons he didn’t fully understand, he found himself wanting to linger just a little longer.
"Nice scarf," he said in his usual deadpan, surprising himself with his sudden desire to talk. "Portable heating," she replied without thought, the words tripping a small, unguarded warmth across her mouth, the kind of smile that wasn’t studied politeness or brewed for customers but one that rose of its own accord like steam from the kettle, softening the fine lines of composure around her eyes until the lavender there seemed to loosen and laugh. Aizawa, who made a profession of noticing what people tried not to show, felt the subtle unlatching of the mask she wore for the world and, for a breath that smelled of vanilla and rain-damp wool, saw a glimpse of the woman beneath it — and he surprised himself again with the clean, unmistakable wish to see more glimpses like this and not just the mask of the friendly hostess that she carefully wore. It struck him, too, how rare a thing he’d been gifted, a private warmth not given easily; tonight, it seemed, was full of surprises. “Multifunctional, then,” he replied, wanting — against habit — to be the kind of company that drew that warmth out again, and her smile deepened in answer before she turned away slightly to tidy the counter, a smile, not staged, not for the room, but for him.
His attention shifted to her eyes again as she worked —those strange, shifting colours, like there was something deeper in them, something he couldn’t quite figure out. He’d seen a lot of Quirks in his time, but hers... it wasn’t immediately obvious, and that made him curious.
“What’s your Quirk?” he asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the soft hum of the tea house.
Her hands paused over the tin of liquorice root, just long enough for him to notice, her mask slipping back into place before placing the small black tin back on its shelf. “I don’t have much of one,” she said, the answer neat as a folded napkin and offered with the faintest, courteous smile that suggested the topic had already been tidied away.
Not much of one. He had taught enough first-years with orbital lasers in their baby teeth to know that modesty could be a form of misdirection, yet he also recognised the particular cadence of a boundary being set.
He let his mind map the details she did not announce: the way her eyes had glittered as she had hummed her tune to the kettles steam; the regular who had called her Nightingale and left lighter than he arrived; the way the ache behind his eyes had thinned; his shoulders had stopped bristling at every sound; even his heartbeat had abandoned its patrol rhythm for something almost domestic, and while tea could do many things, it rarely negotiated such truces with nervous systems all on its own. A low-level emitter perhaps, he thought, or simply a woman sensible enough to understate her talent in a city that put price tags on miracles. People sometimes hid for good reasons —licences, expectations, the wrong attention—from heroes and villains alike.
He considered pressing, then dismissed the idea, because he disliked being pressed himself, and he recognised this place as a sanctuary for others, and perhaps for himself. “Right,” he said at last, filing the answer under a heading : not now, and the word tasted faintly of apology as they left him. He had seen the shutter drop on her features when he’d asked, watched that earlier warmth reorganise itself into something more serviceable, and he found part of him berating himself for being the reason. Luna’s tail brushed his cuff like a small truce flag, as Mochi bopped his head into Eva's chin, trying to draw back the smile that was there so recently.
Aizawa took another sip of his tea, watching Mochi as he stretched lazily across Eva’s shoulders. The cat let out a soft purr, its fluffy tail flicking gently against her cheek.
“Do you run this place alone?” Aizawa asked, suddenly feeling the need to fill the silence.
“For the most part,” Eva replied, her voice steady. “It was my mentor’s shop, originally. I’ve kept it going since they passed.”
Her words were simple, but Aizawa caught the faint flicker of something in her eyes—grief, perhaps, or something more complicated. She smoothed an imaginary crease on the counter, fingers hesitating over a nick in the wood he suspected had a story. He understood the feeling all too well. The weight of loss, the quiet burden of carrying on. "Looks like you've done a good job" he offered, both truth and a peace offering for bringing up yet another uncomfortable topic. "Thank you" she answered as colour rose quick along the curve of her cheekbones. Praise always sat a little awkwardly on her, too bright a lamp to stand beneath, and not the sort of light she’d been taught to expect, so her gaze slipped from him to the nick in the grain again and her palm flattened over it as if she could smooth the compliment into the wood and let it rest there instead of on her skin, because being the subject of attention made her feel oddly visible even when the attention was kind. Yet beneath the bashful heat there was a small, steady lift in her chest, a private satisfaction that someone had seen the sanctuary she had held together and made her own and named it good. For a heartbeat she looked into his eyes —brief, brave, and then away—as if to acknowledge the gift without letting it burn, unused to the directness of being seen yet quietly proud to be recognised for the work of her hands.
He leaned back in his chair again, letting the quiet of the tea house settle around him. For the first time in a long while, he felt the tension in his body finally begin to ease, the weight of his responsibilities slipping away, if only for a moment, as he tried to work out the puzzle of the Englishwoman with the kaleidoscope eyes he had found in the unlikeliest of rundown backstreets in Japan.
Luna, ever the opportunist, hopped up onto his now dry lap, curling into a ball as if she had claimed him for her own. Aizawa blinked down at her, but made no move to push her away. Instead, he rested his hand on her back, her purring a soft, rhythmic hum against him.
Eva glanced over, a small smile playing at her lips. “Looks like you’ve made a friend.”
Aizawa huffed, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward ever so slightly. “Guess so.”
It surprised Eva, the flicker of warmth that rose inside her when his face shifted that fraction; a quiet, ridiculous thought arrived—that tired men who are gentle with cats might be safe places, too—and she shelved it like a secret recipe.
For a while, they existed in companionable silence, the only sounds the soft crackle of the fireplace and the gentle rustling of the tea house around them. It was a peace Aizawa hadn’t realized he’d needed.
As he drained the last of his tea, he stood, gently moving Luna off his lap. The cat blinked lazily at him, clearly unimpressed by his departure but too sleepy to protest. Aizawa paused a moment, rolling his shoulders as the lingering aches from the night’s work made themselves known again, though lighter than before.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice still rough with fatigue but genuine.
Eva smiled almost shyly, her iridescent eyes catching the light once more, a subtle shimmer of lavender and silver, meeting his for a brief moment. “You’re always welcome.”
With a final nod after paying at the counter, Aizawa stepped back into the drizzle, the warmth of the Twilight Tea House lingering with him as he made his way down the quiet street. Not a cat café, he thought, but possibly something better.
Notes:
Edited 22/08/2025 to add new dialogue, story, character & relationship building and to change Eva telling Aizawa about her quirk when they first meet.
Chapter Text
The warm scent of vanilla drifted lazily through the Twilight Tea House, mingling with the earthier tones of dried lavender and rosemary. Eva stood behind the counter, her hands moving methodically as she arranged freshly prepared herbal blends. The shop was quiet, save for the soft bubbling of the kettle on the stove, the old refrigerator with its soft, steady hum behind the counter and the occasional crackle from the fireplace. Mochi lay sprawled out on one of the cushioned chairs near the hearth, while Luna observed the scene from her perch on the windowsill, her tail twitching lazily. Eva paused her work to fill her own mug —black tea, milk, no sugar, always—letting the steam blur the glass jars decorating the room into a soft watercolor. It was a night much like any other, or so she thought.
Eva’s lavender eyes lifted toward the door as something unusual halted on the far side of it; an undercurrent of charge that raised the fine hairs along her neck. She had always heard the building’s quiet circuitry in a way most people didn’t—the sockets’ soft bee-hum, the old wires’ thin, metallic thread—an autistic attunement that turned silence into a low electric choir; but this she realised was the same music given a heartbeat, the current shaped by someone hovering at the threshold. Her Quirk braided with her autistic empathy caught the spill of feeling that rode the charge—not emotions she could neatly name, more like a wave threatening to overwhelm, tugging at her attention the way the moon pulls at the ocean.
Eva slipped a hand into her apron, finding the river-worn jade stone her mentor had once given her for good luck. She let her fingers travel its cool, familiar surface, turning it slowly between thumb and forefinger until the pressure thinned to something she could carry. By the time the bell above the door chimed softly, followed by a gust of wind that swept through the shop as the door swung open, she was wearing her gentle, practiced smile. The lamps flickered, filaments blinking as if surprised, and the figure that stepped over the threshold was unlike any visitor she had welcomed before.
They were thin, younger than most of her patrons - she'd guess in their mid teens, and their appearance was striking in the dim light. Translucent, jellyfish-like skin faintly glowed in the shadows, casting an ethereal sheen across their frame. Tendrils of what could only be described as hair floated around their head, moving as if suspended in water. The glow intensified when their eyes met Eva's, a piercing brightness that seemed both curious and wary.
This, she would find out later, was Tama Mizuchi - Static.
Eva's first thought was how fragile they looked, their body appearing almost fluid, as though the slightest touch might cause them to dissolve. Yet, there was an undeniable intensity in their stance. The air around them pulsed with a faint hum, an unspoken warning that they were not to be underestimated.
"Hello," Eva greeted, her voice soft and steady, though she could already feel the sharp, restless energy buzzing beneath the surface of the young visitor.
Static's eyes flickered toward her, then toward the cats, their body stiffening as if preparing for flight. “This... this is the tea house, right?” they asked, their voice quick and clipped, as though they weren’t used to speaking slowly. “The one where... where you help people?”
Eva nodded, taking in the way Static’s fingers twitched nervously by their side. “It is. You’re welcome to sit, if you’d like.”
Static hesitated, their gaze flitting between the cosy, cluttered space and Eva, who stood as still as a quiet statue, radiating calm. After a beat, they shuffled forward, their glowing tendrils dimming slightly as they found a seat by the window, closest to the door. The pulse of energy around them lessened, but Eva still felt the erratic spikes beneath the surface, like a flickering lightbulb ready to burst.
“I’m Eva, though most people around here call me Nightingale” she introduced herself simply, moving back behind the counter. She noticed the way Static’s eyes followed her movements, sharp and calculating.
“Tama. Well, Static... that’s what they call me,” they muttered, barely audible. They fidgeted with the hem of their sleeve, glancing at the array of herbs displayed neatly on the shelves. “I... I heard about this place. From Spinner. Said it was... safe.”
Eva nodded. The Twilight Tea House had a reputation, especially among those who couldn’t afford the scrutiny of traditional healers.
“Would you like some tea?” Eva asked gently, sensing the unease rolling off Static in waves.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever works.”
Eva made up a blend of skullcap and lemon balm with a dash of honey, something to soothe the nervous energy crackling around her guest. As she brewed the tea, the faint hum of Static’s Quirk seemed to quiet, though not entirely. She wasn’t sure if it was their proximity to the shop’s natural stillness or her own subtle influence at work, but the tension in the air seemed to lessen.
When she set the cup down before them, Static’s translucent hand reached out, brushing against the warm ceramic. For a moment, their fingers glowed faintly, absorbing the warmth, before they pulled back. They stared at the cup as if it were something foreign, unfamiliar.
Wearily Static took a cautious sip, their eyes narrowing as if trying to dissect the taste, the experience. “This place... it’s weird. Feels... different.”
Eva hummed in response, her hands moving to adjust a few jars of herbs on the shelf. “I suppose it’s meant to feel that way. Different can be good". She paused for a second before adding "different is honest.”
Static blinked, their glowing eyes flickering brighter for a moment before dimming again. “You don’t seem... afraid of me.” The statement was blunt, almost challenging, as if they expected her to flinch, to pull away.
Eva met their gaze calmly. “Why would I be?”
Static’s fingers tapped restlessly against the table. “People don’t usually... get it. The way I look, the way I am. They act like I’m something... dangerous.”
Eva tilted her head slightly, considering their words. “I’ve never believed that someone should be judged by their Quirk or their appearance. It’s about what you choose to do with what you have.”
Static’s eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering in their expression. “You’re different,” they muttered, more to themselves than to Eva.
Eva simply smiled, allowing the silence to stretch between them. Static seemed content to sip their tea in the quiet, though their body remained tense, like a coiled spring ready to snap at any moment.
The tea house settled back into its usual rhythm—the crackling of the fire, the soft purring of Mochi who had taken the opportunity to drape himself over Eva, and the occasional rustle of pages as Eva sat behind the counter reading. The chime above the door trembled once disturbing the peace, then settled; rain-scented air slipped in under the door and lingered like an observer deciding whether to enter. Static’s glow answered with a faint flare, the nearby lamp answering in kind.
Shota Aizawa, dishevelled and looking as exhausted as ever, stepped into the shop. His black hair fell messily around his face, and his ever-present fatigue clung to him like a shadow. He didn’t shed the scarf; the thing seemed welded to him, and the stubble on his jaw whispered that he’d forgotten sleep again. Eva’s heart gave a quiet flutter, though she wasn't quite sure why, as she greeted him with a soft nod.
Aizawa’s sharp eyes scanned the room, lingering briefly on Static, who immediately stiffened at the sight of the oddly dressed man. His gaze flicked back to Eva as he returned her nod before moving towards a seat by the fire. He didn’t speak, but his presence seemed to shift the atmosphere in the room. Static’s energy buzzed again, and they shot a glance toward the door as if contemplating escape.
Eva returned to Static's table on the pretence of topping up their tea.
“You don’t have to stay if you’re uncomfortable,” Eva said quietly, sensing the growing tension.
Static’s jaw clenched, their hands tightening around the teacup. “I’m fine. Just... not used to this.”
“Neither am I,” Aizawa muttered from his seat making the pair of them jump, as Luna made her way forward towards him to reclaim his lap. “But it grows on you.”
Static blinked at him, clearly caught off guard by the man’s nonchalant response. Aizawa looked as if he paid no heed, sinking into his chair with the weariness of someone who had seen too much in one night.
Eva returned her quiet work behind the counter with Mochi still on her shoulders, her presence a steadying force between the two. The contrast between the erratic energy of Static and the heavy silence of Aizawa was stark, yet somehow, in the calm of the tea house, it worked.
Time passed in gentle waves, the warmth of the fire wrapping around them all like a comforting blanket. Static eventually finished their tea, setting the cup down with a faint clink before rising to their feet.
“I... I might come back,” they said, their voice quieter now, less defensive.
“You’re always welcome here,” Eva replied, her smile soft, understanding.
Static hesitated at the door, glancing back one last time. The glow around them flickered, brighter for a brief moment, the nearby lights joining in the chorus, before they disappeared into the night.
Aizawa watched them go, his tired eyes thoughtful. “Interesting kid,” he murmured, though his tone was more resigned than curious.
Eva simply nodded, "They'll be back."
Aizawa didn’t respond, but the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth said enough. Eva’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary, her eyes tracing the sharp angles of his face, softened now by the quiet glow of the fire. It was his second visit, and though he had given her little more than his presence during the first, there was something undeniably magnetic about him. His eyes, dark and tired, held the weight of years spent in a world that demanded more than anyone should have to give. And though he hadn’t said much, she’d felt the exhaustion in his posture, in the way he carried himself with a kind of resigned grace, as if rest was a fleeting luxury.
She busied herself behind the counter, moving in the quiet way she always did when the shop settled into its familiar rhythm. Yet, there was a new awareness now, a heightened sense of the man sitting in the corner. He hadn’t given her a name the first time he visited, and she hadn’t asked. She never pried - some of her customers came here for the opposite of conversation. Silence was often as healing as words, and Eva lacking the easy conversational skills of her mentor always tended towards silence. Still, there was something about him that made her curious in ways she usually wasn’t. She found herself examining his worn, practical outfit that spoke volumes. The black utility belt, the heavy boots, the thick scarf that he hadn’t even bothered to remove—every detail screamed vigilance, preparedness.
He was either a hero or a vigilante. She was sure of it.
Her fingers lingered on the kettle for a moment longer, her thoughts quiet but tense. If he was a hero, it complicated things. The Twilight Tea House was a sanctuary for many who lived in the grey spaces of society, for people like Kurogiri, Twice, and perhaps even Static. People who couldn’t risk the scrutiny of the authorities. She wasn’t involved in their activities, but the shop had become a refuge for those who needed it, and she couldn’t afford a hero poking around in her business. The thought made her wary, though she couldn’t quite bring herself to be suspicious of his intentions.
Luna, ever perceptive, looked up at her owner quizzically. The sleek black cat had curled up on Aizawa's lap, her usual silent grace now draped across his knees as if she’d always belonged there. Eva glanced over as she returned to reading her book, watching with muted amusement as Aizawa absently stroked Luna’s fur. His hand moved in slow, deliberate motions, the roughness of his fingers contrasting with the sleekness of her coat. It was almost a mirror of the man himself—quiet, weathered, but infinitely gentle beneath the surface.
“She likes you,” Eva said softly, her voice slipping through the gentle crackle of the fire.
Aizawa glanced up, his eyes meeting hers for the briefest moment. “She’s persistent.”
Eva’s lips quirked into a subtle smile over the top of the well worn pages. “That’s one way to put it. She doesn’t usually take to new people so quickly.”
There was no response at first, just the soft sound of Aizawa’s hand moving through Luna’s fur, but the weight of his silence didn’t bother Eva. If anything, she found it comforting. Most people who came through the tea house were running from something, haunted by the noise in their minds or the chaos of the world outside. She’d always been good at offering them respite, at creating a space where they didn’t need to speak, where they could simply be. But with Aizawa, the silence felt different. It wasn’t haunted or restless; it was just there, like the steady rhythm of a heartbeat, grounding and calm.
She watched him for a few more moments, her eyes drawn again to the tell-tale signs of his profession. The worn boots, the scuffed knuckles, the faint scar peeking out from beneath his scarf. He wasn’t like the heroes she often saw plastered on billboards or flashing across news screens, all bravado and showmanship. If anything, he seemed to want to disappear into the shadows, much like the tea house itself. That thought, strangely, made her feel less uneasy.
Still, there was a tension in her chest that she couldn’t quite shake. If he was a hero—and he almost certainly was—what had brought him here? She wasn’t naïve. Heroes didn’t just stumble into places like the Twilight Tea House. They had reasons. Purposes. Motives.
And yet, as Luna shifted lazily in Aizawa’s lap, her purring filling the space between them, Eva couldn’t help but warm to him. There was something about his presence that felt... safe. Whatever it was, it soothed some of the small flickers of anxiety that was sparking in her thoughts.
“I didn’t catch your name last time,” Eva said after a pause, trying to keep her voice soft but curious. Her hands moved gently, only a tiny nervous twitch betraying how much it had cost her to ask the question.
Aizawa’s gaze flickered toward her, his expression as unreadable as ever. He took a moment before replying, his voice tired but deeply present. “Aizawa.”
No first name. No fanfare. Just Aizawa.
“Aizawa…” she repeated softly, testing the sound on her tongue.
He raised an eyebrow, his expression curious but guarded. “What?”
“Sorry, just putting a name to the face” Eva replied, blushing slightly and retreating behind her book, the other hand absently stroking Mochi.
He didn’t reply, simply lifting his cup to his lips and taking a slow sip. The tea house fell back into its familiar silence, but Eva could feel the subtle shift in the air between them. She felt in her bones that he wasn’t just another customer, and she wasn’t sure what that meant yet. But for now, she would let the moment rest, let the warmth of the tea and the quiet hum of the fire hold them both in a space where nothing else mattered.
Luna stretched lazily in Aizawa’s lap, her golden eyes flicking up toward Eva with a knowing look, as if the cat already understood what Eva hadn’t yet admitted to herself. There was something about him that made her want to know more, even if an anxious part of her told her it was better not to.
She picked up a teapot and hovered with it, as if it were a diplomatic envoy, asking if he would like some more, and when she refilled his cup the steam climbed in gentle spirals, finding the tired angles of his face. He watched it as though it might try something.
“You always work nights?” he asked, not quite looking at her; his eyes drifted over the books and the jars and the two cats, one still on his lap and the other who had moved to toast his fluffy belly near the hearth, as if the room might answer first on her behalf.
“Nights are kinder,” she said, and then, because that sounded far too serious, she added with a small tilt of humour, “and the morning crowd is suspicious of anything labelled skullcap.”
His mouth made the suggestion of a smile. “Morning crowds are suspicious of everything.”
Her fingers sought the jade stone in her apron and turned it once, twice, until her thoughts filed themselves into a more polite queue; when she looked up, he was watching her not in a judgemental way but like someone checking a map before taking the next street, which should not have been flattering and was.
“I’m better once the city is quieter,” she said, then, to sand the edge off the truth, added, “and the kettle is less temperamental after midnight.”
“That I believe,” he replied, voice low enough that the fire seemed to lean in to hear it.
Eva moved back towards the counter, returning the small clay teapot to its place and bringing a kettle back to the boil. Somehow on the way her polite queue of thoughts had turned into a riot. Should she ask about his job - too forward, perhaps his quirk - to invasive especially after she had closed the conversation about her own. The whistle of the kettle broke her out of her woolgathering, making her jump slightly. Aizawa who had been watching the whole performance unnoticed returned his eyes to the fire, occasionally glancing back to watch her fetch a well worn mug, add a teabag to it, carefully add the boiling water and squeeze the teabag exactly 15 times before fishing it out with a spoon and adding a large splash of milk. She perched herself on the edge of the barstool, cradling the mug in her hands as if it were something precious, then caught Aizawa's eyes with her own for a fleeting second. Perhaps it was this or the tea that gave her the bravery to ask "You don't seem to get much sleep?" She cursed herself for how much better the question had sounded in her mind and how blunt it sounded in reality.
"Perks of the job" he replied, Eva could have swore for a second she saw a flicker of the man behind the layers of exhaustion and world weariness, though when she blinked his expression was its usual impenetrable self, "What else have you noticed about me?”.
Eva nearly fell off the stool. “That you notice things even when it seems like you're ignoring the world,” she said, cheeks warming. “That you seem permanently attached to your scarf. That Luna selected you within seven seconds, which she only does with people who are… very tired. very gentle or very much in need.” A beat. “Possibly all three.”
“Possibly,” he allowed, carefully. His eyes tracked Luna, who had contentedly begun to knead his thigh, with an expression that pretended to be bothered and failed. “And you?”
She almost laughed. “I was just lucky enough to find her".
He let the silence sit a moment, companionable, before adding, “You can ask me something back.”
The permission felt like a gift that might vanish if handled clumsily. “What should I ask?” she murmured, to Mochi who now gently toasted had jumped onto the counter to rub his head against her arm. “Something light or something true.”
“Try true,” Aizawa said, as if it were not the harder thing.
She nodded, cheeks heating slightly. “Does the scarf stay on because it’s habit… or armour?”
“Yes.” The corner of his mouth climbed a fraction, and Luna, who admired concise men, purred as though he’d delivered a speech.
This time a laugh did escape her, lighting her face for a moment while her eyes danced. "Very enigmatic" she replied before realising what she had said and hid behind a gulp of tea as Aizawa lifted his teacup in response to her. The chime of the door came to her rescue, announcing the arrival of another soul in need.
As the evening wore on and the fire dimmed to embers, Aizawa finished his tea in companionable silence interspersed with the sound of Luna's purrs and the gentle coming and going of customers. Replacing the empty cup on the table with a quiet clink, he shifted Luna onto the other chair beside him who objected with a single irritated chirrup to which he muttered an apology as if to an old friend. Standing, his gaze meeting Eva’s once more.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice rough but genuine.
Eva nodded, her eyes lingering on him as he moved toward the door. “You’re welcome.”
The bell chimed softly as he stepped outside, the cold night air rushing in briefly before the door swung shut. Eva stood there for a long moment, the warmth of the tea house wrapping around her once again.
She glanced down at Luna, who had now taken up residence in the chair Aizawa had vacated. The black cat stretched luxuriously, her eyes half-lidded as she watched Eva with the same quiet intensity.
“I think he’ll be back,” Eva murmured, more to herself than to the cat.
Luna blinked lazily in response, her tail flicking over the edge of the chair as if to say, Of course he will.
Notes:
Edited and updated 23/08/2025
Chapter 10: Sensei
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The fire crackled softly in the corner of the Twilight Tea House, casting warm shadows against the shelves of herbs and dried flowers that lined the walls. The evening had settled into its usual quiet rhythm, the comforting scent of liquorice root and lavender hanging in the air. Eva had been thinking about Aizawa far more than she cared to admit since his last visit. The gruff, exhausted man had left an indelible mark on her thoughts, his presence lingering long after he'd stepped out of the shop. She had taken a liking to him, in her own quiet way, but worry gnawed at the edges of that fondness. What if he was a hero? The thought still unsettled her. What would that mean for her and her customers—many of whom walked a fine line between the shadows and society's harsh spotlight? Of course, there was a chance he was just a vigilante, and she'd be fretting over nothing. But as the days passed, she found herself rehearsing how to ask him about his occupation, each attempt doing nothing to calm her nerves. Yet, despite the unease, she couldn't help but anticipate seeing him again, wondering what new glimpse of him she might uncover beneath his gruff exterior. Eva began to move around the shop trying to quiet her mind by keeping her hands busy, stopping to arrange a jar of freshly dried mint on the counter.
It had been a couple of weeks since Aizawa had first visited the tea house. Each visit, he’d arrived looking tired, his eyes shadowed and his expression one of quiet exhaustion.
Tonight was no exception.
The door creaked open, and the chime rang softly, announcing his arrival. Eva glanced up from her work, her silver lavender eyes flickering with nervousness and something else, as she took in the sight of him. Aizawa stood in the doorway, his scarf loosely wrapped around his neck, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. His normally dishevelled hair looked even more chaotic than usual, as if he hadn’t bothered to run his fingers through it in days. And those dark, half-lidded eyes were even more tired than she remembered.
He shuffled in, giving her a slow nod of acknowledgment before collapsing into his usual seat. Luna, ever the faithful companion, immediately made her way over to him, leaping up onto his lap with a kind of casual ownership that only a cat could possess.
Eva watched as Aizawa absently stroked the sleek black fur, his fingers moving in slow, tired motions. Something tugged at her chest—an odd mixture of concern and affection. She had seen him tired before, but tonight it seemed different, heavier.
“Aizawa,” she said quietly, leaving the jar of mint and moving around the counter. “Are you okay?”
His gaze flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. His tired eyes studied her as if weighing the question before letting out a long, slow breath.
“Just... busy,” he replied gruffly, his voice even more gravelly than usual.
Eva blinked, her brow furrowing slightly as she poured him a cup of his usual tea—a soothing blend of passionflower, peppermint, and liquorice root. She brought the cup over to him, setting it gently on the table in front of him. Her own cup waited on the counter, milk already clouding the surface as she preferred, a quiet comfort kept since as long as she could remember.
“As it's quite, do you mind if I join you” she asked tentatively, tucking her thumb into the seam of her sleeve, smoothing the same inch of thread as if it might iron her voice steady.
Aizawa shot her a quizzical look before replying in his usual unreadable tone, "Sure."
Eva walked back over to the counter to retreive her own worn mug and joined him at the hearth.
“So what has you so busy you look like you're going to collapse?”
There was a slight pause before Aizawa replied sighing “Start of the school year.”
“School?” she echoed, her confusion clear in her tone. “What does school have to do with it?”
Shota glanced at her over the rim of his cup, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. He took a long sip of tea, clearly taking his time before responding, “I’m a teacher.”
Eva almost choked on her tea.
The cup froze halfway to her lips as her eyes widened in surprise, a rush of disbelief flashing across her face. “You’re... a teacher?” her tone incredulous.
Shota raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her reaction. “Why’s that so surprising?”
Eva sputtered for a moment, blushing furiously while trying to collect herself, her mind racing to reconcile the image of the perpetually tired, scarf-wearing, battle-worn man in front of her with the idea of him standing in front of a classroom, whilst trying to figure out at the same time a way to dig herself out of this particular social faux pas. “I just... I don’t know,” she said, gesturing towards him and almost spilling tea down herself, “You don’t exactly give off... teacher vibes.”
Shota’s lips quirked into the faintest hint of a grin, though it was fleeting. “What kind of vibes do I give off, then?”
Eva silently prayed for the earth to swallow her, heat blooming in her cheeks in a way she felt sure rivalled the fire. “Exhausted… brooding… a man who belongs to rooftops and alleys more than assemblies,” she said, distracted as Luna butted her head into his wrist, “vigilante type—quiet, capable, handsome—certainly not ‘parent–teacher evening.’”
A small huff of laughter escaped Shota’s lips, though he quickly hid it behind his tea cup. “That’s not far off,” he muttered, but there was a glint of something mischievous in his eyes. Luna’s tail gave a traitorous thump, as if the cat agreed with her assessment and saw no reason to be discreet about it.
He watched her for a beat, and in that patient silence the sentence replayed itself with cruel clarity; there it was—handsome—bright as a dropped coin. “Shit,” she breathed, mortification outrunning manners, quickly clamping a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud" she squeaked from behind her hand "and I’m not saying you’re not handsome, I just didn’t mean to say it...” she trailed off awkwardly.
Aizawa watched her silently, blinking in sync with Luna as they both observed her flustered performance.
“Don't worry about it” he replied in his usual indecipherable tone. He looked at the fire instead of her, which felt like mercy; the corner of his mouth betrayed him anyway, a notch of mirth he did not bother to sand flat.
A few awkward moments passed by - at least, for Eva. Every instinct screamed at her to retreat to the back of the shop and replay the conversation on a loop for the next several hours, but leaving her seat would only make things worse. Thankfully, Mochi, sensing his mistress's distress, decided it was the perfect time to emerge from whatever cosy nook he’d been lounging in. He leapt onto Eva's lap, offering her a soft, fluffy barrier to hide behind, smelling faintly of cedar shelves and whatever he wasn’t supposed to be on earlier.
In an attempt to steer the conversation back to something more normal, she asked, “What do you teach?”
“Heroics,” Shota replied simply, as if that explained everything.
Eva’s eyes widened again behind Mochi's fluff. Heroics? She couldn’t picture it—this man, this quiet, brooding, exhausted figure, standing in front of a class full of wide-eyed, eager students, teaching them how to be heroes. The absurdity of it made her laugh softly, though she quickly covered her mouth again, not wanting to offend him further.
Shota raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing her amusement. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Eva said, though she couldn’t quite suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “It’s just... you. Teaching kids how to be heroes. I guess I didn’t see that coming.”
His gaze remained steady, though there was a flicker of something lighter in his expression. “What did you think I did? Brood handsomely in dark corners all day?”
Eva’s smile grew. “I mean, you are pretty good at that.”
Shota’s lips twitched, this time forming something close to a smirk. “Says the tea witch living in an enchanted shop.”
Eva gave a small laugh, the sound soft and light in the quiet of the shop. “Touché.”
For a moment, they sat in a more comfortable silence, the crackling fire and Luna’s content purring filling the space between them. Eva watched Shota carefully as he took another slow sip of tea, his eyes half-closed as if savouring the moment of peace. Feeling emboldened Eva teased:
“So, Sensei,” her voice lilting with amusement, “how is it teaching the next generation of heroes?”. Luna’s ears flicked as her golden eyes observed Aizawa, a sovereign’s acknowledgement of rank newly bestowed.
Aizawa's eyes flickered toward Eva, a dry, almost exasperated look crossing his face. “Don’t start.”
Eva’s smile widened. “What? It’s a compliment. It’s a respectable title.”
He rolled his eyes, though there was no real annoyance in his expression. “If you say it like that again, I’ll leave.”
"Empty threats," she said, cradling her cup. "You’re already held hostage by Luna."
"Hostage situations usually involve more shouting," he replied. "I’m… not opposed to this version."
“So, what do I call you, then?” Eva mused aloud, her tone teasing. “Mr. Aizawa? Or should I stick with Aizawa-sensei?”
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze resting on her with an intensity she hadn’t quite expected. “How about I pick something for you?”
Eva raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? Like what?”
Shota’s eyes glimmered with quiet amusement as he leaned forward slightly, his voice low but warm. “Songbird.”
The nickname hit her like a soft breeze, unexpected and strangely intimate. Her heartbeat fluttered in her chest, a faint shimmer turned in the silver-lavender of her eyes, as if twilight itself had caught there and refused to dim, and for a moment, she was at a loss for words. Songbird. It was simple, but it held a weight to it, something more than just a passing comment. He had chosen it deliberately.
Eva cleared her throat, though she couldn’t quite hide the blush that crept into her cheeks again. “Songbird, huh?” She tilted her head, her voice softening. “I suppose I’ve been called worse.”
He shrugged nonchalantly, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “It fits.”
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a gentle glow around them as the evening stretched on. For the first time since he’d arrived, Shota looked like he was finally relaxed, his posture loosening as he let the warmth of the tea, Eva's company, and the quiet of the shop seep into his bones. Eva couldn’t help but watch him, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she sipped her tea.
“So, what’s the hardest part about teaching heroics?” she asked, her tone more curious now.
Shota let out a long sigh, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. “Keeping them from getting themselves killed.”
Her hands went still around the cup, and the teasing brightness drained from her features, replaced by quiet concern. “That bad?”
“They’re eager,” Shota said, his voice laced with a kind of weary fondness. “But they don’t always think things through. It’s my job to make sure they live long enough to figure it out.”
Eva’s heart softened at his words. He spoke with the kind of care she hadn’t expected, though it made sense. For all his gruff exterior, she could sense there was a deep well of protectiveness in him, something she recognized all too well. She had seen it in the way he carried himself, the way he spoke with such weight. And now, knowing that he was responsible for a group of young heroes, it only made sense that he would be tired - so tired.
She gave him a small, understanding smile. “Sounds like they’re lucky to have you.”
He shrugged again, his eyes flicking to the fire. “I’m just doing my job,” Shota finished, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of sincerity.
Eva studied him for a moment, her silver-lavender eyes thoughtful. “I'm just doing my job,” it was a phrase she'd found herself using when being thanked by some of her more outgoing customers. It was a way to deflect the awkwardness of gratitude and shift the focus away from her actions.
“I think you’re underselling yourself,” she said quietly. Then a playful smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she decided to lighten the mood. “But I’m not going to push it, Sensei.”
Aizawa groaned softly, though the sound lacked any real annoyance. “I’m regretting telling you anything”
Eva laughed, an open, melodic sound that filled the cosy shop. A sound Aizawa thought to himself he'd like to hear more of. “Too late. It’s stuck now.” Eva laughed, “ You’re going to have to live with it.”
“Great,” Shota muttered, though he didn’t hide the slight smile that played on his lips. He took another sip of his tea, his hand still absently stroking Luna’s fur as the black cat purred contentedly in his lap.
For a few minutes, they sat in companionable silence, the fire crackling softly and the scent of herbs drifting around them. Eva appreciated the companionable silence. Aizawa didn’t demand anything of her, didn’t fill the space with unnecessary chatter. It was a rare thing, to find someone who understood the value of silence.
After a moment, Aizawa spoke again, his voice low. “You seem... surprised by what I do.”
Eva blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. She set her cup down on the table in front of her, leaning forward slightly. “I guess I am,” she admitted. “I didn’t picture you as the type to teach. I thought you were more...”
She trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence without sounding rude.
Shota raised an eyebrow, his eyes glinting with amusement. “More what?”
Eva shrugged, feeling a bit sheepish now. “More... lone wolf? The type who works alone, not the type who wrangles a bunch of kids.”
Shota huffed softly. “That’s not far off from how it started,” he admitted, his eyes growing distant for a moment as if remembering something. “But things change. Life pulls you in directions you don’t expect.”
Eva nodded, understanding that more than she cared to admit. “I can relate.”
There was a pause, and Aizawa’s dark eyes flicked back to her, his expression thoughtful. “What about you?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “How did you end up here? Running a tea house in the middle of... all this?”
Eva blinked, caught off guard by the question. She hadn’t anticipated him asking, but it made sense - after all, she’d been prying into his life, so it was only fair.
“It’s... a long story,” she said softly, her hands fidgeting slightly with the edge of her sleeve. “But let’s just say this place is a refuge—for me, and for others. I needed somewhere quiet, somewhere I could find myself.”
Shota’s gaze didn’t waver, though there was a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “And your Quirk? Does that play a part in it?”
Eva hesitated, unconsciously playing with her hands “A little,” she admitted, though she didn’t elaborate. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to explain the full extent of her Quirk, especially now that she knew he was a hero. But something told her that Aizawa wouldn’t press for more.
He nodded, as if satisfied with her answer, and leaned back in his chair, his fingers still stroking Luna’s fur. “You’ve built something good here,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “It’s peaceful. You should be proud of that.”
The compliment lifted something in her and she let it, but only so far; her eyes touched his and retreated, and she busied herself aligning her cup perfectly on her saucer. “It was my mentor’s good thing first, I’ve only tried not to spoil it.” The smile that followed was small and sincere, the gratitude folded neatly inside it.
Aizawa gave a small nod, his eyes softening for just a moment before he turned his gaze back to the fire. They fell into silence again, both drifting off into their own thoughts.
The minutes ticked by, and eventually, Aizawa rose from his seat, gently moving Luna to the side as he stood. The black cat gave him a mildly annoyed look but didn’t protest too much as she padded back to her spot by the fire.
“I should go,” he said, his voice still low. “Early start tomorrow.”
Eva nodded, though a part of her didn’t want him to leave just yet. “Be careful out there, Sensei,” she teased lightly, though the warmth in her voice was genuine.
Shota rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “You really won’t let that go, will you?”
“Nope,” she said with a grin, leaning back in her chair. “It suits you.”
He shook his head, but there was a softness in his expression that told her he didn’t mind as much as he pretended to. “Goodnight, Songbird.”
The nickname caught her off guard again, and she felt her cheeks warm slightly. There was something so... tender about the way he said it, as if he had chosen it carefully just for her. She didn’t mind it, though. Not at all.
“Goodnight, Aizawa,” she replied softly, watching as he made his way to the door.
The door chimed softly as he stepped out into the cool night air, and for a long moment, Eva sat there with Mochi purring on her lap, staring at the door as it closed behind him. The shop felt quieter now, emptier in a way she wasn't used to.
She sighed softly, her mind still turning over the events of the evening as she got up and began to tidy the shop. Aizawa—a hero, and a teacher, of all things. It still felt strange, but in a way, it made sense. He was gruff and tired, but there was a deep well of care within him, a protectiveness that she couldn’t ignore. And then there was the nickname—Songbird. It was simple, but it resonated with her in a way she hadn’t expected. He saw something in her, something beyond the quiet tea house and the herbs and the calming atmosphere she created. He saw her. And that was something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
As she finished cleaning up, Luna padded over to her, rubbing against her legs with a soft purr. Eva smiled, bending down to scratch the cat behind the ears.
“You like him don't you,” she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Luna purred in agreement, her golden eyes half-lidded as she settled comfortably at Eva’s feet.
Yes, Eva thought to herself as she glanced once more at the door. I like him too.
Outside, Aizawa walked slowly down the empty street, the cold night air brushing against his skin. The Twilight Tea House, with its soft light and warmth, faded behind him, but its presence clung to him like a second skin—an echo of peace he hadn’t realized he’d been searching for. He pulled his scarf a little tighter around his neck and found it fragrant with the place—liquorice and mint threaded with fire smoke, but it wasn’t the cold that occupied his thoughts.
Songbird. The name had popped into his mind so naturally, almost as if it had always been hers. The woman he knew as Nightingale, with her quiet strength and gentle presence, had something far deeper beneath the surface. She wasn’t just a herbalist, the calm in the storm for others—there was a brightness in her, a sharp wit and melody that felt hidden, like a bird that sang only when it thought no one was listening. There was sadness too, a weight behind her smile, behind her laughter. It was a sadness he recognized all too well, one that mirrored his own in ways he wasn’t yet ready to confront.
It was those glimpses of the person behind the mask she wore, the unguarded moments when her laugh rang through the room, when her eyes lit up with something playful, that he knew would keep him coming back. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt drawn to her, the same way her tea house drew in the lost and weary.
His mind wandered back to her—her teasing smile, the soft blush that spread across her cheeks when she spoke without thinking, the scent of vanilla and shea butter that clung to her, blending seamlessly with the herbal warmth of the tea house. There was something about the way she looked at him, the warmth in her gaze that felt... different. He’d seen so many people in his life, crossed paths with countless faces, but Eva stood out. She was a puzzle he hadn’t realized he wanted to solve.
Then there were her eyes- those silver lavender depths that seemed to reflect every hue of a twilight sky, shifting like a kaleidoscope in the low light reflecting colours that seemed drawn from the fire itself. There was something profoundly mesmerizing about them, a beauty he couldn’t ignore even if he wanted to. When she looked at him, it felt as though they held his gaze just for a breath, flitting away like a bird’s wings mid-flight. And yet, on those rare occasions when her eyes lingered it was as if she looked right through the layers he kept tightly bound, her quiet intensity piercing his own guarded soul.
Aizawa shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, but they clung to him, persistent and quiet.
Rationally, he knew he shouldn’t be thinking about her as much as he was. His life was already overflowing—his responsibilities to his students, to U.A., to being a hero. He didn’t have time for such distractions, such... unnecessary thoughts. Yet no matter how much he told himself that, the memory of her blush, her eyes, the way she had called him handsome by mistake, tugged at him.
He had convinced himself it was a mistake- after all, why would anyone think of him that way? He had seen enough of his own reflection to know better. He had long since given up caring about appearances, about how he was perceived beyond his role as Eraserhead. Frivolities like that had no place in his world. And yet, there was that treacherous whisper at the back of his mind, a voice that sounded a little too much like hope, telling him that maybe, just maybe, she had meant it.
