Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

           - SCRITCH SCRITCH -

“...reports that the villain known as The Hero Killer, Stain, who has murdered numerous Heros and injured several more around the Hosu area, has been tied to the group known as The League of Villains…” 

A low growl of irritation ecked up his throat as the remote control he had been carefully holding crumbled to dust in his hand. 

Stain, Stain, Stain … 

He paced the room, 

           - SCRITCH SCRITCH - 

dragging five fingers of one hand along the wall as he went, carving trenches in the plaster. 

He hated this dark crappy building. 

He hated everything. 

I don’t feel good... 

Grabbing his sweatshirt and pulling it over his head, he headed down the stairs that led down to the musty corridor and shady alley, taking care to tuck his father’s palm safely into the hoodie pocket. 

“Are you leaving, Tomura Shigaraki?” his Keeper’s deep voice called from the quiet bar at the end of the hall. 

“Yeah,” he grunted in response, “don’t wait up,” and let the door slam behind him. 

Warm summer air settled into his bones, alleviating some of the stiffness that had crept in over his days in isolation, pricking at his freshly raw skin. 

He began walking. 

That idiot Kurogiri had been trying to convince him that Stain’s popularity was a good thing for him and their goals. That he should be grateful for the attention being shown to The League. 

But all he wanted was to loose another couple of Nomus and watch the city burn. 

His sensei had at least allowed him that small pleasure, a bone gifted to a caged dog. 

There was certainly some motive behind that allowance — he always had a damn motive — but at least Tomura had had some fun. 

Damn Kurogiri. Damn sensei. 

Why won’t they just go away and die. 

He scowled as the blocks passed routinely underfoot, treading another lap into this well-worn course. 

Except when Sensei had some errand for him, most of his days were spent in his room. Researching, gaming, trolling the internet forums, sleeping, abstaining from light. 

From life. 

Recently he’d been following the internet buzz about the UA Sports Festival. Recaps of the match ups, which students were best suited for various agencies according to their Quirks and performances, and paparazzi selling ‘exclusive’ information and pictures. 

That’s how he’d found his photographer. Couple of bucks for high quality action shots. So simple. So unassuming. 

Pulling them out of his pocket and thumbing through the photos, he focused on one of a plain looking kid. His face was full of determination, ready to “go beyond”, like that stupid school catchphrase. Irritating... Irritating... 

The sunlight was fading, bleeding orange rivers across the sky, and he passed through the masses — coming home from work, going on dates, gathering with friends — as if invisible. 

“...I’m sure a Hero or police officer will be here soon …” 

Their complacency plumed like smog, smiling and laughing as they poisoned themselves. It made him sick. 

           - SCRITCH SCRITCH -

He hated Heroes. 

           - SCRITCH SCRITCH -

He hated civilians. All of them, self-made victims and enablers. 

           - SCRITCH -

                     - SCRITCH SCRITCH -

He hated them all. 

           - WHAM - 

“Oh shit, sorry, I’m so sor–” this new irritant babbled, faltered slightly as she looked up at him, “–ry... uh,” her bubblegum eyes roaming his scarred face, “wasn’t watching where I was going.” 

His fingers were half closed over his father’s palm, glad for a reason to put it back on again and to destroy something. 

She was bending forward — it’d be so easy — taking her eyes off him to retrieve something she’d dropped. 

So easy. 

Annoyingly, she was still talking, rambling about being more careful. 

Thoughtless, blindly trusting, naive. 

          - SCRITCH SCRITCH -

Ahh, but he was tired. It’d be such a nuisance. He wanted to go home. 

He pushed past her, continuing on his way. 

“Oh, wait a sec,” she called, hurrying after him, “excuse me – ” 

Seriously reconsidering whether it was a nuisance to do away with her after all, “ – I think you dropped this,” he noticed what she was holding. 

It was the photograph of the damn green haired kid. 

Mendokuse. 

“Ahh,” he reached for it, planting a toothy smile on his face, “sorry ‘bout that!”

Her fingers brushed his lightly as she handed him the photograph.

Lucky girl, you get to live today. 

“UA is so cool, don’tcha think? Anyway, I’m off!” 

His face fell back into its usual gloom as soon as he turned from her, relieved that she hadn't tried to say anything else. 

He closed his fist around the photograph of Izuku Midoriya as the brunt of his irritation, too, disintegrated, drifting away on the evening breeze. 

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

“Atae-san, can you help me take a look at this?” 

Kyouyuu was pulled abruptly from her reverie at her senpai’s request. 

“Y-yes! Of course! Right away!” and she hustled over to his workspace. 

Setsu You was turning over one of the insulated pouches that was a staple of her classmate and Provisional-Hero Tamaki Amajiki’s costume. 

“It's this ThermaCargo of Suneater’s," he said, holding up the little purple box, "He says lately they haven’t been keeping his onigiri cold. I’ve been making adjustments, but there hasn’t been much improvement, so,” he sighed, “I must be missing something. Can you see what you can find?” 

“Yes, Senpai!” the response leaping past her lips, eager for the opportunity to help in return for all the guidance she’d received from him. So much of her progress during her work study at Fat Gum’s agency was thanks to him. That he was in turn relying on her was immeasurable. 

He handed her the little pouch, and she turned it slowly over in her hands. She hadn’t worked on this item originally but was familiar with its design: a thick canvas outer layer — imbued with various coatings for wear- and water-resistance — surrounded a small insulated PVC box. 

She thumbed the thick fused lines of the outer layer, 

     ⌜ • intact • ⌟ 

searching for any loose ends or worn coating. She did the same for the canvas fabric itself, running one palm over each face of the little box, 

     ⌜ • impervious • ⌟ 

and then the other. The double clasps, 

     ⌜ • good seal • ⌟ 

made a satisfying pop as she opened it, and her fingertips swept the interior surface of the pouch, 

     ⌜ • insulated • ⌟ 

coming to rest on one particular spot. 

     ⌜ • weak • ⌟  

She held her fingers there. 

     ⌜ • weakened • ⌟  

          ⌞ • damaged • ⌝  

“Hm...” Puzzling, listening deeply, she requested more from the plastic material. 

     ⌞ • melted • ⌝  

          ⌜ • burned • ⌟

“Interesting…” she mused, turning to her senpai, “before Amajiki-kun noticed the malfunction, had this pouch received alterations?” 

“Yes, actually. I replaced the cover about a week ago. It had some acid burns on the canvas, not even very big ones, but I replaced it anyway...” he trailed off, seeing comprehension dawning on her face, “Is that the cause?”  

“Yep.” Kyouyuu whipped a thin blade from the kit on her belt, “It may not have been a lot of damage on the surface,” carefully fileting a small section of violet canvas adjacent the weakened area of insulated plastic, “but it must have reached the thermal layer- ha!” 

She placed her finger to the subtle ring of warped plastic. 

     ⌜ • compromised • ⌟  

“It didn’t eat its way through, but it changed the composition of the plastic here." She showed him the area she'd just exposed, grinning. "Like an open window on a summer day, all the AC got sucked out.” 

“Wow!” You-senpai gushed, taking back the little pouch excitedly, “I never would've found that — that’s amazing!” 

“It’s nothing!” she deflected, though pleased, “Just my Quirk doing its thing.” 

“I wish I had Psychometry. My quality control and troubleshooting always take ages.” 

“No, no, I make up my time during the design phase,” rubbing her neck, embarrassed now, “I spend hours just holding different materials. And then forever actually making things. Weld is the superior Quirk for creating support items.” 

They went back and forth deflecting and complimenting each other. 

“Well,” the senpai finally conceded, “thank you anyway. I’m just glad I know what to do from here. But I’ll have to pick this back up tomorrow. See you!” 

After waving goodbye, she returned to her own workstation, sighing at the mess there. Pencils, pens, and sketches littered her area. Multiples of the same tools lay forgotten, abandoned as she’d chased down a design, and materials were strewn across the desk and pinned to the adjacent walls — fabrics, metals, plastics, all of varying colors and textures, each with its unique properties and purpose. 

A creative mind does not a tidy one make. 

     ⌜ •  °  •  doesn’t explain the senpai’s pristine desk  •  °  • ⌟   

Sighing, she began to clean up. 

In the senpai’s absence, her mind quickly gravitated back to the events that had consumed her thoughts over the past two days. 

Sallow, sickly skin stretched so taut it was cracking in places. Cold eyes, red as rubies. His sudden change in attitude. That false grin. And – 

     ⌜ • IRRITATION • ⌟  

           ⌞ • CONFUSION • ⌝  

     ⌜ • DESPAIR • ⌟  

It had been a long, long time since her Quirk had been so affected. 

She’d worked so hard to prevent those moments after all. 

As her feet pounded the familiar path back toward her apartment, deeper into her reverie she sank. 

All her years at the orphanage, she’d been plagued by touch, a self-decided outcast as a safeguard from the loud foreign feelings that came with a high-five, game of tag, or a hug. She preferred things — objects, inanimate materials with no human emotions to hijack hers. 

Her skin when touching a person would scream, revolting at the energies that surged there. But with an object, her skin would whisper to her, quiet simple things. 

Having learned to avoid others by 5 years old, she confided in no one about her experiences but was desperately lonely, isolated, so Kyouyuu personified these insights into a constant companion who shared secrets about the world around her. She called her Ataeyuko, and she was her only friend, the best kind at that — incorporeal, safe. 

Eventually, as human connection was inevitable in this crowded and carefree world, Ataeyuko provided a thin layer of protection, dulling the intensity of whatever revelations came her way, making the occasional instance of direct contact bearable, if still unbidden. 

And later still, Ataeyuko showed her that her intuition could be used to her advantage, whispering commentary and deductions on the influx of illumination. 

In middle school, having fully embraced this capability, she reveled in a phase of delinquency. Teenagers were such feral, desperate creatures, too easy to manipulate. A touch gleaned gossip; a kiss recorded guilt; and more, true confessions. Blackmail and coercion were her new currency. 

Ultimately, she was mandated counseling sessions as an alternative to suspension. And after pulling teeth to get her to open up about Ataeyuko, it was finally explained to her that all of it — the enlightenment of energies, the inference of emotions and histories, even the personification that digested and analyzed the information she attained — was her Quirk. 

Looking back now, Kyouyuu thought maybe she should have realized this sooner, but truthfully, that was just something she'd never considered seriously. The orphanage was full of Quirkless kids, or kids with decidedly useless Quirks — Pencil Sharpener, Tell Time, Facial Hair, etc — so there was never an emphasis placed on them. If anything, Quirks were considered a nuisance to the overwhelmed and exhausted staff, and certainly no one was anticipating their manifestation. 

But that day, picking at the pills of a well-worn armchair having just been told that the shocking, painful and unwanted peek behind the veil was something that she could learn to control, not merely shrink from it, her hands stilled, her shoulders relaxing with a relief she'd never felt, wrapping around her like a warm blanket. 

The discovery bloomed inside of her, giving her a sense of hope, of escape.

Of future. 

And, thanks to her kind, compassionate, and patient counselor, she set along on a new trajectory, the road gradually rising to meet her all too willing feet. 

The last three years at UA had been extremely challenging, exhausting, and infinitely rewarding. 

Invaluable. 

She’d started in General Studies, just trying to catch up to those who’d familiarized their Quirks over their childhoods. But found solace in the Support Course, Psychometry lending itself perfectly to working with her hands, creating. She studied voraciously, a fire lit beneath her, taking every class possible to fuel it, terrified it would burn out. 

And then there was her Faux-Tou-san¹, the patient and cultivating Pro-Hero, UA teacher, and adopted father figure who had seen her Exhausted Hustle and raised her Supported Ambition. 

Shouta Aizawa was the greatest man she knew and the quiet steady foundation, as much as he'd stubbornly defer, on which her successful coursework was built. 

And yet, after it all — the placid suffering, the sound support, and her prodigious effort — a finger graze had set her back to square one, foreign emotion reverberating through her skull and down her spine, sending her reeling with borrowed energy. 

Why?  

     ⌜ • DESPAIR • ⌟  

She couldn’t shake that numb anxiety and veiled hatred, as sharp as a blade of ice... 

"Kyouyuu-san²." 

Jumping at the voice belonging to Aizawa-Jiji — but why was he here — she surfaced from her memories, eyes refocusing on her roommate’s face. He was already pulling his voice altering mask down and grinning exasperatedly. 

"You were doing it again," his eyebrows raised and teasing. 

"What." 

She sensed his heavy plum eyes on her as she shuffled food around on her plate and suspected she couldn’t hide much longer. Shinsou had already caught her spacing out several times over the week already. 

“You ever gonna tell me what’s going on with you?” 

Sighing, she finally caved. 

"I… ran into someone the other day. Like literally ran into him… and Ataeyuko went berserk like she hadn't in years and years..." 

He watched her, chewing quietly, allowing her to continue. 

"It was sort of disturbing, the intensity of it. But intriguing... I can't stop thinking about it." 

"Clearly," his dry laugh distracted her from sinking into memory again, "I haven't seen you this spaced out since you were trying to explain to me what the hell it is you do in the Support Course." 

"Oh shut up, first year," she quipped, but he'd been successful in pulling her out of her reverie. "So, what's on the docket tomorrow. Jiji letting you into the Hero Course yet?" 

Rolling his eyes, he shook his head. "You really gotta stop calling him that," Kyouyuu shrugged in response, "and no, you know it's not strictly up to him." Then in a mumble, added, "But he said Nezu was impressed with my performance at the Sports Festival." 

Kyouyuu smiled warmly for her found family — at the thought of her adopted father, terse and intimidating as he was, advocating on Shinsou’s behalf; at the young man who in just a few months had grown to feel like a brother, who had stoically walked into that arena, all his anxieties buried deep, and, despite already being leagues behind his Hero Course classmates, had done well but didn't quite believe it. 

"You were fantastic, Shins. I’m super proud of you. Dadzawa-sensei, too." 

He rolled his eyes again, but she noticed his face relax and mouth twitch upward as he took his next bite. 

Eager to head off the all too familiar welling up behind her eyes, she cleared her throat and invented some plans for the day. “I’m thinking of running to the mall. Wanna go?” 

He stretched, taking a moment to answer. “You know, I think I heard Class A gearing up for the mall today, too. If I showed up, Midoriya would probably make me befriend him, then Monoma would get all fired up — it’d be a whole thing.” 

“So that’s a no, then?” she smiled. Of course, that’d be too much for the purple haired introvert. 

“That’s a no,” he chuckled, rubbing his neck, “Have fun.” 

Half an hour later, Kyouyuu was untangling herself hastily from Hatsume’s incessant talking, "Ah ha ha, well, see you!” 

Her classmate was an incredible engineer, dedicated and inspiring, but she was also an exhausting communicator, even for someone less sensitive to those things than Kyouyuu. 

“To be continued, Atae-chan! I can’t wait to show you my new baby!!”  

Kyouyuu was already five steps out of the conversation, her body still half turned to her classmate so as not to be completely rude, and waving a final goodbye. Hatsume returned it, zooming toward her next conquest. She laughed softly to herself as she faced forward – 

          - MMPH - 

Her squeal of surprise was muffled by the plush cotton material that her face had sunken into, her arms flailing outward to keep from falling backward. 

“Owww, man, why does this keep –” the fingers rubbing her head paused as she looked up into the familiar face, “Oh! It’s you!” 

The male’s blood red gaze shifted slowly from something behind her onto her face, and as it did, she noticed something shift in his features — did he recognize her, too?  

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” she laughed, trying to sound lighter than she felt. It was incredulous that he was here, not to mention that she’d embarrassingly slammed into him again, and she grasped around for something else to say, desperate for more conversation with the person who’d consumed her thoughts for days. 

And, for the second time, she watched his expression switch from cold indifference to false cheer. 

“Ahhh,” his growl was rich with quiet confidence, “I should’ve realized — you’re a UA student, aren't you?” 

He moved slightly closer to her —

     Their last meeting 

           ⌜ • DESPAIR • ⌟  

     and the sensed emotion crackled through her memory like lightning.  

— with an unwarranted air of familiarity, and vaguely, she sensed an undercurrent of danger. Yet her feet stayed rooted, her head tilting back to look into his face shadowed by the oversized hoodie. 

Silently, she nodded. 

“Ha!” he exhaled sharply in what might have been excitement but sounded somehow fake. “That’s so cool!” His tone sounded overly light, taunting, and he leaned closer still, bridging the distance with quiet confidence.

She could see every scar on his ravaged skin.

“I should get your autograph, future hero,” he muttered, voice low and vibrating with cruel intent. 

A shaky laugh fell from her suddenly dry mouth, but she was determined not to back away from him. Her body was heading into fight or flight mode, but, curiously, her mind felt at ease. 

“I’m no hero,” she returned. 

That smile, the same false grin that was burned onto her eyelids, split his face like a Jack-o-Lantern. 

“No?” He stood back up, gazing again over her head, “are you a mechanic like your friend?” and nodding at something behind her. 

She turned from him somewhat reluctantly, a shiver creeping up her spine, and saw Hatsume standing some twenty feet from them, now talking to one of the students of Class 1-A. Shinsou had been right it seemed. 

“I recognize that girl from the Sports Festival,” he said as if to himself, his voice going flat, “She turned her versus battle into a sales pitch.” 

Kyouyuu laughed honestly at that, the sound bursting from her in relief, “That’s Hatsume for you,” chuckling again as she watched her eccentric classmate lunge with excitement at Midoriya who had just passed her, his hands held up and eyes skyward. Then, still amused, she added, “But yeah, I’m in the Support Course. 3rd year.” 

Kyouyuu turned back to the male, curious at his prolonged silence, and found his eyes wide and staring. He took a step, toward her — no, past her — moving faster than she would have expected, his eyes trained on Hatsume and Midoriya. 

Time seemed to slow – 

She was handing him a photograph of a tense-faced, green haired male, snapped as he was the first to enter the Sports Festival arena. 

– as some fragmented but desperate understanding clicked into place. 

Her hand closed around his arm before she realized she’d moved. 

In an instant, he’d rounded on her, eyes focused and full of malice. His hand emerged from the pocket of his hoodie, reaching for her. 

          ⌜ • DETERMINATION • ⌟  

     ⌞ • ELATION • ⌝  

          ⌜ • DESPERATION • ⌟  

The effects of her Quirk hit her like a train as his long sallow fingers gripped her hard enough to bruise, the force of the acquired emotions incredulously stronger than they’d felt the other day, and she couldn’t hold back her shout of alarm. 

“Eh?” she heard him drawl, sounding as surprised as she was for some reason, his hand still closed over her outstretched arm. 

     ⌞ • CONFUSION • ⌝  

          ⌜ • IRRITATION • ⌟  

     ⌞ • DETERMINATION • ⌝  

His surge of emotion, flashes of thought and memory, his very soul , pulsed through her like shockwaves and her eyes closed automatically as if trying to shield her from the onslaught.  

     ⌜ • RAGE • ⌟  

          ⌞ • Silent screams • ⌝           ⌞ • Numbness • ⌝ 

⌜ • DESPAIR • ⌟      ⌞ • All Might • ⌝  

     ⌞ • Hatred • ⌝           ⌞ • Falling dust • ⌝ 

          ⌜ • Dejection • ⌟          ⌞ • Indifference • ⌝ 

⌞ • A city in flames • ⌝              ⌞ • Failure • ⌝  

          ⌜ • Resignation • ⌟  

When her fists clenched around plush fabric, the world mostly returned. 

She was panting. 

As if in a haze, she could see the sallow skinned male still before her — their arms crossed over each other’s, her hands seizing at his covered arms, both of his clutching her wrists — his rouge eyes wide, fixated on the rhythmic clenching and unclenching on her wrists. 

Despite the throbbing of her Quirk, she sensed onlookers whispering around them and fought to step back fully into the present. Her sluggish vision raked the faces of those around her and fell on Hatsume, whose ever present smile had slackened in concern, and then Midoriya, emerald eyes narrowed in suspicion and faintly glowing. 

With an effort, she worked the muscles in her face into a peaceful smile so as not to cause a scene, afraid of anything that might draw the preoccupied male’s attention off her and back to the green haired student in the Hero Course.

His hands were still molded to her skin, and she took several slow and deliberate steps backward, like leading a wild mustang. He began to mutter, but followed without resistance. 

“Why… why, why, why…” he repeated in rhythm with the tattoo he was etching into her wrists. 

His face contorted as he hastily adjusted his methods — first holding his fist closed several seconds before releasing, then simply squeezing harder; removing his full hand instead of just his fingers; switching arms; gripping with both hands at once — all while Kyouyuu led him slowly away from her fellow students. 

It took everything she had just to maintain control of her own mind, though a film reel played as if superimposed over her vision, subliminal vivid images, disturbing and without context. 

     A pool of blood and remnants of fur. 

          An eyeless face grinning ear to ear. 

   Bubbling tanks of glowing purple liquid. 

     A devastating earthquake that stretched for miles. 

And still, pulsing through her in time with her heartbeat, his tremulous emotions were pushed into her like a drug. 

          ⌞ • indecision • ⌝

     ⌜ • doubt • ⌟

          ⌞ • strife • ⌝  

Her blood ran cold even as the sun shone hot and high in the sky, its glorious rays callously ignorant of the danger that had nearly come to pass. 

Why Midoriya … she puzzled amidst the blitzkrieg, what about the self-destructive student had drawn such malicious fascination?  

Back in that moment, though she didn’t really understand why, Kyouyuu was convinced the male was going to attack him. 

And I sprang into action, what’s up with that?  

She was in the Hero industry, sure, but as she’d said to the male mere minutes previously, she was no Hero. What did she think she was going to do? It was a fluke that he’d been so strangely fixated on her. 

A shadow crossed their bodies as she led them beneath the arch that marked the mall entrance, the sounds of its patrons left behind, and she let out a breath she couldn’t remember holding. 

Further, she convinced her exhausted body — laden and heavy with unfamiliar energy humming beneath her skin — and continued leading him, destination unknown. 

He’d just dropped one of her hands and mounted a dual-attack on the other, his hands traveling from her wrist up her arm, one hand gripping her elbow, and though the onslaught was becoming easier to manage — whether because it was growing weaker or she was growing stronger she couldn’t say — her feet dragged as if she’d been running for miles. 

     ⌜ •  °  •  Let go  •  °  • ⌟   

Ataeyuko?  

Obliging her personified Quirk that had finally surfaced from the mire of toxic foreign content, she released him, but he continued his pulsing along her skin. 

“Alright, Sir-Grips-Alot... Give it a rest.” 

Kyouyuu backed off the crowded walk into an alley and attempted to free herself of his grip. 

           - PULSE PULSE - 

                     - SCRITCH SCRITCH -

“Dude,” her voice rose as she finally pried his fingers loose with her own. The absence of contact was like a warm breeze on the heels of winter, and she nearly laughed in relief. 

He looked at her, eyes sliding back into focus, as if he only just remembered the body beyond the limb. 

“Oi oi,” he drawled, sounding somewhere between annoyance and amusement, “why the hell are you still here?” 

Is this guy for real?  

“You were the one with the deadlock on me, asshole,” she tossed back, but with less heat than she’d intended. Her whole body felt swollen, raw. 

The male laughed suddenly, and Kyouyuu clocked the breathy chuckle as more genuine than any of his previous attempts at smiling, as his head tossed back animatedly and his hood slipped to reveal a mop of icy blue locks. 

Fickle motherfucker. 

Her legs ached with the urge to flee, but her feet would not oblige, unable to tear her eyes away from the car wreck of a human before her. 

“You’re a funny one, you know,” and again, he closed the distance between them. 

“If you touch me again, I swear—" but he fixed her with an amused and challenging stare, gently lifting her hand and pressing it between his palms, and she braced for another assault. 

An energy, like an electric current, hummed through her body at his touch. Previously, between her panic and the onslaught of his toxic emotions, she hadn’t noticed it, but now... 

     ⌜ • curious • ⌟

          ⌞ • energetic • ⌝  

They stood there, transfixed, for several long moments looking at each other, she with raised and drawn brows, he with a boyish smile spreading across his face. 

Finally, he sighed, releasing her. 

“This is cool!” he laughed again, this time reaching his ruby eyes, “I want to know more. Let’s go have some tea,” and he draped a surprisingly strong arm around her shoulders, turning them down the alleyway. 

Squirming, she balked, “Wha– Why the actual fuck would I do that?” successfully ducking his arm but not quick enough to fully escape his reach. 

He yanked her back lazily by her shirt, folding her into his hip, and as he did, their hands brushed again. 

