Blbs 6

This was the first time Aizawa was visiting the high end complex he wasn't going to see Elly. He paused at her door, his hand twitching toward it for a brief moment, but then he shook his head angrily and stomped further down the hall. The suites were few because they were so spacious, and though it was only the third down he had to walk quite far. He rang the buzzer and was let in immediately.

Present Mic opened the door dressed in a lavender t-shirt emblazoned with info on one of his previous concert tours and black, well-worn jeans. A couple of mixed metal necklaces bounced on his chest and there was a beaded bracelet on one of his wrists as well as a thin smartwatch on the other. His long, blond hair was tied up in a messy bun, some feathered locks already hanging free and straggling down his neck. Instead of his trademark white-framed, orange-tinted shades he wore simple, floating frame red glasses.

"C'mon in," he said tersely.

The suite was the same floor plan as Elly's, but Mic had a completely different taste in decor. Aizawa stepped into a seventies style home, complete with shag rugs, lava lamps and extreme mod furniture that looked too much like art sculptures to be comfortable. He choose the simplest looking chair while his host got him a glass of water at his request, and then they began.

"So, do you have any new projects your fans should know about?" Aizawa asked a few perfunctory questions of the music superstar, keeping them vague and unthreatening. His host seemed distracted, his legs shaking as he spoke or his hands gesturing too wildly about. Aizawa knew from previous interviews and such he had seen that Mic was very energetic. This time, however, he got the impression that the other man was waiting for something - and he thought he knew what it was.

"Okay," he sighed at last, turning the recording app on his phone off and tucking away a set of old fashioned notes, as well. "We're done."

"Okay, then. Down to the real reason I wanted you here."

Aizawa smiled grimly at him. "You want to tell me to back off of Cheshire."

"Yeah." Mic lifted his chin pugnaciously at him, his green eyes flashing behind his glasses.

"I knew it," the dark-haired man said gruffly. "I fucking knew it." He had been blind to think someone so pretty, smart and popular would fall for <i>him</i>. Then he grimaced as he realized he was finally admitting the way he ultimately saw her, not downplaying her for once with scathing comments or jibes. She had her faults, but she was too good for him. Always had been.

"You knew that you hurt her? It was <i>on purpose</i>?"

"What?" His head jerked up, eyes narrowed as he frowned at the pop star. "What did you say?"

"Gone deaf, have ya?" Mic leaped up and threw his weight on one shoulder, knocking Aizawa out of the chair. He picked the reporter up, showing that his lean build had more muscle to him than it appeared, and shoved him forward, pinning him to the wall. He was taken by surprise at the sudden attack but not enough so that he was completely unable to move. He twitched his shoulder out from Mic's grip but the other man slammed a hand on the wall to keep him there. "Then <i>listen up</i>, you sadistic bastard. You hurt her, and that's not fucking cool in my book. I don't want you sniffing around anymore."

"Defending your girlfriend like she's property. How barbaric," he snorted.

"What the <i>hell</i> are you talking about. We're not dating!" He shook his head. Aizawa's leg shot out, sweeping across the taller man's shins to knock him over. He stumbled, swearing, but didn't fall and jumped back up at once.

"Why else would you take the time to threaten me away from her?" He kept his back to the wall, watching intently for any sign of movement.

Mic <i>exploded</i>, his hands balling into fists and his feet set in a fighter's stance on the floor. "Because she's my <i>friend</i> and she <i>cried</i> all night," he shouted in exasperation. "She barely slept! She's got these nasty finger marks on her arms, she was limping like she'd ridden a freakin' unbroken horse, and I'm still not entirely convinced you didn't force yourself on her!"

Aizawa cringed, backing down at last. "I didn't mean to..."

"No, of course not," Mic hissed acidly. "Didn't mean to hold her down so hard your handprints bruised her while you fucked, did you? And then <i>leave</i> after accusing her of bein' a cheating piece of shit!"

"I hurt her..?" This was all he could focus on. He hadn't meant to, but he'd gotten so emotional. He'd assumed everything was okay because she hadn't stopped him.

"You make me sick. You should've been happy. <i>She</i> was starting to be happier, I could see it. But that wasn't what you cared about, was it?" His fist crashed into the wall beside him this time. Aizawa didn't flinch, and what Mic saw in his eyes made him furious.

It was a dull stare, yet slightly confused, like Elly's had been last night.

"I don't know," he murmured.

"So, what then? Oldest story in the book? You just wanted t'get your dick wet?!" This time his fist connected, hitting the sullen reporter just under his left eye. Blood flew as something snapped, and all Aizawa could think was in all the years of goading celebrities, this was the first time he could remember getting punched.

"Fuck," Mic spat as he stared at the blood pouring down his stubbled cheek. He hesitated, then darted into his bathroom down the hall and came back with a hand towel. This was wordlessly passed to the other man, who used it to stop the worst of the blood flow. "You need to get to a doctor," he said firmly. "I thought you'd duck, you idiot."

"Yes," Aizawa agreed. He nodded, still holding the cloth over the wound, which was rapidly blooming bright red across the white fabric. His left side had immediately begun to swell, a dark bruise forming all the way around the skin. Aside from the pain in his eyes, Mic swore he looked ...grateful. "Thanks for the talk."

"Just remember what I said. Don't you <i>dare</i> hurt her again."

He needed stitches, and he had to wear a thick bandage applied over his eye for an indeterminate period of time. No one at the clinic had questioned him too closely and that was fine. Aizawa wasn't angry for once. He had made a decision while the doctor had been stitching him up and he thought it was one he should have made a long time ago.

He made his way back to the now empty office with a quick draft, easily edited by anyone there with the recorded interview he saved to his work computer. Aizawa wasted no time but sent it right to his boss, who scanned it and called for him. He wasn't too surprised Aizawa was here late - he often did that -- but his nasty looking wound startled him.

"The hell happened to you? That little bastard pop you one?"

Aizawa shrugged. "It was my fault. I wasn't paying paying attention while driving."

"Watch your ass," his boss told him gruffly. "You were on company time, so we'll pay. But don't make a habit of it."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he murmured.

"Sure, okay. Now, back to this article. It's bullshit! He lied to you."

"No. Mic says they were never dating and I ...believe him." Aizawa nodded. "I honestly do."

"Then for fuck's sake, who was markin' her up and stuff? She's gotta be seeing somebody!"

"I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty it's not Present Mic." He scratched at his neck, exposing the array of bite marks there.

His boss stared at him as if putting things together for the first time. The way it all began right after Aizawa had snuck into the after party, and all throughout when he insisted he was "working on the Cheshire story" despite not getting any information from her or any photos. The fact that his ace reporter, known for his ruthless nature, had been suddenly reluctant to smear or antagonize the star had been a clear giveaway, but he'd been blind.

As Sato's eyes widened, Aizawa smiled gently at the huge man.

"I quit," he said softly.