Aizawa shook his head again, more forcefully this time, as if trying to dislodge the thought entirely. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that the tea house had become a place where he could relax, and relaxation was a rare luxury. His life didn’t offer him many comforts, but the Twilight Tea House- Eva’s quiet presence- had become one of those small pleasures he wasn’t yet ready to resist.
He knew he would be back. The shop, with its warmth, its peace, and the enigmatic woman who ran it, had drawn him in. And no matter how much he tried to rationalize it, to distance himself from whatever strange pull he felt, he knew the truth: he looked forward to returning. It wasn’t just about the tea, or the quiet, or the cats curled up by the fire. It was the way Eva made him feel seen- truly seen- and in the way she had shown him a glimpse of herself.
As he walked through the stillness of the city streets, the night quiet around him, his mind kept drifting back to the tea house and what awaited him there the next time he stepped through the door. He couldn’t help but wonder what new glimpse of her he might uncover, what shared silences or teasing words would leave their mark on him.
For the first time in a long while, Shota Aizawa found himself looking forward to something - someone. And that, more than anything, was what unsettled him the most.
Notes:
Edited 24/08/2025
Chapter 11: Unspoken bonds
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Late afternoon sunlight bathed the Twilight Tea House in soft golden hues, casting long shadows that danced lazily across the shelves stacked with glass jars. Eva moved quietly behind the counter, her fingers gently tapping the edge of the clay teapot's handle as she waited for her first customers. The tea house, mingled with the faint crackle of the fireplace, gave the air a cosy stillness. Mochi and Luna, her two beloved cats, lazed on the cushions by the hearth, their soft purring the only sound that broke the silence.
For a moment, Eva allowed herself to breathe in the serenity, but her thoughts wandered, settling on one of her newer regulars—Tama Mizuchi, better known as Static. It had only been a week since they first stumbled into the tea house, their bioluminescent, jellyfish-like skin glowing faintly under the dim light. At first, Static had been guarded, quick with a snarky comment or a flippant joke to keep people at a distance. But Eva had seen beyond that. She understood what it meant to be misunderstood—what it meant to be different in a society that valued only what fit into neat tidy boxes.
In just a short time, Static had already started returning to the Twilight Tea House, seeking out the quiet refuge it offered. Their glowing tendrils were often dim, their presence quieter than their sharp words suggested. Eva had watched them carefully, noting how they moved through the world, always on edge, always bracing for the next blow—whether physical or emotional. Their heteromorph Quirk marked them as different in ways that made society uneasy, and Eva could see the weight that put on them.
The door to the tea house creaked open, and Eva’s gaze snapped up from the counter. Static stumbled in, their usual confident swagger noticeably absent, a faint tang of ozone rode in with them; the overhead bulbs giving a nervous hum. Their skin's glow was unusually muted, the soft bioluminescence scattered and dimmed by pain. A sharp intake of breath escaped Eva as she took in the sight of them. Their translucent skin, usually smooth and fluid-like, was marred with bruises and deep cuts, their tendrils hanging limp and unresponsive. They moved with a stiffness that betrayed the depth of their injuries, though they tried to mask it with a weak grin.
“Hey, Nightingale,” Static greeted, their voice strained as they collapsed into the nearest chair. “Got any tea that makes you forget you got your ass kicked?”
Eva’s heart clenched, but she kept her face neutral. “I might be able to whip something up,” she replied softly, moving to the shelves to gather a few herbs.
Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the jars, her mind already racing. This wasn’t the first time Static had come in battered and bruised, but it was the worst she’d seen them.
“You don’t need to fuss,” Static muttered, trying to wave her off with a flick of their glowing tendrils. “I’ve had worse. I’ll be fine.”
But Eva could see through their bravado. The trembling in their body, the way they winced with every breath—it was more than just surface wounds. Static’s injuries ran deep. They always did. And this time, herbs alone wouldn’t be enough.
“Who did this?” Eva’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, but there was a sharpness to her tone that surprised even her.
Static shrugged, but the movement made them wince. “Same old story. Some people don’t like what they don’t understand, right? Heteromorphs like me, we’re easy targets.”
Eva’s chest tightened. The quiet rage that simmered beneath her calm exterior flared up, but she quickly tamped it down. Anger wouldn’t help now.
“You should go to the hospital,” she said quietly, though she already knew the answer.
Static shook their head, their glowing hair dimming further. “You know how it is,” they muttered. “They don’t exactly roll out the red carpet for people like me. Besides, I’d rather not end up a science experiment.”
Eva clenched her jaw. The discrimination against heteromorphs was something that always angered her sense of justice. It wasn’t just the fear and hatred people harboured toward those whose bodies didn’t fit the standard mould - it was the systemic rejection. Society claimed to champion heroes, but it conveniently ignored those who didn’t look the part. Heteromorphs, like Static, were often treated as less than human, as though their physical differences marked them as dangerous or unworthy of care.
Eva’s gaze softened as she set down the herbs. This wasn’t just about tea any more, or a few ointments. Static needed more than a soothing blend. They needed healing. Real healing.
Without a word, she left the counter and sat opposite them, her iridescent silver-lavender eyes shimmering faintly as she studied their bruised face. “Static,” she said softly, her voice a quiet plea. “Let me help you.”
Static’s eyes flicked toward her, confusion flickering behind their usual bravado. “What do you mean, ‘help’?” they asked, their voice edged with suspicion. “I don’t need—”
Static paused as Eva held up a hand, hesitating for a moment as she searched for the right words. Her iridescent eyes caught the hearth-light, silver tilting toward lavender as if a tide were turning behind the iris. "My Quirk," she began quietly, "It can heal, mend wounds, restore strength." Her gaze remained steady, watching Static’s reaction. "I don’t usually use it—especially not on customers—but I can tell you're hurt badly. More than I can heal with my herbs or a bit of first aid". She kept her voice low, soothing, as if subconsciously she were already preparing to weave the melody that would heal them. "It’ll take some energy from me, but I’ll be fine. I just… I want you to be ok, Static."
For a moment, Static hesitated. Their bioluminescence flickered, and their eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape. But the pain was too much. Finally, with a shaky nod, they relented. “Okay. Just… don’t make a big deal out of it.”
Eva gave a small, understanding smile and stood up slowly. Moving with quiet determination, she walked to the door, bolting it securely and flipping the sign to "Closed", lowering the window blinds before turning back to Static who was fidgeting in their chair. The last thing they needed was anyone interrupting. Once the room was sealed off from the world outside, she returned to their side, taking the seat beside them.
With a deep breath, she closed her eyes briefly and let her Quirk rise within her. The familiar warmth spread through her chest as she opened her eyes and began to hum softly, the melody low and soothing, like the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. the lavender-silver in her eyes brightened, colours shifting like oil on water as the melody gathered around them.
The sound wrapped around Static like a cocoon, enveloping them in its warmth. Their bioluminescent skin flickered in response, ghost-colours skating under their skin — amethyst into sea-green — before resolving into a steadier glow as the healing began to take effect. Eva could sense the fractures in their ribs mending, the internal bleeding slowing, the deep cuts knitting together. The song filled the tea house, a quiet, ethereal melody that seemed to make time itself slow.
Static’s tense body relaxed under the soothing warmth of Eva’s Quirk, the pain ebbing away as their wounds healed. Their glowing tendrils began to sway gently, the light in their skin growing stronger with each passing moment. For once, they were silent, their usual snark and bravado stripped away by the raw vulnerability of the moment.
When Eva finally finished, the song fading into the air like the last notes of a lullaby, she opened her eyes, exhausted but relieved. Static blinked at her, their expression one of quiet disbelief. They flexed their hands, testing their body, and then met Eva’s gaze.
“That... was amazing,” they muttered, their voice hoarse. “Guess I owe you…”
Eva smiled, though her limbs felt heavy with fatigue. “You don’t owe me anything,” she replied softly, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The cost of her healing weighed on her, the drain of vitality leaving her feeling weak and unsteady. The room swayed a fraction; Luna abandoned her post by the fire with a concerned chirrup and pressed against her shin like a warm sandbag as Mochi hopped onto the table and offered his paw, worry pooling in his big blue eyes.
Static frowned, their bioluminescent glow dimming slightly as they noticed the strain on Eva's face. “Are you... okay?”
Eva nodded, though she felt anything but fine. The healing had taken more out of her than she anticipated. “I’ll be fine,” she said quietly, pushing herself up with a shaky breath while running her fingers through Luna's fur. She didn’t like showing her weakness—didn’t want anyone to see just how much her Quirk took from her.
But Static’s sharp eyes caught the subtle tremor in her hands. For a moment, they hesitated, their usual cocky demeanour slipping away. “Thanks,” they muttered awkwardly, their voice softer than usual. “I mean it.”
Eva met their gaze for a fleeting second, her heart swelling with quiet understanding. In that moment, she realized something had shifted between them. Beneath the snark and the bravado, Static had let her in, just a little. And in the sanctuary of the Twilight Tea House, amidst the soft glow of the lamps and the warmth of the fire, they had found something neither of them had quite expected—trust.
Static lingered longer than usual, their excuse thin as they muttered something about wanting to enjoy the quiet. Their gaze flickered toward Eva every few minutes, watching her recover from the effort of healing, as they fidgeted with the edge of their jacket, occasionally glancing at Luna and Mochi as if pretending they were there for the cats, but the concern was obvious.
Eventually Static stood to leave, their bioluminescent skin glowing gently once more. They glanced back at Eva, a hint of something like gratitude flickering in their eyes. “I’ll see you around, Nightingale,” they said with a small grin, though it lacked the usual edge of sarcasm.
After that day, Static became a near constant presence at the Twilight Tea House, their vibrant energy a sharp contrast to the tranquil atmosphere Eva had carefully cultivated. They would dart around the shop, their curiosity boundless, always asking what she was up to—poking at jars of dried herbs, and questioning what each one did and how it was used. The flow of their chatter was unpredictable, their focus jumping from one thing to the next, sometimes settling for just long enough to learn, and other times moving on with a laugh before Eva could answer.
At first, the constant movement and chatter were jarring for Eva. The quiet, loving rhythms of the shop had been her respite, the disturbance of her daily routines wearing on her energy. But slowly she began to adapt to the whirlwind that Static brought with them. Despite the chaos, they brought a life and warmth that Eva found herself increasingly fond of. She felt an odd sense of pride that Static, with all their restless energy, chose to spend their time here, in this quiet corner of the world she had created.
Sometimes, Static would bring others with them—other heteromorphs, or those with unusual quirks. People who, like Static, were looking for a quiet place to exist without judgment. Often, these visits were simply with friends lounging in the soft light of the tea house, sipping tea and quietly sharing in the space Eva had built. But just as often, Static brought in people who needed more than tea—a bruised face, a broken rib, a deep cut that couldn’t be explained away. Sometimes Eva set out the mortar and pestle, packed neat poultices, measured bitter tinctures and stitched what could be stitched; other times—when the damage ran deeper than herbs could reach—she slid the bolt, turned the sign to Closed, lowered the blinds, and let her song unfurl in the hush to knit together what the world had torn
In these moments, when the air grew thick with the weight of unspoken pain and shared understanding, Eva found herself looking at Static with something deeper than fondness. Static brought people who were broken, who needed healing in more ways than one, and every time they did, she felt a quiet pride that Static trusted her with something so important.
Eva smiled faintly now, watching as Static disappeared into the dusk. When the chimes settled, the tea house exhaled; the last of the sunlight slid over the jars like slow gold, and somewhere under the fireplace’s low crackle, a thread of ozone lingered, woven into the air.
Notes:
Edited 25/08/2025
Chapter 12: The Weight We Carry
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The faint ring of the chime echoed through the nearly empty Twilight Tea House, its delicate sound swallowed by the surrounding stillness. Eva looked up from where she had been tidying the counter, her hand pausing mid-motion. The tea house was due to close soon, the fire reduced to a warm glow and the scent of lavender and passionflower lingering in the air like an invitation to peace. There, briefly silhouetted in the doorway, stood Aizawa, his slumped posture and the tired lines etched into his face speaking of exhaustion so deep it seemed to have settled in his bones. Beneath the loop of his capture scarf, the dull glint of yellow goggles hid like a precaution he was too tired to put away, the habit of a man who never quite stands down. Cold air slipped in with him, carrying wet pavement and the distant thrum of sirens.
Luna, who had been curled up lazily near the hearth, rose immediatly. She butted her head against his knee with a small, approving chirrup then executed an unhurried figure of eight between his legs with an almost proprietary air. She had come to expect him now, perhaps as much as Eva had.
Eva set down the small jars she had been rearranging and straightened. She hadn’t seen him in days, but her thoughts had strayed to him more than she was willing to admit since their last encounter. That brief glimpse of warmth beneath his gruff exterior had left her both intrigued and unsettled.
His dark eyes met hers, and though they were half-lidded with fatigue, there was a flicker of something in them - relief, perhaps. Or maybe it was just the simple comfort of routine. Either way, he moved wordlessly to his usual seat near the fire, dropping into it with a kind of heaviness that made her heart ache.
“Aizawa,” she said softly, moving around the counter to face him. “Long night?”
His mouth twitched, a ghost of a smile, though it never quite reached his eyes. “You could say that,” he replied, his voice rough, gravelly. “Been working through the night after teaching all day.”
Eva gave him a quiet nod, understanding the weight behind his words. The hero world never truly rested, and she had glimpsed enough of his exhaustion to know that for someone like him, rest was a luxury seldom afforded.
Without a word, she began preparing his usual tea - a blend of passionflower, peppermint, and liquorice root, a blend that was specifically his. As she worked, she stole glances at him, noting the slight tremor in his hand as he absently stroked Luna’s sleek fur, his movements slow and tired. His dark hair was even more dishevelled than ever, and there was a darker shadow beneath his eyes that hadn’t been there the last time.
When she returned with the cup of tea, he took it with a grateful nod but didn’t speak. Instead, he sat there, staring into the steam that curled lazily from the cup as if he were trying to lose himself in it.
Eva hesitated before sitting in the cozy chair next to him, the fire they were both facing casting soft shadows around them. Slowly the warmth of the hearth enveloped them both, creating a cocoon of quiet in the early morning stillness. For a few minutes, they sat in companionable silence, Aizawa’s breathing gradually slowing as the peace of the tea house seeped into him, Eva watching the flames dance.
“You look like you haven’t slept in days,” she remarked quietly, eyes still on the fire, trying to keep her tone more observational than concerned though she couldn’t quite keep the worry from creeping in.
Aizawa glanced at her over the rim of his cup, one eyebrow arching ever so slightly. “That obvious?”
Eva turned slightly and gave him a small crooked smile. “You’re practically swaying in your seat, Sensei.”
The nickname slipped out before she could stop it, and she mentally cursed herself. She had teased him with it before, but somehow, in this quiet moment, it felt more intimate, less playful. She braced herself for his reaction, half-expecting him to roll his eyes or make some dry remark.
Instead, a soft, tired chuckle escaped his lips. “I told you not to call me that.”
“You also told me you’d leave if I did,” she replied. “Yet here you are.”
His lips quirked, though his gaze remained fixed on his tea. “Touché.”
For a moment, the silence stretched between them again, but it was a comfortable one. Eva found herself studying him more closely now, noticing the way the firelight played over the angles of his face, casting shadows under his eyes and highlighting the tension that seemed to live in his shoulders. He was always tired, always carrying the weight of something she couldn’t quite see. But tonight, it was different. There was a weariness in him that felt heavier, deeper.
As if sensing her thoughts, Aizawa let out a long, slow breath and leaned back in his chair. “The students... they take a lot out of you.”
Eva tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her silver-lavender eyes. “You care about them,” she said softly. It wasn’t a question.
He didn’t answer right away, his gaze distant as if he were sifting through memories too heavy to share. Then, with a slow nod, he said, “More than they’ll ever know.”
There was a raw honesty in his voice that caught her off guard. It wasn’t the gruff, sarcastic Aizawa she had grown accustomed to. This was a man who had seen too much, who carried burdens far heavier than any teacher should.
Eva leaned forward slightly, her voice gentler now. “Do you ever get tired of being everyone’s rock?”
The question slipped out before she could stop it, and she immediately regretted the intimacy of it, but she couldn’t take it back now.
Aizawa tilted his head slightly, his tired eyes meeting hers with a quiet intensity. For a long moment, he said nothing, as if weighing the truth of his answer. Then, in a voice softer than she had ever heard from him, he admitted, “Sometimes. But it’s the only thing I know how to do.”
His words hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. Eva felt her chest tighten, a strange ache settling there as she realized just how much he was holding. How much they were both holding. It was a weight neither of them ever acknowledged out loud, but in this small, quiet space, it was impossible to ignore.
She nodded slowly, her fingers tracing the edge of the chair arm as she looked away, her thoughts swirling. “I get that,” she murmured.
He didn’t respond right away, but she could feel his gaze on her, a quiet intensity that made her heart beat just a little faster. When she finally looked back at him, she was startled to find him watching her, his dark eyes unreadable in the firelight.
Caught in his gaze, Eva felt a flush rise to her cheeks. She quickly averted her eyes, focusing intently on her hands in front of her as if they held all the answers to the universe.
Aizawa’s lips twitched, a hint of amusement in his expression. “Something on your mind, Songbird?”
The nickname hit her like a soft breeze, gentle yet disarming. She hadn’t expected him to use it again, and yet here it was, spoken with a warmth that left her momentarily speechless.
Clearing her throat, she managed a small smile. “You seem more awake now,” she teased, though her voice was quieter, almost shy.
Aizawa shrugged, though the corner of his mouth twitched in that almost-smile she was starting to recognize. “Maybe your tea’s working.”
They fell into another silence after that, but it was different this time—charged with something unspoken, a quiet understanding that neither of them needed to voice. They were both tired, both carrying too much, and for a brief moment, they had allowed each other to see the cracks in their armour.
As the fire crackled softly beside them, Aizawa set his empty cup on the table and stood, stretching with a groan that spoke of too many sleepless nights.
“I should go,” he said, though there was a note of reluctance in his voice. “I’ve got lesson plans to finish before class this morning.”
Eva nodded, though she felt a small pang of disappointment. “Try to get some rest,” she said softly.
He gave her a long, considering look, his dark eyes lingering on hers for just a heartbeat longer than necessary. Then, with a small nod, and one last stroke of Luna's fur, he turned to leave.
Just before he reached the door, he paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Songbird,” he said, his voice low and warm, “make sure you get some rest too.”
Eva blinked, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “I’ll try, Sensei.”
And with that, he was gone, the chime of the bell the only sound in the quiet tea house as the door clicked softly shut behind him. Eva stood there for a moment longer, staring at the empty space he had left behind, her heart still fluttering in her chest.
She didn’t know what it meant—this strange pull between them, the quiet moments that seemed to stretch on longer than they should. But as she turned back to the counter, she found herself smiling softly, her thoughts lingering on the man who had just left, and the unexpected warmth he'd left behind.
Notes:
I'm not sure how much I'll have chance to update over the next week as my husband will be off work, but I'll try and squeeze in some updates :) A massive thank you to everyone who has left kudos and bookmarked the story. I really didn't expect it!
Edited 25/08/2025
Chapter 13: The Mummy
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The air in the Twilight Tea House was unusually still. Eva stood behind the counter, her hands busy with familiar motions, sorting through dried herbs, yet her mind was far from present. Even the comforting scent of her tea, milk, no sugar, a comfort she has made for as long as she can remember, couldn’t reduce the knot of unease that had taken root in her chest. It had been only a couple of days since she last saw Aizawa, but something was wrong. She couldn’t explain it, but the sensation gnawed at her—an odd, persistent tug that made her chest tighten.
The tea sat untouched on the counter, its warmth fading as the minutes ticked by. Eva glanced at the patterns forming on it absently, her silver-lavender eyes dull with worry. Mochi, her fluffy Ragdoll, was not his usual relaxed self tonight. Instead of lounging lazily over her shoulders or napping on some forbidden shelf, he shadowed her movements, his wide blue eyes never leaving her as if sensing the weight of her unease. His soft fur brushed against her leg, his quiet presence full of steady, unspoken concern as his purr rumbled in brief, questioning bursts—on, off, on—as though he couldn’t decide if it should be soothing or on alert.
Luna, on the other hand, sat perched on the windowsill, her sleek black form still as a statue, her golden eyes fixed on the quiet street outside. She looked like a silent sentinel, her ears twitching occasionally as if listening for something just beyond the peaceful stillness of the street. It was as though she, too, was waiting... expecting. Watching for the one who had not yet arrived.
Eva sighed and leaned against the counter, trying to shake off the feeling. She had no reason to believe anything had happened. He was a pro hero, after all, capable and strong. He could take care of himself.
But then why did the silence feel so oppressive?
Eva turned to the window, her gaze sweeping over the quiet street beyond. The late afternoon sun bathed the narrow road in a warm, golden light, casting long, uneven shadows from the ramshackle buildings that lined it. Normally, this time of day brought a sense of calm, a peaceful start before the flow of customers. But today, the stillness only made the quiet inside the tea house seem deeper, more unsettling. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to shake the unease creeping into her thoughts.
"You're being ridiculous," she whispered to herself, turning back to her work, but the words offered little comfort.
Suddenly, the faintest rustle of movement outside reached her ears, so soft it might have been mistaken for the wind. Eva’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. She could feel him before the door opened. His presence, though more muted today, carried the same weight, the same strange comfort she had come to associate with him.
Eva slowly turned around, and her heart nearly stopped. There, standing in the doorway, was Aizawa, but he didn’t look like the man who had shuffled into her tea house just days ago. His body was wrapped in layers of bandages, from head to toe, leaving only his eyes visible—those familiar dark eyes, half-lidded with exhaustion, but now shadowed by something far worse. He looked like something out of an ancient tomb, like a man who had been pieced together again after being broken apart.
Eva’s iridescent silver-lavender eyes, usually calm and warm, widened in shock, the swirling colours shifting to an intense, almost harsh hue of violet as the full weight of what she was seeing settled over her. Her lips parted, but for a moment, no sound escaped. Her face froze in a mixture of disbelief and concern, the usual serene mask shattered by the sight before her.
"What... what happened?" she finally whispered, her voice barely above a breath.
Aizawa stepped forward, his movements slower, more deliberate than usual. He looked down at himself, as if he had forgotten just how battered he appeared. "Just a bad day at work," he said, his voice hoarse but carrying a familiar wryness beneath the gravel. As he made his way to his usual seat, Luna appeared silently at his side, weaving between his legs with the graceful ease of a shadow. Her sleek black form brushed against him as if offering comfort, her golden eyes flicking up at him before with one final chirrup she settled by his feet.
Aizawa let out a weary sigh as he sank into the chair, the effort of walking clearly more than he had bargained for. But with Luna resting by his feet and the warmth of the tea house enveloping him, some of the tension seemed to ease from his posture.
Eva was already moving, her hands trembling slightly as she began to brew him a cup of tea. The familiar motions—scooping the herbs, measuring the water—became a lifeline, something to hold onto as her mind raced. She focused on the steady rhythm of her movements, willing herself to swallow the rising tide of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. The quiet hiss of the kettle and the scent of the herbs filled the air, as her hand slipped into her pocket finding the jade stone she always carried, turning it while she waited for the kettle to boil and for her heartbeat to settle in her chest. Mochi, ever her shadow, sat nearby, his large blue eyes fixed on her wide with concern.
When the tea was ready, she set it down in front of him, her hands still shaking slightly despite her efforts to calm herself. "Aizawa, you - what happened?" she repeated, her voice strained as she struggled to maintain composure, unable to tear her eyes away from the horrifyingly extensive bandages.
He looked at her, his tired gaze softening for a brief moment. "USJ attack. Villains. It got messy."
"Messy?" she echoed, her voice almost a whisper. Her eyes flicked over the bandages, her mind racing to piece together what must have happened. "You... haven't seen anyone with a healing Quirk?"
Aizawa huffed softly, though it sounded more like a cough. "This is after extensive healing," he said dryly, though his eyes didn’t hold their usual sharpness. They were dull, reflecting the toll the battle had taken.
Eva felt her stomach lurch, a deep ache settling in her chest. If this was how he looked after being healed... She bit her lip, trying to steady herself, but the sight of him—so battered and broken—made her heart ache in a way that went far beyond simple concern. Something fierce bloomed inside her, a protective instinct she couldn’t fully name yet, but it stirred in her like a fire, growing with every glance at his bandage-wrapped face.
"Aizawa, I—I can help," she whispered, the words coming out softer, more urgent than she intended, as if some deeper part of her couldn’t bear to see him like this.
Her gaze flickered between his tired eyes and the bandages that covered so much of him, her chest tightening.
He looked at her, his brow furrowing slightly. "Help how?" His voice was gruff, sceptical, but not dismissive.
Eva bit her lip, hesitant but knowing she had to explain. "My Quirk... it can heal," she said unsteadily. "I know you said that you've already seen another healer but I think I can help. Please, let me try." Her eyes were a kaleidoscope of colours and emotions that left no doubt of her earnestness.
He raised a brow, though the movement was barely perceptible under the bandages. "You're not licensed," he pointed out, his tone careful but not unkind.
"I'm your..." Her voice faltered for a moment, but she pressed on. "I'm your friend. The word felt newly minted on her tongue—serviceable yet not quite true, a borrowed coat for something warmer and more unruly that she could not yet name. "I can't do nothing." She stepped closer to him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of protest. "Let me help, please."
Aizawa studied her for a long moment, his tired eyes locking onto hers. He seemed to weigh her words, the quiet intensity between them stretching out. Finally, he gave a slow nod. "Alright," he muttered, his voice softer than usual. "But only if you close the shop first."
Eva didn’t need to be told twice. She quickly moved to the front door, flipping the sign to "Closed" and locking it behind her. The shop fell into a deeper silence as she returned to him, her heart pounding with both determination and trepidation. Mochi sensed the shift in atmosphere. With a soft rustle of his fur, he padded across the floor and settled beside Eva’s usual seat beside Aizawa, mirroring Luna, his large blue eyes remaining on her.
When she reached Aizawa's side Eva hesitated, her eyes flickering to the bandages around his face. "I'm just going to remove these," she said gently. Her fingers brushed the edge of the bandages tentatively, as though she were afraid to hurt him further. Slowly, with care, she began to unwrap them, each layer revealing more of the damage beneath.
When she finally removed the last strip and stood in front of him, her breath hitched. His face was a patchwork of brutal damage—deep bruises bloomed across his swollen skin, and angry red gashes criss-crossed from his temple down to his jaw. His right eye was barely visible, ringed with dark, heavy bruising that swelled the surrounding skin, and his left eye, though more open, was bloodshot and strained, a testament to the damage it had endured. Even after the healing he'd been given, the raw, jagged cuts beneath his eyes looked severe, as though they had only been partially mended. Eva stared for a moment, unable to hide her shock at just how much pain he must still be in.
"Still handsome?" Aizawa quipped, his voice rasping with a flicker of dry humour.
Eva blinked, her lips twitching into a faint smile despite the situation. "If I squint hard enough" she replied, her voice soft but teasing, though her eyes were filled with worry. Then, after a brief pause, she added with a playful tilt of her head, "Besides, aren’t scars supposed to be sexy?" Aizawa let out a low chuckle, though it quickly turned into a wince, his hand instinctively going to his side. "Careful with the compliments," he muttered, his voice laced with both amusement and pain. "It hurts to laugh."
Eva gave a weak smile as she knelt down beside Luna and took his hand, gently unwrapping the bandages there as well, revealing the swollen joints, mending bones and bruised knuckles beneath. A quiet hum began to build in her chest, the familiar thrum of her Quirk stirring to life. Eva focused, steadying herself with the weight of Aizawa's hand in hers. Her voice trembled at first, a soft melody slipping past her lips, but as she closed her eyes and let the music fill her, the power within her flowed outward.
Her song thrummed through her as she opened her eyes again, wrapping around Aizawa with invisible tendrils of warmth and light. She could feel the tension in his body ease, the sharp edges of his pain dulling ever so slightly as her song washed over him. The deep bruises began to fade, the cuts knitting together slowly, but it wasn’t enough. The damage was too extensive, and with every second that passed, Eva felt the toll it was taking on her.
Her breathing grew heavier, her hand gripping his slightly tighter as the exhaustion began to set in. She could barely keep her voice steady, the strain of healing him more than she had anticipated. A coin-metal tang settled on her tongue—warning—and a fine, needling heat pushed out from behind her sternum, racing down her arms as if the song were burning through the wick of her veins. Light pressed at the edges of her vision, pulsing in and out, and the humming in her chest rose and fell like a turning tide, each pulse tugging with a soft undertow at her ribs, drawing strength from her core and sending it into him. The room seemed to tilt around her, the edges of her vision blurring as she fought to keep going. She could feel her eyes drifting closed through the exhaustion.
"Songbird," Aizawa's voice cut through the haze, firm but gentle. "Stop."
She opened her eyes, blinking against the sudden wave of dizziness. Aizawa's face was clearer now, the bruises lighter, the large gash under his right eye much smaller than before. But the effort had drained her more than she wanted to admit. Her body felt heavy, her limbs weak, as though every ounce of her strength had been poured into healing him.
"I'm fine," she whispered, but her voice wavered.
"You're not," he said, his brow furrowing in concern as he kept his hand in hers, his thumb brushing against her skin in a comforting, almost tender gesture, one he didn’t seem to notice he was doing. "You've done enough."
Eva leaned back, her hand slipping from his as she took a shaky breath. The room spun for a moment before steadying, and she realized just how much of herself she had poured into healing him. But it wasn’t enough. A familiar voice, one she hadn’t heard in years but still echoed inside her, whispered that she was too weak, too incapable. A failure, her mother would have said, and part of Eva still believed it, no matter how hard she tried to push those thoughts away.
Her chest tightened with guilt, and she swallowed hard, fighting back the wave of self-reproach. "I'm sorry... I couldn’t do more."
Aizawa shook his head, his gaze softening as he studied her pale face. "You did enough," he repeated, though his voice held an edge of concern. "More than enough."
Eva climbed into the empty chair beside Aizawa, her body heavy with exhaustion. Her hand found the cool lump of jade in her apron pocket, pressing it into her palm hard enough to hurt and made herself catalogue facts like herbs on a tray: measuring her breaths; trying to forget her failures and her weakness and focus on him. She wanted him to rest, to take a moment to recover in the quiet sanctuary of her tea house, but she knew he wouldn’t accept that easily. "Can you stay with me for a little while?" she asked after a minute, using her own weariness as an excuse. Mochi, seeming to sense her discomfort, jumped onto her lap and butted her hand with his head, as if to tell her she could stop now.
Aizawa had been watching her brow furrowed in concern, his expression softening at her words, clearly seeing through her pretence. "You need rest," he said quietly, his voice gentle but firm. "I’m staying—for your sake, not mine."
Eva hesitated, her eyes flicking away, her lips twitching into a smile. "Thank you" she whispered softly, though they both knew it wasn’t the only reason. She wanted him to rest too, to take a moment for himself.
Aizawa let out a low sigh, but his resolve didn’t waver. "I’ll stay," he muttered, settling back into his chair. "For as long as you need." He leaned back, his tired body finally giving in to the comfort of the seat. One hand, seemingly acting on its own, lazily dangled down to stroke Luna, who was still curled up beside him. She purred softly in response, her sleek black fur shifting beneath his fingers as his hand moved in slow, rhythmic motions. The simple gesture seemed to calm them both, the quiet sound of her purring filling the air. Mochi settled on Eva's lap, a warm comforting weight resting on her.
The fire crackled quietly, the warmth from the hearth seeping into the room, wrapping around them. Eva relaxed into the cushions of her chair, feeling the weight of the exhaustion seep through her bones. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the tea house envelop her. But even after a few minutes of stillness, her mind was still buzzing, and she knew rest wouldn’t come easily. She needed to clear her head—and regain some energy.
Pushing herself to sit upright, Eva gave a small sigh as Mochi slipped back down to the floor, and rose from her seat. "I’m going to make myself a cup of tea to try and wake up a bit," she murmured, half to herself."
Aizawa watched her, his eyes following her movements, though his expression remained impassive. As Eva began reaching for the kettle to fill it with water, he shifted forward in his seat.
"You’re not in any condition to be near boiling water," he said, his voice as gruff as ever, though it held a note of concern.
Eva raised an eyebrow, a wry tired smile tugging at her lips. "And you think you are?"
His lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. "At least I’m not about to pass out from exhaustion." He rose from his chair and took the kettle from her hands. "I’ll pour. You just make the blend."
Eva huffed softly, a teasing glint in her eyes as she relented, moving to the shelves to select her ingredients. "Fine, but if you scald yourself, I’m not healing you again," she quipped.
Aizawa chuckled under his breath as he filled the kettle with water, his movements slower than usual, but steady. While the water heated, Eva busied herself fetching her own worn mug and the stash of teabags she kept for herself under the counter.
She set the battered red box of English Breakfast on the counter, the cellophane around the box crinkling as she shook one loose. Aizawa’s mouth twitched; another chuckle slipped out of him and immediately tried to turn into a cough. His gaze tipped to the box. “Tea bags?”
“What?” she asked, a glint brightening through the tiredness as she met his look, the corner of her mouth daring him.
“Cheat,” he said under his breath, not quite able to hide the smile that wanted to happen.
“You’re hardly in the state to put me in detention, sensei,” she shot back, soft and pleased with herself despite the shadows under her eyes.
“Not tonight, so don’t tempt me,” he conceded, his voice low and theatrically stern, the kind of warning that warmed rather than chilled. This earned him a genuine grin that nearly sent all rational thoughts fluttering out of the window.
Saved by the kettle's whistle, Aizawa stepped forward, pouring the water into the mug with careful hands. "See? No injuries," he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching as he set the kettle back on the stove.
Eva gave him a sidelong glance as she stirred the tea. "Impressive," she teased. She added a generous splash of milk to her mug before taking a small sip and letting the warmth and familiarity spread through her. Luna circled Aizawa's ankles like a small, proprietary moon as Mochi loafed against Eva’s shin, the tea house settling around them in a hush that made the moment feel almost domestic.
They both returned to their seats, the soft crackle of the fire filling the silence for a moment before Eva spoke again. She glanced at Aizawa, noticing the shadows still lingering beneath his eyes despite the healing. "Tell me about your kids," she said softly.
Aizawa leaned back, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it softened into something gentler, more thoughtful. "They're... a handful," he began, his tone holding a quiet fondness beneath the gruffness. "Eager, reckless, but they’ve got potential. Good hearts, though not rational enough yet." He paused, as if sorting through which of their exploits to share. "Midoriya—he’s one of them—has a habit of breaking his bones. Always pushing himself too far. Then there’s Bakugo... He’s loud, stubborn. He’ll either be a great hero or destroy half the city in the process."
Eva smiled softly as she listened, the affection in his voice evident despite his usual stoicism. "And the rest?" she prompted.
"Uraraka," he continued, "is determined, hardworking, but she’s got this... gentleness to her. Iida—always by the book. Then there’s Todoroki. That kid... he’s got a lot of power, but more scars than anyone should carry at his age."
As Aizawa spoke, Eva noticed the subtle shift in his posture, the way his usual weariness seemed to lift, just slightly, as he talked about his students. It was obvious that they meant more to him than he let on.
After a while a comfortable silence fell between them, the fire’s crackle the only sound. Eva’s eyes flicked to his remaining wounds, and with a small sigh, she stood up again.
"What are you up to now?" Aizawa asked, raising an eyebrow as he watched her rise.
"Your bandages," she replied, moving toward a small drawer near the counter. "They need reapplying."
Aizawa looked like he almost opened his mouth to protest, but when she returned with fresh bandages in hand, he stayed silent, his gaze following her with quiet resignation. He shifted in his seat, allowing her closer, though his eyes never left her face.
Eva knelt beside him, her hands steady as she began to wrap the fresh bandages around his arm with the same gentle touch she had used earlier. But this time, something felt different—charged, almost. She could feel it in the air between them, in the way her fingers brushed against his skin as she worked, and in the closeness of their bodies. Her heartbeat quickened, though she tried her best to focus on the task at hand, winding the fresh bandages carefully, making sure that her fingers did not linger a moment longer than necessary.
Aizawa remained still, but she could sense him watching her, his steady gaze a quiet, powerful presence that she could almost feel on her skin. The warmth between them seemed to pulse in the silence, and with each careful movement, the space between them felt more intimate, more charged.
Eva reminded herself that he was a patient, a friend, focusing on her own hands as they worked deftly, but her awareness of him never faded. She could feel the heat from his body, the subtle shift of his muscles beneath her fingers. Her hands trembled slightly as she moved on to bandage his face, the atmosphere between them thick with something unspoken, something that lingered in the air with each subtle movement.
When she finished, she sat back on her heels, her eyes flicking up to meet his. There was something in Aizawa’s gaze that made her breath catch—an intensity, perhaps, or maybe something softer. He held her gaze for a moment longer than usual before letting out a low sigh.
"Thank you," he muttered, his voice gruff, more restrained than before.
Eva nodded, her fingers brushing the remaining bandages as she stood, her chest tightening slightly at the sudden awareness of how close they had been.
"It’s nothing," she said quietly, though the charged air between them said otherwise.
After a few moments Aizawa stood, his movements slow, deliberate, but steady as he reached for his scarf. The stillness between them hung in the air, and Eva found herself reluctant for it to end. Just as he was about to leave, he paused, turning back to her, his brow furrowing slightly.
"Do you have a mobile phone number?" he asked, his tone casual but his stance shifting with the smallest hint of awkwardness. "In case you need to contact me. Or the other way around."
Eva blinked, caught off guard by the question, and shifted on her feet, slightly embarrassed. "I, uh..." She hesitated, her cheeks flushing. "I don’t actually have one. Never really needed it."
He sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Of course not."
Eva shrugged, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "I guess I just... never thought it was necessary," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Trying to break the sudden awkwardness with the truth she quipped with a crooked smile "phone calls are kind of my kryptonite".
Aizawa’s expression remained unreadable, but his mind was already working, planning. He didn’t say anything, but the wheels were clearly turning. Of course she doesn’t have a mobile phone, he thought, already considering how to rectify that. He’d make sure she had one soon enough - especially after what she’d done for him.
He adjusted his scarf, and as he turned toward the door, Eva’s voice broke through the quiet. "Goodnight, Sensei," she called lightly, her usual teasing lilt in the word as he lifted his hand to draw the bolt across.
Aizawa paused in the doorway, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. He glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes locking onto hers in the soft glow of the lamplight. "It’s Shota," he corrected her, turning his face back to the world outside.
And with that, he stepped through the door, the ring of the chime echoing softly as it closed behind him.
Eva's breath caught for a moment, her heart skipping a beat. Shota. Hearing his first name felt like a shift in the air between them—unexpected, intimate, and strangely comforting. Her cheeks warmed as the sound of it lingered in her mind, soft and personal in a way she hadn’t expected.
Notes:
Hope this chapter makes up for the week's absence!
Edited 26/08/2025 - more cats & conversation!
Chapter 14: The Pink Bow
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The early evening had settled over the Twilight Tea House, and Eva found herself in the peaceful rhythm of preparing herbal remedies for the night. The soft clinking of jars, the rustling of dried leaves, and the warm glow of the fire in the hearth gave the room its usual serene ambience. Steam plumed from the kettle in soft white ribbons; rosemary and lemon balm ghosted the air, with the faint cedar and anise that clung to the wooden shelves on damp nights. But tonight, that serenity felt fragile, like a delicate thread stretched too thin. Her thoughts kept circling back to the night before—not to the moment when Aizawa had stumbled in, injured and vulnerable, but to the quiet, unexpected moments that had followed.
Shota. He had told her his name. His first name.
The memory lingered like a whisper in her mind, the way his deep, gravelly voice had softened, the weight of it carrying something more intimate, more personal, than she'd expected. It wasn’t the battered state of his body that haunted her, but the way he’d looked at her, as though letting her in, even if only a little.
Mochi padded over, his soft cream fur brushing against her legs as he curled up by her feet. Luna perched on her window seat, golden eyes tracking Eva's every movement with lazy curiosity. The shop was quiet, save for the crackle of the fire and the faint bubbling of the kettle on the stove. Normally, this stillness would be comforting, a reminder of the sanctuary she had created, but tonight, it only amplified the fluttering thoughts swirling in her mind.
She sighed, her fingers pressing against the edge of the wooden counter as if the familiar texture might ground her. Shota. Shota. It felt strange, thinking of him like that, as though his gruff exterior had softened, revealing something more beneath. She had always been attuned to the emotions of her customers, had always let herself care, but this was different. The idea of knowing him, truly knowing him, beyond "Aizawa," made her chest tighten. There was something tender in the way he’d said his name, something that lingered in the air between them, fragile and unspoken.
You’re reading too much into this, she told herself, trying to push the thoughts away. He was just being kind. He probably offers his first name to everyone.
The quiet echo of his voice, and the closeness when she’d rewrapped his bandages—that felt almost intimate—wouldn’t leave her.