     ⌜ • hopeful • ⌟

“Because you’re curious,” he cocked an eyebrow at her, “I don’t know why you are, but your face is full of it,” and continued to lead her down the alley. 

She’d already stopped struggling, her chest suddenly tight, as Ataeyuko translated this latest inference. 

     ⌜ •  °  •  you’re needed  •  °  • ⌟   

Her brow furrowed, knowing she’d already lost, but arguing pointlessly anyway. 

Your mom’s needed... 

     ⌜ •  °  •  he’s asking for help  •  °  • ⌟   

Ugh, I know... dumb bitch... 

They walked in silence, save for the war that was raging between her head and heart, his arm around her waist, curled fist resting lightly at her hip, and soon enough, they arrived at a back-alley entrance to a rundown looking establishment. 

He placed his hand on the knob, delicately, with only three fingers, and turned. 

¹ Faux-Tou-san:  one of Kyouyuu’s nicknames for Aizawa, this one plays off of Otou-san, a respectful way to address one’s father
² Kyouyuu-san:  intentional misuse of Japanese honorifics. This is a name Aizawa gave her because she was consistently formal with him even after the adoption and he attempted to call her out on it. She now calls him Jiji, which translates to 'grandpa' or ‘old man’. It's usually used as a term of endearment toward someone elderly, even a non-relative, implying they are knowledgeable, experienced, and wise. Aizawa is not old enough for this term to really apply to him, but by teasing him, it was the closest Kyouyuu could get to displaying actual affection.

Chapter Text

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

Gently pushing the not-dead-girl through the back entrance, he stepped into the musty narrow corridor, noting that the dingy bar at the end of it was silent. 

Good, that brat and rude guy are gone.  

“Tomura?” a deep voice called out. 

“Of course, idiot,” he grunted in response, opening the nearest door and directing the girl up the staircase behind it. 

She climbed the stairs to his apartment slowly, hesitating at times so that he had to nudge her forward, and stopped on the top landing where he edged past her into the kitchenette it opened onto. 

Well, she’s here, now what… 

The electric kettle still had some water in it, so he turned it on and tossed a couple tea bags into mugs. 

The girl was still hovering on the landing when he brought her a steaming cup. 

“This is hardly tea,” she said flatly, swirling the nearly clear liquid. 

"Then don't drink it. I don't care." His sudden bizarre amusement had already faded almost as soon as he'd entered the shady alleyway, and he dropped onto the couch, half regretting bringing the girl here despite his curiosity. 

After a minute, she joined him on the opposite end, hands flexing on her knees and eyes roving over the shabby contents of his apartment. 

“So,” she started, “uh...” 

Looking at her properly for the first time, he took in her appearance. A thin, stringy body, not fit for combat, topped with a knot of messy hair the color of charred wood. Her clothes were loose, overlarge for her, though it seemed intentional, like his own sweatshirt. 

Hm... What secrets does she have... 

She must've sensed him staring at her because she turned her head slowly and stared back at him. Her brows were drawn together and slightly raised as if challenging him, but her eyes, like the fluffy sugary kids' treat that was sold at events he'd never attended, quivered lightly. 

He felt oddly calm — definitely compared to his usual state and even more so for this situation, another human sharing his private space and inviting herself casually on his couch — but he found he didn’t hate it. It was like a weight off his shoulders. 

He broke eye contact first, letting his head fall back against the cushions. 

"You said you wanted to talk,” she scoffed, raising her hands slightly off her lap in frustration, “are you gonna talk?” 

          - HMPH - 

His nails picked at the raw skin beneath his jaw. 

Can’t she just… sit there? 

“Yeah,” the word fell from him on a sigh, “You should be dead.” 

Out of his peripherals, he thought he saw her tense. At least, her foot had stopped bouncing in annoyance. 

The girl cleared her throat softly, “...and, why should I be dead?” 

He wasn’t really trying to scare her, but it annoyed him that she didn’t seem to be. 

Or did it? 

“Because,” he turned his head enough to her a sidelong glance, “that’s what happens, when I touch someone. They die.” 

Those coral irises were on him again, wide and staring, but she didn’t react further. 

“Except you didn’t,” he finished. 

The question hung in the space between them like a dense fog. 

She may not be a Hero, but she’s not a meek little sheep either... 

“O-okay,” her voice fumbled slightly, “so, I’m assuming you’re talking about your Quirk –”  

“Decay.” 

“Decay,” she repeated, sugary eyes fixed on his hands back inside his hoodie pocket, “and,” her tone flattened, layered thick with sarcasm, “you tried to decay... me.” 

He shrugged, averting his gaze — suddenly not wanting to look at her — and turning it back to the ceiling. 

“Didn’t work, huh.” 

Tomura could practically hear the gears whirring in her head, though her voice was collected when she finally asked the question. 

“Why?” 

“You tell me.” Reaching for his weak tea, he swirled it to keep his hands off his neck. "That’s why you’re here.” 

Her only response was the concentration on his hand when he’d leaned forward to grab the mug. Chancing another glimpse at her, his stomach leapt uncomfortably. 

“Tell me –” her hand had jerked slightly, but she shifted it gracefully from her knee to the couch beside her, “Tell me more about Decay.” 

With another sigh, he obliged. He was starting to not feel good again. 

“Everything I touch, that I touch with my whole hand -” he drained his mug in one and carefully wrapped each finger around the cool ceramic, “- with all five fingers, turns to dust...” 

He felt her eyes lasered on his hand as the enamel cracked, then the entire mug crumbled and dissolved. 

“...which I discovered when I killed my entire family.” 

Why– why did I tell her that? 

But if the candy-eyed girl was disturbed by this, she didn’t show it. 

“On purpose?” 

          - SCRITCH - 

               - SCRITCH SCRITCH -

His skin burned beneath and atop the surface. He’d raked into his flesh so often the last few days, he’d drawn blood, and now, the fingers that had Decayed his mug ground dust particles into the open sores. 

This bitch… This impudent little brat… Why did he even–  

But she was immediately backpedaling, “N-no — shit that sounded bad,” her posture changing. She had propped one knee onto the couch so she faced him now, and one hand twitched toward him again. “I only meant, was it an accident?” 

His fingers stalled mid-scratch. 

An accident?  

For a long moment, he watched ghostly faces flit across his vision, their mouths open in silent screams. 

He flinched, pulled back to the present by her sudden movement. It was slow, gentle, but her hand had finally made the leap, extending out toward him, timid but deliberate. 

She was staring at it herself, as if she wasn’t sure who had moved it, but then those crystal eyes looked up into his. 

“Tomura?” 

Something crawled beneath his skin, up his spine, like tiny little ants marching in time. 

It wasn’t totally unpleasant. 

“It’s Tomura, right?” 

He nodded stiffly, staring at her, inexplicably wary of this tiny thing he should be able to destroy but couldn’t. 

“My name is Kyouyuu.”  

Staring at the small hand in disbelief, he began to feel sick again — reminded forcibly of the carefree sheep that littered the world, living fearless lives under the assumption that heroes were out there protecting them from harm — and wanted to Decay something, his hand halfway back to his neck – 

But she had been afraid. She’d cringed and squirmed, yet she’d followed. Even now, her voice seemed to waver between courage and accusation, but still, she was engaging. 

She’d decided, despite her misgivings, to stay. 

This is, the thought came unbidden into his mind, all I wanted, what I needed, back then... 

“Kyouyuu,” her name fell softly from his scarred, crackled lips as he placed his palm against hers. 

It was warm, and impossibly soft. 

His breath, caged painfully within his chest, slowly and steadily escaped, spreading through his body like a hot drink, and, emboldened, he gently curled the tips of his fingers where they outsized hers. The effect was so — there really wasn’t another word for it — cute, he nearly laughed. 

From his periphery, glowing pink eyes were tracking him reverently map her fingers, slightly calloused fingertips, and sweat slicked palm. First with one hand, and the other, his fingers traced the lines there like a palm reader.  

Her face was impassive but for — was he imagining it? — the ghost of a smile, and in spite of himself, his excitement mounted. 

More. 

As if she could read his mind, she slowly bent her fingers to weave between his. 

The effect was instantaneous, sending the army of ants pacing up and down his arms, and he inhaled sharply under his breath. He didn’t think he’d ever felt anything so good in his life. 

Kyouyuu smiled then, fully, and when his eyes met hers, he marveled at how they glowed with a sudden sheen. She lifted her other palm and he grasped it greedily, caressing his fingers between hers, his breath coming quicker, eyes widening in amazement and closing in pleasure. 

After a moment, he felt her gently free herself from him, and her absence was like a void, gaping and painful. 

But her smile was like sunbeam in a rainstorm, and he found himself returning it. 

“I don’t understand why you’re still here,” he breathed, finally. 

“Ha!” Her laugh sounded nearly like a bark, filling the room and easing some of the tension that had built between their clasped hands. “Neither do I, to be honest.” 

“I mean,” he clarified, “that you’re still alive,” mildly shocked to realize he was glad she was. 

“I know what you meant,” her sigh emerged as a chuckle. It seemed that she also had lost some control over her breath. 

“I think–” she paused, tilting her head and blinking rapidly, then continued, “I mean it has to, right? Have to do with my Quirk.” 

He was momentarily stunned. 

She attended UA. Of course she had a Quirk. But he had spent so much time studying and analyzing combat Quirks, of which she had not displayed any sign, that he hadn't even begun to discern what hers might be. 

Why had he not considered the threat her lack of Decay had posed? The thought alarmed him. That if she had been proactive, rather than intrigued, kind... 

Apparently unattuned to the dull panic that was sweeping through him and deep in her own thoughts, she elaborated. 

“It’s Psychometry. I sense and understand the energies, the histories, the purpose, of objects and certain raw elements I touch. In the Support Course, I use it to influence and strengthen the designs of costumes and support items, understanding what a material is best suited for and how it wants to be used.” 

Kyouyuu seemed to be one of those people who didn’t look at you when they spoke, her eyes seeing things he couldn’t as she explained her Quirk to him. And as her gaze wandered, settling on invisible scenes, his own unconsciously settled on her mouth, watching her form the right words, crafting careful sentences. 

A dull burn was spreading beneath his skin — but it wasn’t an itch... This... was new... 

“With people,” she continued, “it’s more complicated. Their energy is louder, messier, full of sentient emotion. And for the most part, I’ve learned to protect myself from it. But you–” 

Pools of dewey pink roses shifted back to him, and he started, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from her lips. 

“You nearly knocked me out.” 

Her eyes were still trained on his, but in her silence, he suspected she wasn’t seeing him again. 

“Knocked you out?” he prompted. 

“Yeah…” she said distractedly, her thoughts still seemingly miles ahead of her body sitting cross-legged on his sofa, then shook her head as if to clear it. “Yes. The transfer was intense, way stronger than I’d experienced in years and years. The first time, with the photograph, and then much more so today.” 

Tomura couldn’t stop staring at her. He wanted to touch her again. 

No! Pay attention! 

He shook his head, refocusing on his current problem — she was invulnerable to Decay. 

“So if it's not a nullification Quirk, what does yours have to do with mine?” 

“Well, I always thought that I was just reading energy, but...” her voice faded away, lost in thought again. 

“You think you’re stealing energy from me?” 

“I mean, I think I have to consider that,” she confirmed, more to herself it seemed. 

That didn't make much sense to him — he didn't feel drained in the slightest after touching her so much, and hadn't had any problem keeping her from running, from taking her with him — but didn't say so. If she was a threat, it'd be stupid to reveal his HP meter if he didn't have to. 

But he was still curious. 

“Stealing or reading, does it matter? Decay is decay.” His argument, he realized, sounded childish, defensive, even as he voiced it. “It still doesn’t explain why your Quirk would stop mine.” 

“Maybe...” she said after another long moment, suddenly looking up at him, “No, wait — maybe it’s not stopping it.” 

Again, his argument sounded weak, trolling, “You’re alive.” 

“No, I mean –” She reached her hand toward his face but paused. “May I?” 

He nodded, and as she reached for him, he pulled her other hand within both of his, sighing in relief. 

His jaw clenched as she touched his neck, withholding a gasp at the feel of her fingertips gently brushing those patches of skin rubbed raw from itching, and was suddenly embarrassed at the thought of her reading his mind, the tone of his current rampant thoughts as he massaged her fingers in his. 

“I wonder...” she trailed off again — he was beginning to enjoy watching her puzzle aloud — “I wonder if Decay is an energy-based Quirk, like mine...” her mouth opened to continue, then closed again, pausing another moment to gather the right words. “So maybe, my Quirk isn’t stopping yours — not really. It’s just that my Quirk is doing its job: reading and understanding energy.” 

Her eyes brightened as she excitedly worked through the problem. 

Yeah, Support suits her, he thought suddenly. Our party already has a Support role... but more wouldn't hurt... Maybe as a Scout - 

He jumped when she started speaking again. 

”Sometimes, when I’m handling a particularly stubborn material, I can work with it closely enough that I end up kind of.. haggling with it,” her words trailing off like a question as she struggled to find an adequate description. “If I ask the right questions, sometimes I can get it to compromise... and maybe... that’s what’s happening,” she concluded somewhat vaguely. 

“What, that your Quirk is convincing mine not to destroy you?” 

She nodded, her eyes out of focus again. 

Oh.  

“So,” in his silence, she continued, “if my theory is right, it’s really like our Quirks are compatible — or incompatible — however you want to look at it.” 

          - SCRITCH - 

“A bad matchup,” he reiterated. 

               - SCRITCH SCRITCH - 

“I, sitting here alive and not Decayed, will consider it a very good matchup.” 

She gave a shaky laugh that he did not return. 

The itchiness, as invited and inevitable as summer humidity, had slunk back across his skin while they discussed her Quirk, and now he jumped up onto leaden legs, turning from her. His hands were clammy, further irritating his ravaged skin. 

“You need to leave.” 

“Oh,” her voice rang with surprise, and — he hated himself for hoping — a little hurt, “Uh, alright? Sure. But why? What’s wrong?” 

His stomach was knotting painfully, the bile roiling and leaping into his chest, and the itching, the incessant itching, compounding with each scratch. 

“It’s...” 

          - SCRITCH - 

               - SCRITCH SCRITCH - 

“You’re not...” 

          - SCRITCH SCRITCH - 

“It's not safe.” 

After a moment, he heard the couch springs creak in the absence of her weight, relief and disappointment settling around him in equal measure. 

But his heart pounded as the floorboards creaked, the sound growing closer rather than away from him. Blood thrummed in his ears, her presence behind him palpable as she gently, but determinedly, reached for his hand, two delicate fingers curling around his pinky. 

“Tomura?” 

His organs panged as though stabbed, and before he could consider otherwise, with a sharp twist of the knife, he shrugged her hand away. 

“Get out.” 

He sensed her looking at him, but his back was to her, fists clenched, breath heavy with the effort of not turning around. 

After an excruciating few seconds, he heard her sweep toward the stairs and begin softly treading down them. 

His shoulders dropped, the familiar weight settling exponentially, as her distance from him grew. 

From his oversized sweatshirt pocket, he retrieved the cold, dead hand of his father, but the comfort it usually provided did not come. He let it drop to the couch beside him. 

“Goodbye, Kyouyuu,” he uttered miserably as the door swung shut, isolation enveloping him once more. 

  •   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

Robin’s egg waves shook with suppressed emotion, his shoulders hunched as if bracing for a blow. A moment’s pause, his tension melting at his hand in hers, before he’d shrugged it away. 

“Get out.” 

A thick silence had fallen in the leagues between them before her feet  , so anxious to bolt not half an hour before,  carried her methodically out, now lead anchors slogging through choppy water. 

“Goodbye Kyouyuu,” his voice nearly inaudible, but laden with despair.  

The events of the day played through her mind as she lay awake in bed. 

Flashes of ruby eyes, intertwining digits, ghostly screaming faces. The way his eyes had gleamed with sudden opportunity, crosshairs on Midoriya. How his features had relaxed, his smile soft and sudden, as his hands grasped at hers like a wonderstruck child. Then how swiftly his demeanor had changed, sinking back into sullen ferocity, demanding she leave. 

“It’s not safe.” 

What had been the cause? 

She retraced the conversation, trying to remember when his agitation had resurfaced. 

She watched him scratching incessantly, desperately, at his neck.  

When did it start? 

He’d been so calm as he explored her skin, pacified beyond any reaction displayed by him so far. He even seemed – 

          - THROB -

– uplifted. 

And of course he would, with a Quirk like that – I wonder when he last touched anything but inanimate objects...  

Pointedly ignoring the sharp pain in her chest, she continued replaying the scene, pausing, rewinding, analyzing. 

“Why,” she’d asked, her retroactive panic pressing for the intent — he’d tried to kill her?? — while, maddeningly, the problem solver in her wanted to troubleshoot. 

“You tell me, that’s why you’re here.” 

And she’d been rambling. About her Quirk and puzzling out how it might be compatible somehow with his. 

What about that had made him anxious? When not a few moments before it had seemed to bring him comfort? 

“Get out.” 

Her heart felt waterlogged, heavy and sloshing as she carried his weighty soul with her. 

He’d been showing her a kindness. Of that, she was sure. Out of everything she’d experienced that day, this one decision, rash and harsh as it had appeared, was made with honest conviction. In his own way, for reasons and from forces she feared she may never discover, he’d protected her. 

Sleep came for her eventually, and her last thought as she drifted away was ‘what made the man with killer hands feel unsafe?’ 

Her dreams were invaded by shadowy trails with winding forking paths and distant screams of those she was sure no longer resided amongst the living, their ghostly cries stealing the air straight from her heaving chest. 

And she awoke breathless, sweat molding her to the tousled sheets, with an ache in her chest she recognized incredibly, horribly, as longing. 

Fuck. 

That ache was all too familiar. The ache that meant she was in it now, the choice already made. The ache that foreshadowed more pain on the road ahead. The gift that kept on giving. 

Kyouyuu sighed, steeling herself once more against the war her logic center was about to launch at today’s revised agenda. 

You fucking masochist, you’re perfect for each other . 

.·°·.┈┈°·.·° several days later °·.·°┈┈.·°·.

The yakuza looking guy was back — sauntering down the shady alley in that purple suit, the grainy zoomed video just able to make out a dank cigarette perched precariously from his lips — this time accompanied by two others. 

They were a strange bunch. Beside the calm and collected smoking man bounced a young girl skipping and twirling merrily, and her complete opposite followed slightly behind them, coolly walking on his heels, hands in his pockets of a dark trench coat. 

Kyouyuu paused the video, having watched them disappear again through that back door on her tiny mobile screen, willing it to be larger. 

I really need to invest in a tablet.  

She’d hastily worked up a discreet little drone with a camera fused to its hull that would sync with her phone, sending it to monitor the length of the dingy alley Tomura had led her down. It was rudimentary, rushed, but at the time she’d been more eager to start observing than for the feed quality to be stellar. 

Tomura had been protecting her from something, someone — had been fearful of them. 

And as she’d walked home afterward, she fully intended to respect that, fearful that if she meddled it would put him in more danger as much as herself. 

But... 

As the days passed, her thoughts betrayed her, dwelling on the volatile, conflicted male. Her coursework took a back seat, projects hardly touched, strewn about in various stages of completion, all motivation absorbed. And even worse, yesterday You-senpai had sent her home from the agency, convinced she was ill. 

“I should get your autograph, future hero.”  

His words had echoed in her mind as she trudged home, and she’d felt a wild and overwhelming desire, like magma rising within a volcano, to live up to his expectations. 

She’d completed the little hover camera that evening. 

Disappointingly, however, her results had so far yielded very little. 

Tomura himself had not left the bar again — bruising some desperate part of her which she’d failed spectacularly to ignore, that had hoped he’d renege on his decision to stay away from her — and only the purple suit guy had been seen going in and out. 

But this gang her feed picked up was certainly something to note, and she suspected it was her 50th time watching this section of the video, biting the corners off her nails absently, pausing, taking notes, rewinding, rewatching. They were impressive looking despite their poor pairing, each walking with the loping grace of someone with nothing left to lose. 

          - KNOCK KNOCK - 

“Hey Kyou – whoa!" She'd jumped, so entranced in her shoddy detective work that she hadn’t heard Shinsou approach. “Someone’s working hard,” he laughed defensively. 

Recovering, she assumed a dry, sarcastic tone, raising a mocking eyebrow at him, “And… what’s so important?” 

“Just heading to class,” he jogged her memory, “Thought you’d like to know.” 

Today was the first day of his summer intensive. Hard working, Shins. 

"I totally forgot,” she flashed him an encouraging smile but, still incredibly distracted, was already turning back to her feed, “Good luck!” 

She put the video in 2x to catch up from where she’d been analyzing the newcomers and heard him filling up his water bottle in the kitchen, the dulled chink of metal on the counter making her think maybe she should take a break and grab a snack while the video caught back up. 

Then his silvered blue mop flashed into frame. 

Shit!  

Gasping, she flicked back a few seconds, resetting the speed to 1x, hoping she hadn’t imagined it. 

But there he was, shouldering through the back door and loping down the alley. 

She nearly tripped as she sprung from her chair. “Shit! Am I live?!” she shouted aloud, frantically searching for her purse, phone still clutched in her hand. 

“– what?” Shinsou called, mistaking her outburst as getting his attention. 

There was a gray gap in the play bar, and she punched at it hurriedly with her thumb, her other hand sliding keys into the bag slung hastily over one shoulder, as she desperately tried to pull up the timestamp. 

The current footage of Tomura entering the alley, door thrown wide, was at 01:39:07... 01:39:08... 01:39:09... 

Shit shit shit, what’s the live, hurriedly sliding the play dot to the far right which read – 

02:44:47

“SHIT!” 

An hour??  

She’d planned for this, made her best assumption of his route based on the two other times they’d met, mapping her own that she’d take to intercept him. 

And now she was kicking herself for spending so much time on that damn purple suit. 

Clicking the drone into standby mode, she bolted for the door, mauling Shinsou as he, too, made to leave. 

“Dude!” he shouted after her. 

“Sorry!” Even as she made to stuff a bare foot into her sneakers at the door, she knew it was probably too late, that her window of opportunity where she might know where he’d be had very likely closed, that he was maybe even already back inside the confines of that dark dingy prison. 

But she had to try. 

She shouted back to Shinsou as she yanked open the door, “see you la–” 

But her breath caught in her lungs. 

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

He didn’t sleep. Just gamed all night and all day. 

“Tomura?” she’d whispered like a promise, her fingers settling his nerves in their delicate grasp. 

He screwed up his eyes against the ache. 

Frankly, he’d rather have the itching. 

It didn’t matter. She couldn’t be here, couldn’t be with him, couldn’t be his. 

Because if she was right — if she was even remotely on track — about the compatibility of their Quirks, then she was a threat. 

The kindest thing Sensei would do would be to kill her. 

But I’d dive headfirst to hell making sure she never sees one of those tanks. 

He blinked, surprised at himself, then soured again. 

She’s just a dumb girl, he lied to himself, hoping it’d stick this time. 

At some point, Kurogiri had annoyed him enough to heed his request, so he'd headed downstairs with grey bags for eyes and poison in his limbs but could barely feign interest in their little meeting. 

The stitch-faced-guy and the psycho schoolgirl had returned, accompanied by a third more-normal looking guy — except for the paper bag over his head — and a heteromorph dressed in Stain-cosplay. 

The Vanguard Action Squad — what a stupid fucking name — was devising a plan to kidnap one of the UA students during their summer training camp. 

Kurogiri led most of the conversation. Good. He couldn’t give two shits anymore. 

The plan had already been more or less set, thanks to Sensei’s informant, weeks ago. But the ‘ finer details’ were still being ironed out. 

“Dabi,” Kurogiri was explaining, “at that point, your responsibility will be –” 

“Hey now, why’ve you given everyone an assignment besides Handsy, here?” 

Tomura gave a sidelong glare at that skin quilt, gearing up to retort, but Kurogiri spoke first. He knew his Keeper was desperate to avoid another fight. 

“Tomura Shigaraki will not be taking part in this mission,” he said simply. 

“It’s his right as our leader,” the paper bag touted, swiftly followed by, “he’s chicken shit!” 

Space Buns and Lizard, too, glared coldly in his direction but said nothing. 

“Kurogiri,” Tomura growled, rising from his seat in time with his temper, “I thought I said I didn’t want this trash in our bar anymore.” 

“Please sit, Tomura Shigaraki, we’re nearly finished.” 