Just as she reached for a jar of dried passionflower, the door chime rang, breaking the quiet. Eva glanced up, her silver-lavender eyes catching sight of a familiar figure as they breezed into the shop, their jellyfish-like tendrils of hair glowing faintly in the dim light.
"Static," Eva greeted, her voice cheerful, though the knot of worry in her chest lingered.
Static grinned, their vibrant energy lighting up the room like an electric pulse. "Evening, Nightingale!" they said, practically bouncing over to the counter. "Miss me?" Their jellyfish strands haloed the glass jars in ripples of light as if the whole wall were underwater.
"Of course," Eva replied, smiling, already reaching for their usual blend of lavender and lemon balm. Static’s visits had become more frequent recently, and Eva found their energetic presence oddly grounding despite the chaos they often brought with them.
As she poured the tea, Static's sharp eyes flicked toward the hearth, where the fire crackled gently. A mischievous glint appeared in their gaze, and they leaned over the counter, their voice dropping to a playful whisper. "So, you and your boyfriend had a cosy little fireside chat last night, huh?"
Eva almost dropped the teapot. "What?" she sputtered, eyes wide as she stared at them. Mochi, always happy to be in the centre of the action, hopped onto the counter, whilst Luna gave a slow judgemental blink from her window seat.
Static’s grin widened, and they leaned in even closer, their glowing tendrils of hair floating around their face. "Oh, don’t play dumb. I came by last night, thought I’d grab some tea, but guess what? The shop was closed. All locked up, lights dimmed. But then I saw you and your mystery man over by the fire—looking awfully cosy, I might add."
Eva blinked, heat rushing to her cheeks as she processed their words. "Static, it's not like that—"
"Oh?" Static’s tone was dripping with amusement, clearly enjoying her flustered state. "Not like what, exactly? Because from where I stood, it looked like you two were having quite the intimate little moment. You even closed the shop for him." They leaned back, arms crossed, smirking. "I didn’t think I’d see the day."
Eva groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. "He was hurt. I just... I helped him."
"Uh-huh," Static interrupted, not buying her explanation for a second. They took a sip of their tea, their glowing eyes sparkling with amusement. "You’re telling me you shut the whole place down just for a little first aid? That’s some serious commitment, Nightingale."
She sighed, trying to find a way to explain without making it sound worse than it was. The truth was, Aizawa had needed help. But even as she said that to herself, she knew there was more to it. There had been something about the way he had looked at her - exhausted, yes, but also with a quiet trust, as though her presence was a comfort to him. And then there was the way her heart had fluttered when he’d called her "Songbird." She hadn’t been able to shake the feeling since.
Before Eva could respond, the door chimed again. This time, the air seemed to shift, and Eva didn’t need to look up to know who had just walked in.
Aizawa.
He stepped into the tea house, his tall, dark figure standing out against the warm glow of the room. Dust and the tang of antiseptic clung to his capture scarf; Luna rose like a shadow and brushed his shin as if she’d been expecting him before returning to her vigil on the window ledge. His eyes were tired, as usual, but there was something else—something lighter, maybe even a touch of awkwardness—in the way he held himself.
Eva’s heart skipped a beat.
Static, who had been leaning against the counter with a smug grin, straightened immediately, their eyes practically glowing with excitement. "Well, well, speak of the devil," they muttered under their breath.
Aizawa’s dark eyes flicked toward Static, then shifted to Eva. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before stepping forward, a small box in his hands. It was wrapped in simple paper but adorned with the most absurdly large pink bow Eva had ever seen.
He held it out to her without a word. Mochi rose onto his hind legs to bat it once, solemn as a priest, then sat like he’d never sinned.
Eva blinked, her gaze shifting from the box to Aizawa’s face. "What's this?"
"I, uh..." Aizawa cleared his throat, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "It’s for you. I can’t stay—got patrol tonight—but I wanted you to have this."
Eva stared at him, utterly bewildered. "You got me a gift?"
"Not exactly," he muttered, his voice gruffer than usual, clearly trying to downplay the situation. "I went to the store to get you a phone. You need one. For emergencies."
"A phone?"
"Yes. You don’t have one, and you should. You live alone—well, except the cats," he added, glancing at Luna and Mochi, who were both watching the exchange with interest. "It’s practical."
Eva’s cheeks flushed. "I... don’t know what to say."
Aizawa shifted awkwardly, clearly not used to this kind of interaction. "It’s not a big deal. The woman at the store asked if I wanted it wrapped. I didn’t really care, but she kept asking questions." He glanced down at the box and sighed. "She asked if it was for a lady, and when I said yes, this is what happened."
Static snorted, barely containing their laughter. "Wow, Aizawa-sensei. You really know how to impress a girl."
Aizawa shot them a withering look, but Static just grinned, clearly enjoying the entire situation.
"I really can’t stay," Aizawa said, turning back to Eva. "But... I thought you should have it. I've added my number to it." He hesitated for a moment, as if considering saying more, but then simply nodded and turned to leave.
"Thank you," Eva managed to say, her voice soft. "I mean it."
Aizawa walked over to the window to briefly pet Luna before he paused at the door, his hand resting on the handle. He glanced back at Eva, his expression unreadable. "Take care of yourself, Songbird."
The word brushed the air across her skin. Luna’s ear flicked; Eva’s pulse tripped as though struck by a soft bell. And with that, he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him.
For a long moment, Eva stood there, staring at the absurdly wrapped box in her hands, her heart racing.
Static, of course, was the first to break the silence. "Oh. My. God." They were practically bouncing with excitement, their eyes wide. "Did you see that? He just called you Songbird. And he bought you a phone? Wrapped with the biggest bow in existence? Oh, Nightingale, this is definitely your boyfriend."
Eva groaned, placing the box on the counter, her face flushed. "Static, please. It’s not what it looks like."
"Really?" They raised an eyebrow. "Because I think it looks exactly what it looks like."
Eva rubbed her temples, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside her. "He’s just being... practical. He thinks I need a phone. That’s all."
Static laughed, the sound bright and mischievous. "Yeah, sure. Practical. With a giant pink bow."
Eva glared at them, though there was no real anger behind it. She couldn’t help but smile a little, despite her flustered state. "You’re impossible."
"And you, my dear Nightingale, are in love." They pirouetted dramatically before leaning closer, their eyes sparkling. "You know I’m right."
Eva shook her head, but there was no denying the flutter in her chest. "You’re reading too much into this."
"Am I, though?" Static grinned, swirling their tea around in the cup. "Guess we’ll just have to see."
Eva sighed, still staring at the box, her thoughts a tangled mess. She wasn’t sure what to make of it—of any of it—but one thing was clear. Her quiet, predictable life had just become a lot more complicated.
And she wasn’t entirely sure she minded.
Notes:
Edited 26/08/2025
Chapter 15: Cat Photos
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The Twilight Tea House had long since quieted. Eva stood in the centre of the darkened room, her silver-lavender eyes scanning the dim space. The warm, comforting scents of passionflower and lavender still lingered in the air, but with the doors locked and the lights off, the sense of calm felt somehow more complete. The world beyond her windows was slowly waking, with the faint glow of dawn just beginning to edge over the horizon, casting soft, pale shadows on the wooden floorboards. Outside, in the distance, a scooter coughed to life and hissed away on damp tarmac; somewhere a pigeon fretted under a guttering, its cooing a soft, stubborn metronome.
Mochi padded quietly around her feet, soft purring trailing behind him as he leaned against her legs. Luna, ever the silent sentinel, watched from her perch on the windowsill, her golden eyes tracking Eva’s every movement. The phone—Aizawa’s absurd gift—sat behind the counter where she had left it, the enormous pink bow still attached, a mocking reminder of her earlier confusion. She had been too flustered to deal with it properly when he handed it to her, her mind whirring with a thousand questions about why he, of all people, would think she needed such a thing. And the bow. She could still hear Static’s teasing voice in her head, their laugh echoing as they had implied Aizawa’s gesture might be more than just practical. Eva huffed softly to herself. Romantic? That didn’t make sense. Not with Aizawa. He was… practical. Exhausted. Unbothered by things like grand gestures and gifts wrapped in pink bows. Surely, it was just that - practical.
She glanced at the clock. It was late—or rather, early. The tea house kept unusual hours, running from the afternoon into the late night. Eva’s sleeping schedule had adjusted accordingly, her mornings spent in bed, her nights alive with the bustle of customers and herbal remedies. But with the last of her patrons having left hours ago, the quiet now felt a little too quiet. Mochi nudged her leg, his soft fur brushing against her as he meandered towards the stairs that led up to their living space, obviously deciding it was time for his dinner. Eva watched him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. The cats had a way of grounding her, of pulling her out of her head when the spirals began to form.
And now, her mind was spiralling. Not out of anxiety but in something else - an itch, a deep curiosity that needed to be scratched. She had never needed a phone before. She did most of her communication through email or online shopping, comfortably nestled behind the screen of her computer. The world felt distant that way, manageable. A phone, though, meant direct access to people. To him. Aizawa’s name was already programmed into her new phone. He had mentioned it when he gave her the pink-bowed box. The thought of texting him made her feel like an invader, as if the quiet companionship they shared in the tea house would somehow be broken by the intrusion of the digital world.
"Focus," she muttered to herself, finally unwrapping the box and tapping the screen of the phone. The glass was cool under her thumb; when the screen woke, a grain of warmth bloomed there, the haptic buzz fizzling like a captured bee. "This is just research. You like research."
The second part, at least, was true.
Eva picked up the box, glancing at Mochi, who had already begun to pad his way up the worn wooden stairs, his large, fluffy tail swaying behind him. With a small sigh, she followed him upstairs to her living space. The familiar sound of his paws pattering against the steps a comforting rhythm in the quiet morning. Her apartment above the tea house opened up into a large living space, airy but cluttered, the soft light of early dawn filtering through the crooked windows.
The room was a blend of homely and warm - rich, earthy colours with touches of deep green and cardinal red. A small, rustic kitchen with open shelving sat at one end, the countertops lined with jars of herbs and spices. The dining area was simply a wooden table with a couple of mismatched chairs. The living area, cosy and inviting, was dominated by a well-worn, plush sofa draped in a deep red throw. Shelves along the walls held her collection of books, haphazardly arranged by genre, a potted Haworthia, and small trinkets tucked between the volumes. Two doors led off to one side—her bedroom and her mentor’s old room. On the other side a door opened to a long narrow bathroom, decorated with the same natural tones that filled the rest of the space, a hatch at the far end leading up to the attic.
Mochi meandered into the kitchen, and Eva followed, setting down two plates of food—one for him and one for Luna, silently following behind them. Mochi immediately tucked into his meal, his noisy munching echoing in the quiet. Luna gave him a somewhat indignant look before delicately picking at the food on her plate.
Eva moved toward her bedroom, stepping through the threshold into a space that felt distinctly different from the rest of her home. While the living area was earthy and warm, her bedroom reflected the sky just before dawn. The walls were covered in soft, abstract wallpaper, the pale blue background streaked with delicate pinks and the faint suggestion of clouds. It gave the room an airy, almost ethereal quality, as though she could look up and find herself beneath a tranquil morning sky. The bed, nestled in the corner, was a sea of pastel tones—soft pinks, lavender, and baby blues layered in blankets and pillows that looked invitingly plush. Scattered around the room were a few plush toys, some worn with familiarity, their comforting presence blending seamlessly into the calming atmosphere.
Her computer sat by the window, the soft glow of early morning light spilling over the desk cluttered with a mix of papers, herbs, and open books. The scent of vanilla and shea butter hung gently in the air, adding to the serene, dreamlike ambiance.
She moved to the small desk along the side of the wall, and with a press of a button, roused her computer from its sleep. In moments, her fingers were moving quickly across the keyboard, diving headfirst into the familiar comfort of research as she typed furiously into the search bar: "How to use a smartphone". The hum of the computer was the only sound as she settled in, her focus narrowing as she lost herself in the sea of information. What followed was an hours-long dive into articles, tutorials, and videos. Tabs bred tabs until the top of her screen looked like a shuffled deck, everything from basic settings to advanced features she’d likely never use. The more she read, the more fascinated she became. Phones weren’t just for texting or calling. They were for photos, for apps, for research, and books and music—all things she adored. She had grown so engrossed that she lost track of time, her focus narrowing on each new discovery with a razor-sharp intensity that only came when she entered what she liked to call her “Autistic research mode.” Luna joined her on the desk, curling against her arm.
The hours blurred together, her fingers clicking through page after page, her mind devouring every new piece of information like a sponge. By the time she resurfaced, the cup of tea she had stopped to make had long gone cold, a thin skin had formed on the surface, wrinkling in the cool breeze from the window. Mochi had curled up on the bed now fast asleep, and Luna stretching made her way to the other side. Nudged by the movement Eva blinked at the clock, her eyes widening slightly as she realized it was already past eight in the morning. She stretched, rolling her shoulders back and trying to shake off the stiffness that had settled in her muscles from sitting for so long.
The phone sat on the desk, waiting. She looked back at it, her fingers hesitating above the screen. “It’s just a test,” she whispered to herself. “Just to make sure it works. It’s fine.” Aizawa was the only contact she had in the phone. It was logical - completely natural, even - to use him to test it. She tapped on his name, pulling up the message box, and stared at the blank space for far longer than necessary. What do I even say? The seconds ticked by as her thumb hovered over the keyboard. She could feel the quiet of the bedroom pressing in on her, the stillness of the morning amplifying every small sound. Luna stirred in her sleep, a faint rustle that seemed too loud in the silence. Eva’s fingers twitched. A test. That’s all it was.
Finally, she typed, quickly and with little thought:
Testing out the new phone
She hit send before she could overthink it, the message flying off into the digital ether with a small whoosh. For a moment, her heart beat loudly in her ears, and she almost regretted sending it. But then the phone buzzed, and a small notification appeared on the screen.
Is it working?
The reply was short, typical of Aizawa, somehow that made the tension that had been building in her chest loosen just a little.
Seems to be.
Typing… then nothing… then: Good. Now send me a photo of Luna
Eva blinked, staring at the message. A smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it. Of course, it was about the cats. She glanced over at Luna, still curled up on the bed, her sleek black fur shining softly in the warm light. Quietly, so as not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere, she snapped a quick picture and sent it. The phone buzzed almost immediately.
Cute. Mochi too
Eva snorted softly, shaking her head. Her fingers danced over the screen as she sent a photo of Mochi, who was now sprawled tummy up in his corner. Moments later, another buzz.
Send a closer one of Luna
Eva rolled her eyes, but her smile only grew. She couldn’t help but type back:
If you keep asking for pictures of Luna, I’m going to get jealous
A reply came quickly.
I’m willing to risk it
She hadn’t expected to enjoy this. The idea of texting had always seemed too immediate, too direct for her comfort. But there was something disarming about Aizawa’s responses, his usual dry tone translating perfectly into text. And the fact that it was about her cats—well, that made it easier somehow.
Before she could stop herself, she sent another message.
They’re both asleep right now. Guess even night owls need to rest eventually
Except you.
He replied, the words popping up on her screen almost as soon as she had sent hers. Eva leaned back in her chair, the smile on her face growing.
She glanced at the clock again. She really should be getting to bed soon, or at least get herself something to eat, but her fingers were already typing out another message.
I’m not usually up this late. Just got caught up reading about the phone
Research mode?
The words on the screen made her laugh, the sound quiet but genuine. How had he known? She supposed he had seen her go into that deep focus a few times during his visits—her quiet absorption when concocting a new blend or her occasional dive into herbal research. Maybe it wasn’t so strange that he’d picked up on it. She typed back
You know me too well
Hard to miss
They fell into a rhythm after that, the conversation flowing more easily than Eva had expected. They didn’t talk about anything particularly meaningful—just small things. The cats, the tea house, Aizawa’s schedule, which, as usual, had him running on very little sleep. But there was something comforting about the simplicity of it. Eva found herself relaxing into the conversation, the phone resting comfortably in her hand as she lay down in bed, occasionally glancing at her sleeping cats.
You should be sleeping
After a slight pause Eat first. Eva smiled. He knew exactly how late it was for her, and she appreciated the concern.
Alright, I’m going to bed. Thanks for the tech support
Anytime. Get some sleep, Songbird
Songbird. The nickname still made her heart skip a beat, despite him using it a few times now. There was something undeniably intimate about the way he called her that—special, like it was meant just for her. It felt personal, a quiet connection between them that she hadn’t expected but now found herself holding onto. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers hovering over the keyboard again, before typing:
Goodnight, Shota
The reply came almost instantly.
Still haven’t told me your first name, you know
She laughed, slightly embarrassed, she hadn’t even realized! Giving a first name had never felt particularly personal to her in England—it was a casual exchange, a polite formality at most. But here, in Japan, it was a little different, a more intimate gesture. And somehow, she found herself more attached to his moniker for her, “Songbird,” than her own name. Yet she felt a small rush of embarrassment, realizing the oversight.
It’s Eva
She replied, feeling slightly flustered.
Noted. Goodnight, Eva
Eva set the phone down next to her on the bed, her heart fluttering in a way that was both unfamiliar and unsettling. She glanced at Mochi and Luna, still peacefully sleeping, then moved back into her living space to flick off the lights. As she slipped into bed, the weight of the phone settled into her thoughts. She told herself that the conversation had been purely practical—a test of the phone, nothing more. But as she closed her eyes, Aizawa’s messages echoed in her mind, the familiarity of them lingering in a way that left her feeling oddly… content.
Maybe Static was onto something after all.
Notes:
Edited 27/08/2025
Chapter 16: Signature Blend
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As the evening breeze stirred the herbs drying by the open window, Eva moved quietly around the Twilight Tea House, preparing for the evening's customers. The soothing scent of lemon balm and passionflower swirled in the air, a gentle contrast to the world outside. Her fingers moved deftly, measuring out herbs, cleaning cups, her mind half-absorbed in the comforting rhythm of the task. The evening sun cast long, golden shadows through the windows, wrapping the tea house in a peaceful glow.
Static had been there all afternoon, as usual, their faint bioluminescence casting soft light in the dimly lit room. They’d made a habit of lingering around the tea house in recent days, growing increasingly attached to the calm, the warmth, and - Eva suspected - the company of someone who didn’t judge them. They were sitting by the counter now, their jellyfish-like tendrils drifting lazily as they watched Eva with quiet intent.
“Do you need help with that?” Static asked, their glowing tendrils twitching with barely contained energy. The overhead bulbs gave a nervous hum; a tang of ozone rode the air the way it always did when Static got excited. Eva could tell it wasn’t really a question - they had made up their mind to help.
“I’ve got it,” she replied, a smile playing at her lips. But Static was already sliding off the stool, their translucent skin glowing a little brighter as they reached for the nearest jar of herbs.
“I insist! You’re always doing everything by yourself,” they said, grabbing some peppermint and lavender without a second thought. “Besides, how hard can it be to mix some herbs?”
Eva chuckled softly. “It’s not just mixing herbs, you know. There’s a...balance to it.”
“Balance? Pfft. I can balance. Look, I’m great at balancing.” Static spun around playfully, the glow of their Quirk casting flickers of light around the room.
Despite her reluctance, Eva gave in, her smile widening at their enthusiasm.
“Well, if you’re that determined,” she said, stepping aside as Static grinned and set to work.
They were halfway through trying to "balance" the herbs, grabbing peppermint, ginger, and lavender at random, when the tea house door flew open with a dramatic bang. The calm atmosphere was shattered as Twice burst in, a whirlwind of chaotic energy.
“New tea blend? Same tea blend? What’s the best tea blend?” Twice’s voice was a wild mix of contradictions as he scuttled in, his eyes darting around the room. “No! Yes! Wait, new tea? No, no, stick with what works—unless it’s time for a change?”
Eva raised an eyebrow as Twice’s erratic monologue filled the space, the serenity of the tea house temporarily overwhelmed by his presence.
“Hi Twice,” she greeted calmly, her voice gentle in an effort to bring a sense of peace.
He stopped mid-rant, his eyes landing on Static behind the tea station. “What’s this? Static’s helping out? I wanna help too! Two heads are better than one, right? Or wait, maybe that’s a bad idea... nah, definitely a good idea!”
Static glanced at Twice, then at Eva with a mischievous grin. “We should make a new blend! A signature tea for the Twilight Tea House! Right, Eva?”
Eva hesitated, her gaze flicking between the two of them. Twice was already bouncing on his heels, nodding furiously in agreement. She sighed, a touch of amusement in her voice. “Alright, but you’re only using the herbs near the tea station. Nothing dangerous.”
“Deal!” Static and Twice declared in unison, and within seconds, they were both diving into the assortment of herbs. Static grabbed the peppermint, ginger, and lavender they’d been handling earlier, declaring it the perfect combination.
“Spicy but calming!” Static announced, their glow brightening with excitement.
“Spicy calming? Does that even work? No, wait—yes, it totally does!” Twice echoed, grabbing a handful of rose petals and tossing them into the mix.
Eva stood back, watching the chaos unfold with a fond, if slightly resigned, smile. Luna, ever the picture of feline indifference, lounged on a nearby windowsill, her golden eyes half-lidded as she flicked her tail lazily. Meanwhile, Mochi, far more invested in the commotion, hopped up onto the counter, his fluffy cream paws settling near the herbs as he watched the spectacle with bright, curious eyes, clearly enjoying Twice’s antics.
“So, Eva,” Static teased suddenly, their eyes twinkling. “Used that new phone of yours yet? Sent any texts to your boyfriend?”
Eva’s face flushed immediately. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she replied quickly, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Oh? Sure about that? He gave you a phone for ‘emergencies,’ right? That’s boyfriend behaviour,” Static teased, their grin widening as Twice gasped dramatically.
“Boyfriend?! Eva, you’re in love? That’s great! No—wait, is it great? Yes, yes, love is great!” Twice rambled, bouncing on his heels as if he were already preparing their wedding.
Eva rubbed her temples, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. “We’re just friends.”
Static wasn’t convinced. “Yeah, right. Just friends who text each other. I bet you've already sent him cute cat photos?”
Before Eva could protest further, Static used their Quirk to make the blend glow softly, convinced that the bioluminescence would make the tea more appealing. They poured the vibrant, neon-colored mixture into a cup, grinning proudly.
“Ta-da! Our new signature blend!” Static proclaimed. From the cup drifted a muddled fug: peppermint snapped; ginger pricked at the back of the throat; lavender and rose shouldered in like old belligerent aunties at a garden party. Luna sneezed once in the distance — disdain, distilled — while Mochi answered with a small questioning meow.
Twice, ever eager, grabbed the first cup and took a large sip. His face contorted immediately, his eyes wide with horror as he gagged. “It tastes like...like spicy mud!” he declared dramatically before collapsing to the floor, clutching his throat.
Static took a sip as well, their glowing tendrils dimming as they grimaced. “It’s...not great,” they admitted, their voice strained.
Luna gave a slow, unimpressed blink, her golden eyes half-lidded as if the chaos unfolding wasn’t worth her attention. Meanwhile, Mochi, who had been eagerly watching from the counter, hopped down to the floor and padded over to Twice, his fluffy tail swishing as he sniffed curiously, clearly concerned for his chaotic friend.
Twice, undeterred by the disastrous taste, scrambled to his feet to the surprise of the perplexed cat and began throwing more lavender and rose petals into the mix. “We just need more flowers! That’ll fix it, right? More flowers, more flavour!”
Eva stepped forward at that, gently taking the teapot away from the duo “Sometimes less is more,” she said, her voice kind but firm. “Not all herbs are meant to be combined.”
With a smile, Eva began guiding the duo back to the basics, patiently asking what they wanted from their tea. She slid the jar of lavender back toward them for a moment, label turned outward like a stern chaperone. “Think of the herbs as personalities, not ingredients” she said. “Peppermint is a cool, crisp extrovert. Ginger is a fiery bold adventurer, cheeky with a warm heart. Lavender is blue-rinsed grandma: powdered, floral, slightly bittersweet.” She taught them the importance of smelling the herbs as an aid to blending, though warned them that just like other personalities they can change when under heat. After what felt like a million questions from Static, and Twice's constant enthusiasm, she steered them towards lemon balm, honeybush, and apple pieces—choices that reflected their preferences but also brought a sense of harmony. As the herbs steeped, the tea turned sunset-amber; steam rose with sweet caramel and baked-apple warmth, the lemon balm’s citrus edge tidying the sweetness, a warm calming scent filling the air.
Twice, tasting the final product, declared it “the best tea ever” in his usual over-the-top fashion, while Static admitted with a grin that it was far better than their first chaotic creation.
“We need a name for it!” Static said, their glowing tendrils flickering excitedly. “Something cool, something that makes people want to try it.”
Twice bounced on his heels, eyes wide with enthusiasm. “How about Static Shock? No, wait! Twice as Nice?—oh no, that's too much like me! Or... Mochi’s Melody? No, maybe Luna wouldn't like that.”
Eva chuckled softly from behind the counter. “How about something that reflects its calming nature?” she suggested, her eyes glimmering with amusement. “It’s a blend for winding down, after all.”
Static tapped their chin thoughtfully, then grinned. “Sereni-Tea ?”
Twice gasped dramatically. “Yes! Sereni-Tea ! It’s perfect! It's a bad pun. But it's perfect!” He shot a glance at Mochi, who blinked up at him as if in approval.
Eva shook her head, laughing, “Sereni-Tea it is,” she agreed.
As the dust finally settled, Eva leaned against the counter, watching the two of them sipping their new brew with a fond smile. Mochi had retired to lounge by the fire, the tea house returning to its usual peaceful rhythm.
Despite the mess, there was a warmth in the air, a sense of camaraderie that filled the space.
Static, glowing softly, turned to Eva. “Thanks for letting us help,” they said, their voice quieter now, more in tune with the tranquillity of the tea house.
Eva smiled, her silver-lavender eyes glimmering softly. “Anytime,” she replied, knowing that despite the chaos, and the work she'd need to do to put everything back in its right place, this had been fun.
As the night deepened, Eva glanced at her phone in her pocket, a small flutter in her chest at the thought of sending Aizawa a message. But for now, she was content with the peace of the tea house, the warmth of her friends, and the quiet joy of the night.
Notes:
Just a bit of silliness before the next chapter...
Edited with new content 27/08/2025
Chapter 17: Rhapsody of Dominance
Summary:
**TW for attempted rape, flashbacks of childhood abuse**
For those of you who want to skip this chapter I'll add a note at the bottom giving a summary of the important parts moving forward.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Eva stepped out of the Twilight Tea House in the early hours, as she often did, her boots softly clicking against the cobblestones as she moved. The air was crisp, cool enough to pinch her skin but not unkind, and a gentle fog curled around the edges of the quiet street. She drew her cloak tighter around her, pulling the hood low to shadow her face. Her breath fogged in brief ghosts before her hood, and the tins of cat food in her bag clinked together like a cacophony of muted bells. The stillness of the city at this hour had always been her sanctuary. The world, too busy during the day, was at rest now, its noises hushed and distant, leaving behind only the faint whisper of wind and the occasional rustle of leaves.
With a small smile, Eva reached into her bag, fingers brushing the tins of cat food she carried. The stray cats in her neighbourhood had come to know her as a reliable source of comfort, just as much as her tea house was to the regulars. She rounded a familiar corner, the alleyway she often found them nestled in, waiting for her. But tonight, something was different. The air, thick with the scent of the nearby river and wet concrete, carried a weight to it that made her skin prickle. Above, the moon was shrouded by clouds, leaving only an eerie glow.
She didn’t have time to react before a large hand clamped down hard on her arm like a vice, yanking her into a nearby alley, while another covered her mouth. Her boots scraped against the ground as she stumbled, heart leaping into her throat. Panic surged through her like ice.
“Didn’t expect to find someone like you out here, darling,” a silken, well-spoken voice sneered in her ear. It was the sort of voice that belonged to pressed suits and quiet corridors where doors opened without question, and the faint, dry-cleaned wool of his jacket brushed her cheek like an insult dressed as care. The stench of stale cigarettes wreathed in expensive cologne pressed in on her, making her gag. His grip was ironclad, hand sliding toward her waist, pinning her against the rough brick wall. Eva’s mind spun, disoriented by the rush of fear that clouded her thoughts. Memories clawed their way to the surface—her mother’s cold eyes, the beatings, the endless, suffocating feeling of being trapped.
Her breath came in sharp, shallow gasps as her body froze and she felt the blows fall. She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t fight. Everything inside her felt small, powerless as the pain and the familiar smell of blood overwhelmed her senses.
Move, move! part of her mind screamed, but her body was locked in place, tethered by old fears. Her thoughts started to become distant, fading to the back of her mind like echoes in a vast, empty room, as if she were watching the scene from somewhere far away, unable to reach herself. Distantly, she realised the ragged sobs were hers, leaking out of a body that felt severed from her as she began to slide down the wall. He hauled her back up by her throat, two fingers stroking a path down her cheek where blood flowed in a hideous parody of gentleness "Shush my sweet, it'll all be over soon", breath she couldn't feel brushing against her ear.
The man’s grip loosened, his confidence growing with her lack of resistance, thinking he had found easy prey. Unbuttoning his trousers, he slid a hand slowly under her skirt. Something deep inside Eva began to stir, a pulse of sound rising from her chest to the base of her throat, unbidden and beyond her control. Her Quirk began to hum, not with the soothing lullabies she used to heal, but something darker. Raw. Desperate.
A single off-pitch note escaped her, trembling at first, but growing, filling the narrow alley with a haunting vibration. Her eyes, wide and filled with panic, flickered, the iridescent silver and lavender changing, swirling with deeper, darker hues of crimson and violet. Her Quirk took on a life of its own, fuelled by the terror and desperation she couldn’t control.
The man’s sneering grin faltered, his body stiffening as confusion clouded his expression, frozen between fight and flight, but it was too late. The melody wrapped around him like a vice, tightening with each pulse of sound. His hands flew to his head like a marionette, clutching at his temples as if trying to tear something free.
“What...what are you doing?” His voice, once so confident, cracked with fear as he fell to his knees. Eva’s disjointed song grew louder, eyes glowing, the colours shifting in dark, menacing shades as the melody twisted, no longer just a song but a weapon. The man screamed, his body hitting itself again and again as the sound invaded his mind, tearing through him with relentless, suffocating force.
From the shadows of the city rooftops, Eraser Head moved swiftly. He had been patrolling later than usual when a chilling scream suddenly cut through the still night air like a knife. His instincts kicked in. Someone was in danger. He had to move.
As he neared the source of the screams, the sight that met him stopped him cold. An achingly familiar figure stood against the wall, unmistakable even in the darkness. Her eyes, glowing with a terrifying intensity, cut through the shadows, casting an eerie light in the narrow alley, highlighting the bruises that were already blooming on her face. Her body trembled, her song twisted and resonating with a dark force. At her feet, a man writhed in agony, his hands clawing at his face, blood trickling from his nose as guttural, animalistic screams tore through the night.
Without hesitation, Aizawa’s eyes sharpened, the dark irises glowing with a faint red sheen as his Quirk, Erasure, flickered to life. His hair lifted subtly in the air, a silent ripple of power as the energy around him shifted. The moment his gaze locked onto Eva, the eerie glow in her eyes dimmed, and the haunting melody that filled the alley vanished abruptly. The man at her feet went limp, his screams cutting off mid-sob as his body slackened, collapsing into unconsciousness, the tension draining from the air in an instant.
Eva crumpled to the ground, her knees buckling as the last remnants of energy slipped away. Her body trembled uncontrollably, her breath sharp and jagged, each inhale strained as though her lungs had forgotten how to function. She rocked ever so slightly, back and forth, a small, instinctual motion. A distant part of her registered Aizawa’s presence as he knelt beside her, his usually impassive face softened by concern, but the connection felt blurred, like she was watching through a fogged window, unable to fully engage with the world around her.
“Hey,” his voice was low and steady as he crouched beside her, but when his words didn’t seem to reach her, he hesitated for a moment. Then, more gently, he tried again. “Songbird.” The familiar name, warm and grounding, cut through the haze, urging her back to the present. “It’s over.”
Eva’s eyes, still wide but now a ghostly silver, met his. Her hands were trembling uncontrollably, her body curling in on itself. “I... I didn’t mean to...” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I couldn’t stop.”
Aizawa glanced at the man, now unconscious but breathing, the tailored trousers of a once well-pressed suit slumped around his knees, an elegant fabric crumpled into something sordid. Then his eyes shifted back to Eva, his gaze lingering as he took in her dishevelled state—the way her hands trembled, the cuts on her face, the blood trickling from her split lip, the dark marks on her skin. His eyes narrowed slightly, an emotion flickering for a moment - maybe anger at what she had endured? He looked her over carefully before speaking. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said, his tone firm but gentle.
Tears started to well up in her eyes, but she blinked them away, shaking her head. “I didn’t know I could... hurt someone like that,” she whispered, her voice thick with disbelief and fear.
Aizawa sat back slightly, studying her with that quiet, calculating intensity she had come to recognize. He had seen Quirks before - dangerous ones, ones that could harm without meaning to. But this was different. Eva was different. She seemed to have no idea how powerful she truly was, how dangerous her Quirk could become when pushed to its limits.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said finally, his voice decisive, leaving no room for doubt. “But for now, you’re safe.”
Eva nodded shakily, though deep down, she wasn’t sure if she believed him. Because the truth was, she didn’t feel safe - not from the world, and not from herself.
Aizawa stood and offered her his hand. She hesitated for a moment, then took it, her fingers cold and pale against his. He pulled her gently to her feet, steadying her as she swayed slightly.
“Are you alright to walk?” he asked, his voice concerned but edged with the firmness of authority.
Eva nodded, though her legs trembled beneath her. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was the aftermath of her Quirk, the pain, or the fear still coursing through her veins. The alley felt suffocating, the darkness pressing in around her.
Aizawa exhaled slowly, as though weighing something heavy in his mind. “I’ll need to call this in,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. His eyes searched hers, as though silently asking if she understood the gravity of the situation. “Do you have anyone else you can call? In case of an emergency?”
Eva blinked, disoriented by the question. Her mind immediately flitted to Static—always eager to help, always a burst of chaotic energy. But the idea of worrying them made her chest tighten. "I... I only have Static's number," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But they’re probably asleep, and I don’t want to... bother them. I don’t want them to worry.”
Aizawa’s brow furrowed slightly, the hint of something unreadable in his eyes as he processed her words. After a beat, he gave a slight nod and reached for his phone. Without saying a word, he tapped in a number and pressed it to his ear, glancing down the alley with that same cool focus he always carried.
Eva couldn’t hear who he was calling. The conversation was short, his voice low and curt, and when he ended the call, he pocketed his phone and turned back to her. Aizawa’s expression softened, a trace of reluctance crossing his features. He hesitated, clearly weighing his words carefully, before speaking in a low, measured voice. “I’m not asking for him,” he said, eyes steady on hers, “I’m asking for you. If he crashes or takes lasting damage here, this stops being a straightforward assault and becomes a weaponised-Quirk incident with a possible fatality attached, and the Commission loves those—every second gets pulled apart, hospital reports, cctv, my patrol log, any witness with a phone, all of it. Even with good cops on the case, that scrutiny will land on you and it will not be kind.” He tipped his head towards the unconscious man without looking away from her. “If you can stabilise him—just bring him to baseline so he doesn’t spiral—then the narrative stays simple: he attacked, I intervened, he was secured and transported, you’re the victim, not the headline. It buys you room to breathe.” He took a half step closer, careful not to crowd her. “Your choice, you owe him nothing,” he added, the words flat but gentle, “I’ll keep him restrained as the moment he's healed, I’ll stand beside you and keep you safe. I don’t like asking you to do this, Songbird, but it keeps the questions & consequences manageable.”
Her eyes widened at the request, the weight of it pressing against her chest. She didn’t want to go near the man. His silken voice, the scent of stale cigarettes, the touch of his hands, still lingering on her skin like stains. Then there were the fears spiralling in her head, of what her quirk did, of what it might become, of who she might become, maybe it was best to bury that part of her again, maybe her mother had been right all along. Aizawa still watching her closely noticed she was retreating again. He moved forward a step, without crowding her, and quietly said "Songbird, don't let what he did dictate who you are". The words wrapped round her with the warmth she associated with early morning cat photos, secret smiles by the fireside, of the man who trusted her to heal him. She remembered Luna, her guardian, now so often associated with Aizawa and Mochi her large fluffy boy, and how her quirk had bought both of them into her life. Using her quirk now wasn’t just about overcoming fear. It was about reclaiming the power she had lost, the part of her this man had tried to take. Eva swallowed hard and nodded.
“I’ll try.”
With tentative steps she approached the man as he lay a bloody figure on the ground, Aizawa a steady shadow beside her. Her heart raced as she knelt, her trembling hands hovering just above his body. A clean patch of pressed wool at his shoulder seemed to sneer up at her, order and polish stitched over rot, and she had to swallow bile before letting the smallest thread of melody reach him. Closing her eyes, she tried to focus, letting the familiar healing song of her Quirk rise in to her throat. But the tune that usually flowed so gracefully was broken, jagged. It ended with a hiccup, a dissonant note that cracked in the air, her voice faltering, unsteady and weak before fizzling out entirely.
But it was enough.
The man’s body stopped convulsing, his breathing evening out. Aizawa moved swiftly, his capture tool wrapping around the man’s arms, binding him securely. He glanced over his shoulder as the sound of hurried footsteps approached.
A figure appeared at the mouth of the alley, moving quickly in rumpled clothes, his blond hair pulled scruffily into a ponytail. He exuded a muted restless energy, his movements brisk as he joined them, exchanging a few low words with Aizawa who had moved towards him. After a moment the pair walked up to Eva, Aizawa turning his attention back to her, his voice steady.
“Eva,” he said, his tone cutting through her daze. “This is Hizashi, a friend. Can you go back to the tea house with him? I need to finish up here.”
Eva looked between the two men, her mind still fogged with shock. She nodded mutely, her body too exhausted to argue. Present Mic—Hizashi—stepped forward with a warm, comforting smile, his usual volume tempered as he spoke softly.
“Come on, let’s get you somewhere warm, yeah?” His voice, though still carrying its signature energy, was gentle. Reassuring.
Aizawa gestured for Hizashi to give them space for a moment. Turning to Eva he said in a voice that he made sure wouldn't carry to Hizashi's ears "He's noisy but I trust Hizashi with my life." adding with a small crooked grin that didn't quite meet his eyes "just never tell him I said that".
Eva followed Hizashi quietly, her mind still spinning, her feet carrying her through familiar streets that now seemed alien, back toward the tea house. Once inside, the scent of herbs and tea surrounded her, their warmth doing little to ease the ice in her veins.
Hizashi didn’t say much, sensing her need for quiet. After a moment, he asked gently, “Do you have a first aid kit? We should take care of those wounds.”
Eva blinked, her mind sluggish, but she nodded. “It’s under the counter...just beneath where the till is.”
Hizashi gave her a nod before heading off to retrieve it. By the time he returned with the kit, Luna and Mochi had appeared, their soft paws padding silently as they circled around Eva. Luna settled herself near Eva's feet, her sleek black form watchful, while Mochi hopped up onto the table, his blue eyes wide with concern.
Hizashi tore open some antiseptic wipes and began to clean the cuts on her face with a surprisingly professional efficiency. The cats remained close, a steadying presence as Hizashi moved to put the kettle on. He set a mug in her hands—strong tea, milk, no sugar—the way she always took it, the way home was supposed to taste. Eva stroked Mochi absently, her fingers brushing through his fur as she sipped the tea, barely tasting it.
After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, and Aizawa stepped inside. He exchanged a brief look with Hizashi, who gave a small nod before standing.
“I’ll leave you guys to it,” Hizashi said, his voice brightening just a touch. He turned to Eva with a warm smile. “Take care, okay? You’ve got good people looking out for you.” And with that, he left, the door closing with a thud behind him.
Aizawa drew the bolt across then stepped forward, his dark eyes meeting hers. He sat down across from her, his presence bringing her a small measure of calm.
“I told the police the man assaulted a woman,” he said, his voice slow, letting her process his words. “But I didn’t mention your name. I said she fled the scene when I turned up. That should give them enough reason to hold him for a few days. It’ll buy you some time.”
Eva nodded, her throat tight. She should’ve felt relief, but all she could feel was the weight of what had happened - the fear, the guilt, the overwhelming sense of losing control.
Aizawa continued, his voice still steady, practical. “You should take some pictures of your injuries for evidence. Even if you don’t want to press charges right now, it’s good to have something on record.”
She nodded again, but her mind was far away, lost in the swirling storm of her thoughts. Aizawa studied her for a moment, his sharp gaze softening slightly.
“Eva... what happened?”
Her breath hitched, the question tearing through the fragile peace between them. She swallowed hard, her hands gripping the teacup as though it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
“I... I didn’t know it could do that,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “My Quirk... I’ve never hurt anyone before.” She looked up at him, her silver-lavender eyes wide and filled with fear. “I couldn't stop. What if I’m turning into her?”
Aizawa’s brows knitted slightly, confused.
“Who?”
“My mother,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The memories clawed at her, raw and relentless. Her mother’s cold, controlling gaze flashed in her mind, along with the cruel words that had haunted her for years. “She hated that I wasn’t... normal. Every little thing I did wrong, she punished me for it. If I didn’t act the way she wanted, do what she wanted, didn’t meet her standards...Sometimes it would be the silliest little things.”
Her voice cracked, trembling as the weight of those memories pressed down on her, her words tumbling out.
“She's the reason I never had a pet here for so long." She continued, stroking Mochi who looked up at her with blue eyes full of worry. "One time when I was just a young kid she encouraged me to ask for a dog of my own, took me to choose it and everything. After a couple of weeks she insisted I keep it separate from her own, the poor thing had to stay locked in my room, then she began to beat it for any reason, started using their well-being to control me”. Eva started shaking again, “She controlled everything—what I did, how I acted, even how I thought. And tonight...” Her voice broke, tears welling in her eyes that she tried to push down. “What if I’m like her? What if...”
Aizawa reached across the table, his fingers resting lightly on hers for a moment, the warmth of his touch pulling her back from the swirling storm of her thoughts. “You’re not like her, Eva,” he said firmly, his voice steady and calm. “If you were, you wouldn’t be sitting here, feeling this way.”
He paused for a moment, his eyes searching hers, then added gently, “I need you to walk me through exactly what happened tonight. Start from the beginning.”
Aizawa’s gaze remained steady, his face unreadable, as Eva began to recount the night’s events. Her voice was shaky at first, but she pushed through, describing everything—from the moment she left the tea house to feed the strays, to the sudden attack in the alley, how her Quirk spiralled out of control. Aizawa listened in silence, his expression giving nothing away, but his presence felt solid, unwavering. When she finished, the room fell quiet again, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them.
Aizawa sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, then asked quietly, “What kind of training have you had with your Quirk?”
Eva shook her head, her fingers tightening around the empty tea cup in front of her. “None, really. I... buried it when I was a child,” Eva said, her voice trembling slightly. “My mother shamed me for it, told me I sounded awful whenever I sang. I believed her, thinking my Quirk was just something else wrong with me.” She glanced down at her hands, her fingers whitening as she pressed harder into the porcelain. “When I realized I could heal with it... I didn’t tell anyone. I was too afraid of what my mother might do if she found out. As far as school was concerned I had a useless Quirk that just made me sing badly. I never tried to use it, never developed it. I just... hid it away. I didn’t think it was worth anything. When I was a teenager, my teacher—my mentor—saw what was happening to me, with my mother. They took me to Japan... illegally. My mother didn’t know.”
Aizawa’s eyes flickered with something—understanding, perhaps—but his face remained as unreadable as ever. He leaned back slightly, giving her the space to continue.
“They saved me from her,” Eva whispered. “But I was still too ashamed to use my Quirk, to even explore it. I only really started to use it once my mentor died. She left me a letter, she told me they had always known about my Quirk,” Eva’s voice wavered, her eyes misting as she recalled the words. “They said they never pushed me because they knew I wasn’t ready. But they also said that my voice—my Quirk—wasn’t something to be ashamed of. That it was a gift. They believed in me more than I ever did.”
She looked down, her fingers trembling causing the cup to rattle slightly. “It was their final wish for me—to use my Quirk, to let my song help people. I’ve tried, but... tonight...” Her voice faltered as the weight of the night pressed down on her again.
Her silver-lavender eyes flickered up to meet Aizawa’s, filled with fear and uncertainty. “What if I lose control again?”
Aizawa paused, his gaze steady as he considered her words. He could see the weight of her doubt, the fear of her own power, and for a moment, his thoughts turned inward, contemplating how best to reach her.
“What happened tonight wasn’t because you’re like your mother," he said finally, his voice calm but firm. "Your Quirk acted in self-defence because your mind shut down. You’ve had no real training with it, and that’s why it went out of control. But that doesn’t make you like her.”
Eva’s breath hitched as she tried to steady herself. “I never thought it could do something like that. I've always used it to help, to heal. I didn’t even know I could hurt someone like that… I didn’t know it was in me.”
Aizawa’s tone softened, though his gaze remained firm. “What happened wasn’t your fault. Your Quirk reacted to extreme danger—it was trying to protect you. That doesn’t make you dangerous—it means your body was doing whatever it could to keep you safe. That man was the threat. Not you. Your body did what it had to do to survive.”
“But I couldn’t control it,” she whispered, the tears spilling over now. “What if next time...”
Her words were cut off by the sudden warmth of Aizawa’s hand, as he reached across the table and took hold of hers. His grip was firm enough to steady her but gentle enough to give her a choice, and when she looked up, his dark eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her heart skip.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute, leaving no room for doubt. “You’re not going to deal with this alone.”
Eva blinked, the weight of his words sinking in. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from him, but this... this solid, unwavering support was more than she had hoped for.
He leaned back slightly, his gaze still sharp, but now filled with a different kind of concern. “You’re strong, Eva. But you need to learn how to control that strength. You’ve been hiding for too long.”
Eva stared at him, her thoughts churning. "But... how?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Aizawa studied her. "We’ll make a plan, but don’t worry about it tonight. You’ve been through enough." His tone was calm, almost reassuring. "For now, I want you to learn some practical defence at least"
"An online course?" she asked, her brow furrowing.
Aizawa chuckled, a soft, low sound that almost surprised her. "No, I think it’d be better in person."
Eva shifted slightly, her eyes dropping to the table. "I don’t like people touching me," she admitted quietly.
Aizawa’s gaze softened, and he tilted his head. "Do you want me to move my hands?" His voice was gentle, offering her the option to pull away.
She shook her head, glancing up at him. "It’s... different with you."
A silence fell between them, lingering for a moment. Aizawa’s face remained unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes as he seemed to process her words. After a long pause, he spoke again, his voice low. "There’s someone I’d like to discuss your situation with. Someone discreet. They might be able to help." He hesitated for a second before continuing. "Would that be okay?"
Eva blinked, her mind still fuzzy, but she trusted him. She nodded. "Okay."
Aizawa gave a small nod in return, his expression thoughtful. He glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at her.
"Shouldn’t you be getting ready for school?" she asked, noticing the late hour. The quietness of the tea house felt even more pronounced now, the early morning light casting rays as it seeped through the blinds.
"I already asked Hizashi to cover my morning classes," he replied, his tone casual but firm, as though he’d made the decision hours ago.
Eva smiled faintly, though the exhaustion weighed heavily on her. Aizawa’s unwavering presence, the steadiness in his eyes, the warmth of his hands, supported her in a way she hadn't expected. She wasn’t alone in this.
Eva sighed softly, her eyes tracing the patterns on her teacup. “I’m sorry for causing so many problems,” she murmured.
Aizawa shook his head slightly, his gaze steady on her. “You’re not,” he said firmly. “You’ve been through a lot tonight. You don’t have to apologize for that.”
A quiet pause settled between them, the soft rustling of the tea house filling the silence as the weight of his words lingered in the air.
She looked up, the faintest flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “So what about... the defence training you mentioned?” she asked, her voice a little stronger, though the exhaustion was still clear.
Aizawa's face almost flickered with a smile. “We’ll start with the basics. You need to learn how to protect yourself if you’re ever in a situation like tonight again. I’ll teach you how to defend without relying on your Quirk.”
Her eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. “You’re going to train me yourself?” She gave a tired laugh, barely more than a breath. “Guess I’ll really be calling you ‘Sensei’ now.”
A small, amused smirk tugged at the corner of Aizawa’s mouth, but it faded as he noticed the way her expression shifted, concern shadowing her features.
“But you’re already so busy,” she murmured, her voice tinged with guilt. “This will just be an extra burden for you.”
Aizawa shrugged casually. “I need to train regularly anyway. I’ll just adjust my schedule to fit you in.”
She blinked, the weight of his words settling over her. The sense of reassurance that came with his calm acceptance of the situation was comforting, but the exhaustion of the night still clung to her like a heavy cloak.
“You should get some rest,” Aizawa said after a moment, his tone softening. “It’s been a long night. Can I do anything for you beforehand?”
Eva shook her head, her eyes growing a little distant. “Staying is enough,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts right now.”
Aizawa nodded, understanding without needing further explanation. "What do you want to do then?"
Eva glanced around, her mind still clouded by everything that had happened. “I think... I need a bath first,” she murmured almost absent-mindedly. “Then maybe we could watch something. Just to distract me for a while”.
He gave a slight nod. “Sounds like a good idea.”
Together they made their way upstairs to her living space, Luna and Mochi trailing behind them, quiet shadows in the dim light. As soon as they reached the top, Eva’s heart clenched with a sudden realization. “I never fed you two, did I?” she whispered apologetically to her cats, stroking them as they rubbed against her legs. The guilt deepened as another thought hit her. “And I didn’t feed the strays tonight either…”
Aizawa, watching her closely, spoke up. “Where do they usually wait?”
“Just down the alley towards the convenience store,” she said softly. “They know I come by in the early morning.”
“I’ll take care of them for the next few days while I’m on patrol,” Aizawa offered, his voice matter-of-fact, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Eva looked at him, the warmth of his words settling into the aching parts of her heart. “You don’t have to...”
“I want to,” Aizawa replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Consider it part of my patrol.”
She gave a small, tired smile, grateful beyond words. Aizawa, noticing her fatigue, gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you let me run the bath for you?” he suggested, his tone leaving little room for argument. “Take a minute for yourself.”
She started to protest but saw the resolute look in his eyes and relented. “Okay, I need to feed Luna and Mochi anyway.”
With a nod, Aizawa headed to the bathroom, and within minutes, she heard the sound of running water. Eva sighed and walked to the kitchen cupboard, retrieving a couple of cans of food. Mochi immediately began meowing dramatically, as though he hadn’t eaten in days, while Luna approached with a much more dignified calm. With both cats happily eating, Eva moved to the sofa and began flicking through the TV channels, her mind restless and unfocused until Aizawa's voice brought her back to reality to let her know the bath was ready, the gentle scent of vanilla and shea butter wafting faintly from the adjoining room.
Eva slipped into the bath, but the soothing warmth barely touched her. Her thoughts spiralled again, still laced with fear and lingering shadows of the night. Her skin felt raw, and the smell of cologne & stale cigarettes seemed to cling to her, no matter how much she tried to scrub it away. She worked quickly, mindful of the bruises and scrapes, focusing on washing every trace of the night from her body. She couldn’t stop the tremor in her hands as her mind kept replaying those awful moments in the alley.
When she finally stepped out, wrapping herself tightly in a soft robe, the chill still clung to her. She returned to the living room, finding Aizawa waiting, the lights dimmed, and the TV flickering softly.
She settled onto the couch beside him, letting him pick an old romantic comedy—light and cheerful, the perfect distraction. Sitting close, his presence warmed her in a way the bath hadn’t, steadying her.
As the film played, her body slowly began to relax, the safety of his presence beside her a comforting shield against the night’s shadows. The tension that had gripped her earlier started to melt away as she leaned into Aizawa, her head resting gently against his shoulder, enveloping him in the soft, comforting scent of damp hair and vanilla mingled with shea butter. Her breathing steadied, each exhale slower than the last as her eyelids fluttered, the exhaustion of the night finally took over. As the credits rolled, Luna posted herself like a sleek sentry on the sofa arm beside Aizawa while Mochi sprawled across their laps, a ridiculous, purring sandbag against the dark.
Aizawa glanced down at her, noting the way her body had eased into sleep. He didn’t move, didn’t stir. Instead, he sat quietly, a silent sentinel, letting her rest, the soft glow of the television casting faint shadows on the walls around them.
Notes:
Notes for those who wish to skip this chapter : When Eva is attacked her quirk shows a new power, the ability to control minds. Eva is in shock as she didn't realise her quirk could do this and worries that she's becoming like her mother. Aizawa says it was just her quirk protecting her and after finding out that she has had no quirk training says that she needs training and that he will come up with a plan. He asks her permission to speak to someone else about this. He also plans to give her self-defence training. Hizashi (Present Mic) is also introduced to Eva during this chapter. The chapter ends with Eva falling asleep against Aizawa while they are sat on her sofa.
Edited 28/08/2025 This was one of my biggest edits and probably the hardest one to do. I think it is the better for it though.
Chapter 18: Unspoken Bonds
Notes:
Revised and edited 29/08/2025
Chapter Text
Eva stirred in the early afternoon, her cheek pressing against something solid and warm. She blinked, catching sight of the bright light filtering through the glass of the crooked windows. She squinted, trying to focus, but her thoughts were sluggish, drifting in and out, as if reluctant to align. The weight of exhaustion, emotional and physical, hung heavily over her.
She shifted slightly, immediately wincing as a throbbing pain blossomed along her side, raw and insistent. Then it all came rushing back - the attack in the alley, her fear twisted into something darker as she unwittingly wielded her Quirk in a way she never had before. And then, Shota had been there, his voice grounding her, pulling her back from whatever dark precipice she was stumbling over. And he’d stayed by her side all morning.
Aizawa hadn’t rested at all.
Lifting her head, she glanced up at him. He was leaning back against the sofa beside her, eyes closed, but she knew he wasn’t asleep. The fine lines of exhaustion etched around his mouth and the dark circles beneath his eyes were tell-tale signs, his quiet vigil wearing him down even if he’d never admit it.
“Shota…” her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. His eyes opened immediately, dark and sharp, and he looked down at her, his gaze softening just a fraction when he met her own.
“Hey,” he said softly. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got trampled by a very irate rhino.” She attempted a small smile, though it faltered quickly as she shifted to sit upright, pressing a hand to her side where the bruises throbbed. “You haven’t slept, have you?”
“I’m fine,” he replied, voice low and dismissive. But the slight tension in his jaw betrayed him.
“Sensei,” she said, managing a weak but insistent look. “Go and get some rest. You need it.”
Aizawa’s eyes narrowed, a trace of amusement mingling with his exhaustion. “You’re not exactly in a position to be worrying about me, Songbird.”
Eva’s lips tugged into the barest hint of a smile at the nickname, but her concern didn’t waver. “You’ve been here all morning. That’s enough for anyone.”
"I’ll rest here." he said decisively, before adding with the grin that his students had already come to dread, "If you so much as think about getting up, I’ll use the capture scarf and tie you to the sofa.”
Eva arched her eyebrow as she looked up at him, a faint teasing lilt in her voice. “Threats, Sensei?”
His mouth quirked into a subtle smirk, though he didn’t reply. Instead, he rose and put the kettle on the hob. “Just… promise me you’ll take it easy.”
She shook her head, already resolved. “I need to open the tea house. I need to keep busy. If I sit still, I’ll only end up thinking about… everything.”
Aizawa’s gaze lingered, thoughtful and concerned. “Alright. But if you look like you’re about to collapse, I’m putting you back on this sofa. Deal?”
Eva’s lips softened into a smile at his obvious concern, warmth flickering through her exhaustion. “Deal.”
With that, Aizawa brought over her mug of tea before slipping into the bathroom, allowing her a few precious moments to centre herself. After a few deep breaths, she moved gingerly to her bedroom to prepare for the day. Her reflection in the mirror brought her pause; bruises shadowed her cheekbone and jaw, a jagged line running down her lip, a physical reminder of the previous night’s horrors. Her iridescent eyes, usually a soft wash of silver-lavender, darkened at the edges as if a bruise had formed inside them, the colours dull and restless as she swallowed, yet she willed herself to push past it. Her community, her tea house, they needed her- just as much as she needed them.
Once she had finished upstairs she took her time preparing the tea shop for opening - straightening jars on the shelves, arranging dried herbs, switching on lamps to bring warmth into the space. The kettle slowly boiled; steam pearled on the nearby glass, and the room breathed licorice and a trace of vanilla hiding beneath the mint. Mochi discovered a sunstrip on the worn wooden floor and draped himself across it like a felled cloud. Aizawa had settled in his seat by the fireplace, stretched out, eyes closed, with Luna curled up on his lap. Whilst they looked the picture perfect ideal of napping, Eva felt sure that they were both keeping a watchful eye on her. Eva finally made her way to the front door and took a steadying breath, feeling the familiar scents of lavender and passionflower filling the cosy room, trying their best to wrap around her like a comforting blanket.
With a small, determined smile, she unlocked the door, the hinges creaking softly in the quiet afternoon. Just as she flipped the sign to “Open,” a flurry of movement entered her peripheral vision.
Static bounced into the tea house with their usual whirlwind of energy, practically skipping past her, their bioluminescent tendrils glowing brightly. Their eyes immediately alighting on Aizawa already seated near the fireplace and squealed with delight, spinning around to face Eva with a mischievous grin.
"Eva! Did you let Mr. Grumpy in before opening hours?” they began to tease, but the words died in their throat as their eyes focused on her bruised face. Static’s bioluminescent tendrils dimmed as if someone had thrown a cloth over a lamp. The playful excitement vanished instantly, replaced by a look of shock and horror.
“What…? Eva, what happened?” Their voice trembled with a strained whisper, a mixture of worry and indignation tightening their expression.
Eva tried to smile, her tone light despite her fatigue. “It’s really nothing. Just a run-in with a… less-than-pleasant stranger.” She shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “I’m fine, Static. Just a few bruises.”
Static’s gaze remained fixed, their eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Oh, sure, because people just roll out of bed looking like they went ten rounds with a dumpster. Totally normal, Eva.” They folded their arms, tendrils flaring briefly with indignation. “You should be resting, not opening shop like nothing happened.”
Eva let out a soft laugh, attempting to dispel their concern. “You and Aizawa sound very similar today. But, honestly, I'm fine. And it helps to be here, doing something.”
Static’s mouth opened as if to argue, but they stopped themselves, their brows knitting together in concern. “Fine, but I’m helping you today. You’re not doing this alone.”
Eva knew there was no convincing them otherwise, so she gave a resigned smile “Only if you wear an apron,” Eva countered, nodding to a spare she kept hanging by the counter, a row of whimsically embroidered cats playing along the hem.
Static’s grin returned, sun-bright. “Cats are my brand,” they exclaimed as they tugged it on, “and you're to take it easy. No arguments — team rules.”
“When did I become your responsibility?” Eva joked back.
“Since I walked in and adopted you,” they said, matter-of-fact, adjusting a display as if the shop had always been theirs to fuss over.
An hour later, Aizawa stirred, his expression still as guarded as ever as he walked up to the counter, though there was a subtle nod of approval in his gaze as he glanced at Static. “Keep an eye on her—text me if she so much as sways,” he said, already checking his phone. “I’ll be at the station. Don’t let her play hero.”
Static straightened, giving Aizawa a mock salute. “You got it, Aizawa. She’s not getting away from me. If she wobbles, she sits. If she sits, I brew. If I brew…” “You burn the tea house down,” Eva supplied, deadpan. Static’s laugh was bright enough to make the lamps blink.”
Aizawa’s gaze softened as he looked back at Eva. “I’ll be back soon.”
She nodded, her heart squeezing a little as he turned and left. The shop felt different in his absence, but there was no time to linger on the feeling. She had a tea house to run, and her day carried on with Static by her side, throwing themselves into every task with their usual vibrant energy.
*****
The following afternoon, as Eva went to open up for the day, she noticed something peculiar outside the door. A collection of items lay carefully arranged by the entrance—a curious assortment of parcels, flowers, and small tokens. She paused, confused, until a surprised smile tugged at her lips, tears welling in her eyes, as she crouched down to inspect the display.
Some of the items were simple and humble: bunches of wildflowers picked from the roadside, homemade treats wrapped in wax paper, and even a well-worn scarf carefully folded. There were other odds and ends too - an old silver bracelet, a stack of yellowed paperbacks, a child’s drawing depicting a smiling stick figure labelled “Nightingale.” And in the midst of it all, a small, weathered teapot with intricate floral engravings that had likely belonged to someone’s grandmother.
Each item told a story, representing a piece of the lives of the people who’d left them. And in each gift, however small or odd, was a gesture of gratitude, a way for her community to say thank you to the woman they called “Nightingale.”
Eva’s throat tightened as she picked up a small, unevenly made clay figure, clearly crafted by a child. She didn’t need expensive gestures or fancy words to feel the love that radiated from these offerings; these were the things her community treasured, pieces of themselves they’d shared with her.
By the time she finished gathering the items, her heart was full. With Static’s help, they carefully arranged the gifts inside the tea house, each item finding a place on the counter or a shelf, adding to the cosy, mismatched charm of her shop. Even Static’s usual mischievous energy seemed subdued, a quiet appreciation softening their usually playful demeanour. Yet reverence could only hold for so long in a shop that employed two cats: a length of bakery twine slipped free of a wax-paper parcel and made a daring escape across counter, whereupon Mochi launched after it with operatic intensity, paws skittering on the polished surface as he executed a dramatic sideways slide onto the floor, the twine looping his ear while he styled it out as if he had meant this to happen all along. Luna who had been watching from her window seat with the air of a night manager covering a shift she had not approved, paws tucked neatly beneath her, gave one disdainful chirrup as if to disassociate herself from such shenanigans and began to gracefully clean one paw.
After an hour or so almost every gift had found its place, the earlier chaos reined in. “They love you, you know?” Static said, their voice uncharacteristically gentle as they watched her place the final item—a small bunch of hand-picked flowers—beside the register.
Eva swallowed, blinking back the sudden prickle of tears. “I… I never thought…” She took a shaky breath, looking around the room that had transformed into a shrine of gratitude and love. “It’s humbling. They didn’t have to...” “They did,” Static said, softer still. “You keep them healed; this is them healing you. Let 'em; we’ll put the kettle on, help whoever needs help, and you, Nightingale, will practise the radical art of being looked after — team rules" they added grinning again.
That night, as the tea house settled into its usual quiet hum, Aizawa returned. Eva looked up from where she was stacking cups and met his gaze, noticing the subtle lines of weariness around his eyes.
Without a word, he crossed the room and took a seat at the counter, letting out a sigh that seemed to release a weight he’d carried all day. She poured him a cup of tea and slid it across the counter, her fingers brushing his for the briefest of moments.
As he took a sip, he finally looked up at her, his gaze softening. “You don’t have to worry about pressing charges.”
She blinked, surprised, and a knot of tension settled in her chest. “What… what happened?”
Aizawa’s gaze shifted, a touch darker than usual. “The man… he died earlier today in custody.”
Eva’s heart stopped, a surge of panic rushing through her. She could feel the colour drain from her face as the memory of her Quirk, twisted and dark, surfaced. “Shota… was it… did I…?”
“No.” His voice was firm, cutting through her fear like a knife. He set his cup down, meeting her gaze with a quiet intensity. “This had nothing to do with you, Eva. He must have had enemies. They made sure he wouldn’t hurt anyone else.”
His words should have brought comfort, but the lingering shadows of doubt remained. Aizawa reached across the counter, his fingers brushing her knuckles with a gentleness that belied his usual gruff demeanour.
“Listen to me,” he said softly, his eyes meeting hers. “This wasn’t your fault.”
There were details he refused to give her, however. He would not add those pictures to her memory. How her assailant had been found with injuries carefully mirroring Eva’s own—a battered face, split lip, deep bruises, and fractured ribs. A group of prisoners had taken him out, ensuring he’d suffered at least physically how he had made her suffer, before delivering the killing slice to his artery.
Eva sat in silence, the weight of Aizawa's words slowly settling into her bones, the warmth of his hand on hers a small, comforting gesture. The knot in her chest began to loosen, though the shadows of doubt still lingered at the edges. She took a steadying breath, feeling the soft hum of the tea house around her- a place that had always been her sanctuary, a place that was slowly stitching her back together, piece by fractured piece.
Chapter 19: Of Mouse and Men
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The late April sunlight slanted through the tall windows of the Twilight Tea House, casting long, warm beams over the shelves of herbs and dried flowers. The faint scent of cherry blossoms from a nearby tree mingled with the earthy aroma of the tea shop, creating an air of quiet comfort. Outside, a scooter rattled past trailing the faint sweetness of street-stall taiyaki; inside, dust motes drifted in the sun-beams like stray blossom, catching on the glass jars. Eva Hood, known to most in the neighbourhood as Nightingale, moved quietly behind the counter placing newly dried bundles of rosemary into one of the higher jars, the scent earthy and bright in the sun-warmed air. On her window seat, Luna had already claimed the brightest square of sunlight, unspooling herself along the cushion until her black coat looked lacquered by the rays, one paw lazily swiping at a drifting mote before the paw folded back beneath her chin. Mochi, roused by the rustle of paper packets and the clink of glass, abandoned his perch on a nearby shelf, thudding down with a ragdoll heft that made the jars tremble. He landed by Eva’s ankles with the dignified grace of a sack of flour remembering it could purr and pressed his cheek to her calf, while Luna slit one eye, deemed the commotion beneath her notice, and stretched deeper into the heat until the tip of her tail tapped the window glass.
Without thinking, Eva thumbed the cool river-worn jade stone in her apron pocket, the way she always did when her thoughts gathered like sparrows on a wire. In the past week, she had found herself mentally counting down the hours until the evening—when Aizawa would arrive, and their self-defence lessons would begin. It had been Aizawa’s idea, suggested with a steady calmness that belied his determination. She was still recovering from her bruised ribs and strained shoulder, but he had insisted that she could begin with basic techniques, simple movements that would help her if she were ever caught off-guard again. She’d suspected that beneath his pragmatism was a subtle note of guilt for not being there when she was attacked. As much as she wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, she knew better than to try. Aizawa seemed determined to be protective, and, to her surprise, she found herself grateful for it. His methods were straightforward and, admittedly, effective. He taught her how to position herself, balance her weight, how to assess a situation for escape routes, and, most of all, how to trust her own strength. There was something comforting about it—Aizawa’s solid presence, his calm voice guiding her, steady and patient.
But these lessons had left her vulnerable to an entirely different kind of attack in the form of her beloved but incorrigible friend, Static.
“Ohhh, special training, huh?” Static’s eyes had glittered with the kind of mischief that could only mean trouble. “Didn’t realize ‘self-defence’ meant spending all that quality time… so close and personal?”
Eva flushed, her composure slipping under Static’s relentless, gleeful teasing. She shot them a look that was supposed to be stern but came off more flustered than anything. “It’s not like that,” she insisted, though her voice wavered.
Static just leaned back, their smirk widening. “Oh, really? Because it sounds to me like ‘Sensei’ might be angling for a bit more than ‘just friends’ status… and maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t mind it.”
Eva had nearly dropped the teapot she’d been holding, unable to meet Static’s teasing gaze. “He’s just teaching me a few things for my safety,” she insisted. Static’s knowing grin hadn’t wavered, and she could tell they were far from convinced.
“Right. ‘Safety’ lessons that involve all that hand-holding and guiding your posture.” Static had leaned closer, adding in a mock whisper, “C’mon, Eva, a guy doesn’t volunteer for ‘after-hours lessons’ unless he’s thinking about a little more than self-defence, you know?” They shrugged with a faux-casual air. “Or has he already secured that top spot in your heart?”
Static’s relentless teasing had haunted her thoughts all week, making every moment with Aizawa just a little more self-conscious. And as much as she tried to brush it off, there was a small part of her that couldn’t deny the warmth in the quiet moments of those “lessons,” the feeling of his hand on her shoulder or the calm in his voice when he spoke her name.
The chime above the door brought her out of her thoughts. “Good afternoon,” came the polite, almost lilting voice of her new visitor.
Eva set the last jar on the shelf and turned toward the counter, only to see… no one. Puzzled, she glanced around, feeling a faint pulse of energy from her Quirk. She looked down, and a small figure came into view—a creature who, to her surprise, was neither mouse nor bear, but something charmingly in between.
“Good afternoon,” she replied warmly, her silver-lavender eyes reflecting her intrigue as she took in the unique appearance of her visitor. “Welcome to the Twilight Tea House.”
Her visitor, who introduced himself as Nezu, climbed up onto one of the bar stools with remarkable ease, looking around with a keen curiosity that Eva could practically feel in the air. Once settled, he straightened his collar and looked at her with bright, knowing eyes.
“I’ve heard wonderful things about your establishment,” Nezu began, his tone amiable. “The peace of this place is truly something remarkable.”
Eva offered him a gentle smile. “Thank you. I do my best to make it comfortable for everyone who visits.”
“And you succeed,” Nezu replied smoothly. “So, Miss Hood, if I may… do you have a tea you’d recommend? I’m quite open to suggestions.”
Eva considered him thoughtfully, gauging his calm demeanour and the focused energy that hummed beneath it. She chose a blend of white tea, lavender, and rosemary, something light but refreshing, with just enough clarity to satisfy his evidently sharp mind.
As she prepared the tea, she felt his gaze following her movements, thoughtful but unobtrusive. “How long have you been here, if you don’t mind me asking?” Nezu’s voice was mild, yet his gaze held an intensity, as though he were quietly absorbing every detail of her and her surroundings.
“Since I was about thirteen,” she replied, setting the steaming cup before him with a gentle smile. “I’ve been running it on my own for the last few months, since my mentor passed. Keeping it going… and trying to honour what they built here.”
Nezu gave a small polite nod, but he offered no further question just yet, his focus instead on the tea before him. Lifting the teacup delicately he inhaled first, eyes half-closing. “Lavender on the nose, rosemary riding second, white tea behaving nicely beneath—clean, clarifying.” He took a measured sip and set the cup precisely on the saucer’s ring. “And brewed at a temperature that respects the leaf. How… rare", a pleased hum escaping him.
“Delightful,” he proclaimed, eyes gleaming with approval. “It must be an enormous responsibility, carrying on such a tradition. I wonder… what drew you to this work?”
His questions were pointed, but they held a gentle, genuine curiosity. Eva hesitated, surprised by his interest, but something about his benign yet intense presence made her feel as though he would understand.
“ I suppose there’s something about this place. It’s calm. It’s safe. It was a haven for me when I needed it. I wanted to create that space for others, too.”
Nezu’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, his eyes sharp, and his next words carried a hint of amusement. “A noble intention. And one that seems to attract an unusually wide variety of visitors.”
Eva nodded, smiling slightly. “Yes, I suppose so. The tea house seems to be a sanctuary for anyone looking to escape the world, even for a little while.”
“Ah, yes” he replied, that gleam in his eyes returning. “Even those who make a living confronting the chaos outside.”
Just as he said this, the door chime rang again, and Eva looked up to see Aizawa standing in the doorway, his gaze narrowing almost immediately when he spotted Nezu perched comfortably at the counter.
“Nezu,” he greeted, his tone flat but carrying a note of suspicion. “What brings you here?”
Nezu looked up, a polite smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. “Why, Shota! I’m simply here to sample the famed Twilight Tea House. I’d heard so much about it, after all. And from a rather… particular source.”
Aizawa’s expression turned wary, his jaw setting with a touch of exasperation as he shot a glance at Eva, who was watching the exchange with quiet confusion. “Nezu,” he warned softly, his tone laced with a subtle edge.
“Oh, Shota, don’t look so stern,” Nezu replied, utterly unfazed. “You must admit, it’s rare for you to spend so much time in one place outside of work. I felt compelled to investigate the source of such a… sustained interest.”
Eva, caught between amusement and puzzlement, looked between them, wondering at the tension simmering just below the surface. Aizawa’s face was an unreadable mask, though his discomfort was palpable.
Nezu turned back to Eva, a look of mock innocence lighting up his face. “Did you know, Miss Hood, that Shota here speaks quite highly of you?”
Eva blinked, taken aback. “Does he?” she replied, blushing slightly, a surprised smile crossing her face.
“Oh, yes,” Nezu continued, entirely undeterred by Aizawa’s darkening gaze. “It’s rare to find him so fond of a place, let alone someone who keeps him coming back. And from what I’ve heard, he's even been helping you with… ah, extracurricular lessons, shall we say?”
Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse. Eva’s cheeks flushed brighter as she glanced at him, Static's thoughts of her training sessions replaying in her mind. She swallowed, clearing her throat.
“They’re, ah… self-defence lessons,” she said, feeling a bit like a student caught in the act of something far more scandalous.
Nezu’s grin only widened. “How very considerate of him. I must say, Shota’s protective instincts are quite… impressive.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a grand secret. “He doesn’t make the time for just anyone.”
Aizawa shot Nezu a look that could’ve curdled milk. “Nezu, I think you’ve made your point,” he said, voice low but edged with resignation.
“Oh, I’m merely enjoying myself,” Nezu replied breezily, his mischievous grin entirely unrepentant. “And, of course, I’m only here to ensure that our dear Miss Hood has everything she needs.”
Eva raised a brow, trying to piece together Nezu’s odd words. “Everything I need?” she echoed, her curiosity fully piqued.
“Indeed,” Nezu said, his expression softening with something approaching sincerity. “Let’s just say, Miss Hood, that if ever you require assistance of a more official nature, you need only ask. It seems you have some… advocates in high places.”
Aizawa shifted beside him, his posture tense but resigned, as if he’d given up any hope of hiding his discomfort behind his usual stoic demeanour.
With a final sip of tea, Nezu hopped down from his chair, giving Eva a small, formal bow. “It has been a pleasure, Miss Hood. I look forward to our paths crossing again.”
Eva inclined her head, her curiosity deepening. “The pleasure’s been mine, Mr. Nezu.”
Nezu’s eyes gleamed with one last look of mischief. “I’m sure it has. Take care, Shota.” He tipped his head toward Aizawa, who only managed a long-suffering sigh.
As Nezu made his way to the door, he paused, glancing back with a slight smile. “And Miss Hood,” he said, his tone warm, “I do hope you’ll find the assistance you need. We’re here to help, after all.”
And with that, he stepped through the door, leaving behind a bewildered Eva and an uncharacteristically flustered Aizawa.
Eva watched the door close behind Nezu, a soft laugh escaping her as she turned to Aizawa, still caught between surprise and amusement. “So,” she began, a mischievous smile creeping across her face, “you speak highly of me, huh?”
Aizawa ran a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated as he lowered himself onto the chair Nezu had just vacated, his gaze fixed firmly on the counter.
“Don’t start,” he muttered, his voice filled with the resignation of a man who knew exactly what he’d set himself up for.
Eva suppressed a laugh, taking in the rare sight of Aizawa looking… ruffled. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Sensei,” she replied, her voice light but teasing.
He let out a sigh that held the faintest trace of a groan, dragging his hand down his face before meeting her gaze. “That was… Nezu. He’s the principal of U.A. High School.”
Eva blinked, her brow lifting as she processed this new piece of information. “Your… boss?” She paused, a hint of realization softening her expression. “Wait—is he the person you said you’d talk to about my Quirk?”
“Yeah,” he replied, his voice heavy with reluctant admission. “I mentioned your situation to him, but I didn’t expect him to show up in person.” He exhaled sharply, visibly annoyed with himself for underestimating Nezu’s curiosity.
Eva studied him, her gaze both intrigued and amused. “Seems like you and your boss have a pretty… unique relationship.” There was a soft tease in her tone, but her eyes sparkled with genuine interest.
Aizawa gave a faint, wry smile. “Don’t I just,” he muttered, shaking his head as though the whole exchange had drained him more than an entire day’s patrol.
“Nezu has… well, he’s the sharpest mind I know,” he continued, a flicker of respect lacing his otherwise dry tone. “If anyone’s going to help figure out what to do, it’s him.”
Eva folded her arms, leaning against the counter thoughtfully. “Well, at least I know I’m in good hands… even if it means you’ll have to endure a little more teasing on my behalf.”
Aizawa groaned softly, though his eyes held a resigned warmth as he met her gaze. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled. “Just don’t let it go to your head, Songbird.”
Aizawa finally leaned back, a small sigh escaping him, though the lines of tension on his face had softened. “Look,” he began, his tone carrying a slight edge of reluctance, “Nezu… well, he’s definitely a character. But he’s good at what he does. If anyone can help you make sense of things, it’s him.”
Eva’s smile softened, gratitude flickering in her eyes. “I believe you, he certainly seems to know much more than he lets on.” Her gaze returned to Aizawa, and a glimmer of playfulness danced in her eyes. “But I’ll admit, it’s nice to hear that you had such high praise for me."
Aizawa rubbed the back of his neck, his expression shifting from exasperation to something uncharacteristically vulnerable, a faint flush on his cheeks. “Yeah, well,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “Don’t read too much into it.”
She chuckled, the sound light and warm, and leaned forward on the counter, her tone softening as she met his gaze. “I appreciate you reaching out to him, Shota. Really.”
He looked away, a faint, barely-there smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Just doing my job,” he replied, though the quiet warmth in his eyes as he glanced back at her said otherwise.
Eva’s smile grew, and she couldn’t resist one last gentle prod. “Well, your ‘Songbird’ here is grateful.”
Aizawa’s faint smile wavered, a flicker of something deeper crossing his face before he quickly masked it. Her words echoed in his mind, tugging at him, and a strange tightness settled in his chest. He straightened, clearing his throat abruptly as if he’d just remembered something pressing.
“I… should get going,” he said, glancing toward the door. “Need to prepare for tonight’s patrol.”
The words felt rushed, almost brittle, and he cursed himself for it, but it was all he could manage. He felt himself slipping, and in a moment of rare vulnerability, he knew he had to leave—before he said something he couldn’t take back. He could still feel the warmth of her words—your Songbird —lingering in the air, unsettling him in a way he couldn’t afford to acknowledge.
Eva’s smile faded, just a little, but she nodded, sensing his sudden shift, realising that perhaps she had pushed her teasing too far. “Of course,” she replied softly. “Stay safe out there, Sensei.”
He gave a stiff nod, his gaze lingering on her for a fraction longer than necessary before he turned toward the door. He could still hear her laughter, still feel the way her gaze had softened when she looked at him. It was dangerous, how easily her words could unsettle him, make him question walls he’d spent years constructing.
As the door swung shut behind him, Aizawa took a steadying breath. She was just teasing, he told himself. Just harmless banter from a friend, nothing more. But no matter how firmly he tried to convince himself, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that Eva had found a way into places he’d long closed off.
He told himself it was best if he ignored it. Bury it deep. She deserved his respect, his guidance, and his protection—nothing more. Whatever pull he felt, he’d keep things professional. He had to.
And yet, as he walked away from the Twilight Tea House, he couldn’t quite escape the sense that something fragile and new might already be slipping through his fingers.
Notes:
Edited 30/08/2025
Chapter 20: The Sports Festival
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Shota Aizawa was no stranger to bad weeks, but this one? This one was in a league of its own.
With every dragged-out day, Aizawa’s mood had slipped further, his mind clouded by sleep-deprivation and an unshakable, gnawing guilt. He hadn’t meant to be so distant with Eva; he’d simply needed time to clear his head, to come to terms with the inexplicable fondness he felt for her. The reality of the situation had hit him like a brick when she called herself his songbird, the possibility that it might not be just a fantasy he could ignore, that she might actually be becoming part of his world. It scared him and he convinced himself that it was best for both of them to maintain a “professional distance”, the same as he did with everyone else. But every time he held back a word, every time he forced his face into a practised mask of indifference, he noticed the flicker of sadness in her eyes—a shade of hurt she was too kind to bring up.
Since he'd tried to distance himself from Eva, hoping some space would lessen the pull he felt toward her, he’d felt more than just physical fatigue. It was an aching emptiness he couldn't shake, intensified each time he opened his phone to find a morning cat photo from her. Luna perched delicately by a stack of freshly cut lavender, Mochi sprawled over an open book like he’d decided to be a bookmark—all the things he usually looked forward to, but now they came without the cheerful notes she once sent. Gone were the playful remarks, the light teasing she sometimes risked, usually at his expense. And he missed it more than he’d ever admit.
Hizashi, his ever-perceptive friend, had noticed, of course. The loud blond hero cornered him whenever he could, like a persistent woodpecker, trying to catch Aizawa between classes, ambushing him in the teacher’s lounge with irritatingly persistent questions.
“Shota! You’re killing me, man, you’ve been gloomier than usual,” Hizashi said, eyes glinting with a mix of concern and relentless curiosity. “Come on, what’s up? You’re sleeping even less, you’re barely responding to anything. Even Eraser Head's gotta need friends, right?”
“There’s nothing going on,” Aizawa replied gruffly, rubbing the back of his neck and trying not to glance at his phone. He knew he wouldn’t find a text from her there; she only sent him photos now, no words. And for reasons that troubled him more than he cared to admit, the lack of her voice, virtual or otherwise, felt unsettling.
Hizashi leaned in, his eyebrow quirked and arms folded, sceptical as ever. “Right, right,” he said, drawing out the words. “Except, ya know, every time your phone buzzes, you look like someone just threw sand in your eyes, and there’s no way I’m imagining that!”
“Nothing's wrong,” he grumbled, now staring at a student report with far more focus than it deserved.
“Right. You’re just more miserable than usual for no reason whatsoever,” Hizashi pressed. “You look worse than after the USJ attack. And I know you, Shota. I know when something’s eating at you. So spill.”
“There’s nothing to spill,” Aizawa replied, trying to cut off the conversation with a tone that dared his friend to continue.
Before Hizashi could press him further, Nezu’s voice crackled over the loudspeaker.
“Present Mic, Eraser Head, please meet me in my office when convenient regarding the Sports Festival.”
Aizawa barely suppressed a groan. The Sports Festival commentary was something he dreaded annually, but what he dreaded more was the unshakable feeling that he had yet another role to play in Nezu's schemes.
As it turned out, his instincts were correct.