But he was already halfway down the dim corridor, waving dismissively, “I know the plan, I don’t need to be here if I’m not going to be there...” 

Shouldering the door hard to alleviate his mood, he stepped out into the blazing sunlight. 

His anger had been a welcome distraction, but it was already fading back to achy angst, his mind reeling with lychee colored eyes thrown wide in shock and soft-looking lips hurling accusations at his villainous ass. 

That had been the other shoe to drop. 

He’d just so far been lucky that she hadn’t recognized him, but sure enough, even if it was possible to skirt Sensei finding out about her Quirk, she would discover exactly who he was. The one who had loosed a battalion on her underclassmen and teachers, who’d destroyed Hosu City for failed revenge, who had orchestrated a soon-to-be-executed plan to kidnap a student regardless of if he was to actively participate. 

#boyfriendmaterial...

Not to mention, there was a good chance that by now she had put together his interest in Midoriya and Decay. Surely those UA brats weren’t tight lipped about the USJ incident, even if they had been about Hosu. 

How far had information spread throughout the school? If it’d reached her, she could easily have reported him, leading them to him even now. 

But even as he thought this, he knew he didn’t believe it. She’d had ample opportunity that day to call for help, to escape from or subdue him, to pry incriminating information from him with her Quirk. But instead she’d calmed him, seen and indulged his buried desires. 

No, Kyouyuu wouldn’t turn him in. He believed that. The way she’d followed him down the alley, how she’d hesitated to leave, calling out to him... 

“I’m no hero,” she’d said. 

Maybe not, he thought now, his misery seeping in again, but you sure felt like it to me... 

He shook his head forcefully. 

It was pointless, insane, utterly laughable to dwell on the idea of someone he’d never — should never — see again. 

Cars sped by on the busy street he walked, once more passing through the masses of commuters like a ghost, but he found his hatred for them had waned, replaced with apathy in the midst of his self-pity. 

He paused at a crosswalk with the dozens of others, hands deep in his pocket, hood pulled high and eyes fixed on his shoes, where they were drawn to a flier that some elementary brat probably dropped. 

“READ” it commanded in a bold dramatic typeface, over an image of All Might, hands on his hips, a speech bubble emerging from his grotesquely smiling face that was half concealed beneath Tomura’s shoe. 

Rotating his foot so he could read All Might’s prompt, his eyes widened with a stroke of inspiration. 

“I AM HERE saying, support your local library!” 

Tomura made an immediate about-face, his whole body tense with the impact of his split decision. 

He’d thought about finding her — of course he had — one of a thousand things he'd thought about since she'd left his room but refused to leave his head. He didn’t know her last name, but it’d be easy enough to find it between social media and public records. The address would be trickier, but he was sure it wouldn’t be too difficult, even as a semi-competent hacker. 

But he hadn’t, distrustful of his own equipment. Sensei gave him a lot of free reign, but Tomura was acutely, if quietly, aware that it was only because he was on the end of a lengthy leash, capable of immediate retraction and merciless correction. He assumed his web trafficking was as safe as swimming with lead shoes. 

But the servers at the Mustafu Public Library... 

The search engines would be monitored, but not by those he wanted to keep it from. 

Twenty minutes later, he was at an open computer flipping through the handful of photos she’d posted to her socials — most of them scenes, city or landscapes, a few of what he supposed were ‘artsy’ shots of various objects, and a lone selfie. 

He stared at it for a long time. 

It was snowing, and a gloved hand held her scarf over her face, woolen beanie plastering stray dark locks to her face at odd angles, and crystalline pink eyes he’d recognize anywhere. 

All of these, including the selfie, were headed by her name, Kyouyuu Atae. 

Atae. 

He shook his head lightly, almost smiling. The character for ‘giving’. It suited her. 

Another half hour later, he was striding up the sidewalk, staring at the spot where they’d first met. It had only been a few blocks from her place, a standard apartment just off UA’s campus. 

He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, his stomach clenched, when he walked up her front steps. 

He could just Decay the door, but he should probably knock, right? 

“See you la–” he heard as the door flew open, his knuckles raised an inch from where it had just been. 

Kyouyuu stuttered to a stop, looking up at him flushed. 

“Looking for me?” his smirk barely concealing the hysterical bubbling spreading through his torso. 

“Tomura,” she breathed through a wide smile, shimmering irises mapping his face as if unconvinced he wasn’t an illusion. 

But before he could fully appreciate this, he stiffened. 

They weren’t alone. 

A pissed looking kid in a UA uniform walked up behind her, gazing at him curiously, but not commenting. 

“Is this what that was all about?” he asked Kyouyuu, his laugh not quite reaching his eyes, as he sidled past her out the door. Tomura took a subtle step backward. 

Did he recognize him? No, he wouldn’t, right? 

But if he did, should he bolt? Attack? 

Now that he was here, his impulsivity felt idiotic. 

“Kyou,” the indigo-haired kid repeated, “you good?” and shot him another sideways glance, as Kyouyuu blinked rapidly and finally responded. 

“Y-yes!” she blinked rapidly and finally turned away from him to address the other's query. She was still breathing heavily as if she’d been running for miles. “Yeah, Shins, I’ll see you later, 'kay?” 

“Yeah...” 'Shins' responded, though he continued to look suspicious. “I get out of class in a few hours, alright? Text me.” 

He glared at Tomura as he passed and headed toward the sidewalk. 

Hitoshi Shinsou
1st year, General Studies
Quirk: Brainwash
Nearly beat Midoriya in the first round of the cavalry battles 

And roommate? 

“Sure!” Kyouyuu shouted after the distrusting should-be-stranger, then turned her attention back to him, lips pinched to hide her smile. 

“Hey,” she said simply, still flushed, shutting the door behind her and leaning against it. 

“You didn’t slam into me this time,” his sarcasm coming out more like an accusation instead of a tease as he moved to stand next to her, leaning against the wall. The presence of another student had dulled his elation, but his heart was still pounding. 

Why are you on this stoop, Tomura...  

“I’m improving.” 

“Plus Ultra,” he mocked. 

Her laugh was like the tinkle of glass, soft and melodious. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” she said at last, her toe kicking at the door mat, “after you asked me to leave.” 

His manic joy, as quickly as it had surged, was rapidly deflating, and all the reasons he’d had for abstaining from her filled the void. 

But then she slipped her fingers through his. 

And euphoria rocked through him like an explosion. 

“Is there...” the words formed carefully on her perfect lips. “That day, at the mall, and then when you asked me to leave... Is there someone forcing your hand in all this?” 

He let his head fall back against the building in resigned amusement, his eyes closing in relief and grinning. “Your Quirk really is cool, Kyouyuu.” 

“So there is?” she pressed him. 

Tomura hesitated, glancing around uncomfortably, feeling exposed, vulnerable. Her front door was not his ideal location for this conversation. 

But he suspected that, despite her apparent pleasure at his arrival –

          - ドキドキ   ドキドキ¹ - 

– and eagerness to converse, she was intentionally not inviting him in. 

Fair... 

She left her perch against the door frame, standing upright and peering up into his face, the intensity of her gaze wrenching the truth from him with a sigh. 

“My... teacher,” the word dripped with nothing short of contempt, “he found me when I was out on my own after, you know, my family. Was the only one to notice, or care, actually. He took me in.” 

Her patience was an endless ocean — her expression adjusting subtly in response to each word, her elegant fingers nearly imperceptibly stroking the back of his hand — and whatever doubts he’d had about his erratic decisions melted away. 

Turning to her, one shoulder still braced against the wall, he searched her face as he spoke. 

“He’s powerful. And dangerous. Knowledgeable. He’s got people everywhere. Even I don’t know to what extent. That’s why I said... it’s not safe.” 

Her eyes were back on her scuffing shoe, but her brows were drawn as she considered his words. He braced for rejection, for her to confirm what he already knew to be true — that he was a danger to her. 

“It doesn’t sound safe for you either, Tomura.” 

A shiver ran down his limbs. 

“We really shouldn’t be meeting again.” The obligatory words were wholly contradictory from his desires. “He doesn’t know about you, I don’t think. Not yet. But when he does, he’ll find a way to use you. Probably to control me. Maybe more.” 

“Control you?” 

“I– don’t have particular control over Decay, even after all this time. If he finds out you can, he’ll try to remove you as an obstacle... or exploit your Quirk somehow.” 

She nodded, her brow furrowed again, still not looking at him. He wished she would. 

“So,” the way she took such care with her words, so in contrast from his own flippant, abrasive speech, warmed him, “despite all that, here you are.” She paused again, longer this time, those pretty eyes trained on their clasped hands, dancing with emotion. “Why?” 

The simultaneous intensity and vulnerability contained in a single soft word nearly scattered him to the winds. 

He took her other hand in his, toying with her fingers, flexing them with his so their palms pressed together, before slowly folding his fingers into hers. 

“I wanted to feel something again,” his voice was barely more than a whisper, the words forming as if they’d always been there, “I wanted... to feel you again.” 

Footnotes: 
¹ ドキドキ :  ‘doki doki’, onomatopoeia for heartbeating

Chapter Text

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈  °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

          - ドキドキ¹ -          ⌞ •  ドキドキ  • ⌝  

⌜ •  ドキドキ  • ⌟           - ドキドキ -

          ⌞ •  ドキドキ  • ⌝           - ドキドキ - 

- ドキドキ -           ⌜ •  ドキドキ  • ⌟  

Their hearts beat together within her, synchronized pounding reverberating like the staccato rolls of a drumline. 

Fuck. 

His thumb traced circles on the little pocket between her thumb and forefinger, making it hard to breathe. He wasn’t looking at her, but she could feel his anxiety pulsing through her. Could he feel hers? 

The war raging inside her was tumultuous, blood pounded against her ears, flaming red flags waving in her mind. 

She was clearly about to walk into some shady shit. Not that she was a total stranger to 'unbecoming' situations, but his teacher that he’d tried to protect her from, particularly rattled her. 

This was beginning to feel like real villainous territory... 

And yet. 

Beneath her dull panic, beneath the sprinkling of reason and the seedlings of guilt, was a deep rooted want to please, a need to help. And worse, a curious, tantalizing desire to dive in head first, to step in front of traffic, to stick her hands right in the flames. 

The question had been her last line of defense, his answer deciding whether she moved forward. 

His eyes rose to meet hers, red gemstones piercing her to the bone, crystalline pools in which she would surely drown. 

The decision was already made. 

Her gaze fell to his lips subconsciously, and she was gifted the hint of a smirk as he stepped slightly closer to her, her back nearly pressed against the door. 

She released him regrettably, twisting the door open with one hand, her fingers of the other grasping his sweatshirt as, shakily, she pulled him over the threshold. 

     ⌜ •  Hope  • ⌟

He’d reached for her, pulling her closer by the waist, and she gasped slightly as his palm met her flesh, melting through her shirt like butter. 

Dully, she registered her shock at seeing his Quirk’s functionality stop at her skin, but her nerves crackled like a bonfire, dizzy with how they suddenly shared the same air. 

"Watch the shirt, Dusty, it's new," she breathed. 

     ⌜ •  savage twisted pleasure  • ⌟

Her breath caught in her chest as the deliciously warm emotion pulsed through her, making her hair stand on end. 

"Just making some improvements."

The door closing was like a gunshot in the otherwise silent space. 

Her limbs seemed to have a mind of their own, her hands gripping onto the black fabric like a vice as she eased backward, kicking off her shoes and stepping up into the apartment. He followed tightly to her, nose to nose when she ascended the small step, his other hand mirroring the grip on her waist. 

Her brain was fogging with their melding desire, so while she still could, she summoned the last threads of solid thought and whispered her last attempt at maintaining a morally clean slate. 

"I want to be very clear about one thing." 

     ⌜ •  want  • ⌟

"Heh, what's that," his laughing breath traced up her jawline. 

Trying to keep her voice steady, she plowed on, "It is my intention and my duty in the line of hero work –" inhaling sharply as she felt his tongue on her earlobe. 

"Go on," his lips teased against her skin, his teeth gently raking across the soft cartilage. 

"– to do — ahm — all in my power to serve my community- ahh," her voice caught again as he kissed down her neck, her grip on him tightening, willing him nearer, "– and to aid all those within my reach — nyuh —" 

The force of him pulling her hips into him robbed her of what little breath she had left. 

"Are you going to save me, hero?" his lips whispered against hers. 

     ⌜ •  WANT  • ⌟

Kyouyuu was nearly lost in the effects of her Quirk, her nerves roiling in a cocktail of fear, shame, and desire. 

Fuck it, morality never served me well anyway... 

"Ye–" her answer cut off as their mouths met, hot and forceful. 

     ⌜ •  crave  • ⌟ 

She barely had time to register the duality of him — rough lips pressing desperate bruises to hers, gentle curious tongue begging polite entrance — before he was walking her backwards, one hand still on her waist, the other at her jaw, possessively directing her face as her mouth fell open to give him better access, when her back hit the opposite wall, both of them grunting with effort. 

His body pressed hard against hers, pinning a thigh between her own, as her hands shot to his hips — pulling him, begging him to be closer still — and his, roaming beneath her shirt and ripping it over her head, the fabric falling in tatters to the floor. 

His delight rocked through her as he drank in her form pinned to the wall, squirming pleasurably as his hands roamed the plains of her skin, fingertips tracing adoring paths through the gooseflesh that surged to meet his exploratory touch. 

Ataeyuko was humming through her whole body. 

"Guess you won't have to struggle with the clasp," she chuckled drunkenly just before her bra vaporized. 

He growled, either in amusement at her weak teasing or the sight of her topless and caged beneath him. 

     ⌜ •  n e e d  • ⌟ 

Gods, me too. 

She rose onto her toes, either her Quirk or depraved instinct anticipating his hands gripping the plush of her thighs and lifting her, her ankles locking behind his back. She kissed every inch of him she could reach, her hands threaded through his hair as he carried her roughly down the hall, once carving a chasm in the drywall when he briefly lost his balance. 

He found her room, and she wasted no time grasping that baggy sweatshirt, dragging it easily over his head with her as he tossed her down on the bed. 

In the absence of skin-to-skin contact, a sharp hysterical laugh threatened to escape her throat at the image of her defenseless body, nipples to the wind, sprawled on her unmade, laundry-covered bed before a clearly unstable and quietly violent man-child. 

But as soft golden rays of sunlight fell between partially drawn blinds, illuminating the crimson intensity upon his face and his slight, trim form tense with restraint, poised for attack, a pleasurable shiver cascaded down her spine instead. 

She reached for him, fingers dancing expectantly, a wry smile twisting her kiss-swollen lips, and he cracked a villainous grin before he smacked them away with a low cackle. 

     ⌜ •  conquer  • ⌟

“There’s no way, angel,” he growled, putting one knee on the bed across her legs, “that this depraved demon,” a gripping hand pinning her bicep to the plush mattress, “is gonna succumb to coy little,” his mouth tracing her collar bone, “beckonings.” 

“Hah,” she laughed hollowly as he pulled back to study her, possessively grabbing her breast and squeezing, grinning greedily at her reaction, “except — hsss — isn't that exactly what happened?” 

     ⌜ •  claim  • ⌟

He leaned forward again, burying his nose in her neck and inhaling deeply, “You tell me, angel," kissing open mouthed slowly down her throat, her chest, her torso, and pausing to smirk at her, "you feel in control?” 

He nipped here and there, her delicate skin bruising, chuckling softly at her sharp breathing. 

Kyouyuu was treading water, struggling to keep her head between the surges of insight crashing over her and the electric current pulsing through her at his touch. 

“I think," she breathed as his fingers pried at her waistband, "I feel about as in control," and felt the buttons pop, "as you do." 

He growled again below her, caressing her freshly freed skin reverently, and her heart lurched suddenly –

     ⌜ •  please  • ⌟

– before he tugged hard at the fabric, catching tight on her hips. 

"And,” she refuted, “I’m no angel." 

Lifting her legs over one shoulder, he mocked her, “I’m no hero,” slowly pulling the fabric back, “I’m no angel,” and off, grunting at the lewd way her ass snapped free. 

His voice dropped to just above a whisper, “You are," but it was stronger than she'd heard it thus far, "if I say you are." 

     ⌜ •  Goddess  • ⌟

He spread her legs before him, "And I’m about to worship you," she gasped as he dragged his thumb across her lower lips, "the way you deserve.” 

She was barely able to register his intensity, his sincerity, before he lowered those rough lips to her slickening folds and she was ripped beneath the waves, body and soul simultaneously assaulted with ecstasy. 

Her pleasure was her own, but she found that his also belonged to her. 

And oh, oh, did he enjoy her. 

"F- fuck! Tomura! " 

Rubies glinted at her from beneath shaggy pale tendrils when he surfaced for breath, licking his lips viciously. 

     ⌜ •  prey  • ⌟

"So this is what heaven tastes like…" 

     ⌜ •  I pray  • ⌟

She arched and writhed, his flippant intentions sinking her further into him, honing her in to her own pleasure, as he feasted. 

     ⌜ •  s a v e   m e  • ⌟

Kyouyuu bit down on her knuckles to keep herself from screaming out — the unearthly sensation of two souls radiating through one body was a confusing, delectable mix of claustrophobic and exhilarating, powerless and invincible — but Tomura snatched at her hand, placing it instead on his head, her fingers tangling immediately in his hair. 

Like a marionette, he moved as she directed, dragging her nearer and nearer the shoals of release, while his hands roamed her hips, her thighs, her ass — pulling, gripping, and bruising. Her body became his playground, experimenting and studying, each new enlightenment cresting and breaking over her. 

     ⌜ •  please  • ⌟

Her orgasm hit her with the force of a tidal wave, and she screamed as she was engulfed in ecstasy, the strength of it sweeping her far beyond this earthly shore. 

It was some time before the tide receded, her shipwrecked soul settling back into her breathless, boneless body. 

He was peppering her thighs with reverent kisses, her fingers still loosely tangled in his hair. 

"You –" she panted, her hand dropping slightly to stroke his face. 

Tomura let his head rest in her hand, still somehow managing to kiss it, and he gazed at her, alive with pride. 

"– you are welcome at this altar... anytime you like." 

He grinned wickedly, those lovely crystalline pools leagues deep and stoic, swallowing her up as he crawled toward her, “Anytime, huh?” 

     ⌜ •  mine  • ⌟

Oh. 

His kiss was fierce but soft, his enthusiasm carefully restrained as she tasted herself on his tongue. 

     ⌜ •  please  • ⌟

The word whispered again from his skin to hers, softer than the times before — sweeter, sadder. 

It wasn’t an intent. 

It was a prayer. 

She pressed a hip into his, and, following her lead, he gently rolled them over, one hand at the small of her back holding her to him. 

Propping up on her elbows and letting her weight settle onto him, her bare hips pressing into the bulging black fabric of his pants, she looked down into his wartorn face. It was worn steel not moments ago, but was now re-forged, vibrant and handsome with sudden vivacity. His ruby eyes were ablaze, flickering as they roamed her face, closing in undiluted pleasure while her fingers played with his pale locks, brushing them from his forehead. 

Ataeyuko was purring again. 

“Who is a Goddess to deny a penitent man?” 

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈  °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

Blinking his eyes open, Tomura watched the beautiful creature above him, her eyes gleaming like halos as she pushed herself into a sitting position, rutting against the hardest erection he’d ever had. 

He hastened to follow her — he would follow her anywhere  —pressing his chest flush to hers, and as he swallowed her wry smile, she gave a little squeal of surprise. 

His soul was suddenly more alive than he could ever recall, aching for her, swearing fealty to her, needing her to be his. 

“I wanna hear that sound over and over,” he whispered into her, her breath in return giving him life. 

In response, she ground her hips against his, the sensation sending shockwaves through his limbs, stirring something carnal within him. 

“Then why,” she quipped, her fingers tangling in his hair, “are you still wearing pants...” yanking his head back so his face tilted up into hers, “silly.” 

She kissed the tip of his nose before rising, crawling off of him and pulling him the edge of the bed. 

The growl that resonated from his chest was an ancient, primal sound. 

He watched her through hooded eyes, his legs caging her, as she bent forward, hands settling firmly on his thighs, pulsing and caressing as they moved closer, closer to the crux of his legs. 

Her fingers made maddeningly slow progress unfastening his belt, and at the sight of her popping the button of his pants, his hands impatiently reached for the zipper. 

She smacked them away, as he had to her, a smirk spreading across her face. 

And with a wild laugh, the beast in his chest broke free. 

Instantly he was on his feet, one hand gripping her face, caressing her jaw, the other back at his zipper. 

“I told you, angel,” turning her head and lapping at her cheek, unhinged, animalistic, “that shit’s not gonna fly.” 

She smiled up at him with lidded eyes, her tongue pressed against her upper canine in a laughing taunt. 

“Now, pull them off,” he instructed. 

She grabbed both waistbands and painstakingly lowered them, dropping to her knees, kissing each inch of skin as it was exposed. 

OFF.  

He felt the command radiate through him and knew she’d received it when she immediately obeyed without comment. 

Her shimmering eyes widened at the sight of him, and she’d leaned forward — to take him, to swallow him, the beast within his chest roaring — but he pulled her back up by her throat and pressed her to him. 

“Not till I say, angel...” 

Tomura was dizzy with novel pleasure, seeing in tunnel vision; the sight of his cock trapped between their bare bodies, her sharp irregular breaths, the heat radiating from between her legs, the feel of his fingers in her hair, the velvety softness of her skin, the desire that swam in her rose quartz eyes as she did as she was told. 

He sat back against the bed, pulling her thighs to either side of his, his pulsing head nestled against her slick folds. 

She seemed dazed, her voice high and soft, breathless for him. 

“Wh- when did you–” 

He silenced her with a sloppy kiss, slow and passionate, their tongues drunk and fumbling, and he barely resisted the urge to push past her lips and into her. 

They broke apart, heads together, breathing heavily. 

“Are you ready?” he murmured against her, “Fuck – tell me you’re ready.”  

He felt her shiver as she settled her hips over him, laughing throatily, “Think it’s safe to say I am,” then gasping as his leaking tip pressed just within her sopping entrance. 

“Look at me, Goddess,” he commanded, and shining dreamscape irises bore into his own when he tugged at her hips, pulling her down, down, down. 

The world dissolved. No light or sound. 

All that remained was the feel of her. 

“Fffffuuuuckkk." 

He held her there, twitching inside her for several long moments, both of them breathing hard. 

Then. 

He moved. Gyrating his hips, sinking deeper within her and grinding her against him simultaneously. 

Tomura had never done this before, but thankfully, his years of online 'studying' seemed to be paying off. 

The sounds she made for him. 

For him.  

His name dripped lazily off her lips. 

He gasped, dull shock crackling behind his closed eyes before another primal growl was erupting from his chest. 

He gripped her hard — the sight of his squeezing hands covering her thighs nearly sending him spilling inside her — rocking her in rhythm with him. 

“Hahh…” he hissed, gently pulling her hips up, fiercely snapping them back down, “ah, Jesus, you feel so good...” 

“‘Thou shalt not,” she purred, “worship — hsss — false idols before me,’” the blasphemy dripping from that delectable mouth even as her head was thrown back, spine arching her further into him, onto him, and he pulled a perked nipple into his mouth, relishing the way she keened for him. 

FUCK! 

His Quirk was Decay, but she was breaking him into millions of desperate pieces, his body dissolving beneath her. 

And he’d thank her for it. 

“Only you,” the words formed around his tongue lapping belligerently at her tit as he increased his pace, one closed fist braced on the edge of the bed, his other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her in place as he fucked into her harder, securing her to him and grinding her closer. 

The beast was howling within him, “Ky– Kyouyuu...” He could barely see, barely think — all that existed was her and the throws of ecstasy. 

“Cum, Tenko. Cum for me.”  

It was her pleading that pushed him over the edge, his orgasm painting her walls with thick, hot ropes of sticky cum, and he felt her shatter around him even as he continued thrusting, fucking her full of him. 

Euphoria. 

Blooming like the first bud of spring. 

Radiating like a newborn star. 

Sweet, sinful bliss coursing through his limbs. 

Her head dropped onto his shoulder, and instantly his lips were at her neck, his arms wrapped tight around her waist, their rhythmic breathing hot and hard. 

Never... Never, never, ever... 

It was several minutes, maybe hours or a few blissful days, before she lifted her head to gaze at him with glowing candied pools. 

Cradling her head in both hands, his forehead rested against hers, every few seconds planting a soft sweet kiss on her open mouth. 

He couldn’t 

get 

enough of her. 

He was an addict, craving his next fix, pulling her closer, one hand sliding through her hair to cradle her skull, the other feathering up and down her spine. 

Never 

letting 

go. 

She’d dropped into his life like a miracle. 

A hero. 

His Goddess. 

Already he was revving up to go again, could feel himself hardening, still tight within her – 

“Mmrra –” 

Her head was struggling out of his grip, away from him, his name muffled against his mouth on hers. 

Jolting out of his trance, he relinquished his possessive hold on her, where she slumped as if fainting. 

“...’onna give me... emotional whiplash...” her voice was deathly quiet, just barely conscious, “...need t’... rest...” 

Shit. 

Her Quirk. 

He must be drowning her right now. 

Trying to keep a lid on his instant panic, he scrambled, scooping her off his lap, falling from her with a lewd schlick, and laid her onto the bed where she lay crumpled. 

Her hair had fallen over her face, a few warm charcoal locks flittering with her deep deliberate breaths, and he searched frantically for something, anything, to use as a buffer between his cursed hands and her sensitive skin. 

“S’okay,” her slurred words sounded a bit stronger, “Tomura, it’s okay,” as she reached for him, arm slinking across the mattress, fingers barely raised, crawling toward him. 

Jabbing his hand beneath the fitted sheet, he hastened to catch them, curling his forefinger so that the thin barrier between them would hold. 

“I– ” he knelt at the edge of the bed beside her, “Kyouyuu, I’m– ” the bile rising rapidly, uncontrollably. 

Feeling desperately unworthy of holding hers, he stiffened, moving to free his hand, but her grasp on him tightened. 

          - PHH - 

Her sharp directional breath scattered her hair, creating a one-eyed line of sight to his face. 

“You’re sorry?” 

He froze, unsure of her tone. 

“For the way you just absolutely wrecked me?” 

But she was teasing him, an exhausted smile toying her lips. 

“I’m not.” 

Her voice seemed to strengthen by the second, and Tomura realized he could feel his limbs again, but still he said nothing. 

“I’m fine.” Laughing softly, she turned her head to look at him with both eyes, “Really. That was... just a lot,” her lips tight against the coy smile she was trying to hide and closing her eyes again, nuzzling further into the soft mattress. 

Warmth was returning to him as his panic receded, and he gripped her fingers in return through the sheet, forehead resting on the edge of the bed. 

“I thought I’d hurt you,” he breathed. 

"Nmm,” the adorable sound crooned from her throat, “sweet baby boy,” as she dragged her fingernails lightly against his skull. 

He revolted at the drunkenly sweet pet name, but leaned into her touch — tickling his scalp, relishing that sensation — trying to keep his feelings reigned in in case it was too much for her. 

But she really was making it difficult. 

They stayed like that — his thumb methodically rubbing the fabric against her skin, her fingers tracing spirals in his hair, absently twisting and curling the unkempt tendrils, goosebumps erupting down his neck like a defibrillator to his stunned, stunted heart — until her breathing grew steady and slow, and his little goddess succumbed to sleep. 

Eventually, reluctantly, he rose from his protective position beside her, kissing her hair as he did. 

He scoffed at himself, at the improbability, the absurdity, of this situation, of the things currently spiraling around his head like a typhoon. 

Leader of the League of Villains, pussywhipped. 

He was proper fucked now, he knew. The decision was made the second he’d found that dumb library poster — no, long before that if he was honest with himself, maybe even from the moment he’d first held her hand and smiled, steering her down that dingy alleyway — stepping with both feet off the cliff into the dark waters below. 

Shouganai². 

Grinning in spite of himself, he panned around her room, taking in his surroundings for the first time. 

It was messy. Not dirty, but cluttered — busy. Dozens of active projects in various stages of completion; ideas that had struck at random sketched and noted over old envelopes and unused documents; books on machinery and electrical wiring, littered with sticky notes and dog-eared pages; materials and tools, organized, by some personal system beyond his comprehension. 

He studied the images adorning the walls surrounding her desk; photographs, news clippings, and magazine interviews of people he assumed must be accomplished designers and engineers, some tagged with quotations or pictures of their work; some of these images were merely sketches, and he wondered if they were her designs that she was quietly proud of. 

Tomura felt... strange. He didn’t know her, at all, but the contents of her room were unsurprising to him, almost familiar, as if he couldn’t imagine it any other way. It also — his stomach leapt excitedly at the thought — reminded him of his space. The organized clutter. The diligence and commitment to their goals. 

Except that her walls were peppered with those who had inspired her, instilled greatness in her. Whereas his were tagged with those he hated, marked for destruction, his workspace used to the good of no one but himself. 

Eyes downcast, he swept silently from the room. 

Trodding down the hall, his bare feet scuffling the hallway rug, he considered his situation more deeply, objectively. 

By deciding to seek her out, he was effectively resigning from The League. 

There was no way he could maintain both personas. The hate that had fueled his pursuits now felt distant, separate from him, as if she’d removed it surgically. 

He didn’t think he had changed. Not really. If anything, he was exactly the same: acting on his own desires. 

His priorities had just shifted. 

Immediately, she was more important than The League. 

The freedom, the lightness that filled him at her presence was worth infinitely more than his hatred of heroes and the ignorant masses that trusted them blindly. 

Why would he choose constant disgust and unending rage over the feel of her skin against his, the challenging gleam in her cherry blossom eyes, the wit in her mocking smile. 

His mind felt clear, sharp, her influence cutting through the fog surrounding him. 

With her, he felt he could handle, 

could become, 

anything. 

          - PFFT - 

He scoffed again at his sudden dramatics as his feet plod into the kitchen, three fingers at a time opening cabinets, searching for a glass and filling it with water. 

The situation was ludicrous. A predictable fantasy RPG in which the ruthless MC falls for the beautiful damsel, swearing to use his lethal skills solely for her protection, for happily ever after. 

He choked again, hysterical laughter bursting from him as he caught sight of his naked form in the pristine kitchen, water dribbling down his chin and onto his bare chest, his head thrown back and holding his stomach. 

Look at your knight in shining armor, Kyouyuu!  

But if this was some sort of warped fairy tale he’d wound up in, he’d accept it gladly. 

Her presence had lifted a heavy veil from his eyes, and beyond it lay a path in such stark contrast to the one he currently trod it made his head spin. He stood a step from it, hand outstretched, reaching for hers waiting to guide him into the unknown. 

Ah, wait, maybe I’m the damsel. 

But his renewed laughter died at the voice that came unbidden into his mind. 

“Use this as a learning experience.”

Sensei. 

He gripped the edge of the counter carefully, leaning back against it and staring at the ceiling. 

He had time. 

It’d be at least a few hours before Kurogiri would think to raise the alarm — his Keeper was used to him roaming the streets for hours, sometimes full days — and even then, he’d left with no trail to follow — even his burner was left back at the bar. 

But who knew what types of Quirks Sensei still had at his disposal. And there were the Nomu. 

When eventually The League did come for him, he and Kyouyuu would be both outnumbered and outmatched. Kurogiri had been his Keeper for a reason, his Warp Gate more than capable of suppressing him, and Kyouyuu’s Quirk wasn’t at all suited for combat. That alone would put them in a tight spot even if they didn’t bring the rest of The League. 

They’d need reinforcements. Pawns to distract, detract, and defend. He’d made a lot of connections lately, but all of them were tied to the League, and even that small feat had taken him weeks. 

He was cringing, avoiding the ready solution, distaste already turning his stomach. 

The heroes. 

The UA teachers alone would be all too willing for a chance to take down The League, and Kyouyuu could orchestrate their involvement easily and immediately, without rousing any outside suspicion. 

The only problem, of course, was him. 

He was The League, and if the heroes sought them, they sought him. 

Cooperation seemed even more fairy tale than his own current affair. 

He sighed, rubbing his eyes, the exhaustion between not sleeping the past two days and the delicious maelstrom that had been the last hour suddenly settling over him like a weighted blanket. 

Enemies ahead, enemies behind, but the knight and damsel are safe for now. I’ll use this time to rest and plan for the next raid. 

Tomura padded his way back to her room, pausing at the door to admire her sleeping form. 

She had shifted in his absence, one arm pillowed beneath her head, the other gently clutching his raggedy sweatshirt, her body curled around it. 

An ache, intense and unfamiliar, pulsed through his entire body, warm and full and peaceful. 

Yep, he confirmed, moving to her as if pulled by gravity, proper fucked. 

As gentle as was possible, he clambered over her to settle in, covering her in a blanket before draping her with a protective arm. She was so warm, radiating through the covers from her back to his chest, and he pulled her tighter, a smile on his sigh as he kissed the back of her head.

And, reveling in this sense of comfort that had been absent from his entire life, he let sleep finally claim him. 

Footnotes: 
¹ ドキドキ :  ‘doki doki’, onomatopoeia for heartbeating
² Shouganai:  a phrase of acceptance, more or less translates to ‘it can’t be helped’

Chapter Text

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

The soft prayer, a quiet wavering plea, drifts in on gentle waves. It laps against her skull, whispers multiplying with each ebb and converge into a single cacophonic word. “Tomura.” The deep base note is solid — flesh. A large, manicured hand reaching from the blackness, dripping tendrils of black blood that pool into sharp focus. Familiar onyx eyes piercing her, laden with disdain as they turn away. Revolving to face her, the small steadfast creature extends its cracked, flaking palm. Endless hands sprout, growing and propagating from each other, grasping at her, before rotting, crumbling... 

Kaleidoscopic visions swirled across the dimness behind her eyelids, her heavy limbs deeply sunken into cool clouds, and warm, sentinel arms held her close. 

“Ah,” Tomura’s voice, deep and gritty with sleep, woke her, “cut out that tongue clicking or I’ll cut out your tongue.” 

Kyouyuu struggled against her lingering exhaustion for a grasp on her surroundings. 

“Bruh, you’re caught in bed with my sister,” the voice that drifted in from the open doorway was flat, but the annoyed mouth sounds had ceased, “and you’re making threats.” 

“Shit –” she mumbled, yanking the blanket she’d been draped in up to her neck and propping herself on an elbow, blinking fiercely against the blazing afternoon sunlight that cut across her room, “Shins…” 

Lidded plum eyes met her squinted gaze as he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. 

“I mean, a sock on a closed door handle goes a long way, Kyou.” 

This conversation isn’t really happening, is it? 

Head slumping forward in a delirious laugh, she quipped, “Noted.” 

Despite knowing that he would definitely hold this over her head for the next several months, her roommate-turned-protective-younger-brother seemed mostly mollified by her acquiescence. 

But then he held out a rag of mutilated fabric, dangling it pointedly at them before letting it drift to the floor. 

“You dropped this.” 

It was her ruined shirt. 

“Oh my goddd,” groaning, she tugged a pillow from under a grunting Tomura, threatening to lob it at Shinsou, “get out!” 

Chuckling, he did, closing the door behind him. 

          - HMMNNMMPHNNMM - 

The plush silk casing, now pressed tight over her face, muffled her mortified groan. 

          ⌞ •  elation  • ⌝   

     ⌜ •  dominance  • ⌟   

          ⌞ •  pride  • ⌝   

“Get outta here with that toxic masculinity,” she barked into the pillow as Tomura’s fingers traced delicious patterns along her abdomen. 

His snicker dripped with menacing glee. 

As the poofy shield was gently pried away from her flushed face, his eyes glittered down at her, all humor and sleepy concern glinting in the fiery evening light, “Feeling better?” 

She stretched hugely in answer, brushing the hair from her eyes and nodding as a guilty grin slunk across her face. 

A strange, bubbly thrill had sparked in the pit of her stomach. It was both annoying and enticing as it slowly made its way through her limbs, chilling and warming her at once. She felt it making her stupid — drunk. 

     ⌜ •  THROB - 

Was– was that me or him? 

Ataeyuko giggled. 

Slowly blinking away the remnants of sleep, her heavy eyes tracked his fingers painting murals along her skin; short, bitten nails lightly dragging up, up — tracing around her jaw, into her hairline, brushing loose strands from her eyes — and firm fingertips brushing down, down — balancing the bridge of her nose, pausing for a swift kiss, five fingers caressing her throat... 

Leaning into his touch, letting her eyelids flutter closed, she wondered if there was a sweeter sensation in the world. 

And as if in answer, his fingers cradled her skull as he placed his lips to her forehead. 

Nmnmm... 

“I wrecked you, huh?” 

Kyouyuu’s grin was full; laughingly knowing, pleasurably bashful. 

“You did,” she confirmed with a hungry lilt, purposefully not offering more than what he asked for. 

     ⌜ •  relief  • ⌟  

Hahh! You big softie... 

Though it wasn’t a stretch to imagine that the man with killer hands would be sexually inexperienced, it was cute that he cared about his performance. 

But just so he didn’t get cocky... 

“Although it could’ve been terrible and I probably wouldn’t notice.” 

     ⌜ •  light panic  • ⌟  

“Since my Quirk reads everything you’re feeling, as long as you’re enjoying it, so am I.” 

“But you did enjoy it,” he smirked. 

“Yes, sweet boy,” twisting to face him and placing a hand on his chest, she began tracing little patterns of her own, “I did.” 

He grunted, his lip curling in disgust, “That nickname’s gotta go...” but almost instantly, his features melted as her fingers dragged down his chest. 

Unable to keep their green, curious hands from roaming over foreign skin, a long silence fell, each of them reveling in the novelty of discovery. 

Guess I’m pretty touch starved, too, huh... 

“So,” he asked eventually, like he’d been hoping she’d mention it first, “your brother?” and cocked an eyebrow. 

Prodding him playfully in the chest, she cooed, “Jealousy looks cute on you.” 

Tomura grabbed her hand in response, sanguine eyes rolling, but said nothing, weaving his fingers through hers. She straightened them so he could curl his long digits up and down, lightly caressing her with the smallest, most tantalizing amount of skin. 

Of all the new sensations his famished fingers were discovering, this seemed to be his favorite. 

“We’re not actually related, but we kinda share a foster-father.” 

“You’re adopted?” 

“Mmhm, I mean, technically. It was more like a formality, I guess.” He’d paused his adorant movements, contemplating this, and she wiggled her fingers in encouragement. 

“It was after I’d enrolled in UA... I was still living at the orphanage when I started, commuting for classes. I hated that place and tried to spend as much time at school as I could...” 

He poked her forehead, recalling her from her daze. 

“He’d caught me stalking lessons all over the place,” a soft chuckle escaped at the memory, “Analyzing others’ Quirks, how they made them work for them — I wasn’t super familiar with my Quirk then, had really just dealt with it my whole life -” 

Tomura had been listening earnestly, watching her face, his reactions to her story light and curious as they traveled through his fingertips now tracing the curves of her body. But at her last words, his thoughts leapt out at her. 

     ⌜ •  familiar  • ⌟   

She paused at the touch-whispered word, humming slightly in commiseration, waiting for him to comment. 

When he didn’t, she continued, “– so, eventually he stopped me — Aizawa-sensei — after I’d been observing one of his classes one day, and he kinda... took me under his wing. I hadn’t figured out even what I’d wanted to study, and he coached me through that, helped me push my understanding of Psychometry and what it could really do. And then it just stuck. He was my official unofficial-mentor.”

“And I think he finally got fed up with slipping me snacks when I’d skip meals to study or work,” she continued, chuckling as she remembered all the concerned looks he tried to cover up with a stern expression, "because he offered, incredibly, to set me up in his guest house. Get me out of the orphanage. The rest was just paperwork.” 

Realizing how long she’d been monologuing, she glanced up at him, expecting another eye roll, but instead, found him gazing at the ceiling, an odd sheen dulling those brilliant red eyes. 

"Hm.” 

     ⌜ •  solemn  • ⌟   

“Aha — although,” her soft bark of laughter covered the emotion that had risen suddenly in her throat, “he did ask me to stop calling him Sensei, preferring his given name for our weird in-between relationship, but I couldn’t deal –” 

The laughter was building. Apparently, sidestepping her empathy toward him had swung her hard into hysterics. 

“– so I came up with all the ridiculous names instead. Like over-the-top formal. Oyaji-sama, Chichiue...” Tomura, too, was now grinning at her laughing, her words broken in between wheezes. “And then extra-informal. Pa, Aizawa-kun –” 

She’d collapsed in silent giggles. 

“Ah, Kyouyuu,” he pulled her tight to him, the smile vibrating in his quiet voice, “where did you come from, huh?” and he swiftly kissed her lips – 

     ⌜ •  joy  • ⌟   

          ⌞ •  contentment  • ⌝  

– before falling back on the sheets, his arms over his head. 

Whoa. 

Admittedly, she had already been laughing, but at his kiss she found herself positively beaming, a high-pitched squeal punching at her vocal chords as a warm, giggly sensation swooped through her. 

She debated a moment, before curiosity won out and she cuddled into his side, decidedly chasing that alien, glittery unicorn feeling, and he draped an arm around her shoulder, tracing his thumb there.

This was new, unfamiliar territory, right? 

Why did it feel so natural?  

“And Shinsou-kun?” he asked after a minute. 

“How do you –” but she stopped, remembering his obsession with Midoriya and how quickly he'd recognized Hatsume — she’d completely forgotten these red flags amidst their... transgressions... 

She wondered if he had a profile on everyone who’d been in the Sports Festival. 

“Well,” she recovered, “Shins started UA much like me, with a pretty great Quirk but not too sure what to do with it,” then, shaking her head fondly, she added, “I don’t think Jiji’s ever met a stray he didn’t want to keep.” 

     ⌜ •  apple from the tree?  • ⌟   

“And then,” she gave him a jab of her own to the ribs but otherwise ignored his taunt, “Shinsou’s commute was pretty brutal, and my guest house situation was never supposed to be permanent anyway, so we decided to share housing. We got along really well right away. We’re pretty similar people. So now we’re siblings.” She marked air quotes at the endearment. 

His fingers played up and down her arm, committing her to memory with each stroke. 

She didn’t think she ever wanted him to stop. 

“His Quirk,” Tomura’s voice was uncharacteristically careful, contemplative, “seems like one a villain would have.” 

She nodded, remembering the strained look on Shinsou’s face as he shared with her what people’s typical first impression of him was. “He gets that a lot,” she said sadly, “but then, we all flirt a bit with villainy at some point, right?” 

     ⌜ •  squirm  • ⌟   

“Some more than others." 

          - UP DOWN - 

               - UP DOWN -

This was her opening. She knew it. 

Ask him. 

But the soft caress against her skin was hypnotic... 

Midoriya. Hatsume. Shinsou. 

What the fuck. 

She’d just gathered her courage, heart pounding, and was taking a breath to speak when – 

“Tell me your villainous exploits, Kyouyuu.” 

– that wicked, scrumptious smirk distracted her entirely. 

He'd turned on his side, fully facing her — lidded eyes fixed on her lips, glinting with malice and amusement — and dragged a strong palm to her waist, thumb diligently tracing the soft curve there. 

          - ドキドキ   ドキドキ - 

He chuckled darkly at the pronounced shiver that slunk up her spine. 

“Aha...” her laugh was dry despite the way she’d begun salivating, and she cleared her throat. “Well, in middle school, I was always in trouble –” 

“Mmm, tell me more,” he teased, pulling her against him, running his nose up and down hers, kissing here and there. 

“– I, ah, discovered that I could use all the bits of information I picked up from people, to get what I wanted.” She slunk a hand onto his hip, “Middle school kids are so damn loud,” gripping him at the exaggerated word, “pent up with emotion, hormones,” and grinned as she felt him stiffening against her. 

“See?” she whispered against his mouth, “So easy.” 

A low growl rumbled deep in his chest as he pulled her on top of him, her legs falling to either side of him. 

“My Quirk would tell me their desires,” she purred, elbows beside his head, gently fingering the hair from his face, “their secrets,” then leaned forward, her open mouth hovering an inch from his, “and I’d exploit them,” pulling back before he could claim her lips, “for my own gain,” and smirked at his frustrated grunt. 

“Lucky, lucky boys –” 

“– and girls.” A wicked grin spread across her face as his voice caught. “I was an equal opportunity little punk.” 

“By all means,” he said at last, “exploit my desires, Kyouyuu.” 

“It will be your undoing.” 

     ⌜ •  challenge accepted  • ⌟  

She chuckled into his neck, Tomura hissing slightly as her lips met his ravaged skin. 

Humming curiously, she took inventory of his self-inflicted injuries, kissing lightly as she went. 

Swathes of taut, dry skin stretched from behind his ears to his Adam’s apple; pale shallow scars and red raw tendrils alike trickled down his neck to his shoulders and collar bone, and as she mapped him with little kisses, she discovered more patches of rough, calloused skin along his chest and torso. 

A satisfied sigh was slipping from his lips when she said, “Tell me about the scratching.” 

     ⌜ •  flinch  • ⌟  

She was planting open mouthed kisses below his navel now, sinking between his legs, 

     ⌜ •  w a n t  • ⌟  

her fingers deftly curling against his dick, already hard and smooth as marble, and delicately stroked once, twice –  

And then she stilled completely, looking up at him through fluttering lashes and tilting her head expectantly. 

A sadistic grin spread slowly across his face. 

     ⌜ •  impressed  • ⌟  

Laughing, he let his head fall back against the mattress in defeat. 

“It’s always been there...” 

He groaned softly as she rewarded him, swiping across his tip and licking the pre from her thumb — he tasted sweet and a little salty. She bit her lip. 

“Whenever something happens, that I don’t like... I itch.” 

She brought her lips to him, kissing sweetly, innocently at the tip. 

“Uh huh...” Breathing against his head, she paused, maddeningly, reluctantly, his desperation just as much hers — she wanted to taste more of him, wanted to please him. 

The words began tumbling out of him in a growl. 

“The dislike, the anger, the stress. It builds and builds and I can’t get it out. It itches so much it hurtssssahhh...” 

That velvety smooth head felt nearly as good in her mouth as it did between her legs. She encircled it with her tongue — savoring him as she rewarded his offering of information — then pulled him back out of her mouth with a pop. 

“And the dry skin?” she breathed. 

Grunting a curse, he plowed on, “Always there... nothing helps... when I use Decay, it gets better... but always back, with the itching...” 

Gods, she’d forgotten how much she loved giving head. 

There was something so satisfying about it, so artistic. She was a sculptor — her partner, hers for molding — building them up, tearing them down. 

And all the while, little gasps of pleasure would ring in her ears as euphoria radiated to her through their skin. 

But Tomura. 

Tomura was potent.  

His physical responses were encouraging, but the energy that burned from his skin to hers was intoxicating, and had her absolutely glowing with pride. 

Abandoning her questioning in favor of his pleasure — and her own — she licked a slow, lewd stripe from his base all the way up his length, sucking at the spongier skin just beneath the head - 

“Fuuck” 

- before taking him completely in again, deliciously rewarded by more of that salted melon taste — duality in perfect, easy harmony. 

A little moan escaped her when she felt him move, ecstatic that the interrogation seemed to be over, placing his hand on her head. 

She worked down him tantalizingly, her tongue running flat circles along the twitching veins — taking her time, savoring every reaction, every taste. 

But his patience was wearing out. 

The strong fingers in her hair tightened, and he was pulling her further, further around him, her eyes watering when her throat couldn’t take him. 

     ⌜ •  H O T  • ⌟  

She thought she would suffocate for his pleasure, she really would, but she wanted to see this through, wanted more of him, wanted to feel his cum spurting down her throat and fill her belly – 

So instead, she lightly pushed back against his hand. 

He relented, then yanked her quickly by the hair, tilting her face back to admire her, the way she gasped for breath, drool dribbling down her flushed lips. 

She was drenched. 

     ⌞ •  urgency  • ⌝  

The impulsive desperation licked deliciously at her insides before he was pulling her level with him – 

“Wanna fuck you.” 

– and rising to meet her, his knees spreading hers. 

She’d barely registered her whining chagrin that she would not, in fact, get to swallow him down, when, with one smooth movement, he fell back on his haunches, shoving his cock roughly into her dripping hole –

     ⌜ •  SO WET  • ⌟  

– and ecking a startled gasp from her throat. 

“Ahh — c-cool it,” she warned, acutely aware of how loudly she’d just squealed despite the haze of desire making her stupid. 

A guttural moan reverberated in his chest as he gripped her ass with both hands to pull her further flush against him, trying to sheath himself fully inside her. 