“You’ll have commentary duties again,” Nezu announced, his small yet sharp eyes fixed on Aizawa. “But I would also like you to bring a guest. Miss Eva Hood.”
Aizawa’s attention snapped to Nezu, the absurdity of the request sending an unpleasant jolt through his system. Invite her, after the entire week of cold silence? Hizashi now wore a look of unabashed curiosity, his mouth dropping open in a momentary shock before a wide grin spread across his face.
“Eva Hood?” Hizashi piped up, glancing between Nezu and Aizawa with a furrowed brow. “Why does that name sound familiar…?” His face lit up in sudden recognition, a spark of curiosity brightening his eyes. “Wait—she’s the lady from that tea house, right? I met her after—” He stopped, catching himself, but his intrigue only grew as he looked back at Aizawa. “She’s got that place with the comfy atmosphere… and cats.”
Aizawa’s jaw tightened, but there was no escaping either Nezu’s directive or Hizashi’s mounting interest.
Nezu nodded. “Yes, the very same. I think it will be an enriching experience for her.” He gave a cheerful, toothy smile that only deepened Aizawa’s discomfort.
“But why invite her?” Aizawa asked, trying and failing to mask the edge of reluctance in his voice.
Nezu tilted his head thoughtfully. “Consider it an opportunity for her to observe. And besides, you two are... acquainted.” He gave a look that suggested he knew far more than he was letting on.
Aizawa blinked, caught off guard. “I… don’t think she’d be interested in this sort of thing.”
But Nezu waved a small paw dismissively. “Nonsense! She’s the owner of Twilight Tea House, isn’t she? A place frequented by all manner of guests. I think she’d appreciate seeing the potential for good that our students represent. I trust you can handle this simple invitation?”
Aizawa could practically feel Hizashi’s thoughts racing beside him, and the smirk he had struggled to suppress finally broke free. “Oh, this is gonna be amazing! The mysterious Eva Hood, here with you to watch our students in action? I wouldn’t miss this for anything!”
Nezu unbothered by the reaction, set a small, neatly printed invitation on the desk with Eva’s name and a tiny, carefully handwritten “plus one” at the bottom.
“You have your orders,” Nezu said with finality, and what looked like the slightest glint of mischief in his eyes.
*****
The day of the U.A. Sports Festival arrived, and Aizawa felt a tension grip him as he led Eva through the stadium’s buzzing crowd. The echoes of excited students and their families layered over one another, forming a steady hum that seemed to press in on them from all sides. The tannoy’s metallic bark skittered along the concrete, banners slapped the rails like restless birds, and the cloying fried air of festival stalls pressed at the back of Eva's throat. Beside her, Aizawa’s shoulders drew in by minute degrees—an almost invisible tell that he would rather circumvent crowds than suffer them. He glanced over to see Eva shifting uncomfortably, clearly sensitive to the noise and energy.
At her side was Tama Mizuchi—Static—looking as animated as ever, practically vibrating with excitement. They were dressed in an oversized hoodie that looked like it had been picked out for maximum comfort, the hood pulled up as if to shield them from the overstimulating environment. Their eyes were wide and shining with eager anticipation, a clear contrast to Eva’s controlled, somewhat reluctant expression. The hood threw Static's jellyfish-like glow into shadow; when they grinned, the tendrils of their hair brightened like filaments. A few spectators stared in the thoughtless way people do. Eva’s posture shifted, half a step closer, a shield against judgement.
“Thank you for coming,” Aizawa said quietly as they reached the family box set up for visitors. “Nezu thought—”
“Don’t worry, I get it,” Eva replied, her voice steady and polite, if a bit cool. She offered him a small, practised smile, her gaze focused somewhere just past his shoulder. For some reason that smile hurt. It felt like a solid wall had slipped into place between them, firm and unyielding.
He wanted to explain, to clarify what had become such a tangled mess of his own doing, but he just nodded, gesturing her toward the reserved seats. As they walked, she said nothing, her silence filling the spaces where her quiet, good-natured quips would have been.
They’d barely settled when two familiar voices approached, both far too loud for Aizawa’s comfort. Hizashi and Midnight were upon them, the pair exuding curiosity as they closed in on the box.
“Is this the infamous Eva Hood?” Midnight leaned in on a whisper of violet talc and leather, her red lips quirking into a teasing smile, her sultry voice wrapping itself around her words. “I’d heard stories but didn’t quite believe it. And with Shota escorting you here himself? A bit more than a ‘simple invitation,’ wouldn’t you say?”
Eva’s face pinked slightly, her posture stiffening, though she tried to keep her expression neutral. Aizawa could see the tension gathering in her shoulders, the way her fingers curled subtly around the edge of her seat.
“It’s not like that,” he muttered, voice as steady as he could manage. “Nezu thought she’d enjoy seeing the Sports Festival. She’s just an acquaintance.”
Static’s lips parted as if to argue, but one look at Eva’s face made them hesitate. Eva had met Aizawa’s gaze for a heartbeat just after the word “acquaintance” passed his lips, her eyes wide with something close to hurt, before she dropped her gaze, her expression closing. The irises that so often held dusk-silver cooled toward a bruised violet, mirroring the bruise she felt bloom in her heart.
“Well, well,” Midnight teased, her grin wide and mischievous, either ignoring or failing to notice Eva's pained look. “Shota, you didn’t tell us your ‘acquaintance’ was this charming! And don’t tell me you haven’t noticed, Eva, that our dear Shota can be quite the charmer himself, even if he tries to hide it.” Eva blinked, her face a practised mask of calm. Static, however, seemed ready to burst, fists clenched and visibly restraining their expression. Midnight, apparently oblivious to the tension she’d stirred, continued her banter, seeming to find endless entertainment in the situation.
“Oh, and she’s brought a friend! Well, Shota, it’s so cute to see you keeping up with the kids,” Midnight laughed.
Aizawa’s frown deepened, and he finally spoke up. “Nezu wanted her to be here. That’s all.” His words fell flat like newspaper print, emotionless, and they hung in the air for a moment before Static, visibly vibrating with restrained anger, glanced toward Eva for guidance.
Eva didn’t look at them, her gaze focused somewhere distant as if she were trying to take in the view around them. The momentary sadness that Aizawa had caught earlier resurfaced, darker now. Her fingers tightened around her coat, and the words she chose came out stiff, the sort of response she used with strangers in the shop, her silver-lavender eyes now tinted with flecks of violet.
“Well,” she said calmly facing the three with a hint of false cheer, “thank you for showing us to our seats, Aizawa.” She forced a small smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes as she looked at his friends “It was a pleasure to meet you both”. She then began to study the sports day programme she retrieved from her bag with the air of someone who had dismissed them.
For Aizawa the situation felt like he’d slammed a door, not realizing how hard it would reverberate through him until he’d done it.
Hizashi’s earlier enthusiasm had softened, a note of empathy and worry slipping through as he glanced between the two of them, but Aizawa forced himself to look away. After all, he told himself, this was what he’d wanted: simplicity, distance.
As he turned to leave, he felt a pang of something sharp and uncomfortable, like the lingering bitterness of tea left too long to steep.
The trio of heroes finally departed, Hizashi casting one last concerned look over his shoulder as he left. The silence that followed felt oppressive. Static was visibly restraining themselves, fists clenched in frustration, glancing at Eva before finally blurting, “Eva, are you… alright?”
Eva gave a small, brittle smile, the sort that might shatter under the weight of even a whisper. “I’m fine, Static. Let’s enjoy the festival.”
Static, no longer buoyant with excitement, simply nodded, settling beside her with a stiffness that reflected Eva’s. The event unfolded with its usual bursts of excitement. The students’ eager faces, the cheers from families in the crowd, the roar of applause—all of it echoed around them. Throughout the events, Eva remained composed, her focus half on the athletic displays and half on her efforts to keep her emotions in check. Static chattered beside her, their voice muffled in her mind as she kept her attention fixed straight ahead.
As the festival drew to a close, she leaned toward Static, her voice soft. “Would you mind if we slipped out a bit early? The crowd is going to be difficult.”
Static nodded eagerly, relief clear in their expression. “Of course. I’d take an early exit over a crowd any day.”
Eva forced a chuckle, though her eyes remained distant. They left just as the final round was concluding, slipping quietly out of the stadium and into the fresh, open air outside. She let out a shaky breath, but her face remained inscrutable as they made their way back to the Twilight Tea House.
When they arrived, Static shifted awkwardly, clearly torn between wanting to stay and respecting Eva’s space.
Eva forced a small smile. “I’ll be fine, Static. I think… I’ll just go to bed. You should head home.”
Static’s expression softened, worry etching their gaze, but they nodded. “If you need me, call, okay? Any time.”
Eva nodded, her lips parting in a whisper of thanks before she disappeared into the shop, the door clicking shut with a quiet finality. The tea house, usually alive with warmth, felt hollow, echoing the silence she’d left in her wake.
Climbing upstairs, she walked through her quiet, shadowed living quarters above the tea house and to the sanctuary of her bedroom. She slipped her mobile phone from her pocket, her thumb hesitating over the screen before she held down the power button and watched the light flicker out. As the darkness settled over the small device, she felt a momentary sense of relief - as if, without its persistent presence, she could temporarily escape the turbulent feelings that had clouded her heart since the festival.
Luna and Mochi sensed her mood immediately. Luna padded over to her, pressing her sleek, black head against Eva’s leg with soft insistence. Mochi was already curled at the foot of her bed, his large blue eyes watching her with an expression of unwavering loyalty, as if he understood.
She reached down, letting her fingers slip through Luna’s soft fur, grounding herself in the gentle warmth of her feline companions. “I’m fine, you two,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as she drew the blinds against the evening light. “Just… tired.”
The room grew dim, a soft blue twilight filtering through the blinds as she sank down into her bed, Luna curling up by her side and Mochi pressing closer against her legs. She lay still, surrounded by their warm, quiet presence, and eventually drifted into a restless sleep.
*****
When she awoke the next morning, her head was throbbing, the room’s dimness doing little to soothe her growing headache. She pulled her phone out reluctantly, switching it on and quickly typing a message to Static:
“Not opening the tea house today. Migraine.”
She hit send, heart pounding as she stubbornly ignored the urge to check for other messages. If Aizawa had contacted her, she didn’t want to know. Not yet.
The hours drifted by slowly as she turned to her collection of video games, trying to lose herself in their familiar worlds. Her cats remained close, moving with her as she shifted between the couch and bed, their gentle warmth easing some of the ache in her head and heart. She held Mochi against her chest, his purr vibrating against her ribs like a soft engine as Luna blinked in slow reassurance from the arm of the sofa. Hours melted away in quiet isolation, the familiar sounds of her cosy games and the soft sound of purring becoming her entire world.
Outside, Static was not as content to let things lie. Spotting Aizawa patrolling in the early evening, they zeroed in on him, their steps purposeful, practically vibrating with indignation as the streetlights flickered around them.
“Aizawa!” Static’s voice rang out, louder than they’d intended. People nearby glanced over, but Static didn’t care. They intercepted him, their eyes sparking with anger as colours pulsed under their skin.
Aizawa turned, his expression wary as he took in Static’s stormy gaze. “Something you need, Static?”
Static’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, there is. I need to know why you’re treating Eva like this. Because she doesn’t deserve it.” Their voice shook, a mixture of anger and pain flashing across their usually cheerful face. “You have no idea how much you’ve hurt her. You should have seen her yesterday, how closed off she was. And it’s because of you. ”
Aizawa blinked, taken aback by the intensity of Static’s words, and a flicker of shame crept into his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but Static pressed on.
“She’s one of the kindest people I know,” Static continued, voice thick with emotion. “She didn’t deserve for you to treat her like she’s… like she's nobody.” They took a shaky breath, folding their arms tightly across their chest. “I thought you cared about her.”
Aizawa’s gaze darkened as he struggled to find the right words, but Static didn’t wait. “Whatever excuse you have? It’s not enough,” they muttered before turning sharply, leaving him standing alone, troubled, and entirely unsure of himself.
The following evening, after a restless day and night, Eva finally unlocked the door to the Twilight Tea House. To her surprise, a figure waited by the door. She blinked, momentarily caught off guard until she recognized the familiar blond hair and tentative grin. Hizashi Yamada, in his civilian clothes, greeted her with a casual wave.
“Eva! Been waiting a while to catch you alone,” he said, his voice warm but lacking his usual volume.
Eva hesitated a moment, her hand lingering on the door as she took in Hizashi’s bright, eager expression that seemed slightly dimmed by something more restrained today. She stepped aside, offering him a practised smile and gesturing for him to come in. “Good evening, Hizashi. Please, come in. How can I help you?”
Hizashi’s usual energy seemed somewhat tempered as he crossed the threshold, pausing to scratch the back of his neck. He avoided her gaze for a heartbeat before fleetingly meeting her eyes, a seriousness in his own that was uncommon. “I thought I’d drop by and check on you,” he said, his tone softened. “You see, Shota’s been a real downer lately. And... I think I know why.”
Eva’s fingers tightened around the herb jar she’d been fidgeting with, her gaze lowering as she fought to maintain her composure. She said nothing, but the small, subtle tension in her shoulders and the way her fingers gripped the jar hinted at the thoughts swirling within her.
Hizashi, undeterred by her silence, leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter as his expression kind but serious. “Listen, Shota isn’t the easiest person to get to know. He’s guarded. Keeps himself locked up tight, you know? And for good reason.”
Eva’s fingers tightened further around the herb jar, her gaze fixed as if every fleck and grain inside it held some profound mystery. She didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge Hizashi’s words beyond a small shift of her grip.
“I’m guessing he hasn’t told you much about what happened to him years ago.” Hizashi’s voice had softened to a near whisper. “Shota… he lost someone close to him. A friend. Someone he cared about a lot. After that, he changed. He blamed himself even though it wasn't his fault. He’s been carrying that weight ever since, and he hasn’t let anyone new into his life for years.” He sighed, “Honestly, I think he’s forgotten what it’s like to be close to someone.”
Eva swallowed, her gaze still fixed on the jar of herbs. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked softly.
“But these past few months? He's been… different. Happier, even. Because despite what an idiot he was at the sports festival, I could see that he cares about you,” Hizashi replied, his words gentle but firm. “And I think you care about him, too. But Shota’s got this way of convincing himself he’s fine alone. He thinks he doesn’t need anyone… that he doesn’t deserve anyone. Like he’s somehow not worth it, but… everyone needs someone, you know?”
She looked up, her silver-lavender eyes meeting his warm gaze for a moment. Hizashi continued, “Shota’s… he’s kind. Loyal. He cares about his friends, his students, people he’d never even admit he cares about. But he doesn’t expect anything back. He gives everything without asking for anything in return. He’s just… he’s good.”
Eva’s eyes shimmered, though she managed a steady nod. “I know.”
Hizashi offered a small, understanding smile. “But he’s scared, y’know?” he said, his voice low. “Shota’s the kind of guy who’s built his world around taking care of everyone else. He’s so used to keeping things locked up tight, burying his own needs so deep that even he forgets they’re there sometimes. I think when he realized he was letting you in, that he cared for you more than he expected… he panicked.
Hizashi’s expression softened, a glimmer of empathy in his gaze. “So all I’m asking is that you be patient with him.”
With that, Hizashi straightened, giving her a reassuring nod before he headed for the door. “Take care, Eva. And if he gives you any more trouble, just let me know.”
She managed a small, grateful smile as he left, the words he’d spoken echoing through her mind.
An hour later, as the last of the evening light faded, the door chimed softly, and Aizawa walked into the tea house. His gaze was tired, shadowed, and for a moment, he looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else. But he crossed the threshold, his dark eyes locking onto hers.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the words hanging in the air like an offering. “I… I’ve been an idiot.”
Eva glanced down quickly, turning to the shelf behind her as if rearranging jars would steady her. She felt a familiar sting in her eyes, one she didn’t dare acknowledge as she focused on the mundane comfort of her hands moving over the jars.
“It’s fine,” she replied, forcing a neutral tone that she hoped sounded more convincing than it felt.
She felt him move closer, his presence behind her, closer than she’d expected. “No, it’s not fine, Eva.” His voice was soft, roughened by regret. “I was cold to you. Distant. And it was… it wasn’t right.”
She clenched her jaw, eyes fixed on the row of jars, her hand gripping the bottom edge of the shelves until her knuckles turned white. She couldn’t look at him, not with the raw, painful feeling tightening in her chest.
“I’m not… good at letting people in,” he continued, his voice quiet but steady. “For years, I haven’t. It’s safer that way. But you… you make me feel like maybe it doesn’t have to be that way. And that scares me.”
Eva’s breath caught, her gaze wavering as she felt his presence closer still. She didn’t dare turn, her heart pounding painfully as he spoke, his words soft yet unyielding.
“Can we… try to be friends again?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He hesitated, as if he wanted to reach out, his hand hovering just near hers, close enough that she felt the faint warmth of his skin.
At the word “friends,” a thin, splintering ache skated under her breastbone, as if a hairline crack had raced through porcelain, but she swallowed it down, giving a small, watery smile as she managed a shaky nod. “I’d like that,” she said, forcing a lightness into her voice that barely masked the emotion beneath.
He lingered, his hand hovering just near hers, close enough that she could feel his warmth, yet he didn’t touch her. She found herself wishing he would, even if just for a moment - to know that this was real, that he was here, willing to rebuild the trust he had nearly shattered.
But Aizawa’s hand fell back to his side, and she felt a slight shiver of air as he pulled away, his hand retreating before he let himself reach for her.
“Thank you… for giving me another chance,” he murmured, his voice low, laden with a rare vulnerability. “I don’t… I don’t deserve it, but… I’m grateful.”
Eva finally turned, her eyes meeting his, catching a glimpse of the tired vulnerability and unguarded softness that softened his usually reserved face. There, in his quiet gaze, she saw the weight he carried, the unspoken sorrow mingling with his quiet plea for understanding. She read the ledger of his life in the tired lines at the corners of his eyes and knew, with a calm, startling certainty, that she would do anything to ease that weight. If that meant folding the bright, unwise shape of her feelings small and neat, burying them like bulbs in deep soil to sleep unseen, then she would; she would be his port in a storm, the lamp kept burning in the window, the listening ear that asked for nothing more than the truth he could bear to give, and she would do it gladly—because he gave so much and asked so little, and the sacrifice felt, beside his burdens, beautifully small.
Without thinking, she stepped forward, leaning into him in a soft, uncharacteristic hug. For a second Aizawa remained motionless, but then his arms closed around her, holding her firmly, almost desperately, as if afraid she might slip away if he let go, his head resting on hers. The tension between them dissolved in the quiet embrace, the feeling of hurt from the last few days bubbling up and then, slowly, draining as he held her closer, his grip steady, unguarded.
A tear slid down Eva's cheek as she let herself lean into his warmth, feeling the quiet sincerity of his touch, the way his hand settled protectively against her back, his scent of sandlewood, cedar, and a warmth that was simply him. She could hear his slow, steady breath, each beat of his heart syncing with hers until the last of her pain began to fade, replaced by a calm warmth. He didn’t need to say any more; he’d told her everything he needed to with the way he held her, the way his usually reserved posture relaxed into something genuine.
Finally, she leaned back, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth as she met his gaze. “You know,” she said, her voice a little unsteady with laughter, “Luna would never have forgiven me if I didn’t forgive you.”
Aizawa blinked, then chuckled softly, a rare smile breaking across his usually serious face. “Is that so?”
“Oh, definitely,” she replied, grinning. “She’s been watching you through the windows, by the way, so you’re lucky she’s a cat and can’t judge you aloud.” As if to punctuate the point Luna head-butted his shin once in solemn absolution.
He shook his head, a hint of warmth brightening his dark eyes. Eva watched him, relief flooding her as that familiar quiet humour returned between them, something she’d missed so much. She tilted her head, gesturing to the back of the shop. “Cup of tea?”
The tension that had weighed on him seemed to loosen like a knot finally given its slip; his shoulders eased, his mouth softened, and he nodded, the smallest breath of relief leaving him with it. “I’d like that.”
They slipped, almost without thinking, back into the old choreography that steadied them both as Eva poured the tea. The cats, happy that their humans had finally sorted things out, returned to their usual positions—Luna installed herself against Aizawa’s arm, her golden eyes sliding shut by slow degrees while his fingers—already resigned to the inevitable—found the precise place behind her ear that earned a rumbling approval. Mochi, heavier and altogether more sentimental, puddled into Eva’s lap with a purr that thrummed through the muscles of her thigh; then, as if some small alarm in his big, earnest heart had gone off, he lifted his round face and pressed it to her cheek in a deliberate nudge, a soft, whiskered comfort that made her swallow once before she smiled into his fur and smoothed a hand along his back. She held to the harbour she had chosen to be, clasping her mug and letting the warmth seep through her fingers until they almost burnt, focusing on the sensation as the quiet and the scent of tea did their work. Across from her, Aizawa’s profile gentled in the lamplight, and the weight he carried looked, for this hour at least, a fraction lighter.
Notes:
Edited 02/09/2025
Gave more details into Eva's mindset at this point, more character details and changed the ending of the chapter.
Chapter 21: A place to belong
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
A gentle hum of late-night quiet had settled over the Twilight Tea House, it was the time of night when the usual flow of customers slowed to a trickle. Eva moved quietly around the shop, her fingers brushing along the edges of jar lids, arranging rows of tinctures. The refrigerator’s low hum and the clock’s patient tick stitched the ambience together, while the labels she’d lettered earlier in purple ink—mugwort, valerian, primrose—warmed faintly under the lamps, a slight breeze dancing through flavoured with peppermint and old wood. The warmth of the dim, amber light wrapped around her, a comforting cloak that softened the night’s edge.
It was times like these that her regulars—especially those looking for solace from society’s sharper edges—felt most at ease lingering in the tea house, and she had noticed that more and more of them had begun staying later. Static had always brought in a few of their heteromorph friends, the group finding refuge in the unspoken safety of the space. But lately, it was different. The numbers had grown, and their stay extended far past the usual, stretching deeper into the early hours of the morning.
Eva sensed the subtle tension that hung around them, the way their laughter was a little too loud, the glances they shot over their shoulders a little too frequent. Even Static, usually a font of boundless energy and mischief, seemed quieter, as if their usual confidence was cracking under something heavy.
Static, as if sensing her watchful gaze, looked up from where they sat, glowing softly under the dim light, their jellyfish-like tendrils floating around their head like a luminous halo. Eva caught their eye, and after a brief pause, they bounced over with their usual energy muted, each step less spirited than usual. Their light emanated in a soft glow, casting delicate shadows on the walls. They gave her a lopsided grin, but it didn’t quite reach their eyes.
Eva quietly asked, “Is everything alright?”
Static gave a dismissive wave, shrugging with a forced air of nonchalance. “Yeah, yeah. Nothing but the usual,” they said, trying to keep their tone light. “Just the regular fun of being a heteromorph out in the world.” They chuckled, but it sounded hollow, their bioluminescent glow dimming slightly as they spoke.
Eva reached for the kettle as if by instinct; she set out her own mug without thinking—grabbing a teabag from her box under the counter—and only then asked again, more softly, “Static… I know you,” her silver-lavender eyes studying Static, soft but unwavering. “The usual doesn’t make you stay this late. What’s really going on?”
Static’s grin faltered, their gaze shifting away, tendrils flickering faintly as if mirroring the unsettled beat of their heart. They fiddled with a teacup, their fingers tracing the rim in absent patterns. “It’s… well, I mean, nothing really. Just… people are going missing.” They glanced up, their expression strained yet casual, as if testing how much Eva could handle before they admitted their own fears, their glow dropping a shade as if a cloud had crossed an unseen moon.
“People?” Eva asked, voice soft and encouraging. She caught the brief tightening of Static’s mouth, the way their hands stilled, hovering over the cup.
“Yeah, people,” they said, voice dropping. “The sort that most won't notice if they've gone missing. Mostly heteromorphs, or anyone with quirks that catch someone’s eye. It’s been going on for a while now… but it’s been worse lately. Junri—you know, the quiet kid with the moss-antlers—no one’s seen her since Thursday. People talk. They say there’s a pattern, a reason, but no one knows for sure.”
Eva’s gaze sharpened, a cold pang settling in her chest as she watched Static’s fingers tremble slightly, the faint flicker of their glow betraying the fear they tried to mask. “And what about you?” she asked quietly, cutting through their bravado. “Are you worried?”
Static forced a laugh, a thin, fragile sound. “Me? Pfft, nah. I’m fine. They’d have to catch me first.” Their tendrils flowed restlessly, brightening on the inhale and guttering on the exhale, little pulses chasing one another like fish under glass. Eva saw it then—the fear they held for their friends, yes, but also for themselves. Their Quirk was unique, a powerful tool that could easily make them a target.
Eva moved from behind the counter, placing a gentle hand on Static’s shoulder, grounding them in the present, in the safety of her tea house. “You’re welcome to bring your friends here as often as you like, and you can all stay as late as you need,” she said softly, her words carrying a weight she hoped they understood. “If this is what makes you feel safe, then it’s yours.”
Static’s eyes flickered up, a faint, almost hesitant smile breaking through the tension. They let out a small breath, their shoulders easing under her hand.
“Thanks, Eva. You don’t know what that means to us,” they said, voice barely above a whisper.
Eva gave their shoulder a comforting squeeze before stepping back. “And… Static, do you have somewhere safe to stay? I know you sometimes crash at friends’ places, but…” She let the question hang, her tone casual but her gaze watchful.
They shrugged, their smile wavering. “I’m here and there. You know how it is… I don’t stay anywhere too long.”
The vagueness of their answer only tightened the worry in Eva’s chest. Static had become family to her, their bond growing steadily since the energetic teen had first bounced into her life, filling the tea house with their vibrant spirit and unexpected warmth. It felt like they belonged here, woven into the heart of the sanctuary she’d built—a constant presence who understood her in ways she hadn’t realized she needed, bringing light and laughter to each corner of her world.
Through the fragmented pieces of Static’s life that had emerged in their conversations, Eva had quietly pieced together a few haunting details. Static’s life, from the very start, had been an uphill battle. Abandoned as a baby, they had spent their earliest years in an orphanage where, even in a place meant to shelter them, isolation clung to their small form like a second skin. Other children avoided them, wary of Static's striking appearance and the unpredictable nature of their Quirk, which flared up in moments of strong emotion, emitting bioluminescent sparks and buzzing pulses that unsettled their young peers.
They were an outcast before they even had words for it.
When foster parents eventually came, eager for the novelty of a child with a "unique" Quirk, it rarely lasted. Their Quirk was too volatile, too visible—a constant reminder of difference that many foster parents found unsettling when faced with the reality of raising a child whose very being buzzed with unrestrained energy. On more than one occasion Static had accidentally short-circuited electronics in the house, leading to another swift return to the orphanage. These rejections piled up like bruises, each one reinforcing that they were too strange, too dangerous, too much. “Too cool for them, I guess,” Static had quipped one quiet evening, even as the sting of rejection still burned deeply.
Now Static lived mainly on the streets having learnt how to navigate the alleyways and the underground communities where heteromorphs and people with misunderstood Quirks often found themselves. Their Quirk, once a source of isolation, became a tool for survival, mastering the ability to create dazzling bursts of light to blind potential threats and generate controlled electric pulses to disable security systems or short out electronics when they needed to make a quick escape. This was how they had earned the moniker “Static” a name that had stuck with them since.
Eva had come to understand that Static’s sharp, deflective humour was a shield, an armour built layer by layer, laugh by laugh, in response to a world that too often flinched at their presence. The playful jabs, the unrelenting teasing, even the exaggerated bravado—all of it was a wall, protecting something more fragile, something that only showed in moments like these.
Eva felt a deep, unspoken kinship with Static's struggles, understanding in her bones the aching loneliness of being marked as different. Her own life had been marred by the relentless isolation that came with being Autistic - a quiet, piercing solitude born not only from her mother’s cruel words but also from the whispers and sidelong glances of classmates who saw her as strange, alien, unapproachable. The world had taught her early on that she didn’t fit its mould, and each layer of rejection had pressed her further into herself, building walls she didn’t know how to dismantle. Static’s deflective humour, their prickly armour - she recognized as similar to the masks she wore, each barrier an attempt to protect a heart sensitive to a world so often unkind. Yet, as Static became more woven into her life, she’d found a piece of herself she hadn’t known she’d lost, the bond between them having become something fierce and tender, like a mother finding purpose in a child’s boundless energy and unguarded love.
She paused for a moment, glancing toward the spare room upstairs, the one that had remained empty since her mentor’s passing. “Static,” she began, her voice firm yet warm, “why don’t you stay here with me?”
Static blinked, their eyes wide with surprise, the glow of their tendrils flickering brighter. “Stay… here? With you?” They sounded as if she’d just offered them something unimaginable, something they had never even dared hope for.
Eva smiled gently. “You practically live here anyway. You may as well have a room of your own. And I’d sleep better knowing you had somewhere safe to go at night.”
They looked at her, the playful façade they so often wore slipping away, replaced by something raw, vulnerable. “You… you really mean it?” Their voice trembled, an unspoken disbelief filling the space between them. “No one’s ever… I mean, people don’t exactly line up to… you know.”
She reached out, taking their hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Static, you’re family,” she grinned at them, “you have been since the first time you spilled an entire jar of rose petals all over the floor and pretended it was part of the décor.”
Static laughed, the sound breaking through the tension, warm and unguarded. “It added to the charm, alright?” They paused, glancing away before meeting her eyes again, their tone soft. “What about… you know, Aizawa? Won’t I just… get in the way or something?”
Eva tucked away the pain she felt at the question quickly, shaking her head. “Shota and I are just friends,” she replied, though a faint flush still tried to betray her on her cheeks. “Besides, I'm sure he'd agree with me. you’re not ‘in the way’—you belong here. Besides, you said you'd adopted me, remember?”
Static stared at her, a hesitant wonderment in their gaze, as though they were processing the weight of her words. For so long, they had been pushed aside, passed around from place to place, never truly wanted and always treated like someone else’s burden. But here, Eva’s words sank deep, solid and grounding, a promise that anchored them to something real.
“I don’t know what to say…” they whispered, their voice wavering with something close to awe. “Thank you, Eva. Really.”
Eva smiled, her eyes soft and full of warmth. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… make yourself at home.”
They hesitated for another heartbeat, their gaze searching her face as if to reassure themselves of her sincerity. And when they finally nodded, a small, hopeful smile breaking through their usual bravado, Eva felt the last of her worry ease. In that moment, she saw something fragile and precious in Static, a glimpse of the kid beneath the confidence, yearning for a place where they could simply be themselves.
With a grateful nod, Static slipped back into their familiar grin, their glow brightening with a renewed warmth. “Alright, if you insist. But don’t say I didn’t warn you - I’m probably going to eat all your snacks and use way too much hot water.”
Eva laughed, the sound lightening the room’s atmosphere, filling the quiet spaces with warmth. “I’ll take my chances. Just… don’t leave socks glowing everywhere.”
Static grinned, a mischievous glint returning to their eyes. “No promises. Oh, and by the way…” they added, smirking, “Don’t think I believe that nonsense about you and Aizawa being ‘just friends’ either.”
Eva glanced toward the table where Static’s friends clustered in a hush that tried, and failed, to pass for ordinary, and then back to Static, voice low. “Would they be willing to talk to me about what’s been happening?” she asked, fingers stroking the worn smooth edge of the wooden counter as if to keep her thoughts together. “I can’t promise I’ll be able to help in any grand, heroic way, but I can offer tea and listening and possibly a few questions asked in the right direction. I'd like to try, if they’ll let me.”
Static studied her, the mischief in their eyes cooling into a clearer shine; they tipped their chin toward the table, tendrils brightening with a cautious hope, and when Eva nodded, they led the way with the solemn bravado of a ringmaster about to announce some daring act. Eva gathered her mug of tea, Luna padding ahead with proprietary air before taking up position on a window ledge while Mochi chose the most anxious pair of feet and collapsed into a deliberate loaf against their boots.
They told her, in fragments that tried not to sound like fear and kept failing, about Junri who had not come by since Thursday and was last seen near the underpass where the billboard lights blinked at a stutter that set sensitive eyes on edge; about a white van with a grimy number plate just enough to be obscured, its magnetic signage swapped between “Sewer Inspection,” “City Wellness Outreach,” and a courier service nobody could find on their phones once it pulled away; about a woman in a pale raincoat whose politeness felt like astringent, who offered money for “quirk aptitude surveys”.
Naoki, a broad-shouldered boy with chitin plates that clicked softly when he swallowed, spoke first, describing a smell he couldn’t forget—citrus and cold metal and something like hospital laundry—and the way two people had shouldered his friend between them with blank expressions, careful hands, not rough, not kind, just exact, and how he’d hesitated because men with clipboards are a kind of uniform and uniforms, even shabby ones, can unteach you the instinct to shout; Ichika, a slim girl with translucent webbing between her fingers and glimmering faceted eyes, said she’d been followed twice from the night market by someone whose footsteps never sped up but never dropped away, either, and that once when she turned a corner there had been a camera lens catching the reflection of her eyes.
Eva did not interrupt so much as she placed soft stitches of questions between the pieces: did anyone notice the driver of the van; were the hubcaps shiny or scuffed; were the flyers printed on thin dull paper or the glossy sort that comes from money; did the polite woman ever, even once, use a name that wasn’t offered to her first. As they spoke she sketched details and questions on her notepad with the stub of a pencil, marking little circles where stories overlapped—underpass, night market, the shuttered arcade near the canal—then drew brief arrows to show how the weary had been coaxed toward lightless places by promised stipends and words like “survey” and “outreach” that made everything feel civilized right up until it didn’t.
“I don’t want you walking alone near any of these points,” she said at last, and there was nothing ornamental in her tone now, only steadiness. “Buddy up. Let me know now if you don’t have a phone and I’ll get you one tomorrow. Call me if you think you’re being watched—even if you’re not sure. If you see that van or the woman, do not engage, do not follow. Note what you can without turning your face to it, then come back to me while the details are still warm.” She hesitated, then allowed herself to continue. “I also know someone who can help, who I trust implicitly and will respect your privacy. I'd like to share what you've told me with him if you're all OK with that. I won't hand over so much as a syllable of your names or details to him – just what you've told me about the abductions.”
Static’s friends watched her like people watching the tide choose between coming in and going out, and one by one they nodded, some with a visible relief that pricked at Eva’s chest, others with the guarded assent of those who had been disappointed by promises before but had grown to trust this quiet English woman. Eva made sure that each of them had her phone number before leaving them to process what had just happened.
There was a little laughter then, not the brittle kind but the brave kind that remembers how, and even the nervous clink of porcelain against saucer gentled. The conversation thinned into practicalities and exchanges of numbers and which routes would be taken by whom, and when at last the dawn light began to peek through the blinds and Static’s friends filtering out in pairs, each offering a quiet farewell and a murmured thanks as they slipped into the street, Eva felt something in the tea house answered, as if the old wood itself approved of a plan that began not with heroics but with staying, and caring, and walking each other home. Static lingered behind, their gaze flicking toward the stairs a few times, uncertainty clouding the usual confidence in their eyes.
Eva, watching them with a warm smile, quietly slid the spare key off her keyring. She held it out, her silver-lavender eyes twinkling. “Here,” she said softly, pressing the key into Static’s hand. “You’ll be needing this now.”
For a heartbeat, Static stared at the key, a look of utter disbelief on their face before their expression softened, emotion shimmering in their wide eyes. Without warning, they lunged forward, arms wrapping around Eva in a tight, grateful hug.
“Thank you, Eva,” they whispered, their voice muffled against her shoulder, the words carrying a depth that left Eva’s heart aching with quiet joy.
She chuckled softly, patting their back. “The room might not be to your taste at the moment, but we can pick up some decorating supplies, paint… whatever you want to make it your own.”
Static pulled back slightly, grinning through a few lingering tears. “Nah, it'll be perfect. Just as it is.” They gave a small, shaky laugh. “But, you know, maybe a few posters wouldn’t hurt.”
Eva laughed, the warmth of the sound filling the quiet of the tea house as Static’s grin widened, the excitement in their expression a reminder of the kid beneath the bravado, finally finding a place to call their own.
Leaving Static with an affectionate nod to explore their new room with the excitement of a cartographer plotting their first map of a newly discovered country with Mochi at their heels, Eva drifted back to the sofa and let herself fold into its large worn cushions, a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding unwinding through her like steam from a just-quieted kettle; Luna, ever the opportunist, arranged herself along the armrest with the proprietorial air of a landlady, so Eva slid out her phone, caught the cat’s cool, moon-bright stare in a quick photo, and sent it to Aizawa with the caption, “looks like I have a new housemate,” which drew, after a few seconds, Shota’s dry reply: “Cat or Static?”, —which coaxed a breath of laughter she didn’t quite release as she text back asking if he could get hold of four cheap mobile phones for her, promising to pay him back, receiving his unruffled “can do” before she added, “there’s something I’d like to talk to you about—could you pop in tomorrow?”, and the dots that followed barely had time to breathe before his next message landed, concern rendered in its most economical form with disarming simplicity—“you okay?”—the two words landing with a steadier warmth than any speech could manage and loosening, at last, the last thin thread of tension between her ribs. She chose to be technically truthful to avoid worrying him, typing back “I’m good. Just need your take on something I heard,” and waited through the flicker of typing dots until his reply arrived—“I’ll be there before patrol—sleep well, Songbird”—and, with a small smile she didn’t bother to hide from herself, sent back, “Stay safe, Sensei.”
Notes:
Edited 03/09 2025
Here was me thinking that I would be editing very little of this chapter. Several new additional scenes and one removed scene later and this is probably the chapter that's changed the most. I think going forward will be a similar story so I'd advice only reading the edited chapters at the moment.
Chapter 22: Two worlds collide
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Aizawa arrived the next day as the evening light that peeked meekly through the rain clouds finally surrendered to the indigo of night. The door chimes gave a courteous little ring, followed by a draft that smelled of rain on pavement and late buses, and for a second he stood in the doorway with his hair trying and failing to look like it hadn’t slept in a wind tunnel, a plain paper bag sheltered under one arm as if it were evidence rather than a gift and a folded umbrella dripping from the other. Eva—already halfway to the kettle, already aware of him in the way one notices the moon edging out from the clouds, let her mouth curve as she said, “No pink bow this time?”, which won her the ghost of a sigh and the even rarer lift at the corner of his mouth, as he set the bag on the counter. Pouring his usual blend in the cup she reserved just for him, she then brewed her own milky tea before slipping to the door to flip the worn old sign to CLOSED, ushering him with a nod of her head towards the hearth where the amber light gathered obligingly around old wood and worn cushioned armchairs and the cats arranged themselves as if they, too, had been expecting him. Luna installed herself as supervisor on the arm of Aizawa's usual chair while Mochi nosed the bag with interest until disappointed with the lack of food he decided to entertain himself by chewing the corner. Luna flicked a single, disapproving ear while Mochi continued undeterred.
The low flicker of the fire cast a warm glow on the pair, the gentle crackle filling the Tea House as Eva sat across from Aizawa. She cradled her mug, fingers tracing its familiar shape as she gathered her thoughts. The firelight danced in her silver-lavender eyes, catching the soft flickers of shifting colours as she weighed her words.
“Shota,” she began, her voice soft, tentative. “There’s… something I’ve been hearing about from customers lately. People have started disappearing from the streets.”
Aizawa’s gaze sharpened instantly. His dark eyes, usually half-lidded with exhaustion, now narrowed with an intensity that reminded her, unmistakably, of the pro hero he was.
“Disappearances?” he asked, his tone steady but edged with alertness.
Eva nodded, choosing her words with care. “From what I’ve heard, it’s not random. People with unusual Quirks are disappearing. It’s mostly people living on the streets—the kind society won’t notice, or care about, if they go missing. The customers don’t know who’s behind it. But there’s a lot of talk, and they’re all cautious.”
The weight of her words hung between them, and she felt a chill despite the warmth of the fire. Aizawa’s expression darkened slightly, a glint of something unreadable passing through his eyes as he absorbed what she’d said. His jaw worked once, a small, restrained shift, as he asked, “You’ve heard specifics?”
“Enough to sketch the edges,” she said, eyes watching the way the steam lifted in quiet veils from his cup. “There’s a van with an obscured number plate that changes signage—magnetic placards that say ‘Sewer Inspection’ or ‘City Wellness Outreach’ or a courier no one can find reference to; a woman in a pale raincoat looking to conduct ‘quirk aptitude surveys’. The places aren’t random either—most disappearances seem to happen near the underpass, the night market or the shuttered arcade by the river. More than one person mentioned the same smell - it's like the smell that clings to hospitals, with a citric tang. From what I can tell there's two main patterns. A lone person is followed at night, often leading them towards an unpopulated area such as the old arcade. The other is the ‘aptitude test’ woman who seems to target people in busy crowds. From what I can tell she uses monetary incentives and the look of authority to coerce people in plain sight, even when they're with others. I've made notes of everything for you to take if that helps?”.
He listened to her the way he fought—without wasted motion. Only his eyes moved, mapping the details onto some other map she could not see. “And this,” he said at last, glancing at the bag with its freshly chewed corner, “isn’t for me to upgrade my social life.”