“Don’t wanna,” the words completely superfluous as he began a tortuously slow grind. 

He loved this. 

Toying with her. 

Finding what made her tick. 

Joyous eyes were raking in every expression that crossed her face, his lust laced thoughts and feelings curious, studious. 

Hungry for her pleasure. 

Kyouyuu was finding it very difficult to stay quiet and respectful to the shared household. 

“Nyg — fuck,” the way he was moving against her, in her — his taut pelvic muscles massaging her hard little knot of nerves when he finally buried himself to the hilt, that pulsing cock simultaneously gyrating at her entrance and pressing into that spot inside her, working every trigger point at once — immediately had her eliciting frustrated little gasps that were threatening to become screams. 

“Shins — hahh — might hear us –” 

But that was a mistake. 

She realized it several seconds too late as he rose from his knees, taking her with him, and she clutched at his shoulders, ankles locked around his waist. 

“This his room?” The laugh was evident in his growl as he pinned her to the wall that separated her space from her roommate’s and started up a ruthless pace that stole the breath from her lungs. 

          - THUMP THUMP THUMP -

               - SLAP SLAP SLAP -

The sounds of her ass and his knees knocking into the wall, the smack of their bodies crashing together, was painfully loud to her overstimulated nerves, and she was desperately shushing him between her own laughs and stifled moans when –  

          - BANG BANG - 

The fist on her bedroom door made her wince, a flush creeping furiously up her face as Tomura chuckled menacingly, not bothering to keep his volume low. 

“I’m getting food, mother fuckers.” Her roommate’s disgusted, annoyed voice was already drifting away from her door. “You’d better be done when I get back...” 

Tomura had stalled his thrusting momentarily, mock-confusion on his face as he corrected Shinsou, “Sister fucker?” 

“PFFt, you little sh–” but her degradation was cut short as he started up again, dragging himself tortuously out of her tightening walls and snapping viciously back in. 

She was losing control over her movements again, burying her hands in his hair, her teeth in his shoulder - 

     ⌜ •  pain  • ⌟  

           ⌜ •  pleasure  • ⌟  

- and her ankles applying further pressure against his hips, willing each thrust deeper, fuller than the last.  

“Ah, fuck, angel.” He braced himself against the wall with one forearm, letting his weight settle further against her, “you’re so fuckin–” 

She clenched down on him, stealing a gasp from him as his hips stuttered. 

His lips were at her neck, singing her praises, “Hahh — just like that.” 

And with the confidence of a man who had not just lost his virginity hours ago, he expertly moved a thumb over her clit.

“T-omura!” 

Her back arched against the wall to drive herself further into him as he worked at that sensitive little bundle. 

     ⌜ •  catch up  • ⌟  

“C’mon, angel,” his own breath now erratic, “gimme those screams.” 

“Come 'nd take 'em fr' me... ohh fuuuu-!” 

Her muscles contracted even further as she came, gifting her a desperate, sputtering moan from Tomura, the glide of his cock quickening through her gush around him, as he came right on her heels. 

He was gasping, hot and thick at her ear, as she felt his cum filling her up, mixing with her own juices and dripping from her delightfully desecrated pussy, each pulse coercing another lustful sound from her lungs. 

   ⌜ •  bliss  • ⌟  

          ⌞ •  bliss  • ⌝   

               ⌜ •  bliss  • ⌟  

Kyouyuu smiled into his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck. 

“Me too,” she giggled breathlessly, “you tasty–” nipping, “–little–” and licking, “–shit,” all along his collar bone and sighing contentedly, reveling in his ecstasy rushing through her. “Me too.” 

     ⌜ •  bliss  • ⌟   

          ⌞ •  pride  • ⌝   

                ⌜ •  bliss  • ⌟  

His lips graced the slender column of her throat as he returned to the physical realm. 

“I like that nickname,” he growled, “Keep that one,” dragging slowly out of her. 

Chuckling softly, drunk with exhausted pleasure, she reached for him, wanting his lips on hers. 

But a sublime, satiated grin was breaking across his face as he admired their mess. 

“Hold yourself up,” he demanded on a quiet, smiling breath, untangling her legs from his hips and letting them drop so that he could sink between them. 

He dove into her cunt before she could appreciate what was happening, lapping up their joint orgasm like it was his last meal. 

“Nngg — too much!” she cried and his overeager movements slowed immediately, languidly placing her knee over his shoulder as he reverently licked her clean. 

     ⌜ •  delicious  • ⌟  

With hilarious timing, her stomach rumbled audibly. 

Glinting rubies looked up at her from beneath cocked eyebrows, laughing at her without abandoning his post. 

Little shit… 

“Don’t ruin your dinner with dessert,” she teased, her head falling back against the wall as her fingers tangled gently in his hair, absolutely unhurried to take his cake away from him. 

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

Hibroshi 🗣️🖕

fine. you’re getting what i’m getting and i better not hear any complaints...
back in 15
please for the love of gods be clothed 

A satisfied cackle left him as Shinsou-kun’s responses blinked rapid fire across Kyouyuu’s lock screen. 

“He’s not happy about it, but we’ll be fed.” 

Tomura was lounging leisurely against the wall, hands tucked behind his head, legs stretched and crossed before him — completely at his ease — as he watched her totter around on boneless legs. 

Sighing, Kyouyuu read the messages for herself, then finished pulling on an overlarge T-shirt before texting a quick note back. 

Her brow was furrowed as she set the phone down, and he felt an uncharacteristic twinge of guilt interrupt his prideful revelry. He’d embarrassed her and pissed off her so-called brother, and now she was going to have to smooth over his bullshit, objectively hilarious though it’d been. 

“Look, maybe I can –” 

“No, you’ll just piss him off more,” she admitted on yet another sigh, “I’ll handle it. He’ll be okay, we just... can’t do that again.” 

Tomura smirked, but quickly settled his face into a more neutral position as she glared at him. 

“Here,” she tossed him a pair of fluffy black sweatpants, along with a snide grin. 

Balking at the fleece poofs that covered the fabric, he snarled, “The fuck are these.” 

“Payback.” 

          - KATHUNK - 

The sound of the front door made her jump, and she scampered around, hurriedly pulling on sweats of her own. 

“You stay here and don’t say a word, I swear to gods...” 

And then fixed a compliant smile on her face before walking back out of the room, closing the door behind her. 

Immediately, he launched off the bed to eavesdrop, ear pressed tight to the door. 

Though muffled, he could still hear the disgust in the youth’s voice as he spat, “...wanted kare-raisu so that’s what y’all get, too...” 

Kyouyuu gave a cheery response, but then their voices dropped too low to make out anything else. 

Snickering, Tomura peeled away from the unintelligible family meeting to peer around the room, seeing what other mischief he could get up to. 

He was picking through her closet with delicate fingers when she returned, the smell of stewed rice wafting toward him as the door closed. 

“Everything good?” he asked without looking up, pawing around the popped storage bin of ancient Gameboy cartridges he'd just discovered. 

The eyeroll was evident in her voice, “Yes, we’re fine, despite your best efforts,” waving him away from her possessions and handing him a carry-out container. 

“Hardly my best efforts...” he trolled, grinning. 

“Eat your damn curry, you menace.” 

.·°·.┈┈°·.·° で °·.·°┈┈.·°·.

They had dined in surprisingly comfortable silence — Kyouyuu found a favored mix on her music app in an attempt to alleviate any awkwardness, but it was hardly necessary. 

Tomura was amazed at just how easy it was to be around her. 

Neither of them felt the need to fill space with conversation — he hated that shit, why was everyone so terrified of silence — so she’d sat contentedly propped against the wall while he’d leaned against her knees. Just enjoying their food and each other's quiet presence. 

But now, he was back in her closet. 

“Does this thing still work?” he scoffed, holding up the ancient handheld. 

She gave a soft laugh, “It’s been a while, but it should,” setting her empty container aside and sidling up beside him. 

“This was the prize of one of my first ever ‘aggressive negotiations’.” 

Minx... 

A fond and mischievous smile graced her lips as she took the device from him, turning it over in her hands. 

“Koibito Kakure had been bullying me –" 

He felt a fleeting rage shoot through him. 

"– hiding my school shoes, flipping papers out of my hands, calling me 'airhead'. Stupid, kid shit. She was pretty and popular. I was quiet and weird. I didn’t think too much of it. But one day her hand lingered a little too long while trying to steal my pencil, and her skin told me the real reason.” 

Successfully distracted, Tomura pulled her into him. 

He liked her storytelling, could tell she enjoyed it, too. 

And he was very much anticipating the happy ending to this one. 

“She liked me, but didn’t know what to do with that, so she picked on me. But– she had this Gameboy. A wave of pre-millenium nostalgia had just hit our class, and she kept bragging about having an ‘OG’ device, all the classic games she had…”

She plucked a few of the cartridges from the bin, and led him back toward the bed, sitting and scooting backward so her knees caught the edge. 

“I told her I’d kiss her if she gave them to me.” 

He allowed her to capture him between her legs. 

“All of this for one kiss?” 

“Some games were more expensive than others,” she winked at him and he felt himself stiffening, “Pokemon Blue, Castlevania, Link’s Awakening... But she was easily persuaded. It was good practice. For my Quirk, among other things...” 

He was bending over her, leaning forward to claim her lips, when she yawned. 

Chuckling, he hung his head, then detoured to kiss her cheek and clambered onto the bed beside her. 

“You’re still exhausted.” 

It wasn’t a question. The lack of energy was apparent in her every move. 

She stretched like a cat, every limb flexed before her, and she all but collapsed when he pulled her head into his lap. 

“I’m fine,” she retorted stubbornly with another yawn, reaching an arm up to stroke his with her fingertips. 

“Take another nap, little hero. I’m not going anywhere.” 

He was settling in, about to cue up the ancient handheld and one of the games she’d pulled, when she spoke. 

“You wore me out.” 

But she flicked his leg in response to the twisted pride that had surfaced at her words. 

“I mean, your energy drains me. Because of Psychometry.” 

He stared at her, somewhat incredulous, at her fingers trailing up and down his skin. 

“Then stop touching me, idiot.” 

“...no,” she pouted with the vocal equivalent of crossing her arms. 

Rolling his eyes, he put the little device aside and laid down, caging her between his body and the wall and draping an arm over her waist, making sure her shirt was layered between their skin. 

But she just burrowed into his bare chest anyway. 

“What does it feel like?” he asked at last, stroking her hair. 

“Have you ever been electrocuted?” 

Frowning, he nodded. 

“It’s almost like that. But with emotion,” she resettled herself, pulling her head back and propping an arm beneath it — the better to look at me, he smirked — “I feel it through my whole body, like an electric current.” 

“But just with me?” 

“Mm...” She paused, considering that. “Yes and no. In general, I’m able to keep most everyone on low volume unless I want to tune in, but some people are louder, harder to mute. You especially.” 

“So, you essentially put in ear plugs around people,” Tomura found the volume metaphor intriguing, “and take them out when you’re working?” 

“That’s... not a bad way of putting it.” He was getting used to those crystalline eyes drifting in and out of focus now, but it still delighted him when he could tell she was actually focused on him. “In reality, it’s like I work up an aura of my own energy, as a shield. I kind of subconsciously raise and lower it as needed, so when inevitably I come in contact with someone, my energy wards off theirs and I don’t feel it, or at least, not as strongly.” 

“You think that my energy is stronger than your shield?” 

“Much, much stronger.” 

Hm. 

“So you’re expending all your energy just trying to keep your shields up against me. And that’s why you’re so drained?” 

“I think so.” 

He gave a dry laugh, and she looked at him, not following. 

“You a glutton for pain or something?” 

She laughed too, softly, averting her eyes. 

“Hah, maybe I am..” 

“Well,” he slid a hand along the small of her back and scooted her closer against him, their legs tangling deliciously, “while I am well versed in administering pain,” he felt her shiver, “I don’t want to hurt you, Kyouyuu.” 

She was staring at her palms resting lightly on his chest, rising and falling with his breath, her expression unreadable. 

“What do you feel?” 

She looked up at him then, candied irises dancing between both of his. They weren’t just pink, he noticed, but sprinkled with citrine flakes, exaggerating their resemblance to precious stones. 

“Sincerity.” 

Her fingers feathered up his chest and neck, avoiding the sorest spots — although, since he’d met her, the skin was actually healing — and rested along his jaw, tipping his chin and giving him a light kiss. 

Tomura was in absolute awe of her. 

Not one week ago, he was wasting away in his dismal apartment, obsessing over his failures, cursing every person alive... 

He exhaled his relief and pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed. 

Breathing her in. 

“Ne, Tomu... You wanna play a game?” 

Yesssss. 

Her face had flushed suddenly, but then she gave a devilish smile, glorying in his displeasure, when she cruelly detangled herself from him and positioned their bodies so they were sitting facing each other. 

“It’s called Two Truths and a Lie.” 

‘Game’ was a pretty weak description of what it actually was, and he only relented to playing the stupid fucking thing because it seemed to amuse her. 

But he knew it was giving her a chance to recuperate while still fully engaging with him. 

Plus, he'd liked the way she clipped his name when she’d asked, rousing that warm, peaceful ache again... 

So he laughed at her when she tried to pass off naming her Quirk as a lie, and she razzed him about pretending he had friends. 

Elementary playground bullshit. 

Except, beneath the cynicism, he couldn’t help thinking that actually... 

This is... really nice? 

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

Her yawn was huge, impossible to stifle. 

Shit, checking her phone, how’d it get this late? 

She stared at her home screen, several thoughts converging at once. 

When was the last time she’d spent this much time with someone on purpose? Even she and Shinsou hadn’t hung out for more than a couple hours in... no, ever. 

It was mildly alarming how easy this felt. They’d slept together — and besides that, they’d fucked a lot — despite barely knowing each other. Hell, she didn’t even know his full name. 

And yet, here they were, leisurely lounging on her bed playing ice breakers? 

The squirmy feeling in her stomach was back, a heat creeping into her face as she recalled what had run through his mind not long ago — his forehead gently nuzzling against hers, eyes tight shut and sending wave after wave of soft, sweet emotions crashing over her — which was why she’d suggested the game in the first place. To feel him out without feeling him. 

Well, that, and she’d hoped to finally get some answers to the questions prickling at the back of her mind. But he hadn’t offered anything like that, and again, she hadn’t brought herself to ask. 

What are you afraid of? 

Kyouyuu looked at him then, to try to discern what it was exactly that deterred her from hearing the truth, when she caught him absently scratching at his neck. 

“You okay?” 

He started slightly, not realizing he’d had an audience, but nodded stiffly. 

“Just thinking... they’ll have noticed by now how long I’ve been gone...” 

“You mean you don’t typically slip out for hours for sex and free curry?” 

Coward, she thought to herself as she missed another opening by prioritizing his comfort. 

“Of course I do,” that smirk once again lit up his sallow face, “but this is muuch longer than I’m usually gone,” pulling her legs across his lap. 

     ⌜ •  anxiety  • ⌟  

Her giggle — he just had to be touching her — died as she registered his lingering stress. 

“Well, we’re a bit off the map, right?” she rationalized, “I mean, I’m a bit off your map. How would anyone find you here?” 

He nodded, but didn’t seem placated. 

'He’s got people everywhere. Even I don’t know to what extent. That’s why I said... it’s not safe.' 

Did he think people would be looking for him? Unnamed henchmen prowling the streets in search of his baggy hoodie and mussy hair? Perhaps the people she’d seen in the alley earlier... 

But it’d only been half a day, and they hadn’t gone anywhere. It’s not like there was anyone to see them together, to draw any conclusions and lead them here. 

'He doesn’t know about you, I don’t think. Not yet.' 

She deliberated before asking her next question. 

It was, after all, probably a stupid and risky decision. 

But she couldn’t let him go back to that dark, dingy place he called home, especially if he — they both — would be in danger for it, even if she didn’t fully understand what the danger was. 

     ⌜ •  °  And…  •  ° ⌟   

She felt Ataeyuko pressing her. 

…I don’t want him to go. 

     ⌜ •  °  Atta girl  •  ° ⌟   

So she, somewhat nervously, added, “...do you want to stay here?” 

Tomura’s eyes snapped to hers, hope and gratitude gleaming back at her from those scarlet depths. His brows were raised slightly and, for the first time, both corners of his mouth twitched upward. A soft smile replacing his typical smirk.  

     ⌜ •  yes yes yes yes yes y–  • ⌟  

She laughed, dropping her gaze and blushing but then he was on her. 

Again, that curious, bubbly sensation swooped through her as their lips locked, taking her off guard. Not unpleasantly. 

She needed to move. 

Fighting her exhausted limbs, she slipped off the bed, giggling as she ducked his outstretched arm that tried to pull her back. 

“I’ll throw these in the washer for you,” and she began to snatch up his discarded clothes from the floor for something to do, trying to get her head back on straight, hiding from that glittery feeling in her stomach, despite the heat in her face, “unless you’d prefer those–”

“Kyou, wait–” 

     ⌜ •  icy void  • ⌟   

“...sherpa... pants...” 

Insight struck and surged through her like lightning – 

“..what is..?” 

– her entire body seizing with cold as Ataeyuko screamed. 

     ⌜ •  death  • ⌟   

           ⌞ •  hatred  • ⌝   

⌜ •  N A U S E A - quiet  • ⌟   

           ⌞ •  All Might, bleeding  • ⌝   

   ⌜ •  Midoriya's mangled limbs  • ⌟   

           ⌞ •  a grotesque hulking monster  • ⌝   

⌜ •  a young man,
swathed in hands,
scratching, laughing, taunting  • ⌟   

A thick layer of dust coated her hands, fibrous remains of his sweatshirt swirling toward her feet. 

The world had reformed around her — but she might have teleported to the Arctic Circle for all the good reality presented — her insides a frozen, barren wasteland in wake of what she’d just experienced. 

Apparently, Tomura had pried the thing out of her fear-induced vice grip. Numbly, she could see him cradling it as she stared at him in horror. 

Cold, grayed flesh. 

A hand, severed and capped at the wrist. 

The very palm she’d just seen flashing viscerally across her vision as it was placed delicately, lovingly, upon his face. 

Chapter Text

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

“I’ll throw these in the washer for you.” 

Tomura was hardly listening, his pulse pounding, heart lighter than it’d been in years. 

Maybe ever. 

She’d asked him to stay. 

Had actually said the words. Willingly. Nervously, like she’d cared about the answer. 

“Do you want to stay here?” and then had danced away from him, all coy and fucking adorable. 

He wasn’t really sure why it had hit him so hard. 

They’d spent most of the day together already without a trace of discomfort. It wasn’t like he was anticipating being kicked out — hadn’t honestly been thinking about leaving at all. 

But that he hadn’t even had to bring it up, much less ask, before she was offering it as an option — as the seemingly desired option — like she’d anticipated his needs and enthusiastically obliged. 

His entire body felt strange, as if it was physically rejecting the presence of anything other than misery. 

Tomura was actually — he didn’t think it was possible — happy. 

“– unless you’d prefer those–” 

And within seconds, he knew it had all been too good to be true. 

His Goddess was holding his ratty sweatshirt — her brilliant light suddenly faint, painfully distant at the end of his tunnel vision — as she stammered with her hand deep in the fabric pocket – 

No.. 

“Kyou, wait!” 

But she’d seized, her entire body going suddenly rigid, her eyelids snapped tight. 

Tomura couldn’t get there fast enough, leaving palm shaped craters along the tousled sheets in his haste to reach her. 

With Father hopelessly tangled within the fabric, he grasped the hoodie in both hands — it disintegrated instantaneously — before peeling Kyouyuu’s fingers from a stonelike grip off of the grayed skin that had always been his one source of serenity. 

Until her. 

But now those crystalline pools in which he’d so quickly found sanctuary would be his tomb. 

In the seconds they’d been closed, fear had calcified within her rose quartz irises now locked on him, the image manifested straight from his anxieties this morning — could that have been this morning, or several years ago — plucked from his gut and pasted hastily over her soft, loving features. 

Now she could see him for the monster he was. 

“You...” Her voice echoed from across the miles between them. “You’re...” 

And all at once, it returned. 

The bile, sloshing and licking up his throat; the incessant indiscernible burning beneath the surface of his skin; the unbearable weight of his soul bending his spine like the snow laden bow of a tree. 

So he did what he did best. 

He scratched the itch. 

Scrabbling and scraping, raking into the delicate shell that encased everything he was, tearing it to shreds. 

If it was game over anyway... 

He might as well end it and respawn. 

“Aa... Me... Isn’t it great?!” His voice was cold and cruel as he leaned forward to stroke her patronizingly with the back of his hand, his next words laced with quiet venom, hissed through bared fangs. 

“What – are you gonna cry, hero?” 

A light blazed suddenly behind her eyes, hard and fierce, her fear-coated features shifting faster than he would have thought possible first to shock, then disgust and anger. 

She took a half a step toward him. 

“What did you–?!” 

But he was on her in an instant, her arm like a twig beneath his forceful fingers, well-practiced since childhood in the meticulous movements that living with Decay demanded, and she yielded easily as he yanked her into him, trapping her against his chest, simultaneously dropping Father onto the bed to clamp a hand over her mouth. 

“No, no, hush, sweet girl.” He tossed her teasing name back at her, gilded in sadistic sarcasm. “We don’t want to disturb Shinsou-kun, right?” 

The vile cynicism flowed from him automatically like water through a hose, his mouth merely the conduit for years of isolated rage; she, just one more victim. 

“Guess you should’ve trusted your instincts better, huh,” a hollow laugh gurgled up his throat like air escaping water, “Didn’t think you’d ever be at the mercy of the king of villains, huh??” 

She was struggling in his grip, her tiny untrained body pushing against him uselessly, breath and jaw working furiously — pointlessly — beneath his bruising palm. 

“Poor Kyouyuu...” He let the sickeningly sweet jibe drip from numb lips, “fallen on her own sword,” determined to drive her away from him. 

If she hated him, maybe it’d be easier to watch her go. 

He twisted them, bending her backward onto the bed and sidling on top of her to pin her with his legs, one hand still clamped hard over her mouth, and the other reaching toward Father. 

“Your world has no tolerance for people like me.” 

Three diligent fingers picked up the palm — his signature, his origin — sighing as the cool, still flesh settled upon his face. 

“So I’ll reject it right back.” 

Goddamn, those eyes! 

It was harder to see beneath Father, but her eyes were huge in his vision, wide and shimmering with what could only be regret, staring unblinkingly at him... 

Pretty pleading eyes... 

The color of dawn... 

And suddenly, he couldn’t look at them — into those sugary depths that would be the nails to seal his coffin — focusing instead around the room, looking for – what? 

What now? 

He hadn’t thought about what to do if things went south. His stupid fleeting glee at her presence, his pitiful hope for a different future, had distracted him, pushing those practical worries dangerously out of his head. 

And now his tethered lifeline had snapped. 

          - HMMRRRHH! -

His hand over her mouth wasn’t enough, her muffled shouts only growing louder. 

She needed to be quiet. 

He really didn’t want to have to kill anyone tonight. 

SHUT UP – he yelled in his head, commanding her Quirk - 

          - DZZT -  

– but instead, his hands flew into the air, some unseen force throwing him bodily from her, and he was pinwheeling backward, one knee slipping from where he’d pinned her elbow as he caught himself. 

Did she just... 

“The fuck, Kyou?” 

          - し～～～ん¹ -

“Seriously?!” The screaming whisper was apparently all she could manage as she shoved at him with her one freed arm. “Get. Off. Me. You. Asshole!” 

Tomura stumbled, trying to right himself as she continued to shove at him, her eyes wild with indignance and incredulity. 

The intensity radiating from her surprised him so much that he was too slow to react as she leapt from the bed after him, her hand reaching toward him as if in slow motion... 

          - CLATTER - 

The silence was deafening, as if the hand yanked from his face and landing on the floor had absorbed all other sound. 

His fingers flexed at his side, familiar cold fury building in his gut as his head snapped up to her, ready to lunge and take her by the throat – 

But she stood there firmly rooted on skinny ankles — a kitsune staring down a kishu ken² — with the same fierce expression on her face as when he'd first grabbed at her that day. Her resolve overpowering her fear. 

As they glared at each other, he felt his rage warping to something closer to panic. 

And then to guilt. 

          - SCRITCH -

“What the hell was that, Tomura.” Her voice had returned, still quiet but spitting heat. “Did you not just say you didn't want to hurt me??” 

          - SCRITCH SCRITCH -

Once again, like that day, he felt only childish responses rise to his lips, the spiteful surety in him surgically removed. 

“That was before. Now that you know –” 

“You can't really mean that," she cut across him, seeing straight through his bullshit. 

No, of course he didn’t. 

What had he done? 

The bile was rising again. 

               - SCRITCH -

“Why the fuck did you jump me?” 

          - SCRITCH SCRITCH -

Why had he? It’d been automatic, really. 

               - SCRITCH SCRITCH SCRITCH -

He glowered at the floor. It didn’t matter. It was game over. He'd been in sight of the princess’s castle and fell off the fucking edge. 

          - SCRITCH SCRITCH - 

Why was he still here? Hanging around for a lecture before being tossed out, chased down, and captured by her self-righteous hero friends and educators? 

          - SCRITCH SCRITCH SCRITCH -

                    - SCRITCH SCRITCH - 

          - SCRITCH SCRITCH SCRITCH  SCRITCH -

“Tomura.” 

“I couldn't let you leave me!!” 

He actually growled in frustration, clawing at his eyes as he tried to force the words from his rapidly swelling throat. 

"You can't.. don't want..” 

"Stop." There was a note of anxiety to her voice for the first time, and she was trying to grab his scrabbling fingers now slick with beads of blood. 

“But if.. have to.. I will.." 

"Tomura, stop... Stop." 

The room was dense — packed with his tortured soul, her boundless patience, and decay — as finally he stilled, allowing her to hold his arms at his side. 

His madness was slowly ebbing away, her touch grounding him ever so gradually, but he resisted it. Utterly undeserving to stand unscathed in her angelic light, he glared petulantly at their feet, chewing his cheek, his nails instead biting and scraping into his palms. 

After a moment, she sighed heavily, angrily, though, chancing a glance at her through messy tendrils, he saw her face had relaxed, her eyes sad.

She released him with a gentle caress, crossing her arms defensively, like she was hugging herself. 

“Tomura, you idiot.”

Huh? 

“I followed you down that shady alley. I pulled you across this threshold. I asked you to stay.” She was shaking her head, emotion choking her, but she plowed on. 

“You told me it was dangerous. I didn’t take that lightly. I– I’m here. I...  

“I just... needed a minute to digest that.” 

For the third time in mere minutes, silence surged between them, his bloody pinpricks quivering above her coral prisms. 

Is she saying... what I think she’s saying? 

And he flooded with shame. 

Because the only loathing in her eyes was his own reflection. 

No, those perfect halos held nothing more than the same truths since the first moment they’d met. 

Compassion. Tolerance. Protection. 

“I meant what I said.” 

His head hung heavy, heart frozen. 

“When you first kissed me.” 

“What,” he choked. 

“You know what I mean.” 

Of course he did. 

He hadn’t stopped thinking about it. 

The question muffled against her lips, dripping with snark and lust. 

And she had said ‘yes.’ 

She was going to save him. 

.·°·.┈┈°·.·° で °·.·°┈┈.·°·.

The worst, it seemed, was over, but he still didn’t feel good. 

His eyes were heavy as he tracked Kyouyuu like a pendulum, apparently unaware of the little clouds of dust she was kicking all over her room as she paced. 

She was 'digesting.' 

Still shirtless and in those stupid sweats, he hovered beside the pockmarked bedsheets. He would’ve laughed if he wasn’t still mildly afraid of her changing her mind and kicking him out. 

He wished he could just fall asleep, but it wouldn’t come even if he tried, regardless of their impending discussion. 

Ughhhh... Mendokuse... Mendokuse... 

Maybe she could just touch him so he wouldn’t have to say anything. 

“Okay.” She halted suddenly, turning to face him. “Explain.” 

No such luck. 

He bristled slightly, “Which part.” 

Maybe it was better when she was ignoring him. 

“Any of it. All of it.” 

He let his eyes fall closed, giving a pained sigh, before sitting back against the bed, elbows falling forward onto his knees. He made to thread his fingers together, but she snaked her hand in first, and though he barely deserved it, it gave him the strength to begin. 

“Tomura Shigaraki, founder of The League of Villains. Hajimemashite³.” 

He told her everything he could remember. How Sensei had found him, cleaned and given him shelter. How he’d learned how to satiate the itch that came from resisting Decay. 

He could tell there were moments where she wanted to speak, could feel her hand tensing in his, but he plowed on, afraid that if he stopped he wouldn’t be able to start again. 

It wasn’t until he was explaining how Sensei had given him his identity, a future, with the gift of his family’s hands, that Kyouyuu gently spoke up. 

“Their- These-” she struggled, letting her eyes fall to the very hand that lay between them, “They all survived?” 

He blinked at her. 

“Yeah. Doc Garaki salvaged them. From the wreckage.” 

For a moment, he felt cold, mind swimming with ghostly screams and flashes of the ground cracking beneath his hands. 

But it was fleeting. 

And she didn’t press further, so he continued his tale. 

Sensei raised him. Kept him safe. Taught him. Let him do what he wanted. 

“He encouraged me to learn from experiences, allowing me to discover my strengths and weaknesses for myself, to make my own analysis and discernments. But when he fell to All Might, I was alone.” 

“Your teacher fought All Might?” 

The loathing swelled within him like a summer storm, but he swallowed it. 

“Yes,” he said simply. 

He was 14. With Sensei incapacitated, the money was trickling in rather than gushing, and he’d all but had to live on the streets again, holed up in that bar their broker had set them up in as a front. They acquired enough to keep them afloat — he contributed with various petty scams, and Kurogiri, through more stealthy and sophisticated means — but until recently, things were pretty desperate. 

“Eventually, Sensei was well enough to re-engage old connections, but he was still only able to do a fraction of what he could. Even now, he can’t go anywhere without being hooked up to tubes and machinery.” 

Kyouyuu was able to fill in more of the gaps as he caught up to the present, helping him divulge the information, letting him confirm her suspicions rather than making him admit them. For which he was grateful. His voice was beginning to crack from overuse. 

He confirmed that he’d used the USJ incident to attack All Might; that he'd been responsible for the large-scale destruction of Hosu, but he had fucking not been working with Stain; that he'd been stalking UA students... 

“And that day at the mall?” she pressed, “you wanted to confront Midoriya...” 

“Aa... His face is always set in that same obnoxious, single-minded determination as All Might... So in that moment, I thought he could make sense of everyone's obsession with Stain and my resistance to him.” He paused, scratching his neck. 

“If you hadn't smacked the hell into me...” He nearly smiled, remembering how quickly her expressions had leapt from frustrated embarrassment to recognition, then excitement, as she’d peered up into his face. 

But the fond memory was replaced as quickly as it’d come with the mask of horror she’d worn moments ago. 

His breath hitched slightly when her fingers threaded through his — when had they left him — preventing him from shredding his already minced skin. 

“I’m glad I did.” 

He snorted, shaking his head, and barely bit back a ‘yeah, right.’ 

“Really, I thought it then and I still think it now.” 

Her eyes quivered as he looked into her face, but she didn’t look away. 

She’s serious? 

“You wanna know what I was doing,” a slight flush tinged her cheeks, “when you showed up at the door?” 

His interest was piqued, and hope prickled dangerously at the base of his spine. 

“What were you doing?” 

“I– ” her blush deepened as she took a steadying breath, closing her eyes momentarily and sighing, her words coming out in a rush, “I was trying to intercept you. I’d seen you leaving the bar on my surveillance feed.” 

What. 

No, really, he had to bite back a laugh, what?? 

“You were spying on me?” 

“You protected me,” she finally let her eyes dart down to her hands, “by sending me away. And I wanted to know why.” 

But he was grinning, warmth spreading back to his limbs as he lifted her chin, and he felt her freeze with the intensity of his gaze. 

“Two truths and a lie,” his voice was still quiet, but emboldened. His body had relaxed, muscles he didn’t know he had unwinding — her admission apparently the last confirmation he’d needed to hear. 

“I wish I’d known you as a kid,” he dropped his gaze to her wrist, turning it palm up to toy with and massage her delicate fingers. 

“If I had,” he scoffed, “I wouldn’t have wound up... like this. Lost in the dark.” 

Could they stay like this forever? Bottled up in a little pocket of time, just the two of them, free of moral judgment? Of lurking danger? 

“Meeting you now... feels like a sunrise after a long, long night.” 

He shook his head, taking a deep breath – 

Say it, idiot. 

– and let it out as he finally looked up at her. 

"And I want... to follow your light, Kyouyuu.” 

Her eyes sparkled, her mouth falling open before seeming to come back to herself. 

“That was four,” she tried to tease him on a shaky breath. 

He chuckled softly as his hand met her face, two fingers hooking delicately behind her jaw, thumb caressing her cheek. 

“Guess.” 

“The last one,” she whispered, her gaze shifting to his lips as he leaned toward her. 

“Wrong,” and he kissed her. 

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

Kyouyuu was back at the agency today. 

You-senpai had greeted her enthusiastically, and even Fat Gum himself congratulated her return, offering her his own breakfast, saying she looked undernourished. 

She smiled at everyone, tilted head and eyes closed, seemingly overjoyed to be over her 'illness.' Perfectly sunshine-y, but not overly out of character. Just her quiet, cheerful self. 

Appearances were suddenly, dangerously, important. 

She’d been asked to assist with an overhaul of the alert system. It was outdated and had needed upgrading for years, but apparently it had always been put off because the whole system would need to be down in order to install the new one. 

A tech team had been brought in to assist with this, the small agency suddenly cramped with new faces, focused and directing each other with jargon that exceeded her mild technical vocabulary, and beyond jumping in to act as an ‘all’s functioning properly’ meter whenever asked, she wasn’t actually doing much. 

She was all too glad of a reason to be a fly on the wall. 

Her mind had been so full these last two days — incredibly, deliciously and painfully loud in equal measure — that she was desperate for this reprieve. 

.·°·. ┈┈ °·.·° earlier that morning °·.·° ┈┈ .·°·.

“I know I already owe you, but I need another favor, and I need you to not ask questions.” 

Her roommate had barely cracked the door at her gentle knocking before the request was coming out in a rush. 

“Ohayou⁴ to you too, Kyou.” 

“Please. It’s important.” 

“Why do I get the feeling this has to do with that bastard.” 

It did. 

The rest of the night before, like the entirety of the day, had been a roller coaster. Head pounding, heart aching, tangled in each other’s limbs and satisfyingly fucked out, the whirlwind of the day finally claimed her, whipping her into a restless sleep. But each time she'd stirred, she'd found Tomura awake — gingerly picking at the scabs forming all along his neck; tap-tapping at the little handheld they’d bonded over what had felt like a lifetime previously; gazing blankly at the ceiling, before noticing her, stroking her hair and sending her back beneath the waves of sleep. 

When she didn’t answer him, Shinsou sighed sharply, rubbing the back of his head. 

But a few minutes later, he was following her back to her room. 

“Tomu...” the clipped name that fell delicately from her lips this time was intentional, as was the doting way she brushed the hair from his bloodshot eyes, and she hated herself for it despite her resolve, “Do you trust me?” 

He was silent, but leaned into her touch, letting his skin speak for him. 

“You need sleep. Shinsou’s agreed to help.” 

Tomura still said nothing, but his eyes moved past her face in the direction of the short ‘hey’ issued from the doorway behind her. 

She let her hand drop to his, fingertips and nails tracing the valleys between his fingers. 

“I can’t miss another day of work,” she hoped her voice sounded casual, “but I’ll be here when you wake up, yeah?” 

His fingers trapped hers, threading them together, and gave a soft sigh. 

     ⌜ •  humility  • ⌟   

He threw another quick glance toward the doorway, smirking suddenly, before pulling her into a swift kiss. 

“~Oi…~” Shinsou growled. 

“Oyasumi⁵, Goddess,” Tomura whispered, his forehead pressed gently to hers, before sitting up straighter, directing his attention again to Shinsou and nodding, “Hitoshi–” 

His brilliant red irises widened and went blank, then slowly fluttered closed. 

She caught him as he slumped forward, dead weight, and lowered him back against the pillows. His face was the most passive she’d seen it, his breath slow and steady, and that strange, giddy warmth spread through her limbs again as she pulled the covers over him. 

“I sent him into a dreamless sleep, but he can wake up on his own,” Shinsou muttered, “Not gonna be responsible if there’s a fire or some shit.”  

“Thank you,” she breathed, turning from Tomura at last and attempting to give her not-little-brother a smile. 

But her lip trembled. 

“Kyou,” Shinsou searched her face with concern. 

She was losing, the emotion coming unbidden, her levee breaking now that Tomura wouldn’t witness it. 

“I know you said no questions, but what the hell. You’re not okay — neither of you. What–” 

Her hands flew to her face as her forehead fell against his chest. 

She was too tired, her nerves ragged, her anxiety sky high. She didn’t regret it, anything, but the last twenty four hours had been the most intense of her life, and the buildup was now forcing itself out of her shaking shoulders. 

Shinsou patted her a bit, whether out of embarrassment or respect for her Quirk she wasn’t sure, but her brother's solid, quiet presence had steadied her. 

“It’s... a Quirk thing,” she evaded with an incomplete truth, sniffing and standing back up, “Everything is okay, we’re both just a little sensitive to each other.” 

Shinsou snorted. 

“I mean it, he’s -” but she didn’t know how to continue. He’s been groomed since adolescence for evil? He’s got more trauma than the entire orphanage she grew up in? He’s in the midst of a turning arc? 

“He’s had a hard life. I found out some of it, thanks to Ataeyuko, and… it was just a lot.” 

“Well, you have more patience than anyone I know,” he laughed, shaking his head and turning to leave, “Including Jiji. I’d have left that crusty motherfucker right on the porch.” 

.·°·.┈┈°·.·° now °·.·°┈┈.·°·.

So she'd come to work, convincing everyone including herself that nothing was out of the ordinary. 

His people could be anywhere, she reminded herself over and over and tried to keep her face peaceful, unworried, despite the panic for Tomura that coursed through her with every heartbeat. 

Kyouyuu had held his hand during his tale, both to comfort him and to see what he saw. 

It hadn’t been good. 

There was so much that had disturbed her about the story. So much she didn't understand. 

His so-called mentor was a clear-cut abuser, manipulating him from the very beginning, and Kyouyuu had had to fight to keep her face neutral, her hands still, because her boiling rage and violent urge to be sick would've done Tomura no favors. 

But her immediate concern was the thing that was supposed to be the preserved hand of his father. 

“Excuse me, Atae-san?” 

“Yes, ma’am!” Kyouyuu tried to hide her startled jump as overeagerness when responding to the technician addressing her. 

“I’ve heard you can assist with ensuring the system is functioning properly?” 

“Yes! I’m happy to help in any way I can, ma'am!” 

It looked like the woman was trying not to roll her eyes at Kyouyuu’s enthusiasm. 

Good. 

“I know yours isn’t an electrical Quirk,” the technician admitted as she led Kyouyuu toward an unoccupied computer, “but we’d like to have someone who knows the system monitoring it, and we're hoping your Quirk will be able to sense anything amiss before the average user would actually notice. I wouldn’t work on anything that would hurt if it couldn’t be saved, but would you mind just keeping an eye on it?” 

Uh, is All Might the number one hero? 

“Yes, ma’am! You can count on me!” 

The technician smiled wanly at her and left Kyouyuu to her own devices, muttering something that sounded like ‘youthful energy’ as she walked away. 

Barely believing her luck at acquiring an actual excuse to dig through the archives, she hurriedly took a seat at the little machine, pulling up a cloud document of old coursework as cover, and then began scouring for any information she could find about Tomura's Quirk advent. And about what was left in the wake. 

[ Mustafu; 15 years previous; Shigaraki ] 

Scroll… scroll... Revise search. 

[ Shizuoka prefecture; 15 years previous; family homicide ] 

Scroll… scroll… 

[ missing child ] 

[ Quirk accident ] 

[ destruction Quirk death ] 

Scroll… scroll... Revise search. Repeat. 

The lack of hits was starting to seem suspect, but eventually, after using a string of synonyms for ‘destruction,’ the keyword ‘demolition’ paired with ‘family’ pulled up a brief article from a small Mustafu-local paper that yielded as many questions as it did clues. 

“Residents of a north-side neighborhood were shocked by the unsanctioned demolition of an entire property last night.  Nearby residents reported vibrations similar to an earthquake but no damage to their own homes, and upon inspection found the neighboring home and property in ruins.  ‘The entire house had collapsed to rubble, giant sections of earth removed from the backyard. It was like an excavator had come in, smashed the place up and vanished.’  Local authorities assert that the destabilization was likely due to faulty techniques used to construct the home, built by the owner themselves, that caused a domino effect. However, the homeowner and the 5 other family members neighbors report lived there are under subpoena regarding possible insurance fraud. Residents are urged to please come forward with any information regarding these persons of interest.”

As little to go on as there was, this had to be it. 

It fit the timeline; the location; the family size exactly; as well as the effects of Decay. 

The whole property? Jesus... 

Her heart felt heavy again, imagining a baby Tomura amidst the destruction, scared… helpless…  

Not here, she quickly scolded herself, shoving her emotions aside, stay focused. 

She read the article through again, searching between the lines this time. 

It had been chalked up to a construction accident. No mention of injuries or fatalities — or survivors — just 'wanted for questioning.' 

So clearly there was some withholding of information... But was it bureaucratic misdirection? Or something more sinister? 

What had they actually known? ‘Local authorities’ would understand that mere shoddy construction practices wouldn’t cause such sudden and irreparable destruction. 

Had they suspected it was Quirk-related? 

If that was reported, it would've induced more questions than they’d had answers for: was it an accident or malicious; what or who was the culprit; was this a one-off or were more families in danger? 

The simplest answer was that the reporters spun the story well with little information, alluding that the public was not in danger to keep panic down. 

But the subpoena for the homeowner was definitely suspicious. 

Because the dead don’t file insurance claims… but they also hadn’t actually said the family was missing… 

Had the police — or perhaps someone at the newspaper — asked the author to include that implication? To dissuade readers from wondering what had happened to the family? 

Kyouyuu took a deep breath, checking her surroundings without looking shifty to confirm that she was still unobserved amidst the hustle and bustle of the technicians, and then pulled up the agency’s police archives themselves. 

She shouldn’t have had access to them as part of the Support team, but lucky for her, Psychometry was handy for uncovering passwords. 

Using the similar timeline, location and keywords, she pulled up the report. 

Mustafu PD Form 7335 – Destruction of Property 

Property Owner Information:  { redacted }
Description of Damage:  { redacted }
Cause:  { redacted }
Witnesses:  { redacted }
Injury:  { redacted }
Suspects:  { redacted }
Additional notes:  { redacted }

What the fuck?? 

This was getting worse. 

Someone had gone to great lengths to conceal Tomura and Decay. Or worse, they hadn’t gone to very great lengths at all… 

Shit. 

There was one last avenue to try… 

Tomura had said a doctor, Garaki, had ‘salvaged’ his family’s remains. 

But, to not much surprise, her search for information on the doctor was in vain. No research or medical personnel seemed to exist under that name. If he was in this type of work, it wouldn’t be a surprise that either his public or underground name — or both — would be falsified. 

For reasons unknown, they’d covered their tracks very well. 

Kyouyuu closed out of the archives, conceding defeat, and clicked her old coursework file back up, clicking and scrolling here and there, feigning work, eyes unfocused. 

More than anything — more than Tomura turning out to be a truly formidable villain, than how she’d gotten tangled up in it, and that she was somehow more invested than ever — she was afraid of that hand and the implications behind its existence. 

Because how? 

As she understood it — as she’d witnessed it — when he Decayed something, it was gone. Reduced to nothing but swirling molecules of whatever material had once been solid. 

So, with a five year old on the brink of a Quirk manifestation with complete lack of control, with the entire house — entire property — in ruins, collapsed in on itself, what was the likelihood that all five family members’ digits had not been disintegrated, or otherwise maimed, mangled… 

It was a dark line of thinking, but she was sure she was right. 

Except, she didn’t want to have to confirm it herself. 

Didn’t want to again feel the cold — deep and absolute — that was death. To see his tortured soul searching for relief from stress in the form of familiar guilt. To search the history of the person the graying skin once belonged to. 

To confirm that the dead flesh that Tomura wore like amulets was not his family. 

At least, not entirely. 

Something disturbing had been done to create that chimeric memorabilia. With the sole intent of manipulation and control. 

.·°·.┈┈°·.·° で °·.·°┈┈.·°·.

Why did my dumbass agree to a work-study in Kansai… 

This long train home had been particularly brutal, head full of conspiracies, and anxious to get home before Tomura woke up, alone in the house and worrying about their fight… 

But apparently that anxiety was unwarranted.  

“–nother blue shell?? You’ve gotta be shitting me…” 

Tomura was chuckling victoriously as she stepped fully inside the apartment. 

She blinked. 

Had she fallen asleep on the train? Because she must be dreaming. There was no way that the head of The League of Villains was casually gaming with her future-hero brother. 

“Tadaima⁶…?” 

Both boys’ heads glanced up at her from where they sat gaming on the couch. 

“Okaeri⁶!” Shins greeted her before turning back to see his racer spinning out, “Ah fack.” 

“Oi, Kyou, you wanna sub in for Shinsou-kun?” Tomura's eyes were already back on the screen where he was leaving a trail of bananas, “He’s about to lose. Again.” 

“Oi, Kyou,” Shins mocked Tomura in a quiet drawl, “Your boyfriend’s a dick.” 

She shook her head, unable to hold back her grin at the ridiculous normalcy of the scene. 

“Yeah,” she admitted, slinging her bag from her shoulders as she made her way toward them, “Think I’ll keep him anyway.” 

Those red eyes danced back to her again at her retort, his smirk wide enough to show a hint of teeth. 

     ⌜ •  °  •  oh he saw what you did there  •  °  • ⌟  

Swiftly assessing his condition, she noted that Shinsou had loaned him a shirt and that his neck was still pretty much mincemeat from the night before, but otherwise he looked… healthy. Brighter, livelier. 

Rest had done him well. 

Unable to spare a single thought for Shinsou’s feelings, she leaned forward and embraced Tomura from behind — feeling the day’s tension leave her as she hugged his steady shoulders, breathing in the lingering stale smell of sex and sweat and boy as she nuzzled against his cheek. 

     ⌜ •  giddy  • ⌟   

The game’s sound cut off abruptly and Kyouyuu’s feet left the floor, suddenly pulled over the back of the couch, her squeal of surprise immediately hushed by Tomura’s mouth. 

“I seriously fucking cannot with you two…” Shinsou sighed, unpausing the game and continuing to race. 

Kyouyuu giggled as they broke apart, ignoring Shinsou’s quip but clearing her throat and curling into a more appropriate sitting position, shoulder to shoulder with Tomura, embarrassed into silence and hugging her knees. 

“Hello, girlfriend,” he whispered against her ear which had just grown very very hot. 

⌜ •  mine  • ⌟   

     ⌜ •  °  •  teeheeee girl he’s seriousss  •  °  • ⌟  

Shut up, I know! 

Tomura’s character was making annoyed little whines as another racer spun him out. 

“I can’t wait to lap this fucker,” Shinsou voiced to the room as if hoping anyone at all was listening. 

Tomura shot him a shiteating grin, “Hah, this might actually be a challenge now,” hooking an arm through hers as he picked up the controller again - 

⌜ •  mine mine mine  • ⌟   

     ⌜ •  °  •   omfg  •  °  • ⌟  

“- but I’ll still dust you.” 

Too busy reveling in the return of the glittery butterflies and trying to keep the tea kettle noises from ecking out of her throat, Kyouyuu merely side-eyed Tomura pointedly at his choice of words and was gifted another smirking chuckle in response. 

I must be crazy, Ataeyuko, she smiled to herself, leaning her head on Tomura’s shoulder, to think I actually missed this emotional whiplash all day… 

⌜ •  °  •   purrrrrr  •  °  • ⌟  

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

Fuck, he was in a good mood. 

Partly because he’d slept — actual sleep, too, not the semi-conscious delirium he usually got.

And because Kyouyuu had come home to him. 

Shortly after waking up, he’d relapsed into panic, thinking she’d put him in a sleep intending to escape him. And he’d drawn new blood from his chest before hearing the front door swing closed, peeking his head out of Kyouyuu’s room to see Shinsou roll his eyes at him. 

Only a few minutes later though, the purple-haired youth had invited him to game with him. After a seconds’ silence, he’d accepted, momentarily stunned at what was clearly an olive branch. But he’d have been full of shit if he thought he didn’t already miss his own sweet gaming setup, left behind in that musty hellscape. 