Her mouth twitched. “Tempting as that prospect is, no.” She folded her fingers around the mug, warming her palms. “Some of the people I’m worried about don’t have phones. I thought—check-ins, buddy routes, decoy calls if anyone needs to turn back without looking like they’ve changed their mind. Nothing clever. Just… keeping connected.”
“And you’ll coordinate from here.”
She held his gaze for a moment, calm flickering for a heartbeat as she reached for the lump of jade in her apron pocket, feeling its familiar surface. “Yes,” she replied.
For a breath she could have sworn a thin red glint threaded his eyes and his hair lifted against no breeze at all—as if something coiled and dangerous had risen and he was forcing it, with iron restraint, back down.
His eyes tipped past her shoulder toward the stairs. “Your new housemate,” he said, tone pared down to something cool and ledger-flat, like an accountant adding up a column and finding the sum he expected. “This is why.”
Eva did not deny it. “It seemed the rational thing,” she replied trying to ease the tension, “Safer under my roof than under an overpass.”
His silence acknowledged the truth of it, as he tried to stop his mind being overwhelmed by the danger she had put herself in. He bit back the smell of rubble and iron, the sound of sirens, a shock of light blue hair streaked with dust and blood, as he reached for his tea, drank, set it down with the quiet click of porcelain. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, not gentler. “You’ve put yourself in danger becoming involved in this.”
“I’ve put a kettle and four walls between some frightened people and a night that has teeth,” she returned, and only after the words were out did she hear the steel in them. “I’m not chasing danger, Shota. I’m caring for my customers, same as I always have.”
The room was quiet for a beat, the fire crackled gently, Mochi now asleep belly up in front of it let out the odd chirrup as his paws twitched, Luna always more regal took the opportunity to nudge Aizawa as if to remind him of her existence. “I’ll take the details you've gathered to my… colleagues.” A fractional beat that made it clear there was a great deal he wasn’t saying and that he didn’t like not saying it to her. “We’ve had… reports.” The noun was deliberately bloodless. “Your details help narrow things.”
She nodded, accepting the boundary without pretending not to see it. “Good.”
He let the word stand and, with it, steadied the breath that wanted to fray; the anger he could not afford, the pride in her that he had no right to hold and the fear that pressed hard at the edges of his composure, were each folded away, useful only if they kept her breathing.
He turned feeling into strategy: patrol arc nudged two streets closer to cover the area around the Tea House. By the time he set his cup down, a plan had formed; and when he looked back at her he kept his voice even. “There will be rules.”
“Of course there are rules,” she murmured, and Luna, as if in agreement, flicked her tail from the armrest.
“No alley runs alone,” he said first, without preamble. “Not to feed strays, not to take bins out, not because you hear an unusual sound. If you must leave this building after dark, you call me and you wait for me. Daylight doesn’t make you bulletproof either. Stick to areas with people, but not so many that you'd be easily lost in a crowd. If you see the van or the woman, you do not engage, and you do not follow."
He paused, then added, more quietly, “Please.”
The word undid something under her ribs. “I can promise most of that,” she said, voice low. “And the rest I will treat as a vow.”
His mouth tilted; not quite a smile, enough. “Acceptable.” He tapped the bag. “Four is a start. We can get more. And Eva—lock the door behind your last guest. Text me when you’re closing.” A beat before he continued with a seriousness belied by the quirk of his lips “If I’m nearby, I’ll walk you home from your own hearth.”
“That’s cheating,” she said, smiling despite herself. “I live upstairs.”
“Then I’ll stand at the door and glower at any hypothetical intruders,” he returned, so dry she nearly missed the thread of fondness inside it.
She lifted her mug in a small salute. “Deal.”
“One more thing,” he said, and the air tightened a fraction, the way it does before rain. “If anyone else asks you questions, don't answer. Play ignorant, even to people who sound official. Text me if you have a bad feeling about one of your customers, or if your cats hate someone on sight.” He glanced at Luna, who blinked back like a judge. “I’m not above consulting experts.”
“Understood. Though Luna’s rates are extortionate,” Eva said reaching over to scritch Luna behind her ear, and something about their usual banter helped ease the tension.
“Good. Also I can file any fees under expenses.” Then, almost as an afterthought and not at all like one, “Thank you.”
“For what?” she asked lightly.
“For not letting the night have them.”
*****
Two days later, Eva’s living space was a riot of paint swatches, stacks of decorating magazines, and bits of paper covered in hastily scribbled notes. The chaotic spread of potential paint colours sprawled across her usually tidy kitchen table into the living space, from pastel blues and soft greys to a shock of vivid greens and neon purples. Mochi had gotten in on the action, too - several paint swatches now sported small, jagged bite marks from where he’d chewed on them with apparent interest. Meanwhile, Luna had taken to stalking the swatches that had drifted to the floor, pouncing with fierce dedication as if they were prey to be vanquished.
Aizawa, upon hearing about the décor mayhem, had taken a certain enjoyment in teasing her over it, relishing the fact that she, too, now had a teenager bringing chaos into her life. His texts were filled with sly remarks, suggesting everything from glow-in-the-dark stars to neon furniture, all with a dry wit that made her laugh despite herself. She could almost see his smirk, and it warmed her to know he seemed pleased, even amused, by her new reality.
Eva wandered through the mess, a bemused smile playing at her lips as she picked up a particularly bold, lime-green sample, noting the small, telltale teeth marks at the edge. Static, surrounded by a flurry of ideas and magazines, looked up with an impish grin, entirely unapologetic.
“So… this is the look you’re going for?” Eva asked, holding up the paint swatch with a teasing lift of her brow.
Static reached up from the sofa and snatched the sample out of her hand, holding it up as if considering. “Eh, maybe not. It looked better in the magazine.” They tossed it aside with a sigh, glancing at the mountain of options they’d accumulated, each a casualty of their changing vision for their new space.
Eva laughed, taking a seat beside them. She took a steadying sip to tea before placing her mug down on the coffee table amidst the decorating detritus. “Take your time. I don’t think you have to make your mind up all at once.”
Static sighed dramatically, flopping back in the cushions. “Yeah, but I want it to feel like… me. Or something like me,” they added, a small smile tugging at their lips as they glanced around at the colourful mess they’d made.
Eva reached over, a picked up one of the open magazines “Whatever you decide, it’ll be perfect. Besides,” she teased looking around, “This place is already feeling a lot like you.”
Static laughed, tossing aside another paint swatch as they looked up at her, their eyes bright with excitement, hope, and something warmer - something that felt like home.
That night Eva found herself back beside the fireplace with Aizawa, watching Static and their group of friends laughing in the corner. Aizawa took in all of them, his eyes softening just a little, his expression less intense as he looked back at her. “Now that Static’s living with you, have you thought about enrolling them in school? It might be safer, especially given their Quirk.”
Eva felt a small twinge in her chest at the thought. Static—bright, brave, and endlessly impulsive—had slipped so comfortably into her life. She had thought about school but worried it might be overwhelming for them.
“I have thought about it,” she admitted, meeting his eyes. “But Static’s been through so much. It’s taken them a while to feel safe even here, and the last thing I want is to push them into something before they’re ready.”
“Understandable,” he replied, nodding thoughtfully. “But a structured environment might help, especially with their Quirk. And if they’re interested, U.A. is an option too.” His voice softened just a bit. “They’d have good support there, especially with a Quirk like that.”
Eva sighed, a faint smile flickering over her face. “I’ll talk to them about it when the time feels right. But in the end, it’ll be up to them.”
Aizawa gave a small nod, and they fell into a comfortable silence, the quiet crackle of the fire a grounding presence between them.
“Speaking of support,” Eva ventured, her fingers tracing idle patterns on her mug, “has Nezu mentioned anything to you about my Quirk?”
Aizawa’s lips quirked, a subtle, almost reassuring glint in his eyes. “Not yet. But if I know Nezu, he’s planning something. It’s just a matter of waiting.”
She chuckled softly. “Somehow that sounds both comforting and nerve-wracking.”
“Well,” he replied, setting down his own cup, “now that you’re nearly recovered from the assault, we can start your self-defence training in earnest.”
Eva raised an eyebrow, a hint of playful scepticism in her gaze. “I thought we were training in earnest.”
Aizawa chuckled, the sound low and soft, surprising even himself. “Not quite. Consider the last few sessions the warm-up.”
There was a pause as he glanced away, a touch of hesitancy in his expression as if weighing his next words. “My students are heading off for their internships next week,” he said, almost too casually. “So I’ll have a bit more time than usual.”
“Oh?” She tried to keep her tone neutral, though a small spark of curiosity slipped through.
Aizawa shifted, feigning nonchalance. “Hizashi—Present Mic,” he added, as if she might need reminding, “has been pestering me to ask if he could stop by the tea house again.”
Eva’s face brightened, a genuine smile lighting up her face. “I’d love to see him again.”
Aizawa nodded, a small, softening shift in his expression. He knew Hizashi was a little loud for most people, but loathe as he was to admit it, Hizashi was his best friend—the one person who had stood by him through every mess, never letting the weight of Aizawa’s silence push him away. Hizashi’s loyalty ran deep, and that was something even Aizawa respected. And though he’d never say it out loud, inviting Hizashi felt like letting Eva in a little deeper into his world.
*****
Three days later, the late afternoon sunlight spilled through the tea house windows, casting long beams across the shelves and lending a warmth to the whole room. A soft murmur of anticipation filled the air as Aizawa pushed open the door, a tall, familiar figure trailing behind him.
“Whoa-ho! Look at this place! Even better than I remembered!” Hizashi’s voice rang out with an unmistakable exuberance, his energy practically radiating as he took in the cosy atmosphere, the earthy scents, and the soft light filtering through the shelves of herbs.
Eva looked up from the counter, her cheeks lifting in a warm smile. “Welcome back, Hizashi,” she greeted him with a familiar ease. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Thanks for having me back!” Hizashi replied, his voice filled with warmth. “I’ve been hounding Shota to bring me along, but he’s a tough nut to crack, you know?”
Static, who had been lounging at their favourite corner table, suddenly shot upright, their eyes widening as they took in the blond-haired, energetic hero. “Wait, Present Mic?!” they gasped, their skin pulsing colours in open excitement as a nearby lamp began to flicker. “I—I listen to your show every night!”
Hizashi grinned, delighted. “Kid, you got some rockin’ taste!”
Aizawa took a seat at the counter, a slight, amused smirk playing across his features as he watched Hizashi practically preened under Static’s admiration. Static, in turn, hung on every word as Present Mic launched into a lively monologue about the latest rock bands and radio hits, peppered with jokes that had Static nearly falling over with laughter.
Eva joined them at the table with Mochi in tow, her smile growing as she observed the camaraderie between them. She’d not seen how lively Hizashi could be, and the level of noise between the pair was almost overwhelming despite Hizashi's best efforts to use his indoor voice, but seeing his warmth and ease with Static put her at ease herself. Luna, however, found the table far too lively for her tastes and, with a graceful leap, settled on the chair beside Aizawa at the counter, her golden eyes flicking up at him as if in quiet approval of his steadier presence, as he ran his fingers through her fur.
“So, Eva,” Hizashi turned to her with an enthusiastic grin, “Shota’s told me about how this place has become his second home. I gotta say, I can see why.”
Aizawa shot him a sharp look. “I never said that,” he muttered, his tone almost defensive.
Eva chuckled, a faint blush colouring her cheeks as she glanced between the two of them. “Well, that’s high praise. I try to make it welcoming.”
“‘Welcoming’ is an understatement!” Hizashi laughed, leaning back with a contented sigh. “With the tea, the cats, and the ambiance—you’ve got the whole package.”
Static, still clearly starstruck, practically bounced in their seat, eyes shining. “And you’re… here! Present Mic! I can’t believe it!”
Aizawa’s mouth twitched in a small, barely perceptible smile as he sipped his tea, secretly pleased at how well the visit was going. Hizashi’s energy was usually a bit much for him, but here, in Eva’s tea house, it felt softened, almost gentle in his own way. He could see the way Eva had slipped quietly into their exchange, laughing at Hizashi’s exaggerated expressions and nodding encouragingly at Static’s enthusiastic questions.
“So, kid,” Hizashi leaned in toward Static with a conspiratorial grin, “ever thought about working on a Quirk like yours in a place like U.A.? We’ve got some top-notch training for unique Quirks.”
Static blinked, their face lighting up with a mixture of wonder and uncertainty as they glanced at Eva, who nodded gently. “It’s… an option,” she said softly, her voice warm and encouraging.
“Well, whatever you decide,” Hizashi continued, his tone playful but kind, “I say you’ve got the drive and guts to make it anywhere.”
The atmosphere hummed with warmth, and Aizawa watched quietly as Hizashi, Static, and Eva continued to talk with Mochi blinking lazily over Eva's shoulders. The tea house somehow feeling both expansive and intimate all at once. It felt rare to see parts of his life converging, fitting together in this caring, easy way. And for the first time, he felt the weight of the solitary walls he kept around himself begin to ease, just a little.
Watching the laughter that circled between them, he felt an unexpected warmth settle in his chest. The tea house had slowly become something more than just a place to unwind; it was starting to feel like a place he belonged—and a part of that was due to her.
Finally, Eva rose, crossing to where Aizawa was seated at the counter, exuding his usual calm. She perched herself on one of the seats beside him, a smile in her voice as she leaned on the counter, perching her chin on her hand, "You're not going to join us?"
Aizawa’s eyes drifted over to the lively table, and he smirked faintly, replying in that understated way of his, "Thought I'd give you somewhere to escape to." His tone held a quiet warmth, barely perceptible beneath the deadpan delivery, but Eva caught it all the same.
"Very benevolent," she chuckled, her words lightly teasing. Aizawa gave a soft, barely-there huff, though his mouth twitched with amusement.
"Hizashi can be... loud," he admitted, casting a sideways glance at his friend, who was now gesturing animatedly to Static, as if spinning a tale of epic proportions.
"I noticed," Eva replied with a grin, her eyes twinkling as she watched the scene. The tea house felt different with them here, a little warmer, a little louder—but in a way that she found unexpectedly comforting.
Aizawa met her gaze, raising an eyebrow. "This is positively quiet for him."
She laughed, nodding in a mix of disbelief and acceptance. "I’ll take your word for it." Her tone was playful, familiar, making his mouth curve in a faint smile.
Eva watched for a moment longer, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she noticed Mochi, who had unceremoniously claimed her empty chair, his wide blue eyes fixed on Hizashi and Static with a mix of bemusement and awe. He sat upright, as if utterly absorbed by their combination of energy and animated expressions, looking, by all purposes, like a participant in their lively exchange. Smiling she turned her attention back to Aizawa who was also taking in the tableaux. "How about some more tea, then? I think this lot could use a calming blend," she suggested, a trace of mischief in her voice as she gestured toward Hizashi and Static.
Aizawa’s eyes softened, the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I think that’d be wise," he murmured, as Eva moved to make the tea. His eyes followed her as she moved, his gaze lingering for a moment with a quiet, unguarded warmth, as though tracing the comfort she brought to the room, a subtle, unwavering appreciation held in his tired dark eyes that he left unspoken.
*****
Just a couple of nights later darkness draped itself over the Twilight Tea House like a shroud, its silence broken only by the occasional creak of a floorboard, a pop coming from the log on the fire, or the quiet rustle of Luna shifting on her perch. The streets outside were hushed, blanketed by mist that curled around lampposts and cast a ghostly glow. Eva had just poured herself a mug of tea, savouring the earthy aroma as she settled behind the counter, her gaze drifting to the fire.
The door chime rang, a sharp note slicing through the stillness.
Her eyes lifted, and a figure stood in the doorway. He was lean and rugged, his posture rigid, his face partially shadowed by the hood he wore. There was an intensity about him, an air that was both dangerous and compelling, like a storm barely held at bay.
Luna's tail thumped once, her yellow eyes locked on the stranger while Mochi, nervous yet brave leapt from Eva's neck to the counter beside her and sat there with all the intimidating factor of a carnival prize.
“Good evening,” Eva greeted softly, her voice steady despite the instinctive unease prickling at the back of her mind, her fingers creeping slightly towards the alarm Aizawa had installed under the counter, “Welcome to the Twilight Tea House.”
The figure stepped inside, his gait measured, almost prowling. As he neared the counter, she noted his eyes—sharp and piercing, a predatory gleam that sent a chill through her. Yet he spoke with a low, polite tone that felt oddly out of place.
“You have a well-regarded place here,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “A haven, or so I’ve heard. A sanctuary for those whom society has… forgotten.”
Eva nodded slowly, though her gaze remained cautious, fingers still near the alarm. “I try to make it comfortable for anyone seeking refuge.”
The figure regarded her with what almost seemed like approval, then inclined his head, his voice lowering a fraction. “I think I’ll stay for a while. Perhaps a tea, if possible?”
Surprised but quick to mask it, Eva nodded. “Of course. Any particular blend?”
He seemed to consider this, his eyes scanning the array of herbs and jars. “Something bitter,” he replied. “Strong.” as he slid onto one of the bar stools.
Eva moved quietly and efficiently keeping alert for any movement though she now sensed no immediate danger from her strange visitor, her hands deftly picking out herbs—dried ginger and liquorice root for depth, mixed with a touch of sage and rosemary for an earthy sharpness. She let the tea steep in silence, the steady rhythm steadying her even as her heartbeat quickened under his watchful gaze.
When she finally set the tea in front of him, he took a sip, and for a moment, his eyes softened in what might have been satisfaction. “It’s good,” he said simply, placing the cup back down with a thoughtful nod.
“Thank you,” Eva replied quietly, watching him with an expression of well-schooled politeness. She felt the weight of his presence settling over her shop, dark but strangely calm, as though madness lurked beneath the surface that he was restraining with careful patience.
After another long sip, he looked at her with a critical edge. “Tell me, what do you think of the heroes who claim to protect this society?”
The question settled between them, heavy and pointed. Eva’s pulse quickened again, her mind racing as she considered how to respond. “I think… there are heroes who do good, who genuinely want to help. And others… well, some are more focused on fame than actual heroism.”
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You speak carefully,” he observed, his voice low, almost approving. “It seems you understand that not all heroes are true to their title. Not everyone who wears that label is deserving of it.”
Eva said nothing, a wary quiet settling over her. She felt a prickling unease at the conviction in his words, a fervour that felt almost consuming.
“People like you,” he continued, his tone dropping into something darker, “who offer sanctuary to those who fall between the cracks… you see things differently. You know that change is coming.”
Eva’s grip on her cup tightened. “Change?”
“Change,” he repeated, the word laced with an edge of steel. “This world has grown corrupt. Hero society is filled with fakes—people who parade around in costumes, feeding their egos while the true victims are left to rot.”
His words were spoken with an intensity that unsettled her, his gaze seeming to bore into her as if trying to assess her alignment, her beliefs. She felt the edges of his fervour tugging at her, a strange and chilling glimpse into something she couldn’t fully understand.
“What do you want from me?” she asked without thinking, her voice barely above a whisper.
He tilted his head, his gaze dark and unwavering. “You’ll have to decide where you stand when the time comes. When society finally begins to crumble and the false idols fall, you’ll have to make a choice. Stand with the righteous… or be dragged down with the corrupt.”
Her throat tightened, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to keep it steady. “I'm a healer. I help those in need, whoever they are.”
“I’m not asking you to take up arms,” he replied, his tone dismissive yet laced with a strange patience. “But know this—the world will shift. The fakes will fall, and those who have been wronged will rise. You may choose to help them… or choose to stay silent. But silence is a choice too.”
He leaned forward, his face illuminated by the dim lamplight, his scarred features lending him an almost spectral presence. “Remember that when the time comes. This place—your refuge—it may one day become something far more dangerous than you realize. And if you aren’t careful, it could swallow you whole.”
Eva felt the weight of his words settle over her, like a dark cloud pressing down, a cold shiver running down her spine. “I’ll do what I think is right,” she replied softly, a faint steel in her voice.
The stranger straightened, a hint of something that might have been approval glinting in his eyes. “Good. Remember that when the choice finds you. And it will.”
He finished his tea, his movements precise and almost reverent, as if the simple act was a ritual of sorts. Then, with a last look, he turned and disappeared into the night, the door chime echoing ominously in his wake. Eva remained still, her fingers trembling around her cup as the cold dread seeped into her bones.
Her phone rested in her pocket; she took it out and thumbed the screen awake, typed "Had a late visitor"—then paused, reread, and erased it. Thinking back, her unusual guest had done nothing to threaten her, he was just a stranger with a sermon and a scar— with nothing to connect him to the disappearances, and while he had filled her with dread she had sensed no immediate danger from him. Shota was already twitchy with the security arrangements he’d quietly nudged into place; no sense worrying him unnecessarily. Taking a deep breath she returned the phone to her pocket and logged the visit in her notebook instead.
A couple of days later Eva’s phone vibrated softly on her bedside table, the screen lighting up with a new message from Aizawa. Her heart skipped a beat as she read the words, short and to the point: Nezu would like to meet with you this afternoon if you're available.
After a deep breath, she typed back her reply, "I'll be there".
*****
By the time she arrived at U.A., Eva’s nerves were prickling beneath her calm exterior. The school grounds were larger than she’d imagined, with tall gates and a winding path leading up to the main building. And there, waiting near the entrance, was Aizawa.
Eva’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile as she approached him. “Didn’t expect you to be waiting here.”
He shrugged, hands stuffed in his pockets, though a faint warmth softened his usual stoic gaze. “Figured you’d appreciate a guide. Nezu’s office can be… complicated to find.”
They walked in companionable silence through the twisting hallways, and when they arrived outside Nezu’s office, Eva turned to say goodbye, only for Aizawa to open the door and gesture for her to go in first.
“You’re coming in with me?” she asked, eyes widening but glad for the unexpected support.
Aizawa gave her a slight nod, his expression unreadable but comforting. “Nezu’s request.”
Taking a steadying breath, Eva entered the office, Aizawa following close behind. The room was surprisingly cosy, with stacks of books, papers, and a comfortable arrangement of chairs around a broad desk. Behind it sat Nezu, who looked up with a friendly gleam in his eyes.
“Ah, Miss. Hood,” he greeted, his voice pleasant and welcoming. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Please, have a seat.”
Eva settled into the chair, hands folded in her lap as she met Nezu’s gaze. There was something calculating but gentle in his eyes, and his smile was warm but tinged with unmistakable curiosity.
“Let me get straight to it,” Nezu began, folding his paws atop his desk. “We’re all quite impressed with what you’ve accomplished at the Twilight Tea House.
It’s rare for someone to create such a trusted refuge, especially for those who might otherwise feel left out by society. But, as I understand, it’s not just your atmosphere that draws people in.”
A flicker of understanding passed over Eva, and she exchanged a quick glance with Aizawa before focusing back on Nezu.
“I’m here to offer a part-time position at U.A.,” Nezu continued, a glint of enthusiasm in his dark eyes. “Specifically, as an emotional support specialist. You’d come in once a week to offer your support and your unique Quirk to help students cope with the challenges of their training.”
Eva was shocked, the offer coming seemingly out of nowhere. “Emotional support specialist?” she managed to splutter out.
“Yes,” Nezu replied smoothly, “and you’d be under the mentorship of Recovery Girl, which would allow us to grant you a specialized license. That would make it legal for you to use your Quirk on school grounds—a useful step, don’t you think?”
She hesitated, fingers twisting together as she took in Nezu’s words. “But I’m not trained as a counsellor, or a healer, not in any official way. I just… help people as best I can.”
Nezu’s gaze softened. “Miss. Hood, the work you’ve done at your shop has been quite impressive. You’ve dealt with people from all walks of life, many of whom have been through difficult times. Your compassion and insight go a long way.” His eyes shifted briefly to Aizawa. “And as for your healing skills, I believe Aizawa here can vouch for those.”
Eva turned to Aizawa, startled, and saw him give a slight, almost reluctant nod. There was a quiet pride in his expression, an acknowledgment that was as surprising as it was reassuring.
Nezu continued, “In truth, your role here wouldn’t be so different from what you already do. And, of course, I’d make sure we set up a suitable space to accommodate you, somewhere comfortable and private for you to work with students in need of support.”
The idea began to settle over her, like a blanket she wasn’t sure fit quite right but found comfort in nonetheless. But before she could respond, Nezu spoke again, his tone taking on an air of subtle intrigue.
“There’s one additional element I’d like to mention,” he added, leaning forward with a glint in his eye. “Since you’ll have a license to use your Quirk here, you’d also be eligible to receive training beyond your mentorship with Recovery Girl.”
Eva’s brow furrowed. “Training?”
“Yes,” Nezu replied with a small, pleased smile. “Though we don’t have anyone on staff with a Quirk similar to yours, I believe Aizawa would be well-suited to help you. Both because you seem comfortable with him,” he added with a knowing look, “and because he’ll be working closely with a general studies student whose Quirk, in some ways, parallels your own. I think training alongside someone like that might be especially helpful for you.”
Eva’s mind spun. The opportunity was, in many ways, exactly what she needed to explore her Quirk without fear of repercussions. But she also felt a small, nagging worry over what this might mean for the Twilight Tea House, for the safe haven she’d built so carefully.
“I’ll… I’ll have to think about it,” she said finally, her voice soft but steady. “I’m grateful for the offer, truly. I just… need to make sure it wouldn’t disrupt my work at the tea house.”
Nezu nodded, his expression calm and understanding. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”
She managed a small, grateful smile, but before she could stand, Nezu leaned forward again, his gaze now more curious than before.
“While I have you here, Miss. Hood, there is another matter I wanted to discuss.” His voice took on a gentle, almost coaxing tone. “I recently heard that you’ve taken on a particularly promising child who isn’t currently enrolled in any school.”
Her gaze flickered with surprise, but Nezu’s smile was warm, not probing.
“For students with unique circumstances, U.A. has certain scholarships available,” he continued, “specifically for those with troubled backgrounds. If this person is interested, I’d be happy to help facilitate their enrolment, should you and they decide to take that path.”
A deep gratitude welled up within her, and she gave Nezu a soft, earnest nod. “Thank you, Principal Nezu. I’ll be sure to speak with them and consider everything.”
“Please do,” Nezu replied warmly, his gaze flicking briefly toward Aizawa with an approving glint. “And if you have any other concerns, Aizawa will be here to assist.”
She managed a small, grateful smile, but before she could stand, Nezu lifted a paw lightly. “One last thing.” From a neat stack on his desk, he drew a crisp certificate edged with the official watermark of the Commission and passed it across to her. “To work at U.A., your Quirk needed to be formally registered. Healing Quirks are exceedingly rare, and yours is… particularly unique. I may have pulled a few strings to expedite the entry, and”—his eyes glinted—“took the liberty of naming it for the record.” Eva lifted the paper and read the name aloud in a whisper: “Symphony of Solace.” Aizawa’s gaze flicked to her, unreadable as ever; Nezu only looked pleased, as though a puzzle piece had clicked into place.
With that, Eva rose, Aizawa following suit as they left Nezu’s office. They walked in silence through the long hallways, the weight of the offer settling over her with each step. By the time they reached the front gates, the afternoon sun cast golden shadows across the grounds, warming the chill that had settled in her bones.
Aizawa stopped beside her, his gaze shifting to her face as though reading the overwhelmed tension in her expression. “Everything alright?”
Eva hesitated, then nodded. “Yes… it's just a lot to take in.” She bit her lip, her gaze thoughtful. “I never thought something like this would be offered to me. It feels surreal.”
They walked a few more steps in silence before she noticed a slight strain in his expression, a flicker of something dark in his gaze.
“Shota,” she asked softly, sensing his burden, “is everything alright with you?”
Aizawa’s jaw tightened, and he let out a low sigh, his gaze fixed on a distant point. “Last night… three of my students got caught up in a run-in with the Hero Killer. It was a close call, but all three of them survived.”
Eva felt her heart drop, the shock of his words settling like a stone in her chest. “The Hero Killer,” she murmured, almost to herself, the memory of her recent encounter in the tea house flickering through her mind. She could still feel the chill of that stranger’s words, the way he had spoken of a coming change.
Aizawa’s gaze was dark, yet protective, as he continued. “They’re safe now, recovering, Stain was arrested, but it was close. Too close.” He glanced down at her, a flicker of something he didn’t say aloud, a silent acknowledgment of the shadows that lingered at the edges of both their worlds.
As they stood there in the quiet, Eva couldn’t shake the feeling that her two worlds were colliding - the Twilight Tea House, a refuge for society’s underbelly, for those whispered about in the shadows; and now, the hero world, the world to which Aizawa belonged. The words of the stranger lingered, their chill echoing in her thoughts, as though reminding her of the choice he had warned her she’d have to make.
Notes:
Edited 04/09/2025 Quite a bit of new content added to the beginning of this chaper, and other scattered bits and pieces.
Chapter 23: Crossroads
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The warmth of the evening draped itself over the Twilight Tea House, casting soft shadows over the shelves of jars and dried herbs. The air was thick with the calming fragrance of lavender, rosemary, and passionflower, creating an atmosphere that soothed like a lullaby. In the corner by the unlit fireplace, Shota Aizawa was comfortably settled in his usual chair, head tipped back, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that suggested he was lost in one of his many naps. Luna, sleek and black, was curled up on his lap purring softly, mirroring his stillness.
Eva glanced at them from across the room, her hands busy with a teapot as the evening rush bustled around her. She had grown used to this sight—Aizawa and Luna, two stoic souls finding solace in each other’s silent companionship. They even looked alike in a way, with their perpetually half-lidded eyes and quiet reserve. She smiled softly to herself as she prepared the next round of teas.
Gradually, the evening rush began to dwindle, the chime of the door becoming less frequent. Eva moved around the shop, clearing tables and refilling the small bowls of sugar and honey. Finally, she made her way over to Aizawa’s table to collect his empty cup. Luna stretched lazily on his lap, a contented blink cast in Eva's direction as she leaned down, one of Shota’s eyes creaked open, sleepy but alert.
“Sorry,” Eva blushed, embarrassed at disturbing him. She reached to take his cup, as he waved a hand dismissively.
“Don’t worry about it.” His voice was gravelly with sleep, soft around the edges. “Got a minute?”
Eva's lips curved in a playful smirk. “For my favourite Sensei, always,” she teased.
Shota raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting to one of feigned annoyance. “Don’t push it, Songbird.”
Barely suppressing a laugh, she took the empty cup and turned to make a fresh pot of tea. Moments later, she returned, setting down one cup whose steam curled in liquorice-sweet ribbons and her own mug of milky tea, before taking a seat beside him. Her gaze drifted back to Luna, who had made herself comfortable on his lap again, her tail flicking gently as she snuggled in.
Settling into a comfortable rhythm, they sipped their tea, letting the silence stretch between them, warm and unpressured. Aizawa finally spoke, breaking the silence.
“Hizashi made quite an impression on Static, huh?” he remarked, his tone both dryly amused and understanding.
Eva laughed, shaking her head. “More than a little, I think. Ever since his visit, they’ve been going on about U.A. Though I suspect it has more to do with their obsession with Present Mic than the actual school.”
Aizawa huffed a low chuckle. “I can have a word with them. Balance things out.”
“Oh, no, no, no.” Eva waved her hand quickly, laughter still in her eyes. “I don’t want you putting them off school for life. I’ve heard what you're like with your students.”
Aizawa grinned as he raised an eyebrow, a hint of dry amusement in his tired eyes. “So you think my reputation might scare them off?”
“Only if they’re wise enough to listen,” she quipped, her eyes twinkling with playful mischief.
A moment lingered, quiet and comfortable, until Aizawa’s expression turned slightly more serious, his dark gaze resting thoughtfully on her. “Have you thought more about Nezu’s offer?”
Eva let out a sigh, a mixture of reluctance and contemplation flickering across her face. Her thumb instinctively found the smooth edge of the jade in her pocket, circling, circling, until her pulse obeyed. “I’m… not sure, honestly. I don’t need the money. My mother’s inheritance left me with enough to manage comfortably.” She set her cup down, absent-mindedly tracing patterns on the table’s surface with her finger. “What worries me is… what it might mean for my regulars. Some of them might feel alienated if I have ties to U.A.”
Aizawa tilted his head, his brow quirking in mild curiosity. “Are you worried about me being here, then?”
Her laughter was soft, but her smile was warm and genuine. “No, that’s different. The tea house is for anyone. Besides…” she added, her voice turning even softer, “you’re family.”
The simple word seemed to hang in the air, lingering longer than she’d anticipated. She watched as Aizawa’s eyes softened, a glint of something unspoken flickering in their depths. His mouth opened as if to reply, but he seemed to reconsider, a rare trace of emotion breaking through his normally stoic exterior. Family. It had struck him more deeply than he would admit, and she felt the pulse of it, like a shared heartbeat between them.
Clearing his throat, Aizawa spoke quietly. “I doubt anyone would need to know about U.A.,” he offered, his voice low and steady. “You can be Miss Hood there, Nightingale here. “Just like I’m Eraser Head at work, and—” he paused for a split second, “Shota with you.”
Eva let that sink in, nodding slowly, her iridescent eyes caught the lamplight—silver shifting toward soft lavender, then settling. It made sense, yet the thought of stepping into such a new role was overwhelming. She was comfortable here, in the warmth of her tea house, with the gentle hum of familiar tasks and routines.
“It’s just… I’ve been here for so long. The thought of doing something so… new,” she murmured, her voice trailing off.
Aizawa’s gaze remained steady, a rare softness showing as he leaned forward. “I’ll be there to help you every step of the way, if you want me, and Recovery Girl—she’s a bit of an oddball, but she’s one of the most caring people I know. I think you’d get along.”
Eva glanced down at her cup, her heart feeling strangely lightened by his words. Knowing he’d be there made the idea less daunting. Then, with a gravity that tempered his usual gruffness, he added, “This year has been… worse than most. The students have seen too much. Honestly, I think it's only going to get worse for them. Having someone like you there could help.”
He attempted a self-deprecating smile, but there was a hollowness to it, as if the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We don’t want them all ending up like me.”
A sting of sadness rippled through Eva as she sensed the pain behind his words. She recalled what Hizashi had mentioned about a tragedy in their school days, a loss that had hurt Aizawa so deeply it caused him to distance himself from everyone. Her heart ached to comfort him, to reach across the gap he kept between himself and the world. Instead, her voice softened, and she offered him the only truth she could think of.
“They could do far worse than turning out like you.”
He glanced at her, and for a heartbeat, something raw and unguarded flashed in his eyes—vulnerability mingled with a hint of longing. The look pierced through her, a deep ache blooming in her chest, and her breath caught, seeing the man he so rarely allowed anyone to see. The moment, however brief, was enough to steady her resolve, a newfound purpose surging within her. If she could help even one student, keep even one from carrying the kind of weight Shota bore, then maybe… maybe it was worth the risk.
She took a slow breath, meeting his gaze. “I’ll do it.”
Aizawa’s eyes widened just a fraction, and then a rare, genuine smile broke through his usual stoicism. Eva’s heart skipped, warmth spreading through her as his smile transformed his face, an expression so unexpected and unguarded she couldn't help but smile back.
He gave her a nod of approval, a faint gleam in his eyes. “We’ll start your additional training then as well. I’ll talk to Nezu about scheduling.”
Eva tilted her head, a trace of scepticism creeping into her gaze. “Are you sure that won’t be too much on top of everything else you’re doing?”
Aizawa shrugged, his tone matter-of-fact. “Nezu mentioned to you that I’ll be mentoring a student from General Studies. He has a Quirk… similar to yours.” He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “His name’s Hitoshi Shinso, Quirk Brainwashing. Simply put he can control people using his voice. He's had a tough time with how people perceive his quirk. They see it as… villainous.” Aizawa’s brow furrowed, his expression shadowed with the hint of a shared understanding. “He should have entered the hero course, but the entrance exam favours physical ability, and he didn’t make the cut.” Aizawa’s gaze softened, his voice holding an uncharacteristic warmth. “Shinso reminds me a little of myself when I was younger. Rough around the edges but determined. I see potential in him.”
“He’s lucky to have you in his corner,” Eva said softly, and Aizawa’s gaze dropped for a moment, a flicker of something vulnerable passing through his eyes.
“It’s not luck,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, “just necessity. I want him to have a better chance.”
Eva felt her heart ache for the boy she hadn’t yet met, her empathy welling as she looked back at Aizawa. He understood as well as she did how damaging it could be to be labelled, misjudged, to fight against the expectations of others. And if she could help kids like Shinso, then perhaps her role at U.A. would be as meaningful as she hoped.
“Looks like I’ll be seeing you a bit more than usual,” she murmured, a smile playing at her lips.
Aizawa chuckled, a low, gentle sound that seemed to settle comfortably in the quiet air around them. “Can’t say I mind that, Miss Hood.”
Aizawa shifted slightly, Luna stirring as she adjusted her position on his lap. He glanced at Eva, giving her his best deadpan expression. “Hizashi’s going to be unbearable now that you’re going to be around,” he mused, the corners of his mouth then twitching into something that was almost a smirk, “well, more than usual”.
Eva chuckled. “Sounds like fun,” she said.
Aizawa shook his head, his eyes closing again as he settled back into his chair, his hand absent-mindedly resting on Luna’s back. “Fun isn’t exactly the word I’d use,” he murmured, but there was a rare hint of affection in his tone, one that made Eva’s heart squeeze.
As the night deepened and Eva returned to her work she watched him drift off again, the quietness between them something both familiar and comforting. Returning to her chair once the shop had closed, she leaned back, relaxing for a moment, letting the contented purr of Luna and the steady rhythm of Aizawa’s breathing become the soundtrack to the peaceful warmth that filled the room. The room gave a last soft creak, lavender loosened its sweetness, and with her eyes on the peaceful tangle of scarf, hair, and cat, she let the night close over them like a quilt that smelled faintly of liquorice and home.
Notes:
Thank you to everyone who's taken the time read this. Almost 900 views, almost 40 kudos and 15 bookmarks! I'll be honest that when I started writing I didn't expect anyone else to read it so it really warms my heart to see this ♥
Edited 05/09/2025
Chapter 24: A Taste of Serenity
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Eva was gently arranging fresh lavender sprigs into neat little bundles to dry when the familiar chime of the tea house door echoed through the warm, earthy quiet. She felt the gentle stir of air as someone entered, and as she looked up, a familiar chaotic energy filled the space, wrapped in the unmistakable presence of Twice. His gaze darted between the jars lining the shelves, and he gave the room a wide grin, equal parts manic and friendly.
“Alright, let’s see! Too many choices? Nah, just enough! Or maybe a little too calm? No, it’s… perfect!” Twice’s voice bounced through the tea house, his words spilling out with their usual blend of hesitation and enthusiasm as he half-spoke, half-mumbled his way inside.
But this time, Eva’s ever-shifting eyes quickly picked up on something new—someone, in fact, standing just behind Twice, who had paused in the doorway. A girl with a sweet, bright smile and an aura that clashed with her demure appearance. She wore her blonde hair in the messy twin buns of a schoolgirl who’d wrestled the day and won; amber eyes—cat-slit and sunny—caught the light with an endearing innocence that didn’t quite reach their edges, and that struck a discordant note Eva could almost feel. Luna uncurled from her position on the window seat and sat up, ears flicking once as she regarded the newcomer through a languid, lidded gaze—so reminiscent of Aizawa’s patient vigilance that Eva almost smiled—wariness held in delicate balance with the cool, spare respect of one predator recognising another.
Twice, however, didn’t notice his companion's slight hesitation. He was too busy giving the tea house a satisfied look, then glancing at Mochi, his loyal “tea buddy,” who had already begun his languid stretch on the counter. Twice’s eyes softened at the sight, and his demeanour brightened even more.
“Eva! Meet my friend, Toga!” he announced proudly, gesturing to the girl behind him with exaggerated flair. “She’s… she’s perfect! No, she’s terrifying. Wait, no, perfect and terrifying!”
Toga’s smile widened flashing sharp pointed canines, eyes lighting up as she clasped her hands together as if delighted to be introduced in such a way.
“Hello, Miss Nightingale!” she chirped, her voice high and sweet, almost too bright for the gentle glow of the tea house. Her eyes swept over the shelves, taking in the jars and vials with a fascination that felt a touch too eager.
Eva’s instincts stirred—a curious mixture of intrigue and caution. She sensed that, much like the feral cats who watched her from the alleyways, Toga was more than her sweetness suggested. But Twice had brought her here, Twice who had found comfort, a home of sorts, within these walls. He had never brought anyone to the tea house before. It was clear that Toga must be someone special to him.
“Hello, Toga,” Eva said, her tone warm, though her eyes held a glint of watchfulness. “I hope you enjoy your time here.”
“Oh, I’m sure I will!” Toga beamed, casting a gleeful glance at Twice. “He speaks so highly of this place. And you, Miss Nightingale.” Toga's smile widened, glancing at him with a look that reminded Eva of a cat purring under a hand it both adored and would bite if the mood struck.
“Of course I do!” Twice blurted, pride banging around the rafters. “This is my favourite place—no contest! Unless there’s a contest—there isn’t.” He swivelled to Eva, eyes bright. “Eva, show her the thing—the blend—the one we made together! She’s gotta try it—Sereni-Tea! Our blend!”