Then, in no time at all she was there, not correcting her brother’s assumption about their relationship and holding him as he’d never been held in his life. 

Kyouyuu had made them all dinner as a show of reconciliation to Shinsou — an apology for me and my incessant bullshit, he'd laughed to himself — and afterwards, they’d gamed some more. It was a nerd-themed first-person shooter of Kyouyuu’s choice in which both boys had each sufficiently out-shot her but also died spectacularly at the hands of her lightsword-wielding character. They’d taken turns in Co-Op mode, each pair playing a few rounds together, both as allies and as enemies. Collaborating, congratulating, shit talking. 

Despite the sobering fact that he was the only one of their number who actually knew what it was like to kill someone, it felt normal, fun even, like they were all old friends. 

Eventually, Shinsou decided to call it, checking his watch and yawning widely. 

“Color me surprised,” he said, stretching and then holding out a hand to Tomura, who felt simultaneously alarmed and pleased, “but I have slightly revised my judgment of your taste in men, Kyou.” 

Kyouyuu tensed beside him, frowning vaguely at the backhanded compliment but saying nothing, more concerned, he knew, with how he was going to navigate this interaction with regard to Decay. 

But instead, for the first time in his life, Tomura offered up a fist bump. Shinsou returned it without hesitation. 

“Good to meet you, dude,” and he left them alone. 

He turned to Kyouyuu to find her smiling at him, a little too smugly. 

“What,” but his defensive scowl didn’t deter her. 

“You made a friend!” she cooed, now positively beaming. 

He gave a low grunt. “C’mere and congratulate me properly,” smirking as he pulled her toward him. 

For someone so intimately accustomed to lack of touch, it was insane how quickly he’d craved her skin against his. And even though he’d only been awake for half of it, it had been a long day without her. He was like an addict in withdrawal. 

But she crawled into his lap just as eagerly, “I’m so –” and kissed his cheek, “–proud–” then the other, “–of you–” 

          - わくわく⁷ - 

- before covering his face with swift little pecks, her sudden resemblance to a chicken uncanny, so that Tomura was forcibly trying to withhold giggles from his chest like a fucking toddler. 

“Mmm,” he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and burrowed into her chest, unable to stop a little gasp passing his lips as her nails dragged lightly along his scalp. 

He heard her chuckle, “You really missed me, huh,” the sound muffled against his hair. 

“Uruse⁸,” nuzzling his face between her tits and slipping his hands beneath her shirt, running them up her spine, over her hips... 

He could feel the heat starting to pool between her legs where she straddled him, and she wasted no time as he looked up into her face to claim her lips, sending another entirely different warmth radiating through his chest. 

“I missed you, too, Tenko.” 

His eyes snapped open. 

“What?” 

She blushed slightly, “I… I mean I was worried of course –” 

“No, not that – what did you just call me?” 

But she merely blinked at him. 

“You said…” the name fell hesitantly off his lips, stirring something in his memory, maddeningly within reach but too foggy to grasp, 

“...Tenko.” 

Kyouyuu blinked at him again. 

“Oh – I did, didn’t I.” 

“Do it again,” he demanded, struck with a desperate need to know – 

The things he was missing – could she return them to him? 

– grabbing at her with spidery hands and kissing her fiercely, as if trying to taste the answers he sought, until she was gasping for breath – 

“Tenko- Tenko Shimura!” 

– and a glimpse of a bright shiny face, tiny and radiating with hope, beneath a mop of mussy black hair flashed briefly across his vision. 

“It’s… me,” he whispered. 

They sat there, all garnet and morganite eyes, gazing at each other unseeingly. 

“Further?” she asked him on an excited breath, and he nodded instantly. 

She leaned forward and he kissed her desperately again, but she brought a hand to his face, pulling back to whisper against his lips. 

“Slow down, Tomu…” and she ground her hips into him, her fingers playing at the edge of the borrowed shirt, "sink me deeper…” tickling the skin beneath, “make me lost in you –” 

He gripped the back of her neck and pulled her forcibly into a deep kiss. 

Say less.

Tiny delicate hands feathered up his chest — why was just touching him the most delicious of the sensations — as his own diligent fingers dipped beneath her waistband, grabbing and gripping at the luscious flesh and moving her against him. 

He let her pull the shirt over his head, gasping when she swooped onto him, her lips running along his sore neck, their chests moving in synchronized time.

And then stilling, all attention diverted, as she fished another fleeting image from the depths of his long forgotten memory: 

     Tiny arms wrapped around a warm figure… 

“Kaasan⁹?” 

He could feel the warmth, the gentle weight that enveloped him, as if transported in time into his mother’s arms. 

And another – 

     Small faces, blurred but clearly smiling, their laughter ringing across the playground. 

“Ten-chan, you be All Might,” he whispered in time with the child’s echoing voice. 

“You look so happy,” Kyouyuu smiled into his ravaged skin. 

The scenes were playing faster now – 

     A young girl dragged him by the wrist. 

     Showing him a secret. A photograph. 

     Anxious delight burst in his chest. 

– and something else… 

“Wait–” 

Something unsettling. Oppressive. 

It lurked in the background, like a ghost captured in a camera flash. 

          - BANG BANG BANG - 

They both jumped, heads snapping toward the pounding on the door. 

Still reeling slightly from the memories, his shoulders hunched, terror gripped him — his immediate thoughts on The League, of Sensei, finally hunting him down — and he could practically hear the gears whirring in her head, too. 

          - BANG BANG BANG BANG - 

A door opened down the hall and Shinsou shuffled toward them, blinking confusedly. 

“Who’s it…” His voice was annoyed and somewhat groggy as he rubbed his eyes against the still bright living room, then he paused, groaning at the sight of them –

“C’mon, really? In the living room?” 

– sounding a bit more sober as he reached for the door. 

“Wait!” he and Kyouyuu hissed simultaneously. 

Shinsou’s hand was outstretched but he stilled, staring at them, “Why?” 

          - BANG BANG BANG - 

“Hitoshi, Kyouyuu, let me in please.” 

Tomura watched the two siblings look at each other in confusion as the voice floated to them through the locked front door. 

Kyouyuu, not noticing his mounting panic, gently untangled herself from his lap as Shinsou rushed to unlock the deadbolt. 

“It’s just Jiji,” she breathed in relief, but froze when she caught sight of his face. 

“That voice…” he whispered just as the man rushed inside, immediately grasping Shinsou’s shoulder. 

Oh shit. 

“You’re alright,” the deep voice confirmed on a heavy exhale. 

“What’re you–” Shinsou started, but was cut off. 

“And Kyouyuu?” 

He was tensed, about to bolt — where, he didn’t know — when Kyouyuu grabbed him, holding their clasped hands up in plain sight, speaking slowly and calmly as the man’s frantic eyes settled on her. 

“Jiji, I can explain, but look I’m fine –” 

Her adopted father gave another deeper sigh of relief, as Shinsou continued questioning. 

“Sensei, why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at the training–” 

But Eraserhead’s hair had suddenly flown backward, his eyes ablaze with the activation of his Quirk as they’d settled on him. 

“You.”

Footnotes:
¹ し～～～ん :  ‘shiiiiiin’, onomatopoeia for ringing silence
² kitsune, kishu ken :  in Japanese folklore, a kitsune is a shapeshifting spirit traditionally depicted by a fox; a kishu ken is a Japanese hunting dog, often used for fox hunts  
³ Hajimemashite:  common introductory phrase, more or less ‘nice to meet you’
⁴ Ohayou:  good morning
⁵ Oyasumi:  good night
⁶ Tadaima / Okaeri:  common phrases exchanged upon someone arriving home, roughly translates as I’m home / welcome back respectively
⁷ わくわく :  ‘waku waku’, onomatopoeia, commonly used to depict excitement
⁸ Uruse:  shut up
⁹ Kaasan:  casual way to address one’s mother, equatable to ‘Mom’

Chapter Text

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

Kyouyuu’s ears were ringing. 

Shellshocked with sudden silence. 

     ⌜ •  ……  • ⌟     

She couldn’t feel him. 

Erasure hadn’t hit her, but it still left her disoriented, her breath catching from the great gulps of nothing issuing from his skin to hers. 

She couldn’t feel him. 

“Take your hands,” Jiji’s ferocity shot across the room in time with the binder cloth wrapping tightly around Tenko’s arms, “off my daughter.” 

Shinsou’s head was swiveling almost comically, visible confusion digging trenches into his typically calm features, as she watched him struggle to get his bearings of the battlefield into which their apartment had just devolved. 

Jiji's normally relaxed, slouching frame drawn taut with focus and the careful control of his signature binder cloth; Tenko pitching forward at the bindings but steadying himself, only not being outright dragged toward the Pro Hero, she suspected, for his fear of injuring her, too; her own sudden slack jawed expression from the gaping wound that was Tenko forcibly separated from her, despite his hand still being in hers.  

Despite him touching her — and she still couldn’t feel him. 

     ⌜ •  ……  • ⌟  

Lack of actual danger lay trampled beneath the palpable panic that had invaded the space, the couch and the few feet of space beyond a sprawling no-man’s land between two divisions of Truth. 

Tenko’s voice rumbled low and confident as he addressed her father. 

“Cool as always, Eraser.” 

     ⌜ •  ……  • ⌟  

“Let go of her, Shigaraki.” 

Heart pounding and desperate for a treaty amidst the stalemate of fear and understanding, Kyouyuu took a swift step across allied lines. 

“Jiji, it’s fine! He can’t –” 

“Just blink, Eraser, then you’ll see –” 

“Stand down, Tomur- Tenko,” she glared at him before holding their clasped hands as high as the binder would allow, “Look! Psychometry negates –” 

“Hitoshi!” 

“~Kyou, come here~” Shinsou called to her instantly at Jiji’s direction. 

“Damnit, would you liste–”

Her voice faltered, realization hitting her a half-second too late. 

He did FUCKING not. 

But he did. 

The absence of Tenko’s tumultuous presence, her frustration at the misconstrued situation and anxiety for their imminent fight, on top of sudden betrayal all coursed through her burning limbs, while her decision making center had gone blissfully blank. 

~Step away from him~ 

The nonverbal command reverberated through her entire being, and she felt her limbs move against her will. 

No, Shins, stop. Let me just… 

Her traitorous body turned slightly, already one step away from Tenko – 

You don't understand! Please! 

– the heel of her other foot lifting for another stride, her fingers lifeless as they began to slide from their proper place, in his. 

     ⌜ •  p...ct  • ⌟   

If she’d had the ability to, she would’ve gasped. 

The insight had crawled rather than rushed from Tenko’s skin to hers, extremely faint but mercifully, undeniably, there. 

“I’m not letting go, Shinsou-kun.” Tenko’s voice was distant as it filtered through her Brainwashed ears. “Don’t make her pull her own arm off.” 

Eraserhead gave a tch as Shinsou growled back, “~Don’t be familiar with me, Shigaraki~,” but Kyouyuu’s forward progress had stopped a few feet away from Tenko, her arm outstretched but hand still tight in his grasp. “~How’d you trick Kyouyuu into trusting you, villain?~” 

She was nearly offended that anyone could trick her with a Quirk like hers, then registered her brother’s attempt to get a rise out of the blue haired menace — did he actually realize who he was, too, or had he merely been following Jiji’s lead — and celebrated mutely when Tenko ignored him. 

He’d just experienced Shinsou’s Quirk this morning, after all. 

“Eraser, tell the Brainwasher to let Kyou go so she can explain. I know you won’t believe it from me.” 

He sounded so calm, the words delivered in his usual quiet cadence, swift and direct, as if bored - 

     ⌜ •  pr...ct  • ⌟  

- whereas she could feel her heartbeat echoing around the empty brain between her temples. 

But when no one moved and she wasn’t released, he spoke again, this time with a low growl. 

“You can’t keep those eyes open forever. Remember how well I know that? Hah, Eraserhead?” 

Kyouyuu mentally groaned at Tenko’s inability to stop himself from provoking Jiji despite the situation, but he seemed to think better of it himself, quickly switching tactics. 

     ⌜ •  pro...ect  • ⌟  

“Tell Shinsou-kun to release Kyouyuu, and I will, too. Then maybe we can all play some more video games and talk this over.” His voice still lilted with hostility but the words were much less confrontational. 

He was appealing to them both, reminding Shins of their recent merriment and alerting Jiji to the fact that they’d both been comfortable with him so far — since the bare chest and sherpa pants alone weren’t, apparently, enough evidence of this. 

Through foggy vision, she could see Shinsou frown and glance uncertainly toward his mentor. 

Please, please, please, Kyouyuu asked — begged — Shinsou in her mind. It wasn’t how his Quirk worked, but she couldn’t help it. 

Please, Shins, please, let me explain. 

If there was any chance he’d heard her, he ignored it. 

“Tell him, Eraser!” Tenko shouted, whatever small stores of patience he’d called upon to keep his voice calm evaporating like a puddle in a drought. 

     ⌜ •  protect  • ⌟  

Their mentor hesitated for only a moment longer, then nodded. 

She nearly splatted on the floor in her haste to move. The second she’d been released — by both Shinsou and Tenko — she leapt clumsily over the couch, the shortest route to her brother and to punching every part of him. 

“Ky–Kyou!” Shinsou scoffed, flinching away from her. 

“MotherFUCKER!” 

“Kyouyuu!” 

“You, too,” she shouted, abandoning Shinsou and rounding on Jiji, fists raised – 

“F-faux..tou..san¹…”  

The heat all but vanished as she remembered herself, looking up into the panic-stricken face of her first ever guardian and role model. 

Taking a steadying breath, she reached up to gently rest a hand on the binder cloth still stretched taut where it reached toward Tenko, before grumbling softly, “Let him go, Jiji. I can explain.” 

At the sudden chuckle behind her, the awe on the soft sound obvious only to her, the Pro Hero’s grip on the cloth tightened. 

Somehow refraining from rolling her eyes at the absolute troll she was actively trying to defend, she gripped the cloth too, pulling some slack back toward Tenko, before appealing again. 

"Shouta,” hoping the use of his given name would grab his attention, “I tried to tell you… Psychometry counters his Decay. We discovered it days ago." 

“That’s only half the issue, Kyouyuu!” His words formed around a grimace, eyes growing more bloodshot by the second. “He’s –” 

"– the face of The League of Villains… I– I know…" 

His eyes gleamed suddenly fiercer, but stayed trained on Tenko as he snarled, “You know?” 

“Jesus, Kyouyuu,” Shins interjected. 

“What do you mean, you know?” 

She sighed, turning swiftly and bracing for his snatching hand that thankfully didn’t come, walking pointedly back to Tenko — brilliant rubied eyes and soft smile alighting his face — and folding her fingers between his. 

     ⌜ •  adm…ration  • ⌟  

“I mean, I know. A lot more than you — than anyone — does, okay?” 

“What more?” Shins scoffed, but she ignored him, still incensed at how he’d used his Quirk on her despite his good intentions, “Than all that senseless destruction? Than murder?” he scoffed again at her silence, “Do you have any idea what all he’s done, Kyou?” 

She pinched the bridge of her nose, “Dad. Please,” screwing up her face against the judgment as much as the guilt — Jiji was a victim of the man beside her. It had to be agonizing for him to see her hand in hand with Tomura Shigaraki. 

“There’s more to the story. Just… trust me. Please.” 

     ⌜ •  unde…rving  • ⌟  

A pair of grimaces stared back at her, eyes wide and noses wrinkling — with disgust, anger? 

But Shinsou’s features were pinching inward again, and Kyouyuu wondered if he was finding himself in the same position she’d been in last night — trying to measure the young punk he’d spent the evening gaming with to the famous villain. 

Her adopted father’s grimace intensified, teeth bared and grinding — he had to have surpassed his limit a long time ago — and after another tense moment, he finally let his red ringed eyes blink slowly closed. 

          ⌜ •  A  D  O  R  A  T  I  O  N  • ⌟   

Her whole body flinched. 

The incredible force of Tenko’s renewed presence was like a speaker playing directly into her eardrums, assaulting her with thunderous feeling and billowing energy. 

But she didn’t care, lifting on her toes and flinging her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against his. 

Reveling in him, body and soul. 

     ⌜ •  BEMUSEMENT  • ⌟   

           ⌞ •  AWE  • ⌝  

As Ataeyuko hastened to readjust her shield against the onslaught — the cacophony that surged from his skin softening and returning to manageable levels — it clicked. 

She hadn’t realized how much she’d acclimated to him over the past two days. When Erasure activated, it had silenced his energy so completely that it seemed her shield was actually effective against him. 

And, perhaps more surprisingly, she hadn’t realized how much she’d come to enjoy his presence, aching and reeling in his absence. 

     ⌜ •  GRATITUDE  • ⌟  

           ⌞ •  affection  • ⌝  

Tenko’s hands had wrapped around her waist eagerly in response to her embrace, but they now gently slid back across her skin, pushing her away by the hips, despite his sly smile. 

“Not that I’m not loving this –” 

     ⌜ •  want  • ⌟   

“– but Eraser is about a second away from binding me again.” 

As she lowered her feet fully to the floor, she swayed slightly — apparently somewhat dizzy from the cacophony despite her appreciation of it — and he caught her. 

Holding tight to his fingers, she stepped to his side, turning her attention back to the visibility disturbed but still silent two other occupants of the room, determined to prove her point. 

Raising their clasped hands up in emphasis, she smiled at them, "see?" 

     ⌜ •  exasperation  • ⌟   

           ⌞ •  pride  • ⌝  

Shinsou's expression was still deeply mired in confusion, but Jiji merely looked exhausted, those piercing eyes pained. 

She sighed again, “We… have a lot to talk about. I’ll make some tea.” 

Speaking directly to the Pro Hero, she gestured toward the dining table, "Please come sit, and refrain from binding Tenko," before squeezing the strong hand in hers and looking up into the war-torn face of the young villain she'd decided to save, "He will be on his best behavior." 

Tenko, in a moment of significant tactfulness, smirked but successfully held back his chuckle, clearing his throat and releasing her hand to wrap a steadying arm around her — she was still a little wobbly — careful not to touch her bare skin. 

She saw Jiji stiffen at the movement, a muscle jumping in his jaw, but he passed them without comment. 

No one spoke as Kyouyuu busied herself with making tea, and Tenko — after hurriedly re-donning the loaned shirt — didn't leave her side. 

By the time she delivered the tray and distributed mugs, Jiji was staring daggers at Tenko, silently fuming. 

Something definitely happened. 

It had to be the reason for his unannounced visit, pounding down their door in the dead of night. 

And when they finally sat, it burst out of him, venom dripping from every word. 

"We were attacked tonight."

She felt Tenko stiffen beside her as she, too, steeled herself against Jiji's news. 

"Ten members of The League of Villains gained access to the undisclosed location of our training camp and engaged in hostilities, targeting students." 

Shinsou's head snapped to Jiji, blustering, asking about his classmates' safety, but those glittering black eyes stayed locked on hers. 

"You'll notice," it was an effort to keep her voice steady at this revelation, "that Tenko is and has been here with me for the past two days." 

Tenko winced, "Kyou–" 

"They succeeded." 

          - し～～～ん² -

"Who..?" Shinsou trailed off as if afraid to finish his question. 

"They took Katsuki Bakugou," Jiji spat, his eyes moving from Kyouyuu's frozen face to Tenko's tensed frame. 

"It figures," Tenko gave a hollow laugh, "The League's only successful mission is the one I didn't witness…" 

Kyouyuu could hear the layered bitterness in his voice, but the other two did not. 

Shinsou sprang to his feet, hands on the table –

“Bastar–”

“What was the intent, Shigaraki? Why Bakugou?” 

Tenko stared at the table, “My intent... hah... 

“All I wanted was to break things I don’t like. All Might. And the society that worships him. I wanted to destroy all those self-righteous narcissists who are just as likely to let you suffer if you’re in their way or off their radar.” 

In many ways, Kyouyuu had heard this before. 

Between all of his contemptuous commentary, sadistic sarcasm, and the story he shared last night, she knew his feelings on heroes. 

But to hear it spelled out like this… with such personal criticism… 

As if pulled by gravity, she reached for him, small fingers gently wrapping around one of his. 

     ⌜ •  disdain  • ⌟  

He flinched at her touch, but didn’t shrug her off as he continued. 

“Then the media started piecemealing that guy’s actions with ours, and we became something else without even trying.” 

Jiji interrupted, apparently skeptical, “You weren’t connected with the Hero Killer?” 

Tenko’s hands clenched, “Tch. That idiot, Kurogiri, decided it’d be a good idea to bring him in. But there was no way I could work with someone who venerated All Might. Our goals were aligned but our ideals were opposed. I wanted to break him, too.” 

“And that’s why you attacked Hosu,” Jiji deadpanned, glaring at him. 

     ⌜ •  resentment  • ⌟

“Aa… I wanted to overshadow him and we wound up the damn sidestory.” 

“You knew all of this, Kyouyuu?” Shinsou was staring at her incredulously, and, after several moments of her stubborn, stony silence, added, “I’m not going to Brainwash you.” 

“Parts of it…” she admitted, “Psychometry uncovered some of it last night –” 

“That’s what this morning was about? And you kept him here?” 

“I told you, it’s not the full –” 

“Quiet!” their mutual mentor cut across them, his piercing eyes glowing again, sable tendrils blown backward on a phantom gail, “There’ll be time for airing grievances later! This is bigger than your egos.” 

Shinsou huffed and sat back in his chair, Kyouyuu following suit, nails biting little crescents into her palms, and both of them glaring in opposite directions. 

Hair settling back around his shoulders and blinking slowly, Jiji turned back to Tenko, “So you sent the Nomu for revenge on Stain and the media put you in league together. Tell me how that relates to Bakugou.” 

Scratching his neck with his free hand, Tenko plowed on. 

“With all those people looking to follow in Stain’s footsteps, the media gave them a place to go — crawling from the shadows right to our doorstep — and the goal shifted. Now The League’s purpose is to overturn hero society. To expose their true nature as greedy, idealistic fakes. 

“The plan was to drive this home with the help of one of those bright shiny hero students. With the shift in ideals, it wasn’t enough to throw a bunch of low-level criminals at UA. The whole school needed to be brought down. From the inside. For all to see. 

“Katuski Bakugou looked to me like someone who is trying to fit a mold that isn’t made for him. He likes winning. And violence. But the fragile hero image can’t abide that attitude.” 

     ⌜ •  misgivings  • ⌟

“And so, I thought we could offer him more of what he already sought. Thought that maybe he needed that choice.”  

Jiji’s voice was cold but calm when he finally spoke. 

“If you gleaned that from his performance at the Sports Festival and thought you saw an opening, you’re pretty short sighted. Bakugou’s behavior, his aggression and over-active ambition, all stem from his vision of ‘ideal strength.’ He is trying harder than anyone to become the greatest hero. He will not fold to your criminal aims.” 

For some reason, Kyouyuu felt something… familiar traverse their touching skin. It wasn’t an emotion, or even really a feeling. 

She didn’t really know why, but it felt… like a color. A vague, yet intimate, shimmering hue. 

And then, to everyone’s surprise, Tenko nodded. 

“I… can understand that… now.” 

“You ‘can understand that’?” Shinsou’s voice rose again, but he remained seated, “You put in a lot of effort for such flippant perspectives?”  

“Well, I wasn’t really–” Tenko started hesitantly, but Kyouyuu cut across him, flaring up again. 

“Tenko may be the public face of The League, but he isn’t the head!” She sensed Tenko’s downward gaze shift toward her, eyeing her from his peripherals as she shouted Shinsou down. “He’s been groomed since childhood to be a figurehead — a puppet for the real monster behind the curtain.” 

She registered dully that she'd never before raised her voice toward her brother and wondered if, had it not been for Tenko, they would have otherwise ever had a conversation like this. 

“So he’s innocent?!” Shinsou scoffed. 

Kyouyuu immediately replied, “Yes!” 

As Tenko, in the same breath, muttered, “No.” 

All eyes turned to him. 

“Tenko…” 

He looked, she realized, the same as he had the time they'd first crossed paths, not a block from the apartment in which they all sat. 

When his fingers had brushed hers ever so slightly. 

When his despair had leapt at her soul. 

“How you were raised isn’t your fault.” 

She reached for his face, palming his cheek, and for a moment, he let her turn his head to her, leaning into her touch, his blazing eyes flickering beneath drooping lids. 