Eva’s smile softened as she nodded, moving behind the counter to brew the tea. She had grown fond of the blend Twice and Static had insisted on helping her create, with its harmonious balance of uplifting lemon balm, the natural sweetness of honeybush, and the gentle, fruity notes of dried apple pieces. Its unique flavour was soothing, quiet comfort in a cup. It had become a favourite of Twice’s, who had lovingly dubbed it “our blend.”
Lemon balm released its citrus-green brightness; honeybush breathed warm, woody sweetness; dried apple clicked like tiny coins against the scoop before giving off a pastry-soft scent when the hot water kissed it. As she poured the tea into two porcelain cups, Eva watched Toga out of the corner of her eye, noting how the girl’s gaze lingered, sharp and almost hungry, on the fluid motions of her hands. There was a keen intelligence beneath her sparkling eyes, a restlessness that seemed perpetually on edge. And yet, when Twice caught her attention, her expression softened to something akin to affection, even admiration.
It struck Eva then, the fragile quality of their bond. Toga, for all her innocent appearance, felt like a storm waiting to erupt. And Twice—he had sought a sense of belonging here, as if the tea house’s walls could shield him from the world outside. She wondered if he felt a similar kinship with Toga, perhaps seeing in her the same kind of loneliness and turmoil he carried within himself.
“This place is… sweet!” Toga sang out suddenly, her gaze roving around the dim, cosy interior. “All the teas and the pretty jars… it feels safe here, doesn’t it, Jin?”
Twice, still hovering protectively beside her, nodded with his characteristic earnestness. “It is! Too peaceful? No! Just right!” He cast an affectionate look at Mochi, who had settled comfortably in his usual spot by Twice, giving him a slow blink of approval. Twice’s face softened even further, and Eva could see the tension ebb from his shoulders, his usual inner chaos settling as he basked in the presence of his furry friend.
Toga tilted her head, studying Twice as he reached out to pat Mochi gently. “So you really like this place?” she asked, her tone as curious as a child.
Twice looked at her, his grin stretching wide. “Like it? I love it! This place makes everything… quieter. No, louder? I mean… it makes everything… better.” His gaze flicked briefly to Eva, a note of gratitude flashing in his eyes before he looked away, almost shyly.
Eva set the two steaming cups before them.“Here you are—Sereni-Tea, one of our finest blends,” she said warmly, a hint of pride in her voice. “We’re all proud of it. It has a way of bringing a little peace to the busiest minds,” she continued glancing at Twice with a soft smile.
Toga wrapped her hands around the cup, bringing it to her face with a delighted sniff. “Smells sweet!” she exclaimed, blowing on it before taking a sip. Her eyes widened slightly, and she grinned, showing the tiniest flash of her teeth. “Mmm… it’s really good!”
Twice’s grin broadened as he clapped his hands. “I told you, didn’t I? Told you! The best tea house, the best blend, the best… everything!” His voice softened, and he looked at Eva with something akin to awe, as if still astonished at how a place like this could exist. “And the best friends,” he added, so quietly it was nearly lost in the tea house’s ambient calm.
Eva felt a warmth bloom in her chest at his words, a small, unspoken sense of pride that her tea house had become such a sanctuary for Twice. He looked at her with the wide-eyed, earnest trust of someone who, against all odds, had found a place to belong, and she knew he was offering the same chance to Toga.
“Do you want to know how we met? Oh, it’s the best story!” Toga chirped up, casting a glance at Twice with a giggle. “We just… clicked, you know? Like kindred spirits! Don’t you think, Jin?”
Twice nodded vigorously. “Spirits, yes! Bound by… by something deep!” His gaze darted between them, as if trying to express the whirlwind of thoughts in his head. “We understand each other. Like a puzzle piece! No, like—”
“Like blood,” Toga interjected, her tone unexpectedly fervent, her eyes sparkling with a gleam Eva could only describe as predatory. Her fingers tightened around her cup, and for a fleeting second, Eva caught her gaze, something darker lurking beneath the surface.
Twice’s face softened, and he nodded, his expression oddly gentle as he looked at her. “Yes, like blood,” he echoed softly, his voice carrying a weight that made Eva’s heart ache. It was as if he recognized something in her that mirrored his own fractured soul, and that connection, however dark, bound them in a way that felt undeniable.
Eva watched them both in silence, a pang of understanding blooming within her. For Twice, who had always seemed to teeter on the edge of belonging, Toga was a friend, a kindred spirit, maybe even an anchor of sorts. He had brought her here, to his sanctuary, offering her a glimpse of peace in a life that likely held little of it. She couldn’t help but wonder if Toga found the same solace here that he did, if this tea house could perhaps soothe the restlessness that simmered just beneath her smile.
Mochi, ever the oblivious embodiment of calm with his plush, cream fur and round blue eyes, padded over and brushed gently against Twice’s hand with a soft purr. Twice, his smile impossibly warm, leaned down to scratch Mochi behind the ears, his gaze softening in a way that Eva rarely saw. Toga watched, her expression a mixture of fascination and something that almost resembled envy. She turned to Eva, her gaze piercing yet innocent, and asked, “Do you think… anyone could find peace here? Even someone like me?”
Eva held her gaze for a fleeting moment. “If you’re looking for it, then I believe you can. This place is meant to be a sanctuary for those who need it.” Her voice softened, her words an unspoken offering.
For a heartbeat, Toga’s expression softened, her eyes widening as if she hadn’t expected such an answer. Her lips parted, and she looked down at her tea, her fingers tightening again around the cup. “I don’t know if peace is something I can have,” she murmured, almost too quietly to be heard.
But Eva heard her. And though she didn’t know what lay behind Toga’s sweet smile or the darkness flickering within her gaze, she hoped that maybe, in some small way, the tea house could offer her a brief respite from whatever shadows she carried.
Twice gave Eva a soft look of gratitude, as if he understood more than he let on. For all his brokenness, he seemed to recognize the gift she offered, both to him and to Toga, in a way that words could never quite capture.
As the pair left, the usual murmur of evening calm settled back over the tea house, the door chime softly fading into the background. Eva watched them walk away, Toga’s hands tucked behind her back as she leaned close to Twice, her demeanour all cheerful innocence. Yet, Eva couldn't shake the feeling that her tea house had briefly housed something far darker beneath the girl’s sweet exterior.
Mochi padded over to Eva, stretching luxuriously as she absently ran her fingers through his soft fur. His familiar presence comforted her, but she couldn’t help the lingering tension in her chest as she thought about Toga’s murmur: “I don’t know if peace is something I can have.” The quiet admission rang with a strange loneliness Eva knew all too well - a longing for something that felt close enough to touch, yet always just out of reach.
Notes:
Edited 05/09/2025
Chapter 25: Rhythms of Change
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The afternoon was still, sun-dappled light filtering through the windows of the Twilight Tea House, casting gentle patches of warmth over the floorboards. Eva moved quietly behind the counter, sorting through a fresh batch of herbs, the earthy scent of rosemary and lavender filling the room. It was the sort of quiet she cherished, a soft, undisturbed lull where time seemed to slow down. But all of that changed the moment Hizashi stepped through the door, his entrance a blaze of energy and warmth that set the air humming.
"Eva!" he greeted, his voice brimming with enthusiasm, though still trying to be respectful of the tea house’s serene ambiance. His usual sunny grin widened as he took in the familiar surroundings, clearly pleased to be back.
Close behind him was Aizawa, looking as worn as ever. His dark gaze met Eva’s as he offered a brief nod, which she returned with a soft smile. Mochi, her ever-placid Ragdoll, sat on the counter, blinking sleepily at the new arrivals, entirely unfazed by the intrusion of noise. Luna, however was less impressed, giving Hizashi an unforgiving blink before regally making her way over to Aizawa, who greeted her with a scritch behind her ear.
Meanwhile, at the corner table, Static, who had been uncharacteristically contemplative, perked up upon seeing Hizashi, their eyes brightening as a grin spread across their face. Hizashi caught their gaze, lifting a hand in a jovial wave.
“Yo! Look at you, lost in thought,” Hizashi teased lightly, pulling up a chair beside them. “What’s up, my favourite soon-to-be student?”
Static shrugged, offering a little smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes. “Just…thinking. My friends are having a hard time lately.”
Eva, busy at the counter, cast a curious glance in their direction, while Aizawa simply settled into his seat, clearly listening with faint interest.
Hizashi tilted his head, eyes warm. “That’s tough. But hey, have you thought about doing something to lift their spirits? For me, music always does the trick—nothing like some good old karaoke to blow off steam!”
Static’s expression lit up, their translucent skin pulsing faintly in a surge of excitement. “Karaoke! That’s a brilliant idea! But, uh…” they trailed off, the spark dimming slightly. “I don’t exactly have the cash for it.”
Hizashi chuckled, glancing around the tea house before tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Equipment’s no issue, and as for the perfect venue…” He shot Eva a hopeful, almost conspiratorial grin. “I think we’re sitting in it right now.”
Static’s eyes went wide, turning to Eva with a pleading expression. “Please, Eva! Just this once, can we use the tea house? We could do it on the day it’s closed, and if my friends are here, it’s an extra layer of protection for everyone.” Their hopeful gaze softened. “You know, in case...anything happens.”
Aizawa’s brow arched in quiet amusement from his seat, watching Eva with an expression that said he was all too aware of her soft heart and inclination to agree.
Eva paused, her gaze flicking between Hizashi’s grin, Static’s hopeful expression, and Aizawa’s smirking face. She sighed, smiling softly. “Alright. Just once. But you’d all better clean up afterward.”
Static let out a small, victorious whoop, while Hizashi threw his hands in the air in celebration. “Oh, Eva, you’re a gem!” he exclaimed, already launching into excited plans with Static about speakers, lights, and playlists.
Aizawa, resting his chin on one hand, looked over to Eva, and asked, “Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?”
Eva shot him a rueful look. “I have a feeling I’ll find out soon enough.”
Static, overhearing, looked over at Aizawa with a mischievous gleam. “Oh, don’t think you’re escaping, Grumps! We expect you to show up in full karaoke spirit!”
Eva couldn’t help but laugh at Aizawa’s incredulous expression, which only softened slightly when he noticed the way her laughter transformed her face.
On the night of the event, the Twilight Tea House was unrecognizable. Static had gone all out, draping the room in colourful streamers, scattering glowing orbs of light around the room, their own bioluminescent touch adding a surreal ambience. A modest disco ball glimmered from the ceiling, and a makeshift stage with a karaoke machine stood proudly near the counter. Mochi lay atop it, contentedly soaking in the attention from some of Static’s friends, while Luna had prudently retreated to a quieter part of the building, likely deciding to nap until the noise and chaos was over.
Eva stood by the counter, taking in the crowd with a hint of wonder and amusement. Static’s friends, many of them heteromorphs - their appearances as varied and unique as the stars in a night sky - had filled the tea house with laughter and music. Some were old faces, but there were many newcomers as well, likely drawn by the chance to meet Present Mic, whose reputation preceded him.
The night was in full swing, and Eva was enjoying the sight of her usually quiet tea house transformed into a vibrant, joyful haven even if the sound was a bit much for her. Music blared as Hizashi, naturally the first to perform, brought down the house with a rock number that had everyone cheering. The bass thumped through the floorboards like a second heartbeat; glowing orbs drifting like jellyfish, catching on streamers, Static’s own light answering them in easy pulses.
Aizawa had yet to appear, but, true to form, he tried slipping in unnoticed, quietly making his way to his seat by the hearth. Static, ever observant, was having none of it. “Hey, Sensei!” they called, rushing over to tug him towards the group by the stage. “There’s no backing out now!”
Despite his quiet resistance, Aizawa was pulled fully into the group, shooting Eva a long-suffering look as she laughed at his predicament. Present Mic’s laugh cracked like a cymbal, then softened, respectful of her room. Eva raised her mug to Aizawa in a mock salute, her eyes twinkling in the dim light.
But her laughter faded when Static, evidently feeling daring after a round of enthusiastic karaoke, called out in a mischievous tone, “You know what this night really needs? A solo from the Nightingale herself!”
Eva’s cheeks turned red, and she shook her head, laughing in protest whilst backing away with her hands up. “Oh, no. I’m definitely not karaoke material.”
Static put their hands on their hips, feigning indignation. “Eva, your singing is great! And, c’mon, you’ve heard my singing.” They shot a glance toward the karaoke machine as if daring her to find any excuse that would hold.
Aizawa, sensing his chance for revenge, leaned over, his voice a low murmur laced with humour. “Go on, Songbird,” he said, a glimmer of amusement lighting his eyes. “I think it’s your turn to face the music.”
Caught off-guard by the unexpected endearment, Eva’s protests died in her throat. “Fine,” she relented, giving both Static and Aizawa a mock glare, “but only one song.”
The crowd buzzed as she stepped onto the small stage, her nerves fluttering wildly. She took a deep breath, feeling for the comfort of the stone inside her pocket and rolling it in her hand, letting it's cool familiar surface calm her. A faint shimmer moved in her irises, silver-lavender deepening as Symphony of Solace thrummed in her chest; the room’s edges seeming to soften by a degree, as though the tea house itself exhaled. Looking through the list of songs she found an old one remembered from childhood back in England. Gripping her jade stone with one hand and shakily taking the microphone with the other, she had Hizashi help her select it. As the sound of acoustic guitar strings played over the speakers, her voice—tentative at first—found the opening not realising at first just how precisely the lyrics fit. The words came out like a confession she hadn’t meant to say aloud— “I care for no one else but you” — and the pain to “tear my soul” just to keep being the friend Shota needed felt like someone had been eavesdropping on her heart. She didn't look at him when she breathed the quiet hope, “I think maybe you feel the same."
The verse turned, and with it her thoughts of him — when the line came to “cry a little in the dark,” she found him in it— the weight he carried in silence—and she let the admission turn inward as well, because the dark had her tears, too.
A hush held. Her voice grew steadier, warmth threading through the room, and for a heartbeat she thought she could live forever inside the space between what they felt and what they could say.
Aizawa was utterly still, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that left him oblivious to the entranced crowd around him. Static looking round at their friends with pride noticed and quick as lightning raised their phone and snapped a photo of his transfixed expression. With a mischievous grin, they sent it to Eva’s phone, complete with a cascade of heart emojis circling his image. As Eva finished the last note, she lowered the microphone, avoiding calls for an encore by laughingly saying she would at least need another cup of tea first.
Feeling the buzz from her phone, she picked it up and flushed pink upon seeing the photo, barely containing a laugh. She shouldn’t have saved it to favourites. She did. Quickly she tucked the phone back into her pocket and hurried behind the counter, seeking solace behind the teapots and mugs.
As she passed Aizawa, he reached out, his hand catching her wrist in a gentle but firm grip. Leaning close, he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “You sounded beautiful.”
A shiver danced up her spine, and for a moment, all she could manage was a soft, disbelieving smile. “Thank you,” she whispered back, the words catching in her throat as she looked up into his dark eyes. For one brief moment their gaze met, his usual guarded darkness softened with something quieter, something that made her pulse quicken. The moment was quickly broken as an enthusiastic, off-key rendition of the latest pop song suddenly blasted from the speakers. One of Static’s friends had taken the stage, belting out lyrics with fearless abandon, and the room erupted into laughter and cheers.
Aizawa’s lips quirked in a half-smile, his hand slipping away as she retreated behind the counter. She busied herself straightening cups and saucers, but her gaze kept drifting back to the room, her heart softening as she watched Static and their friends sing, laugh, and dance with a freedom she hadn’t often seen in the tea house, that was at least until Static spotted her hiding and dragged her back into the group "No hiding behind the counter" they said, hugging against Eva's arm, "you're one of us now!".
Eva glanced toward the doorway, catching sight of Aizawa slipping out, his usual low-key exit made easier by Static’s distraction. He met her gaze just as he reached the threshold, giving her a slight nod, his expression softened by a fleeting warmth that only she seemed to see.
As the party wound to a close Static declared that Eva should sing the final song, to much cheering from the rest of the party and Eva soon found an assortment of friendly hands nudging her towards the makeshift stage once more. This time she picked a piece of Brit pop, laughingly telling them that sometimes irony is the best medicine and that she expected them to sing along too.
The guitar snapped on; Eva bounced in place, hair catching the disco sparkle. She threw out the hook—“Let’s dance to Joy Division”—not as surrender, but as a defiance, the kind you lob at a bad week when you decide to live loudly anyway.
Lost in the music and the excitement of those around her Eva bounced around the tiny stage, hair flying, joy radiating from her like an aura. Static snuck out their phone again and photographed her mid-dance, capturing a small piece of delight and sending it to the number on their phone labelled "Grumps" with a smile before rejoining the rest of their friends dancing.
The lyrics tumbled on—bright beat, wry grin, the daft bravery of choosing joy on a sinking ship—and when the chorus crested, half the tea house shouted the chorus back at her, “We’re so happy,” not because everything was perfect but because it wasn’t and they were together anyway.
As the party ended with a loud cheer, people began to make their way home, hugging each other including a somewhat confused Eva who wasn't so used to hugging. They drifted out in pairs and small groups, with Eva, with all the concern of a mother hen, asking them to text her when they'd arrived safely. She helped Static, Hizashi, and a couple of their friends who had stayed behind with the clean-up, offering the stragglers the use of her couch and an old futon she was fairly sure was wrapped up somewhere in the attic. Laughter still floated in the air as they gathered up stray cups, streamers, and tangled wires, each chore punctuated by Hizashi’s exaggerated stories of his early radio days. Static regaled them with enthusiastic play-by-plays of the night’s “best performances,” making everyone laugh and groan as they reminisced.
As she folded a stray napkin, Eva’s thoughts drifted, thinking about the contrast between her quiet life then and what it was now, and it felt like the difference between night and day. Looking up, her gaze landed on Static, and for a moment, her heart ached with a tender gratitude - for them, for her unlikely regulars, and for this strange, new, beautiful joy they had brought into her life.
Notes:
Rushing out this chapter while I get the chance as I haven't had much time this week so apologies if I've left in any mistakes. I'll probably not have so much time to write with the build up to Christmas but I'll try and at least publish one chapter a week.
Edited 05/09/2025. The songs that Eva sings are Letter to Hermione by David Bowie and Let's Dance to Joy Division by The Wombats
Chapter 26: New beginnings
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
On a warm spring morning, as U.A. bustled with students preparing for exams, Eva Hood approached the towering school gates beside Shota Aizawa, a quiet anticipation coiling in her stomach. She’d visited the academy before, but this was the first time as a member of the faculty, and the atmosphere felt different, laden with possibility and nerves. Beside her, Static, vibrating with excitement, was already darting glances everywhere, and she smiled at their enthusiasm.
“Nezu thought today would be a good day to give you and Static a tour,” Aizawa said, hands in his pockets as he surveyed the campus with his usual calm. “The students are busy with exams, so it’ll be relatively quiet.” He gestured to where Present Mic was waiting for them, a wide grin plastered on his face. "Hizashi’s going to take Static around the student areas. I’ll take you to meet Recovery Girl, then show you to your workspace.”
Present Mic approached with his trademark energy. “Hey hey! Ready for the grand tour, Static?” he called out. Static’s eyes lit up.
“Absolutely!” Static’s voice buzzed with a thrilled tremor, and they practically bounced toward Hizashi. “So you’re going to show me where all the cool hero stuff happens?”
“You betcha!” Hizashi replied with a wink. “Follow me, and I’ll give you the scoop on everything a young hero needs to know.” As they set off, chattering excitedly, Aizawa rolled his eyes, though a faint smirk played at the edges of his lips.
“Well,” he muttered, “let’s get going.”
They moved through the labyrinthine corridors of U.A. quietly. Eva took in the tall walls adorned with student achievements, hero memorabilia, and various plaques, each a testament to the academy’s legacy. Every so often, Aizawa would point out a notable landmark or mutter a dry, understated fact about the school. Eva found his calm commentary oddly soothing.
They arrived at Recovery Girl’s office, and Aizawa rapped lightly on the door before leading Eva inside. The room exuded warmth, with shelves lined with medical supplies, cheerful decorations, and Recovery Girl herself—a petite, elderly woman with bright eyes that gleamed with a mischievousness Eva didn’t quite expect.
“You must be Eva Hood,” she said, her voice friendly with an undeniable twinkle. “It’s not every day we have a new healer in our ranks.” She studied Eva, her scrutinizing gaze sharp but kind. “I must say, it’s high time we got someone who’s not just patching them up physically but providing some emotional support as well. These students could use it.”
Eva felt a mix of shyness and gratitude at Recovery Girl’s words. “Thank you. I’ll do my best.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Recovery Girl said with a wink, her eyes darting mischievously toward Aizawa. “And anyone who’s won over Aizawa here has got to be something special. I could tell you stories from his student days that’d make him blush, you know. He was quite the rebellious one.”
Aizawa shifted, rubbing the back of his neck and directing a long-suffering look at Eva. “Not necessary, really,” he mumbled.
Eva bit back a smile, watching as Recovery Girl leaned in, conspiratorially. “I’m sure you’ll hear plenty in time. Now, dearie, let’s discuss your role here. You’ll be assisting me with minor injuries and ailments, helping the students, and providing emotional support where you can. I think you’ll find that your Quirk will be invaluable in creating a balanced healing process. You’re in safe hands, my dear. Though if you need any help with stubborn heroes who won’t sit still,” she glanced at Aizawa with mock severity, “I’m always here to offer advice.”
Recovery Girl's directness and familiarity helped put Eva's nerves a little more at ease. She nodded, offering a small, sincere smile. “Thank you. I’m honored to work with you.”
The old lady patted her on the shoulder. “You’ll be wonderful. I'll give you a full tour of the nurse's office and infirmary when you've started properly, no need to overwhelm you with too many details right away. Now, go on, Aizawa, don’t keep her from the rest of the tour.”
Aizawa led Eva out of the nurse’s office—Eva suspected with no small relief—and along the corridor toward the teachers’ lounge. When he pushed the door open, she was greeted by tan walls, grey floors, two sofas with a coffee table between them, and a well-used coffee machine muttering to itself. A handful of faculty—Midnight, Snipe, and Cementoss—were scattered comfortably about; he indicated each with a spare flick of his hand as they stepped inside.
Aizawa’s voice, steady as a chalk line and twice as unadorned, cut through the low burr of the coffee machine. “This is Eva Hood,” he said, a fractional inclination of his head the only ceremony. “She’ll be joining us after the summer break as support staff, working with Recovery Girl.”
The room smelled faintly of chalk dust and machine coffee, and the fluorescent lights hummed like wasps in a jar. Eva stood half a step behind him and folded her hands—no place to put them felt quite right—keeping her gaze somewhere safely neutral, which, in a room full of professional heroes, meant the space just to the left of the nearer sofa. She breathed carefully, willing her shoulders to remain loose, the way Aizawa had taught her in their self-defence lessons.
Midnight moved first. The click of her heels arrived like punctuation, sharp and bright. “Eva,” she purred, smile gleaming as if cut on purpose. Her eyes flicked to Aizawa and back, a glance so swift it might have been friendly if it hadn’t sparkled like broken glass. “Shota’s timid little English woman. I had begun to think he meant to keep you to himself.” She let the words hang a beat, assessing the neat braid at the back of Eva’s hair, the sensible boots, the soft way she took up space. “I’ll confess, dear, I didn’t realise you’d have the qualifications for U.A.—we do have such… exacting standards.” Sugar in the tone; bitter lime in the aftertaste.
The words landed with the neat precision of a pin finding its mark. Heat rose to Eva’s cheeks—not the pleasant flush of embarrassment but that bright prickle that comes when the mind tries to define the exact shape of an insult and finds three possibilities at once. Timid was not untrue, little curdled on the tongue, English carried the ache of distance, and qualifications sat colder, a pebble behind the teeth. Her fingers found the small river-slick piece of jade in her pocket and pressed until it printed itself in her palm. Midnight glanced up at Aizawa again, playful as a cat that has cornered a mouse. “Though I suppose some doors do open if one knows the right homeroom teacher.”
“Nemuri.” Aizawa didn’t look at her when he said the name, which only sharpened it; somehow the single word held a dozen meanings, among them drop it and enough. “She’s here because she’s the right person for the job.”
Midnight’s lashes dipped as if in deference, yet her mouth quirked with the satisfaction of a stone successfully skimmed. “But of course, darling. I’m sure Recovery Girl will adore her. We all do love a project.” She dialled the brightness up another notch. “Do forgive me; I’m terribly protective of our standards.”
Snipe, lounging on one of the sofas with an ankle hooked over his knee and his hat tipped at a companionable angle, lifted two fingers from the brim in a gesture like a visible smile. “Pay Nemuri no mind, Ms. Hood. She starts at playful and sometimes forgets to downshift. Anyone who can wrangle Aizawa’s mentorship is already on the right side of the ledger, far as I’m concerned.”
“Healing support is something our students could certainly use more of,” Cementoss added, voice like gravel smoothed by water. “If you need room, materials, or even a wall moved—metaphorical or otherwise—say the word, and we’ll see it set.”
Eva drew a breath that tasted faintly of chalk dust and old paper and tried to let it out as a sentence. “Thank you,” she said, the words careful on her tongue. “I’ll… do my best.” It came out a shade too formal for a room where colleagues shared biscuits and tossed jokes like pebbles to watch the ripples, yet it was true. Her eyes, traitorous in their shimmer, slid to the window and back to the middle distance between Snipe and Cementoss.
Midnight’s smile thinned a fraction, as if civility failed to satisfy. “How conscientious,” she murmured, and, with the kind of kindness that bruises, added, “Do be careful not to get overwhelmed. The corridors have a way of growing loud.”
“They do,” Aizawa said, then, in a tone that closed the conversation like a door on a draught, “but we manage.” He turned his head just enough that the fall of his hair hid the look he sent Eva, a small anchoring thing. “You’ll be fine,” his voice dipped low enough to thread only to her ears, “don’t worry.”
Something inside her—tightly coiled and braced for the fluorescent hum and the bright social corners—loosened, just enough to let her breathe. Midnight kept watching, amused as a cat who’d tapped a glass and found it did indeed wobble, but chose not to push further. Eva swallowed the small bruise of embarrassment that Midnight’s barbed sweetness had left and inclined her head.
The hum of the lights softened, or perhaps her pulse did; either way, the air felt less like a glove a size too tight. Eva met Midnight’s eyes for a brief moment and found, to her own surprise, that she felt sorry for her—jealousy was an unflattering perfume and it clung to people without their consent. “I’m used to noise,” she said gently, which was not entirely true, though neither was it a lie; she had learned to navigate it the way one learns a complicated dance, counting the steps under her breath.
“And you won’t be alone,” Aizawa added, sure enough to steady the room.
Snipe tipped his hat with amiable precision, the brim catching the light like a wink. “If you ever need anything, just ask,” he drawled, the warmth in it unforced. “We’re a friendly bunch, by the by. Welcome aboard.”
Cementoss shifted with the patient assurance of bedrock, his voice a mellow grind that soothed. “If the corridors grow too loud,” he said, “we can make quieter ones. Lean on us when you need to; we’re built for it.” His nod deepened into approval. “Welcome, Ms. Hood.”
Midnight’s grin returned, bright as ever though it no longer reached her eyes. “Welcome indeed,” she said, and if the word still carried teeth, they were smaller, less sharp. “We’ll take good care of you.”
“Mm,” Aizawa replied, the syllable as flat as a desk, and then he leaned the smallest distance toward Eva, a movement so subtle it might have been a shift of balance.
He tipped his chin toward the door—an unspoken shall we—and at her small nod he palmed the handle and eased it open.
The door clicked shut behind them, and the corridor’s quiet folded around them—waxed floor, bulletin boards freckled with thumbtacks, the hum of lights. Aizawa walked at her side, hands in pockets, scarf trailing like an afterthought.
“I’m sorry about Nemuri,” he said at last, the words plain and unornamented, all the more sincere for it. “She was out of line. I’ll deal with it.”
Eva let out a breath she hadn’t meant to hold, watched it steady her hands. “It’s all right,” she murmured, although the sting still pricked like a nettle. “She seems… protective.”
“You shouldn’t have to dodge that here,” he said. “Not on day one. Not on any day.”
“It stung,” she admitted, because truth told plainly often shrank a bruise faster than denial; and besides, he asked for truth without ever saying the words. “Less for what she said than for how—like a ribbon tied round thorns. Besides I think I prefer 'Songbird' to 'timid little English woman',” She tilted her head, the humour glinting in her eyes.
“Incontrovertibly,” he agreed, deadpan, and a corner of his mouth tugged as if acknowledging a private joke he had no intention of sharing with the corridor. He paused—then looked back. “If she bothers you again, tell me. Or don’t, I’ll notice anyway.”
“I believe you will,” Eva smiled back, “and at least if nothing else your self-defence classes came in useful”.
Finally, Aizawa led her to a smaller room nestled toward the back of the building. Stepping inside, she was struck by the sense of peace within its walls. It wasn’t just any room; this space had clearly been prepared with care. Plush armchairs sat beside bookshelves stocked with novels, herbs and tea supplies, and the soft glow from a small window cast a cosy light across the room.
“You’ll see students here for emotional support,” Aizawa began, his voice steady. “Half your workday will be with Recovery Girl, but this will be your space for helping with students’ emotional needs.”
“I’ll be training with both you and Shinso after school hours. We’ll be working on strengthening your Quirk and your body. Static will be able to join those sessions if they’d like as they’re a bit behind their peers.”
Touched by his consideration, Eva offered him a shy smile. “That sounds… good. Thank you for everything, Shota.”
Aizawa’s ears tinged pink as he looked away, hiding his reaction behind his capture scarf. “It’s nothing,” he murmured, though his voice was laced with something like softness.
Before Eva could respond, the door burst open, and Static bounded in, eyes wide with excitement. Present Mic followed, grinning broadly.
“Oh my God, Eva, this place is amazing!” Static exclaimed, practically bouncing, their glow pulsing a little brighter with each word.. “I got to see the training grounds, the gym, the dorms—everything!”
Eva’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I take it this means you’re interested in enrolling?”
Static nodded vigorously, their jellyfish-like hair bobbing with enthusiasm. “Absolutely!”
Aizawa, smirking softly, glanced at Present Mic. “I’ll speak to Nezu about the paperwork.”
“Thanks, Sensei,” Static replied, their eyes shining. “We need to celebrate, right?”
Aizawa’s response took everyone by surprise. “I know just the place.”
Curiosity piqued, Eva and Static followed Aizawa and Present Mic through the quiet streets of Musutafu, until he turned down a side lane where laundry lines connected balconies like thin musical staves and stopped before a narrow door over which hung a sign painted with a sleepy calico cat. Eva blinked in amused disbelief, laughing as she turned to Aizawa.
“A cat café?” Eva breathed, amusement brightening her voice, the memory rising of that first evening when he’d drifted into her world. “I’m remembering when you mistook the tea house for one.”
His mouth tilted, not so much a smile as the thought of one. “I thought it fitting.”
They stepped inside to a soft clatter of a bell and the layered, domestic perfume of warm milk, scrubbed wood, and sun-warmed fur. The rules were chalked on a little board that leaned like an indulgent aunt—sanitize hands, no picking up sleeping cats, no flash—and a barista with whisker pins on her apron waved them toward slippers and a low table by a window, the light already thinking about evening. Static’s tendrils brightened with delight and then, catching the rule about flash, they tucked their glow down to a gentle pulse as if dimming stage lights for a matinee—earnest, a little proud of the effort.
They settled; Hizashi folded long limbs onto a floor cushion with theatrical care and, within seconds, was besotted with a fluffy white kitten whose expression suggested it had seen everything and approved of very little. “Would you look at this star,” he whispered—at a volume that still qualified as an announcement—then winked at Eva as if the café were his studio and he could not help broadcasting joy. Eva laughed into her sleeve; Aizawa’s look said indoor voice in the space of a blink, which Hizashi, being Hizashi, read and cheerfully ignored.
The cats, being sovereign citizens, conducted their own introductions: a gravely dignified tortoiseshell circled Static twice, considered the gentle bioluminescent shimmer, and parked herself against their hip with the solemnity of a sworn oath, at which Static went bright-eyed and still in the way people do when something small chooses them on purpose; and a marmalade tom, all stripes and warmth, bounded into Eva’s lap as though she were a returning friend, turned three unhurried circles, and collapsed in a purr that made her ribs hum in sympathy.
“See?” Hizashi said, grinning and nodding towards Aizawa, “He’s got the heart of a softie.”
“If by ‘softie’ you mean ‘reluctant cat magnet,’” Aizawa replied without looking up, for a long-haired tabby had claimed his knee, “then sure.” The tabby batted, experimentally, at a dangling end of the capture weapon; he adjusted the fabric by a measured inch and allowed the game to continue, which, for him, amounted to indulgence.
The café hummed around them—the low clatter of cups, a toy bell chiming somewhere like a teaspoon against porcelain—and Eva let the scene press itself into memory: Hizashi recounting a radio prank with suitable embellishment and unsuitable volume; Static’s glow steady and contained, their laugh flashing like fish under clear water; Aizawa’s profile composed and oddly peaceful, now sporting a collection of cats draped over his knees as if recognising a throne when they saw one. She stifled a laugh, her heart warm as she watched the unlikely group around her, her gaze lingered on Shota, the soft contentment she felt expanding as she realized how natural this felt. As a ginger cat drifted to sleep in her lap, Eva felt like she had found her family.
Notes:
Edited 06/09/2025
Apologies to Midnight – I love her really!
Chapter 27: The winds of change
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The warm, afternoon sun streamed in through a modest window, casting a soft glow across the room. For a moment, Eva simply stood there, absorbing the atmosphere of her new space at U.A. High. She had expected a standard classroom—clinical, sterile—but this room had been thoughtfully curated to reflect the very heart of what she brought to the tea house. Plush armchairs grouped round an old wooden desk, a comfortable alternative to the rigid chairs of typical classrooms, and shelves of novels, herbs and tea supplies occupied the walls, inviting anyone who entered to feel instantly at ease.
She cracked the window open a thumb’s width to let in the fresh summer air, then clicked on a low amber lamp to amplify the warm atmosphere. The faint clean scent of beeswax polish and sun-warmed paper rose from the shelves while, outside, a whistle of cicadas threaded the distant thud of practice dummies on the athletics field. Running her fingers along the spines of some of the books, Eva was surprised and touched by the care that had gone into preparing the room for her. Each small detail—every tea jar, each carefully chosen book—seemed designed with her unique presence in mind. There was even a tiny side room with running water, and a mini-fridge for her to keep milk for her tea. The subtle, natural light, the warm lamps, even the electric log fire, an imitation of the real one, felt as though they were an extension of her own sanctuary at the Twilight Tea House, all that was missing were the cats.
But she couldn’t help herself from adding a few personal touches.
From her bag, she retrieved a tapestry of deep midnight blue, embroidered with a border of silver vines, constellations surrounding the moon goddess, which she hung on the wall behind her desk. Next, she placed her mentor's framed herb illustrations along the walls. Lavender, chamomile, rosemary—their delicate sketches instantly brought a touch of home, adding depth to the room’s cosy charm. She set a wicker-woven bowl on her desk, filled with sensory toys and items for all to use, and a pair of plush burgundy rugs were spread over the floor, softening the space even further. Finally, she set a tin of breakfast tea and a tin of biscuits beside the electric kettle. When she stepped back to survey the results, a sense of quiet pride filled her.
“Not half bad,” she murmured, smiling softly to herself.
A soft knock, followed by the hush of the door sliding wider, admitted a ribbon of fluorescent brightness from the corridor and the familiar silhouette of Aizawa leaning on the frame as if propped there by habit rather than intention, his hair still ungoverned, the faint scents of chalk dust and clean cotton slipping in with him as he let his gaze travel once, unhurried, over tapestry, lamps and rugs before finding the kettle and the biscuit tin.
“Settling in, Songbird?” he asked, voice low enough not to carry out of the room, and when his eyes lit on the biscuits he added, with a hint of dry humour, “An upgrade you don’t offer at the tea house?”
“Because the shop employs two feline auditors who levy a crumb tax,” then lifting the tin of tea with a small, hopeful tilt of her head. “Would you help me christen the room?”
“Seems appropriate,” he said, which from him counted as enthusiasm.
He stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind him with a whisper. She’d laid the room out like a little sanctuary. When he had first seen it, the room felt like an imitation, but with her additions it truly felt like a slice of the Twilight Tea House within U.A. Eva found two mismatched mugs and clicked the kettle on while Aizawa relaxed into one of the plush armchairs and pretended not to watch her ritual.
She handed him a mug and sank into the chair beside him, knees drawn up the way she often sat at the tea house when she was tired but pretending not to be.
“Do you think they’ll like it?” she asked, nodding toward the room at large. “The students, I mean. I didn’t want to make it too… twee. But also, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just nesting.”
He took a slow sip before answering. “They’ll like it. They’ll like you.” A pause. “Students are better at seeing sincerity than adults. And you’re… sincere.”
Eva chuckled softly, swirling her tea. “High praise from the man who once called me tea witch.”
“I did,” he allowed. “And now you’re a tea witch working in a school full of kids with superpowers.”
“That’s character development,” she laughed, half into her mug.
When they’d finally finished their tea Aizawa set his mug down, gaze softening by degrees. “I’ll walk you home.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know,” he said, the corner of his mouth conceding almost a smile. “Indulge me, Songbird.”
As they left the room, her phone buzzed with a message from Static, reminding her of their upcoming English lesson at the tea house. Eva chuckled, picturing Static’s usual mix of exasperation and enthusiasm. They’d been particularly adamant about mastering Present Mic’s “lingo,” insistent on learning every slang phrase they could find. Eva had to admit, though they often tried her patience, these lessons had grown on her.
Back at the Twilight Tea House, Eva found Static waiting at the counter, headphones on and mouthing words with determined concentration, Mochi watching them with confused interest. Static's tendrils bobbed faintly, bioluminescence pulsing—a sign of their distracted focus, and they didn’t notice her approach until she cleared her throat.
“Static,” she called gently, and they jumped, tugging an earbud out. “Oh! I was, uh, studying English vocabulary! See?” They held up their phone, displaying a page of random phrases that Present Mic might use.
Eva stifled a laugh. “I can’t imagine where you’ll need ‘funky fresh’ and ‘groovy tunes,’ but I admire your commitment.”
“Hey, if I’m gonna impress Present Mic, I need to know his lingo,” Static retorted, smirking as they shifted into their chair. “But really, all these verb tenses are killing me. English is a mess.”
“I did warn you,” she replied, perching on a stool across from them. She shuffled through a set of flashcards she’d prepared for them, laying out phrases she’d picked specifically for Static’s chaotic style. “Here—let’s start with introductions.”
Static squinted at the card in front of them. “‘Hi! I am a student. My Quirk is… awesome?’ That’s what this means, right?” they asked, trying their best at earnestness.
Eva raised an eyebrow. “Close. But we don’t usually include ‘awesome’ unless we’re showing off.”
“Then I guess I’m showing off.” They flashed a grin, but Eva noticed how hard they were trying, how eager they were to learn.
They worked through the phrases slowly, and Static’s patience wore thinner each time they stumbled over a new set of verbs. Mochi’s fur lifted at the tips, haloed with static as he headbutted their elbow, purring like a kettle about to boil. The old standing lamp nearby gave an anxious flicker, its overworked filament whining as though it might pop at any moment. Eva found Static's determination both endearing and a touch exhausting, especially when their frustration erupted in a spontaneous mix of their native tongue and enthusiastic English swears that threatened to trip the breakers.
“Believe me, I understand,” Eva replied, fidgeting with the flashcards, watching Mochi, who looked suspiciously like he wanted to steal one. “When I first arrived here, I didn't know a word of Japanese. I think you’re doing great.”
They rolled their eyes but managed a rueful smile. “You’re just being nice. But thanks, Eva. You’re not half-bad at this teaching thing.”
“Thanks,” she said, touched. “I see Aizawa left some more work for you?”
Static scoffed, though their eyes brightened slightly. “He acts like he doesn’t care, but I think he’s as invested in me as you are.”
Eva chuckled. Watching Static and Aizawa bond had been a source of quiet amusement for her. Static had even started mimicking his tired, half-lidded gaze when they thought she wasn’t looking. She hadn’t mentioned it to Aizawa, but she suspected he knew; a part of her wondered if he secretly found it as amusing as she did.
Aizawa’s approach to helping Static was as no-nonsense as the man himself, offering short, manageable lessons whenever he popped into the tea house. He’d drop a couple of pages on the counter, tactical basics or a first-aid diagram, with his trademark dry efficiency. “Start with this,” he’d say, sliding the papers across to Static, tapping the first page with a look that suggested he expected no complaints.
Static, glowing faintly under the tea house lights, would give a dramatic sigh, flipping through the handouts like they were reading their own obituary. “So… no explosions yet?”
Aizawa’s eyes narrowed in that unimpressed way of his. “Not unless you mess up the basics,” he deadpanned, which earned a quick grin from Static.
One evening, Static glared at a section on hero communication protocols, tracing the lines of an overly complex flowchart with a look of mounting frustration. The air took on a faint ozone tang; the standing lamp gave a thin, complaining whine. They finally glanced up at Aizawa, exasperated.
“So, in a real emergency… I’m supposed to know who to call, follow some chain of command, and remember everyone’s code names? This feels like a pop quiz from a nightmare.”
Aizawa, looking every bit the definition of unfazed, replied, “Better than a real nightmare where you don’t know who’s got your back.”
Static let out a long-suffering groan. “Great. I’ll just cram this whole chart into my brain and hope it sticks, right?”
“Or,” Aizawa said with a faint smirk, “you could start by remembering one useful detail at a time.”
Static’s eyes narrowed in mock indignation. “Says the guy who probably has several backup plans in his head.”
“Several,” he said without looking up. “And a spare for those.”
Eva, her back turned but very much listening, had to suppress a grin as Static leaned back over the flowchart, muttering, “Fine, so… backup plan it is.” They traced the lines, asking questions with a begrudging focus, glancing at Aizawa after each answer like they were hoping to win points for effort. It was a sight Eva found both endearing and comical, watching Static’s fiery persistence slowly align with Aizawa’s quiet, relentless pragmatism.
After one session, Static lingered, looking from the page to Aizawa with a rare flash of uncertainty. “So… you think I’m not a lost cause?”
Aizawa looked at them deadpan. “If you were, I wouldn’t waste my time.”
Static broke into a wide grin, obviously pleased, though they tried to play it cool. Eva watched, amused by the unspoken camaraderie building between the two. It left her chuckling to herself, feeling a warmth at how two completely different souls were finding a rhythm that was, in its own odd way, perfectly in tune.
Yet, amidst this new routine, Eva recognized a quiet reality she’d been avoiding: with both U.A. responsibilities and Static’s schooling, the tea house needed extra hands. She’d reluctantly placed a small ad for a part-time position, hoping to find someone who would fit into her tranquil world. Over the next few days, a handful of applications trickled in. Most were humorously unsuitable—one applicant hadn’t realized it was a tea house and assumed it was 'one of those bijou coffee houses'. However, one application caught Eva’s eye: Yuki “Echo” Satou. Her CV described a mimicry Quirk that allowed her to copy physical skills for short periods, an ability that piqued Eva’s interest.
On the day of her interview, Aizawa just happened to be at the tea house, stretched out in his usual chair by the fire. Luna had claimed his lap, curled up in her customary position, purring as he absently scratched behind her ears. His tired gaze shifted from the fire to the doorway as Yuki arrived in a flurry of colours and mismatched patterns, her messy pink-dyed hair framing a bright smile that seemed impossible to dim. She paused, wide-eyed, taking in the tea house’s shelves of herbs, the soft lighting, and the warm, cosy atmosphere with an expression of pure wonder.
Aizawa’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity passing over his usually impassive face as he watched her. Eva caught his glance and raised an eyebrow in nervous amusement before stepping forward to greet her new applicant.
“This place…” Yuki murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, “it feels like magic.”
Eva offered a smile, motioning her to a seat. “Would you like some tea before we begin?”
Yuki nodded eagerly, taking one of the bar stools at the counter and accepting the steaming cup, though she instantly forgot about it when she spotted Mochi sauntering towards her. The Ragdoll was already purring—loudly, unabashedly—as if announcing himself with each step. With the ease of a creature who had long since decided that strangers were merely new friends awaiting fur, he jumped onto Yuki’s lap without preamble, curling up as though this had always been his place.
Yuki let out a surprised laugh, her hand instinctively settling into the soft fur at his scruff, fingers moving in slow, practiced strokes.
“Oh, you’re a handsome one, aren’t you?” she murmured with affection, her voice slipping into the low, sing-song cadence of someone well-accustomed to feline company. Mochi responded with a half-roll and a deep, rumbling trill that spoke of instant approval.
Near the hearth Aizawa still sat with the loose-limbed posture of a man half-asleep, though his gaze was anything but. Luna, a sleek silhouette perched like royalty upon his lap, raised her head—eyes narrowing, golden slits catching the light like twin coins. Her tail twitched once, slow and deliberate.
Yuki didn’t look up, but she must have felt it. Her free hand stilled, fingers pausing on Mochi’s spine, before she turned her head slightly—just enough to meet Luna’s stare with quiet reverence rather than challenge.
“Hello, beautiful,” she said softly, tilting her head. Her smile was smaller now, gentler, as if she knew full well she was being judged.
Luna leapt down from Aizawa’s lap with the soundless grace of a falling shadow, landing lightly on the rug. She stalked over, every step deliberate, measured. Aizawa’s eyes followed the cat, his brow lifting ever so slightly as Luna stopped just short of Yuki’s stool.
Mochi shifted but didn’t move, still purring, clearly unbothered by Luna’s scrutiny.
Yuki waited.
It was the stillness that did it—no outstretched hand, no coaxing noises, none of the typical, eager invitations humans tended to offer when faced with a creature as self-possessed as Luna. She simply watched, present and unintrusive.
And Luna, after a long, tense pause that seemed to stretch out into a test of wills, stepped forward. With an air of reluctant approval, she rose up on her back legs and placed her forepaws on Yuki’s knee, pressing a delicate weight there – accepting a scritch behind the ear before leisurely making her way back to Aizawa's lap.
“Two for two,” Yuki said under her breath.
A soft laugh came from behind the counter. “Careful,” Eva smiled, “They’ve claimed you. You may never leave.”
Yuki grinned, settling deeper into her seat. “Could be worse.”
Aizawa, from his corner, made a noncommittal noise and sipped his tea.
Eva and Yuki exchanged a few pleasantries before the interview began, “So, why do you want to work at the Twilight Tea House?”
Yuki glanced around, her gaze flitting from shelf to shelf with visible delight. “I’ve done a lot of things, but they never… felt right. This place, though—it feels like it could ground me. Like I might find a piece of myself here.”
Eva nodded, understanding the need for a sanctuary, a place that felt like home. “And your Quirk—how do you think it might help here?”
Yuki grinned, her eyes lighting up. “Oh! I can copy anything I see, though only for a little bit. It’s perfect for short tasks, like scooping herbs or pouring tea, but I usually forget it an hour later.”
Yuki watched Eva pour, then mirrored the motion exactly. Even the soft click of cup to saucer arrived with the same precision, an echo so exact it felt uncanny. Glancing in Aizawa’s direction, Eva saw his eyes narrow—not suspicion, merely the professional interest of a man counting advantages.
Curious, creative, and slightly scatterbrained, Yuki’s personality felt like a mix of Static’s energy and Eva's own quiet adaptability. She handed Yuki a few simple tasks, watching as she mimicked each movement with ease and a contagious enthusiasm—though she occasionally forgot what she was doing halfway through, abandoning a half-wiped table to excitedly fetch herbs, only to circle back with a sheepish grin. Her presence was like a burst of sunlight, her cheerful energy bringing a new vibrancy to the tea house’s calm. The minutes passed quickly, and as Yuki flitted from task to task, Eva felt a quiet certainty that she would be a perfect fit. Her warmth balanced the tea house’s tranquillity, a playful counterpoint that would make it feel even more alive.
The following evening, Aizawa stopped by before patrol. Eva brought over his usual blend of liquorice root, passionflower and peppermint, steam rising from the cup in ribbons. He watched Yuki with a look of faint amusement, observing as she flitted around the tea house, sorting herbs, wiping tables, and occasionally humming to herself.
“You hired the whirlwind, didn’t you?” he remarked, his voice carrying a rare undertone of humour.
Eva smiled, setting his tea down gently. “Yes, I think she’ll be a good fit. And Static should be pleased—they’ll have someone just as excitable as they are to share the tea house with.”
Aizawa sipped his tea, his eyes half-closed as he mulled over her words. “They’ll be good for each other—Static and that one.”
Eva nodded, feeling a warmth unfurl in her chest. As much as she cherished her routine at the tea house, her cats, her time with Static, and even the tentative excitement of her new U.A. responsibilities, it was these quiet moments with Aizawa that she found herself drawn to more and more, knowing that with her new responsibilities these times would become rarer still. Outside, the city tuned itself to sirens and night buses rumbled along the streets, but here by the quiet hearth Eva pressed the moment into memory like a leaf between pages—Aizawa’s quiet beside her, Luna gently purring on his lap, Yuki’s soft humming, Mochi swaggering towards the fireplace finally getting his teeth into a mislaid flash card, Static studying on one of the tables by the window —something warm to keep when the days ahead asked for more than tea and a listening ear.
Notes:
New content and a new character - welcome Yuki! Also I've finally finished editing all the other chapters with quite a bit of new content - huzzah!
Chapter 28: Blood and Monsters
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The Twilight Tea House pulsed with a rare early evening buzz as a steady stream of customers filled its cosy spaces, the quiet hum of laughter and conversation rising and falling like a gentle tide. It was a night where the world outside seemed to melt away. Yuki was beside Eva, behind the counter, learning the art of tea brewing. Her eyes were bright, fixed on Eva’s every movement as she poured hot water over fresh tea leaves, eager as ever to learn the subtleties of each herb and blend.
Aizawa occupied his corner seat by the fireplace, head tilted back, eyes closed as if in sleep, though Eva suspected that even in rest he was somehow still quietly attentive to the world around him. Luna, true to her regal nature, was curled comfortably in his lap, her sleek black fur a stark contrast against his rumpled hero’s uniform. Static sat near the window, their bioluminescent tendrils floating softly as they thumbed through a worn textbook, occasionally sneaking curious glances at Eva and Yuki’s lesson.
The serenity of the moment shattered as the chime above the door gave a sharp, impatient ring. A new figure stepped into the tea house—a tall, wiry man in a business suit, his hair slicked back and his gaze calculating as he scanned the room, visibly bristling when his gaze landed on the sight of the young heteromorph’s glowing features.
A flicker of disdain marred his face, his upper lip curling as he approached the pair behind the counter, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Having... a thing like that sitting in the window can’t be good for business,” he sneered, jerking his hand in Static’s direction.
The entire tea house seemed to hold its breath. Yuki froze, a spoon halfway to a cup, her bright eyes wide with shock, as she looked from the man to Static, whose glow dimmed as they shifted uncomfortably, their tendrils retracting slightly as though trying to hide themselves. Aizawa’s eyelids creaked open just a sliver, sharp and cold, his posture subtly shifting. Luna leapt to the floor, her golden eyes narrowing in silent judgment as she sat alert beside Aizawa’s chair, her focus locked on the stranger.
Eva’s aura, typically a gentle, soothing hum, shifted—an unmistakable charge filled the air, her calm facade hardening with a quiet intensity. The silver-lavender in her eyes deepened, the soft hues darkened, sharpening into something piercing, resolute. Her presence, usually as comforting as a lullaby, took on an edge that felt both protective and unyielding, like a storm barely contained. “This is a place for everyone. And that ‘thing’ by the window”—her eyes burned with a fire that surprised even Aizawa—“is my kid.”
Static stiffened, their usual glow flickering erratically, a brief, defiant spark crossing their face as they looked up at the man. Their tendrils bristled, stretching out slightly as though they were gathering courage from Eva’s words, even if their gaze faltered. They clenched their hands on the edge of the table, holding themselves steady.
The man scoffed, crossing his arms defiantly. “You call that thing your kid?” he sneered. “You have my sympathy, but people don’t want to see… that sort of thing in public.” He gestured dismissively, his expression full of scorn.
Eva’s mask didn’t falter, but her voice held an edge, steady and chilling. “I’ll say this once. I won’t tolerate anyone speaking that way about my family, or about any of my customers.” Her eyes narrowed, voice low but carrying an unyielding force. “If you’re uncomfortable with that, the door’s right there.” Only Aizawa noticed the faint tremor in her hands as they disappeared behind the counter, one hand slipping to the worn jade worry stone in her apron pocket in an attempt to steady her fear.
The man squared his shoulders, his tone turning hostile. “You’re making a mistake. You’ll regret it when decent folks like me stop coming around.”
Static’s face crumpled, and they bit their lip, the glow of their tendrils dimming to near nothingness. The room had fallen into a tense silence, all eyes turned towards the exchange. Aizawa’s gaze was dark, irises shifting red as if reflecting a phantom fire in the unlit hearth. . The intensity of his anger crackled just beneath the surface as he watched Eva, his jaw clenched, alert and ready to intervene if necessary.
Eva’s tone quietened, anger simmering beneath a layer of resolve as she leaned in, her voice dropping to an icy calm, eyes a violet storm. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” she said, each word deliberate. “I don’t need business from people like you. This is a place built from respect—and I have certain 'friends' who hold that respect in high regard.” Her eyes gleamed with an unsettling certainty. “Friends who, let’s say, wouldn’t take kindly to anyone upsetting my family.”
The man faltered, the edges of his bravado beginning to crumble. Her words, heavy with a quiet menace, sank in, and he seemed to wilt under the intensity of her gaze.
He swallowed, glancing around as he realized the eyes of the entire room were on him, most of them glaring with open disapproval or outright hostility. With a mumble and a muttered curse, he turned and hurried out, the chime clamouring as the door shut firmly behind him as if applauding his departure.
A heavy silence settled in the room, the tension lingering in the wake of his departure. Yuki let out a slow breath, her hands clutching the counter as she looked at Eva, eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and worry.
Static’s gaze remained lowered, their shoulders hunched as they muttered softly, “He’s… he’s probably right. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t sit in the window. If I’m here, you’ll lose customers.”
The words struck Eva like a blow. She moved swiftly from behind the counter to kneel in front of Static, gently resting a hand on their arm. “Static, look at me.” Her voice was soft, steady, silver and lavender washing away the violet in her eyes like an incoming tide. When they lifted their gaze, she offered a reassuring smile. “I don’t want that kind of business. This tea house is your home as much as it is mine. You belong here, right by that window, and no one gets to tell you otherwise.”
The worry in Static’s eyes softened, though a trace of doubt lingered. “But what if—”
“Let me worry about the ‘what-ifs,’” she interrupted gently. “I want you here. I need you here. Don’t ever doubt that.”
Static gave a hesitant nod, their tendrils brightening faintly, a shy smile breaking through as they looked down, their bioluminescent tendrils glowing a little brighter. As Aizawa moved from his chair to stand beside Eva, Static rubbed the back of their neck, glancing at her with an almost bashful, sheepish look. “You were… you were so cool, Eva,” they murmured, their voice carrying a rare note of awe. They hesitated, searching for words before continuing, “I… I didn’t expect you to, uh… say what you did back there. It was… I dunno, really nice to hear.” Their fingers toyed with the edge of their sleeve, eyes shimmering with an emotion Eva hadn’t seen from them before.
Eva’s expression softened, and she reached out to give Static’s hand a gentle squeeze, letting them know—without words—that her words had been entirely genuine. Aizawa, standing close now, and in a voice low but firm with quiet pride, said, “You did good, kid.”
Static’s tendrils glowed a little brighter at the rare praise, their eyes widening as though they weren’t entirely sure they’d heard him right. Aizawa glanced at Eva then, and the subtle shift in his expression was barely visible to anyone else—but she saw it. The concern that softened the sharpness of his gaze, the way he noticed the tension still trembling just beneath her skin. Without a word, he reached out and gently placed a hand against her arm. It was not a grand gesture, but it was firm, grounding, and lingered just long enough to steady her.
“I’ll be back after patrol,” he murmured, voice low enough only she could hear. A pause, then his hand curled slightly, almost protective. “Try to rest.”
And then he was gone—but the echo of his presence remained with her, like the warmth of his hand still pressed against her arm.
In the early hours of morning that most people still count as night, when Yuki had made her way home and Static had gone to sleep, Aizawa returned. Eva made them both tea, his usual liquorice root blend and hers with the English teabags she kept hidden beneath the counter. Adding extra milk to her mug, she carried them over to where Aizawa sat waiting. The steady presence of his gaze settled over her like a warm blanket.
He watched her in silence for a moment before murmuring with a wry smile, “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
Eva let out a shaky laugh as she set his cup down. She felt his gaze linger on her as she took a slow breath.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his tone gentle.
She looked down, her voice a whisper. “Confrontation terrifies me. Growing up, I… I learned to hide, to avoid it. My mother was—” Her voice hitched. “I couldn’t bear for him to talk about Static that way.”
Aizawa’s gaze softened, a rare flicker of pride in his eyes. “You should be proud. I don’t think he’ll show his face around here again.”
She smiled faintly, her voice soft. “Thank you, Shota.”
Aizawa tilted his head, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But if he does come back,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “I’m sure one of your ‘friends’ will be happy to help him out the door.” He paused, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Not that I’d officially know anything about that, of course.”
Eva couldn’t help but laugh, “Of course not,” she replied, her tone mock serious, her eyes glinted with humour as she took a sip of tea, letting it warm her through.
A comfortable silence settled over them, broken only by the soft hum of the refrigerator and the gentle clink as Eva lifted her mug. Aizawa leaned back, watching her with a contemplative look.
“Static’s lucky to have you,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere. “Not everyone would call them ‘their kid’ and stick up for them like that. Especially when it’s not the easy choice.”
Eva glanced up, her expression softening as she met his gaze. “I’m the lucky one, honestly,” she replied with a gentle smile. “Static brings so much life into this place. I’d say we balance each other out.”
Aizawa’s lips quirked into a rare grin. “You're an unlikely pair, though I can see why you get along.” He paused, a glint of amusement in his eye. “Especially considering how they roped me into helping with their homework.”
Eva raised an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling with humour. “Oh, I’ve noticed. You’ve gone from ‘just dropping some notes off’ to practically tutoring them.” She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Are you sure you’re not getting attached?”
Aizawa scoffed, though the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth gave him away. “Not a chance,” he deadpanned, though the warmth in his eyes told a different story.
They lapsed back into a comfortable quiet, each of them savouring the peace that had settled over the tea house. Eva tucked her legs up and sipped at her tea whilst watching Mochi dreaming on the rug, paws and whiskers twitching. Meanwhile Aizawa watched her, profile gilded in the gentle glow of the street-light streaming through the window, her features softened by the calm of the moment, and felt a strange pang in his chest—a sensation he hadn’t quite expected but couldn’t deny.
In the stillness, he found himself unable to look away.
A day later, as the afternoon light filtered through the windows of the Twilight Tea House, another incident shattered the calm of Eva's sanctuary. The proprietress of the Twilight Tea House was savouring her opening routine as she moved through the shop front, adjusting a few chairs and dusting the wooden tables. There was a gentle lull in the air, the sort of quiet she loved, where everything seemed to pause just before the first customers arrived.
She had barely settled behind the counter, fingers trailing over the jars of herbs as she took inventory, when the front door creaked open. Eva looked up, expecting a familiar face. And it was, though perhaps not one she’d anticipated seeing alone.
Himiko Toga peeked in, then danced through the doorway, her sweet, wide grin blending with the unmistakable gleam of something darker lurking just beneath the surface. She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous curiosity as she surveyed the tea house, taking in every nook and shadow as if she were seeing it for the first time.
“Nightingale!” she called, her voice a lilt of excitement and warmth, as if she’d just spotted an old friend in the middle of a crowded room. “I was in the neighbourhood, and I thought I’d come say hello to my new friend.”
The word “friend” landed with a peculiar weight, though it was clear Toga meant it sincerely—in her own, strange way. Eva’s heart fluttered uneasily as she gave Toga a small smile, her mind racing to find the right balance between caution and kindness as she nodded in greeting. “Toga,” she replied softly. “It’s… good to see you. Here on your own today?”
“Mm-hmm!” Toga nodded enthusiastically, looking around the tea house with an air of delighted curiosity. “I was out doing some shopping and thought I’d pop in. I missed you!”
The words held an odd warmth. Toga was a curious paradox—a young girl who seemed caught between a strange sort of innocence and darkness. As dangerous as Eva felt she could be, there was an unmistakable air of loneliness about her, and Eva felt a strong sense of compassion, remembering with a pang her school days where she was bullied and isolated for both her Autistic traits and 'weak' quirk.
“Well,” Eva said, trying to clear the thoughts from her mind, “I’m glad you stopped by. Would you like a cup of tea?”
Toga’s eyes lit up, and she gave a delighted nod. “Yes, please! I’d love a tea just for me.”
With a nod, Eva carefully selected a blend—one she felt might suit the contradictory nature of Toga herself. She chose ingredients with a surprising mix of flavors: hibiscus for its boldness, a touch of rose for sweetness, and a hint of cinnamon for the warmth Toga so often masked beneath her unsettling edges. The result was a vivid, striking tea, one as complex as the girl perched on the edge of a chair, swinging her feet like a child and watching with ardent attention as Eva poured the steaming brew into a delicate porcelain cup. The girl’s intense gaze never left her, a rapturous focus that was both unnerving and oddly endearing.
When Eva set the cup before her, Toga clapped her hands together, her grin widening. “Thank you, thank you!” she chirped, lifting the cup and inhaling deeply before taking a delicate sip.
A blissful sigh escaped her, and she leaned forward, her gaze glittering with some distant memory. “Did I ever tell you about the bird I found once?” she asked, voice hushed with a strange sort of reverence.
Eva’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and she shook her head, bracing herself for whatever strange tale might follow.
“It was so pretty,” Toga continued, her tone dreamlike, her eyes misting over. “I found it in my backyard when I was little. It had a hurt wing, poor thing. I wanted to help it, you know? To make it feel better.”
She paused, taking another sip of tea, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “I thought that… if I drank its blood, I’d be able to keep it with me forever.” She looked up at Eva, her gaze bright and unguarded, as though recounting a fond memory.
Eva’s hands stilled, the motion of wiping the counter pausing mid-swipe. She fought to keep her face composed, a flicker of concern slipping through her usual calm. It was becoming clearer than ever that Toga’s innocence was woven tightly with something far more dangerous, a twisted mix of sweetness and harm. Eva’s eyes glittered like twilight as she observed Toga, searching for any glimpse of the young girl she had perhaps once been.
Toga noticed the pause and looked up, her eyes finding Eva’s, a spark of childlike wonder lighting her gaze, “You’re a Nightingale too! You’re beautiful, like that little bird, and… I love you, Nightingale. I want to drink your blood.”
Her tone, so sweet and tender, struck a strange, discordant note against the dark undercurrent of Toga’s words. Eva swallowed, forcing herself to focus on the girl’s eager, almost innocent expression, as one hand slid towards the alarm under the counter, holding back from pressing the button. Toga was dangerous, yes, but she was also painfully earnest, her strange fascination with blood clearly a deep part of how she connected to others.
An idea slowly formed in Eva’s mind, a way to reach this girl, perhaps, through something she might understand.
“Toga,” she began, her voice gentle. “For me, tea is a bit like what blood is to you.” At Toga’s wide-eyed expression, she pressed on. “I create blends for each person, unique to them. The flavours, the herbs… each choice represents something about them, blending pieces of them into something I can understand.”
Toga blinked, tilting her head in curiosity. “You mean… each cup of tea is like a person?”
Eva nodded. “Exactly. Through tea, I can connect with people in a way I can’t manage otherwise .” She took a breath, feeling a bit more grounded as she explained. “Sometimes, I struggle to talk to people, to connect with them face-to-face. The world, the connection, seems all too much – like having several tunes playing all at once. But through tea, I can connect with people.”
Toga’s face lit up with delighted understanding. “So, tea is like… blood, but in a different way!” She sipped her tea, her gaze contemplative as she let the idea settle. “It carries the essence of them, doesn’t it?”
A smile tugged at Eva’s lips. “In a way, yes. Each tea blend is like an imprint of who that person is.”
Toga looked down at her cup, her eyes misting over,soft and unfocused. She swirled her tea, her fingers delicate around the rim of the cup. “I think I get it now,” she murmured, a rare stillness in her voice. “Maybe tea isn’t blood, but it… holds them close. And that’s what I want.” Her eyes grew warm as she gazed at Eva, her voice a soft murmur. “Thank you, Nightingale.”
Eva nodded, relief blooming in her chest. Toga seemed to have found a small, fleeting connection to something gentler, a feeling that might not erase her darker urges but could perhaps soothe them, if only for a moment.
An idea sparked. “Would you like to try another blend?” she offered, her voice bright. “One that I’ve made for another friend of yours?”
Toga’s eyes widened, a mischievous smile breaking through. “Ooooh, who?”
Eva smiled gently. “Twice.”
At this, Toga’s entire face lit up with excitement. She clapped her hands together, practically vibrating with glee. “Yes, yes, yes! Oh, he’s the best! And you made one just for him?”
“This is the one I often made for him before he helped make Sereni-tea. While that was made for the entire tea house, this one I made just for him.”
Carefully, Eva selected ingredients that reminded her of Twice’s energy and charm, his contradictions, and his warmth—peppermint for his zest, chamomile for the quiet moments when he found peace, and a hint of ginger for the warmth he radiated when he was truly himself. As she poured the hot water over the blend, the soothing aroma filled the air, carrying a sense of calm. Eva placed the cup before Toga, who leaned in, inhaling deeply with an appreciative sigh.
Toga took a tentative sip, her eyes softening as she tasted the tea. “I get it,” she murmured, a faraway look in her eyes. “It’s… him. It’s calming, but there’s something… something sweet and alive about it.”
Eva felt a pang of sympathy for the strange girl sitting across from her. “That’s right. It reminds me of his kindness, how he always makes people feel welcome.”
Toga nodded slowly, her expression tender. She looked up, her gaze intense. “Can I try your blend next?”
Eva’s breath hitched slightly, caught off guard by the sincerity in Toga’s gaze. She hesitated, realizing with a slight pang that she had never made a blend for herself. All these years, she had poured herself into understanding others, finding connection through their unique blends, but she’d never once crafted her own.
“Actually,” she admitted softly, a touch of embarrassment colouring her cheeks, “I don’t have one. I usually just drink black tea with milk.”
Toga’s lips curved into a small smile, her eyes bright. “Maybe one day, Nightingale. Maybe one day I’ll get to try a blend that’s all you.” She took another sip, her eyes twinkling. “And I think it’ll taste lovely.”
Eva blinked, the unexpected softness in Toga’s tone stirring something within her. “Maybe one day, Toga,” she replied gently. “When I figure it out.”
Despite everything, there was a glimmer of something longing in Toga’s words—a yearning, perhaps, to connect in a way that wasn’t quite as dark as her usual impulses. It was a fleeting glimpse, but one that Eva held onto, hoping that perhaps, through small gestures like these, she could offer Toga a little of the peace she had created in her tea house.
For now, they shared a quiet moment, the delicate harmony of the Twilight Tea House wrapping around them like a gentle embrace. And as Toga sipped her tea, a look of peaceful contentment on her face, Eva dared to hope that there was a chance for the girl in front of her.
Notes:
Some of you may have noticed I've changed the title of the story. I initially didn't name it The Twilight Tea House because the story is about Eva rather that the tea house itself, so it made sense to name it after her. Yet for a whole year now I've always referred to the story in my head at The Twilight Tea House. So that's what it will be going forward. Hope it doesn't cause too much confusion!
Chapter 29: The Invitation
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The sun cast a lazy, golden hue through the windows and across the Twilight Tea House when Eva glanced up to see Aizawa walking in, his usual nonchalant demeanour draped over him like his ever-present capture scarf. Eva paused her tidying, her heart giving a subtle, traitorous flutter at his arrival.
“Morning, Songbird,” he greeted, with that familiar gravelly edge to his voice. “Closing time already?”
Eva couldn’t help the small smile that crept to her lips. “Just about. What brings you here at this hour?”
He hesitated, studying her face as if weighing his words carefully, then slid his hands into his pockets. “An invitation. Nezu thought it might be helpful for you to come along to U.A.'s summer training camp. You and Static, that is.”
Eva blinked, nerves sparking through her chest. “Me? You mean… to work?”
Aizawa nodded. “It’s a chance for you to get acquainted with the students you’ll be supporting, without the hustle and bustle of U.A.” he continued, his tired eyes meeting hers. “You’d be officially there as my assistant.”
She felt her heart tap out a rhythm that didn’t quite match the calm exterior she tried to maintain. Assistant, he’d said. As if the word didn’t make her pulse quicken for reasons far removed from professionalism.
“What would I be doing exactly?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady, though she couldn’t completely suppress the smile that tugged at her lips.
“First aid, mostly,” Aizawa replied. “The training’s intense, so there will be minor injuries, bruises, sprains, probably knowing Midoriya the odd broken bone. You’ll help tend to them as they need.”
“And Static?” she asked, her gaze flicking up to meet his.
“They'll observe the training and get a chance to experience it first-hand ,” Aizawa explained. “It's a good way for them to experience what hero training feels like, before being thrown into the deep end mid-year.”
As she thought it over, Eva absently muttered, “Who would watch Luna and Mochi, though?”
Aizawa’s eyes softened, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. “Already sorted. Hizashi’s volunteered. I’ll spare you the details, but let’s say he’s ready for the task.”
Eva laughed, imagining the blond hero entertaining her two quirky cats. “Well, if Hizashi’s up for it, I guess we’re all set then. Though he'll have to learn how to use his indoor voice with Luna around.”
Aizawa’s smile faded back to seriousness as he added, “I can’t tell you where we’re going until we leave for security reasons. Pack for a range of weather, and make sure Static has some practical clothes—they’ll be outside quite a bit.”
Eva nodded, feeling a strange warmth settle in her chest at his words amidst a swell of nervous anticipation. She felt the rare sense of being wanted, and she had to admit that a part of her was excited at the thought of spending more time with Shota. This was an unexpected leap, but she appreciated how Nezu had thought to give her a soft introduction to her role. She wondered how Static would react, picturing their face when she told them the news.
Later that day, Eva found Static tucked away in the corner of the tea house, sorting through a pile of old records they'd picked up from a local shop, no doubt inspired by Present Mic. The glow of their Quirk illuminated the sleeves in shifting shades of blue and green, casting a soft light around them.
“Static,” she called, settling beside them, trying to mask the grin that was threatening to break out on her face.
They looked up, eyes bright with curiosity, though the hint of caution in their expression remained. “What’s up?”
“Pack your bags,” Eva said, her voice steady, though a mischievous grin played on her lips. “We’re going to the summer training camp with Aizawa.”
Static’s jaw dropped, and for a moment, they looked genuinely speechless. “You’re serious?” they asked, excitement beginning to shine through. “Like – an actual hero training camp?”
“Yep,” Eva grinned, watching with fondness as Static’s expression shifted from shock to elation. “It’s a chance to see what it’s all about. And Aizawa said you'll be able to take part in some of the training too.”
Static practically buzzed with enthusiasm, their bioluminescent skin brightening as they whispered in disbelief, “This is going to be amazing.”
Eva’s heart softened, watching their excitement with a love that surprised even her. “It’ll be a new experience for both of us,” she said quietly, giving their arm a squeeze. “Let’s see what this hero world is really like.”
The morning of the camp departure arrived bright and early, the tea house shedding its aura of calm for bustling excitement as Static grabbed at last-minute items to add to their luggage 'just in case'. Mochi sprawled across Eva's suitcase like a disgruntled gatekeeper, occasionally trying to find a way inside, while Luna stalked her accusingly, shocked that she would dare to leave her behind. Hizashi arrived early clutching a stack of books and his phone at the ready, insisting on showing Eva the chill cat music playlists he'd downloaded with ridiculous pun-based names such as 'Paws & Reflect' and 'Meowditation'. Yuki was browsing through the cat books that Hizashi had bought with him from the library, occasionally enthusing about the latest 'cat fact' she had found. All in all Eva was becoming convinced that everyone had joined in a pact to get under her feet. Finally though, after saying goodbye to the sulking cats, the pair were ready, wheeling their luggage out of the old door that chimed as if wishing them luck as Yuki and Hizashi waved enthusiastically from the window.
They arrived just in time, the bus ready to depart just outside the U.A. Campus where Aizawa, tired as always, was herding in a group of excited teens who already looked like they had a million questions. Aizawa looking somewhat exasperated over his wayward charges waved over to Eva and Static, greeting them by glancing at his errant kids and asking in his usual deadpan tone “Are you sure you're ready for this”. Eva laughed, Static bouncing excitedly next to her, as those students still remaining outside the bus openly gawked at them, their faces a mix of excitement and curiosity. She had barely settled into her seat on the bus when Midoriya, the freckle-faced green-haired student she’d heard so much about, approached her, his eyes wide with eager curiosity.
“You must be Miss Hood, right?” he asked, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “Could I ask about your Quirk?”
Before Eva could answer, Aizawa, seated in front of her, spoke up. “That can wait, Midoriya,” he said in his usual flat tone. “Save it for when we’re at camp.”
Midoriya’s cheeks flushed, and he gave a quick apologetic grin to Eva before retreating to his seat, though she noticed the gleam of excitement in his eyes.
The steady hum of the bus engine and the warm morning sun streaming through the windows created a surprisingly peaceful backdrop for the lively chatter of Class 1-A. Aizawa, leaned his head back and closed his eyes as soon as the bus pulled away from U.A. and was clearly trying to catch a nap. Eva glanced over at him, suppressing a fond smile. Even in his state of near-sleep, his brow furrowed slightly with the perpetual air of vigilance he seemed unable to shake.
Down the aisle, Static was the focus of Class 1-A’s collective curiosity. The students, practically buzzing with questions, leaned in from all angles as they pelted Static with inquiries. Midoriya, his notebook open and pen poised, fired the first question with genuine excitement.
“So, Mizuchi …or should I call you Static? Your Quirk's Aurora Pulse, right? What can it do?” His green eyes shone with anticipation, every word clearly brimming with admiration.
Static grinned, flicking a tendril of their hair with an air of practised nonchalance. “Aurora Pulse, yeah! I can control light and electricity. Think of it as a light show, a taser, and a tech destroyer all rolled into one.” They shrugged, adding casually, “Pretty useful when things get messy.”
“Oh, wow!” Midoriya scribbled furiously, his face lighting up with interest. “So… do you use it in combat too?”
Static shrugged, giving a mischievous grin as if savouring the mystery of it. “Sometimes,” they said with a wink, clearly enjoying the rapt attention. “I’m still…you know, figuring it out.”
Who’s your favourite hero?” Kirishima asked, his grin as bright and unfiltered as ever. He leaned forward, clearly intrigued by this new addition to their circle.
Static tilted their head, a faint glow pulsing through their jellyfish-like tendrils as they considered the question. After a moment, they gave a small shrug, their eyes drifting over to Eva. “Honestly? I think my hero’s right there,” they replied, their voice unexpectedly soft. “Eva’s done more for me than any pro hero ever could. She’s given me a place where I can be myself.”
From her seat beside Aizawa, Eva blushed, her cheeks warming as she tried to focus on the scenery outside the window. Static’s words, though simple, struck a chord. She could feel a faint shift in Aizawa in front of her, an almost imperceptible smile twitching at his lips and she suspected he was as ever slightly more awake than he let on.
“Miss Hood,” Midoriya called, leaning forward with eager eyes, his voice a bit louder than intended. “What’s your Quirk?”
But before Eva could answer, Aizawa’s voice, low and gravelly yet carrying a note of authority that instantly commanded respect, cut through the chatter without him even opening his eyes.
“Midoriya,” he grumbled, “I said she’d tell you once we’re at camp. That goes for everyone.” He cracked one eyelid open, giving the class a sleepy but stern look. “Sit back and conserve your energy. You’ll need it soon enough.”
Chastened but not defeated, the students exchanged eager glances and leaned back, but soon enough, the hushed chatter resumed, focusing on Static, who had yet again become the centre of their collective attention. Static’s tendrils floated with the motion of the bus, pulses of light answering each question as if their excitement had learned Morse. Eva’s sharp ears picked up fragments of conversation as they rippled through the seats behind her.
“Wait, so it’s a tea house?” Kaminari’s voice asked, barely a whisper yet filled with intrigue. “And she can heal, right?”
“Yeah, and I think it’s with her voice?” Midoriya ventured, his tone uncertain yet eager. “That’s what Static said, right?”
There was a small gasp, likely from Asui. “So, like a calming song? That’s so cool!”
“Did you say a pink bow?” Sero’s voice interrupted, his chuckle quietly disbelieving. “You mean Mr. Aizawa gave her a pink bow?”
She pressed her lips together, her cheeks warming as she stifled a laugh behind her hands. Her gaze flicked briefly to Aizawa, who hadn’t moved, still feigning what she suspected was a very aware nap.
Slipping her headphones on, she let the steady rhythm of the road and the soft murmur of the students’ voices blur into a gentle hum. It was a relief, in its way, to let herself drift, the world softening around her as the familiar melody of her playlist drowned out the lingering whispers about healing, tea, and pink bows. Close by, Aizawa’s breathing evened out, the picture of restful indifference—or of masterfully feigned sleep.
The rest of the ride continued in hushed tones and occasional, curious glances, punctuated only by the steady rhythm of the road beneath them.
As they neared the first rest stop, the students of Class 1-A chattered eagerly, clearly anticipating the start of their summer training. However, surprisingly to all but Aizawa, as the bus pulled in they were met by two members of the Wild, Wild Pussycats, Pixie-Bob and Mandalay, their bold introductions interrupted as Midoriya eagerly explained the heroes’ identities to his classmates.
“You’ll be making your way to the campgrounds through the forest,” Mandalay announced, gesturing toward the dense woods. “Consider it the first part of your training”.
Static looked at Aizawa, a moment of uncertainty clouding their usually bright eyes.
“Off you go,” he directed in his usual tone.
Static exchanged a look with Eva, who offered an encouraging nod. “You’ll do great,” she said softly. With a small grin, Static bounded after Class 1-A as they tore off into the forest, ready to face whatever awaited them, their excited voices quickly swallowed by the trees. As the commotion faded, Eva turned back to Aizawa, a crease of concern on her brow. “Will they be O.K.?”
Aizawa shrugged, his voice dry. “Probably not,” he replied, heading back to the bus with Eva following close behind, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips.
The drive to the camp-grounds was peaceful, the road winding through emerald-draped hills, the scent of pine drifting through the windows. Eva let her gaze wander, the shifting tapestry of pine and river valleys offering a rare, unspoken comfort—a lullaby in motion, stitched with sun-dappled light and the hum of tires on worn asphalt. Aizawa had resumed his nap shortly after they left the students behind, his breathing steady, and didn’t stir again until the bus gave its final lurch and pulled to a stop at the edge of the campsite. As they pulled their suitcases out of the luggage compartment, they were greeted by Ragdoll, whose enthusiasm was infectious as she led them to their accommodations.
“Welcome, welcome!” she greeted them, all but skipping as she led them down a narrow woodchip path to a cosy cabin nestled just off the main trail. “We’ve set up your cabin with everything you need - perfect for two!” She gave a little wink, which Eva only half-noticed, her gaze drawn to the cabin itself.
Stepping inside, she admired its simple charm - until she noticed that there was but one large bed set up, its soft, inviting blankets spread out. The realization settled over her as Aizawa’s expression grew noticeably tense, a recent memory flashing through his mind. Just before their departure, Nezu had assured him, with an unsettling grin, that he would personally see to it that Miss Hood had the perfect accommodations for the camp. Now, the pieces fell into place, and Aizawa bit back a sigh. Nezu’s grin had been far too satisfied to be simple kindness, and the implications were as clear as they were aggravating.
“Oh,” Eva murmured, glancing up at him, her cheeks warming.
Aizawa cleared his throat, attempting his usual stoic expression though a hint of colour dusted his cheeks that he tried to hide behind his capture scarf. “I’ll take the couch,” he said, gesturing toward a small, decidedly uncomfortable-looking sofa.
Eva bit back a scoff. “You need to be rested for the training sessions. I can manage the sofa just fine.”
He folded his arms, his voice firm and decidedly stubborn. “I’m not letting you take the couch.”
Eva raised an eyebrow, her gaze playful. “Let's think about this rationally then,” she said.
Aizawa looked at her warily, his instincts warning that his logic was about to be turned against him, “You'll concede that the sofa is far from the ideal resting place for a man of your stature,” Eva continued.
“I'll live,” he grumbled.
“And,” she carried on undeterred, “it would make a far better bed for me”.
“Not happening,” he countered.
Eva grinned like someone who had just tricked her opponent into checkmate. “So we agree it's unsuitable for you, and you're unwilling to let me sleep there, so there's really only one logical solution. We share the bed.” She paused for a second while Aizawa was still catching up with how he'd just been outmanoeuvred before she added with faux gravitas , “I solemnly swear I won’t jump your poor old bones.”
Aizawa almost choked and shot her an incredulous look, to which she simply grinned back. He had to agree from a rational viewpoint she was correct, and he also knew that she was just as stubborn as he was and unlikely to let him sleep on the sofa without a fight, but rationality had little to do with the darkening blush that brushed across his cheeks as he thought about sharing a bed with her. “You make a compelling argument, Songbird,” he muttered, his tone laced with reluctant humour. “But one toe out of line, and I’m kicking you out.”
Eva laughed softly, allowing herself a small victorious grin in his direction as she began to unpack her things.
As she turned away, she barely caught his low mutter, voice tinged with exasperation, “I swear, Nezu’s going to pay for this.”
Notes:
I have to admit this is one of my favourite chapters.
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