But then he pulled her hand away – 

     ⌜ •  autonomy  • ⌟   

           ⌞ •  pride  • ⌝  

     ⌜ •  responsibility  • ⌟   

– careful to use only three fingers as he did so. 

“Maybe." 

His voice was quiet, his features blank. 

"Bad parenting doesn't directly equate to innocence, Kyouyuu," Shinsou groaned with a patronizingly patient air, "Half the world could be excused with that logic." 

"Maybe it should be!" 

"Come on, don't be childish –" 

Talking over them again, Jiji directed the conversation back to Tenko. 

"Explain, Shigaraki," fixing him with a steely glare, "what makes you shirk Kyouyuu's defense." 

Tenko blinked at the question, surprise flitting through him at being addressed with genuine intrigue. 

"Oh," he fumbled, scratching, "I’ve… known, in a way, all along. What he was doing. Carefully bending me toward his way of thinking. 

"I didn't fight it. Not really. He persuaded me to use Decay, which seemed to please him. And it stopped the itching… It was mutually beneficial." 

But Jiji pressed him. 

"Illegal use of Quirks is not your only offense. Do you claim innocence to conspiracy and attempted homicide?" 

Tenko glowered at the table. 

     ⌜ •  autonomy  • ⌟   

           ⌞ •  confusion  • ⌝  

     ⌜ •  failure  • ⌟

           ⌞ •  despair  • ⌝  

"Who made those plans? You? Or your Master?" 

     ⌜ •  pride  • ⌟

           ⌞ •  despair  • ⌝  

"I– they were mine. My efforts. My failures." 

"And whose aims?" 

     ⌜ •  responsibility  • ⌟

           ⌞ •  confusion  • ⌝  

"I wanted to destroy All Might. They were mine." 

"Why." 

"Because I hate him." 

"Why." 

"He– he irritates me!" His hand twitched in Kyouyuu's, glaring at Jiji, "How he smiles. As if there was no one he couldn't save. And people believe that." 

"Did you believe that –" 

     ⌜ •  shock  • ⌟

"– that All Might would save you?" 

"What?" Tenko growled, "No! I would never– wouldn't want –"

"Then, do you believe your Master saved you?" 

Kyouyuu chilled. 

The intense UA teacher was used to working with lost souls, skilled at getting them to divulge things that they hadn’t quite understood themselves. She suspected it was what he was attempting to do now, and while she appreciated this, she couldn’t yet see his end goal. 

But his latest inquiry had set something off within Tenko. 

His skin was screaming. 

Raging and hurling vulgarities at Eraser's veiled insult. 

Not wanting to admit the truth. 

"No one did," he said at last, "I wasn’t saved at all." 

     ⌜ •  failed  • ⌟

Her heart throbbed horribly. 

"There was just me. Sensei gave me shelter, survival tools. And I used them how I liked." 

     ⌜ •  failure  • ⌟

An ache burned through her like a forest fire, choking her, tears attempting to quell the flames blurring her unwavering gaze. 

Finally, he returned it, head tilting slightly in her direction, one blood red gem piercing her to the bone. 

“I would’ve Decayed the whole world to get what I wanted.” 

     ⌜ •  demon  • ⌟

Kyouyuu swallowed — the bitter pain in his voice, on his skin, flooded her mouth as if she were going to be sick. 

“Just like you were taught, Tenko.” 

His gaze lingered a moment longer, dropping to her lips before chuckling softly, shaking his head. 

     ⌜ •  exasperation  • ⌟  

“Determined to defend me, huh…” 

           ⌞ •  martyr  • ⌝  

Unsmiling, Kyouyuu pulled the hand clasped in hers to her lips. 

Truthfully, Tenko was right — she knew her defense was too biased, too unreasonable. 

But she had to do this. 

'Your world has no tolerance for people like me… so I’ll reject it right back.' 

There had to be another answer, even if she had to force it. 

     ⌜ •  °  •  balance  •  °  •  ⌟   

Her brows furrowed, imagining all the carnage these destructive hands had wrought — the cracking of skin and evaporation of blood, the spoiling of muscle and decomposition of form. 

Nature in grizzly fast forward. 

I will gladly bury these sins of yours so that you may walk away from the grave. 

The words had come unbidden, yet so clearly, to her mind that she shocked even herself, a cold shiver dripping slowly down her spine at the fervor with which she believed them. By attempting to alleviate his burden, she wasn’t ensuring he would walk away unsoiled, but that he would walk away. 

Shinsou was eyeing her reproachfully, and she dropped their clasped hands to her lap, jumping slightly as Jiji pressed forward. 

“ ‘Would have,’ ” he quoted the despairing youth, “Do you no longer intend to destroy all in search of your ambition?” 

Tenko sat back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. 

She could sense his exhaustion, his wariness at being prodded like this.  

“For as long as I can remember, I hated everything. So I didn’t care about the things I destroyed. They didn’t matter…” 

Despite the way his sentence trailed off, he had paused for so long she almost thought he was done speaking. 

     ⌜ •  mine  • ⌟   

But he added, nearly inaudibly, “Now… there are things… I want to keep…” 

She blushed. 

“Kyouyuu is not an object to be retained in a safe, Shigaraki.” Jiji’s voice was soft, despite the distaste that rang in it. “Even if you cannot harm her, others can.” 

Tenko cocked his head at him in challenge. 

“And beyond that, what happens when your whims change again?” Ignoring the way the young villain’s eyes narrowed, Jiji leaned forward onto his elbows, hands threading patiently in front of his face. “When you find another way to achieve your latest ambitions?” His head tipped patronizingly at the emphasized word. 

“Who is to say you won’t again betray those whom you claim have your allegiance.” 

     ⌜ •  NO  • ⌟   

With a nervous glance at Tenko, she tightened her grip on the fingers grasped in hers, feeling his temper rising at Jiji’s implication that he would, inevitably, turn on her, too. 

          ⌞ •  irritation  • ⌝  

     ⌜ •  disgust  • ⌟      ⌞ •  indignation  • ⌝  

          ⌜ •  protection  • ⌟

⌞ •  possession  • ⌝  

          ⌜ •  fury  • ⌟   

     ⌞ •  determination  • ⌝  

“That will not happen.” 

Jiji stared at him a moment longer, then straightened again, dropping his hands to the table, crossed at the wrists. 

“And how will you prove it to us… Tenko.” 

All of their heads snapped to him at the use of his true name, Shinsou sputtering “S-sensei?” 

“I will not trust the flippant declarations of a villain. So convince me you mean what you say — that you are committed to my daughter, to protecting her and the world in which she resides. 

“What will you do to secure that future?” 

Her father’s onyx eyes bored into Tenko’s crimson ones, accosting the youth with a stare intimately familiar to any one of his students. 

Challenging him to grow. 

Jiji… 

“Kyouyuu is and will continue to sacrifice much, even if she does not admit it, to harbor you. How will you protect her while your comrades roam free?” 

Tenko’s jaw clenched tight, staring wide eyed at the hero who was offering him trust in exchange for his cooperation. 

     ⌜ •  conviction  • ⌟  

“Give me the remaining details of the plan. Share everything you can to help me rescue my student.” 

Kyouyuu could feel the intensity radiating from him as he spoke — filling the room and making his presence feel ten times his size — and remembered exactly why Shouta Aizawa – Pro Hero, Stellar Teacher, and Protective Father to All – was not to be crossed. 

“Tell us, Tenko,” a mocking smirk tilted the corners of his lips, bloodshot eyes glaring across the small dining table at the famous villain, daring him to deny him the information he sought, “Who is the man behind the curtain?” 

For a moment, it was silent, the entire apartment lying in wait. 

And then Tenko swallowed. 

     ⌜ •  conviction  • ⌟  

“He once told me his name was Shigaraki,” shaking his head as though he wasn’t sure this was the truth. 

“But most know him as All for One.” 

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

These kids were going to be the death of him. 

He’d said it every single day since accepting his UA teaching position years ago, and today, he’d said it twice. 

Once for his students. 

And once for his kids. 

Apparently, the habit of adopting strays had been passed down the family line. Although, Shouta could never say he’d adopted a villain — Kyouyuu was on some next gen shit. 

She’d caught him, gentle hand grasping his sleeve just as he’d passed through the front door, and now stood before him, twisting and wringing her fingers with her eyes downcast, blatantly requesting his presence but not speaking. 

Hitoshi had already stormed off to bed, needing to process the events of the evening, the last straw of which had been the blow up with his sister. Shouta didn’t think they’d ever fought before, probably had never had a reason to, the two were so alike: calm mannered and accepting. But this had been hard to witness, both sides justifiably aggrieved, neither willing to back down… yet. 

If he knew them, and he did, they’d come around once they each cooled off. 

The very source of debate, the Not-Final Boss himself, was still sitting at the dining table, elbows propped and running his hands through his hair. He’d watched the fight silently, heavy eyes gazing unblinkingly as the pseudo-siblings argued about him like he wasn’t there. And maybe he wasn’t. It was hard to see anything at all in those dead red eyes. 

But Kyouyuu could. And that was enough for Shouta. 

In just over two years, he’d watched her grow from a crude, timid teenager into a dynamic and competent young woman. And with her Quirk quite literally a judge of character, she could read people, like it or not, better than anyone. 

She’d seen through Tomura Shigaraki to the tortured soul within. 

Who else could do something like that — he doubted she even understood that significance at this point, not seeing the forest for the trees — and who was he to argue or dissuade her. 

Concern, though… Oh, he had every right to be concerned. 

She was only his daughter by technicality, so it wasn’t like he had any right to tell her who she could or couldn’t ‘date,’ but, the idea of Kyouyuu falling for a (former) deadly villain didn’t make him overly ecstatic. 

Even if this somehow worked out remotely okay — if Shigaraki successfully avoided capture, either by hero or (former) allies, and was allowed a second chance at life — Shouta would never again know peace for worrying about them… 

That aspect aside, a dark twisting path trailed out before the kid — haunted by animosity, blame, and fear but led to recovery, should he survive it — which she’d chosen to walk with him, hand in hand. 

It would not be painless. 

And Shouta hated seeing his kids suffer, which was why they would be the bloody death of him. 

“Speak, Kyouyuu.” The words spilled out harsher than he’d intended — he was so tired — and he attempted to soften them. “You’ll regret it if you don’t get it off your mind.” 

“I…” she started, gulping and forcibly stilling her hands, clasping them as she leaned forward in a deep bow, “I betrayed you, Sensei.” 

Shouta blinked. Her honorifics were back, for one thing, but that wasn't what he'd thought was on her mind at all. 

Her voice was hushed, wavering with emotion. “Truly, I forgot– just wasn’t thinking… about what happened at the USJ, but even after I remembered… I mean, I had to but– I protected him, even though he injured you." 

She took a shaky breath and continued, “I plan to make it right. I’ll make everything right.” 

He tilted his head, his shoulders falling, gazing at her – 

Yes, undoubtedly these kids are gonna kill me… but… 

– a resigned smile tugging at his lips. 

Gently grasping her shoulders, he pulled her upright. He felt her freeze a moment — neither one of them were much for outward shows of affection, and even this small act of pulling her out of a bow was tantamount to a hug to them — before she looking up into his face. 

“That was never my concern, Kyouyuu. My first and only concern will always be your safety. You did not betray me–” 

“But–” 

“You are not accountable for anyone else's actions. Even defending the young man now, I know you are not defending his entire history,” a sigh left him against his will — gods he was tired — before continuing, “I don’t have Psychometry, but I understand empathy. And as such, I understand why you feel the way you do about him.” 

She was no longer looking at him, her brows furrowed, bottom lip curled in as she nibbled on it. 

He knew that expression well — that resistance, hearing his words but not accepting them. 

Insisting on being responsible. 

Withholding yet another sigh, Shouta pressed her. 

“You want to save him, right?” 

At his question, Kyouyuu’s small face softened, releasing her gnawed lip as her mouth settled into the ghost of a smile. When she finally looked up at him, her eyes gleamed with the hope that youth embodied so naturally, that he saw in each of his students each day. 

That gave him hope, too. 

She nodded, sniffing, the corner of her lip twitching. 

That’s my girl. 

“Then your actions were aligned with your goal. You would have been betraying him at a pivotal time by favoring me,” he commended her with the finality of a teacher completing a lesson, then added, more softly, “I thank you for considering my feelings, but there’s nothing to forgive, Kyouyuu.” 

She sniffed again, smiling, “Thanks… Tousan³.” 

Shouta was grateful for the binder cloth that casually obscured half of his face, successfully hiding a soft smile of his own. 

“Try to make up with your brother,” he offered a final admonishment over his shoulder as he headed toward the sidewalk, “He was only trying to protect you, alright? Oyasumi⁴.” 

And as the night encompassed him, he raised a hand in goodbye to the reluctant note of agreement issued to his back. 

Kids… 

The walk back to campus was short and uneventful, Lady Darkness's final hour before the dawn graciously giving him some small reprieve. Giving him time to think. 

There was a spy in their midst. 

After tonight, this was undeniable. Only those present in the forest had known the training camp’s location, and yet they'd been discovered. 

It was one of the first things he'd pressed the young villain on, but it seemed the Master had played his cards well.

"I don't know who it is,” Shigaraki had admitted, scratching absently at one of a hundred scabs on his neck and shaking his head, “Sensei never told me, but it's likely either a student or the family of one." 

Just hearing the words had pierced him. But the valid explanation was worse, a molten hot blade twisting in the wound. 

"Why?" 

"The odds are greater,” Shouta had watched the young villain’s posture change, drawing a heel up on his seat where his laced fingers settled with ease on his knee, “Forty-some kids to six adults, right?” his tone contemplative as he had explained his logic, "It'd be much easier to hide, much less likely to be suspected.” 

"Plus,” he’d noted, his laced hands gesturing outward as casually as if he were discussing the weather, “people are easier to manipulate if there're kids involved… so if I had to guess, Sensei has someone in his debt who's close to a student." 

"How do you know this." 

"It's just what he does,” he’d sighed, sounding somewhere between awed and resentful, “Sensei loves to help people. He made a business of it. Never without a smile and quick with his 'generosity.' ” Shigaraki’s voice had dripped with sarcasm on the word. “He draws them in with gifts, charity. Not insignificant acts, either. Loans, Quirk exchanges, protection. 'Of course of course,' is his practiced response to their fawning and thanks. 'Those with the ability to act, should!' 

"And then he'll call in his favor." 

It was the worst case scenario Shouta could envision, distrusting and being suspicious of his students. Of one of them betraying their peers and seniors to repay a debt they might not have even acquired themselves. 

He forced himself to put those dark thoughts aside. With no real leads, all that path would deliver would be paranoia and resentment. There were other things to worry about.

Like what to do with the intel he had just accumulated in the last couple hours. 

All for One. 

A man of genius intellect and great power, skilled in manipulation and working from the shadows, with the power to steal and harbor Quirks, and self-described nemesis of All Might. 

The Symbol of Fear. 

This was the man who puppeteered Shigaraki and The League of Villains, who was engineering Nomu by passing on stolen Quirks. 

“Ragdoll is also missing - was she part of the plan as well?” 

“No, only select students were targets. But if she was taken,” the young villain had hesitated a moment, as if knowing what he was about to say would earn him more looks of disgust, “then her Quirk must have been deemed desirable.” 

“Search.” 

The word had thudded out of Shouta’s mouth. Of course it was desirable. 

Shigaraki had frozen upon hearing the Quirk’s name, his eyes reduced to pinpricks, and Kyouyuu had asked the question evidently surging through his mind. 

“So if he steals Search, he can locate Tenko?” 

“No. Search stores data on those Ragdoll observes. She hasn’t seen Shi– Tenko, so he should be safe.” 

‘For now…’ 

They’d all thought it in the silence that followed that revelation. 

Eventually, whenever All For One decided to cultivate Search, everyone at the training camp would become a living drop pin. And if Search did ever observe Shigaraki — or, he forced himself to understand the grave possibility, either of his kids — they would never be safe again. 

In the meantime, however, Bakugou was priority number one. 

Shigaraki had given him the location and details of The League’s current hideout. But he couldn’t barge straight to police headquarters without a reason for knowing that information. Without knowing who to trust, he couldn’t reveal the information about Shigaraki without putting his kids in danger. 

But he also couldn’t just withhold all the information he now had, especially if it was essential to Bakugou's rescue. 

A few hours. 

He would be debriefed by the police in a few hours. 

Shigaraki had described the targets as ‘valuable pieces,’ so there was no reason to believe The League posed Bakugou immediate harm. Still, the kid was a natural instigator, so it was only a matter of time till he pissed them off enough… 

A few hours, Bakugou. Hold on a few hours. 

Footnotes:
¹ Faux-Tou-san:  one of Kyouyuu’s nicknames for Aizawa, this one plays off of Otou-san, a respectful way to address one’s father
² し～～～ん :  ‘shiiiiiin’, onomatopoeia for ringing silence
³ Tousan:  casual way to address one’s father, equatable to ‘Dad’
⁴ Oyasumi:  good night

Chapter Text

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

          - TWIRL TWIRL - 

                    - TWIRL TWIRL - 

Last night had been so much fun! 

Invading UA’s training camp with all of her new friends, and making some more! 

          - GIGGLE - 

Himiko hadn’t had a reason to be this happy in a very long time, and this excursion had been the absolute best! 

She was over the moon! 

Whipping her favorite knife out of its sheath, she twirled it — one, two, three, four — between her fingers in time with her body, bringing it to her nose at the end of each count to savor the lingering scents of her new friends. 

Performing a spinning leap onto the bar counter, she settled in contentedly beside Spinny-san, who narrowed his pretty reptilian eyes at her and huffed, “You seem irrationally pleased for someone who only completed half her mission, Toga…” 

She gave a short little giggle and leaned into his face until she could see every detail of those scales slowly tinging with extra color. 

“Ne, ne,” she circled her arm delicately around his head, dangling her knife tauntingly as his fluffy pink hair tickled her forearm, “I got one person’s blood. Which is better than none, ne?” 

He huffed again, turning away from her and crossing his super-toned arms. 

“Toga-chan," Mr. Compressy called on an exasperated sigh, "manage your expectations a little more,” scolding her from across the room, “One is better than none, but you were supposed to get three. Aim higher next time.” 

“M’kayyyy!” 

Next time... 

Himiko clenched her fists to keep from squealing, bunching the ends of her sweater sleeves. 

I want to spend more time with you, Tsu-chan, Ochako-chan! 

A furious heat rose in her cheeks as she once more cuddled the knife bearing her friends’ scents close to her chest, eyes nearly rolling back in her head as she imagined all the fun they’d have. 

Ochako-chan, Tsu-chan – daisuki¹! 

Several loud BANGs brought her out of her reverie, muffled but carrying through the door, beyond which the League’s latest recruit had renewed his storming and raging. 

And that boy knows Izuku-kun… 

She shuddered in delight. 

“Kid needs to fuckin’ chill.” At Dabi’s cool grumbling, Himiko swept her gaze to where he slouched against the wall. “It was such a pain to get him in those damn restraints, I'll kill him if he gets out…” letting her eyes dart around the room to each of her League-mates' in turn, cataloging their reactions to the deep growling yells. 

“He won't – no way,” Twicy answered immediately, "I made sure they were good and tight. You didn't do any work, Dabi! He’s probably just knocking them around in anger. Such a considerate guest.”  

Magnee-chan² scratched at a spot between her eyes, “What are we waiting for anyway? We got the little twerp,” adjusting her sunglasses and turning to the bar, “now what?” 

“We are letting the young man decompress, Miss Magne,” Misty-san responded without even looking up, continuing to wipe at bar glasses. “It will do no good to speak with him at present.” Then, in a quieter but stern voice he added, “Please do not sit on the bar, Miss Toga.” 

Dabi gave a tch, which she imitated as she hopped from the counter – 

          - CHU³ - 

– in time to watch Spinny-san frown into his crossed arms and close his eyes. 

Despite her own giddiness, Himiko knew why everyone was frustrated. They'd all hurried back here, victorious but exhausted and a few members short, and now they were just sitting. 

It was a little maddening. 

But there was a good reason! Her League-mates were smart. Strong. 

They weren't just standing still. They were waiting. 

There was a difference. 

They had a plan. 

Handsy had a plan. 

“We’re waiting for Tomura-kun, too, ne? Ne, Misty Man, when is Tomura-kun coming back?” 

She had been hoping to see him again soon. They had been about to play such a fun game — she and Tomura-kun and Dabi —  before Mr. Misty stopped them. She wanted a rematch. 

And she would definitely stick him this time! 

That was so long ago… 

Misty-san had told them not to worry when Mr. Grumpy Hands had left the bar, that he’d return once he’d walked off his irritations, probably after a few hours. 

Apparently, he hadn’t. 

But Tomura-kun is the kind of guy who does whatever he wants, ne? So wherever he is, he’s probably happy, ne? 

She grinned expectantly at the misty butler. 

Except Mr. Mist didn’t look up at her, and didn’t say anything either. 

Eyes sweeping the room again, she clocked the others’ faces, either locked on her or Misty-san, wearing various levels of glares and scowls. 

“What,” she deadpanned. 

“Tomura Shigaraki…” the black mist murmured. 

There was another heartbeat of silence, and then – 

“A valid question, Toga-chan. Your concern is noted and appreciated.” 

– in the corner of the room, the TV with a grainy image that read ‘AUDIO ONLY’ spoke. 

Himiko stared at the screen in surprise for a moment, then cocked her head daintily, plastering a smile to her lips. 

Just as she’d thought — the TV was listening. 

“I can see you all share some amount of worry for Tomura, so allow me to put your minds at ease.” 

The soft cheery voice issuing from the old tube television sounded kind – 

          - ひゃっ~~~~⁴ - 

– gentle and giving, speaking words of comfort to the group. 

Himiko's eyes danced over her League-mates' faces again as the TV spoke. Except for the fact that their attentions were now on the screen instead of herself or Misty-san, their expressions were unchanged.

“Tomura has been in my care for a long, long time and, in many ways, is still a child, prone to tantrums. But as his teacher, I am unworried that his absence will continue much longer. He is an assiduous, if slow, learner, and this is but another lesson:  

“Realizing where he is meant to be, in the end…” 

Himiko clenched her jaws tight shut as an imperceptible chill started at the top of her head and trickled down her spine into her limbs – 

“…and how foolish it would be to try to hide from his obligations.” 

– and without knowing how, she knew the voice’s owner was smiling. 

“That’s great an’ all, but who calls the shots now that the boss’s dipped?” Dabi drawled from his corner, rooting around casually in his pocket and withdrawing a hand-rolled cigarette. "This guy," he thumbed at Misty-san, "just keeps tellin’ us to wait…” 

Lighting the joint with his fingers, he took a deep drag and held it, glancing around at them all before exhaling in a sharp stream and continuing. 

“Dunno ‘bout you all, but I’m gettin’ antsy just sittin' around for the cops to track us down.” 

“I agree,” Spinny-san seconded, who didn’t unfurl his arms but finally opened his eyes to look skeptically toward the ‘AUDIO ONLY’ image. “I came here to progress Stain’s ideals, not babysit kidnapped students. I was under the impression The League was more organized than this. Was there even a plan for what to do with the kid once we’d lifted him?” 

If the TV had had eyes, Himiko suspected they would be lasered in on her scaly co-member. Spinny-san seemed to sense this, too, with the way he shrunk into himself, eyes widening and lips pulling into a more pronounced grimace with each beat of silence. 

Finally, it spoke again. 

“Not to worry, Iguchi-kun,” the voice was the softest and sweetest it had been yet, and Himiko actually crossed her ankles to keep from bouncing in anxiety. “There will be plenty of work for you all shortly. And do not bother yourselves about the pesky police. Do you think I am the type of man who would abandon his friends?” 

“N-no, sir.” 

The TV chuckled softly, then silence fell again. 

“Didn’t answer my question, though…” Dabi noted on another cloud of smoke. 

Kakkoii⁵!!! He's not afraid of the TV!!! 

“Tomura Shigaraki intended to appeal to the boy, and that's how we'll proceed.” Mr. Misty had narrowed the complimentary colored splats that served as his eyes, his cadence chopped and harsher than his normal proper speech, but when he turned back to his glass wiping and continued, the bite was replaced with hesitation. “However, while the youth’s volatile nature is what appealed to Tomura, I do not believe he expected such… resistance.” 

“So we’re made to clean up the mess for the boss’s lack of foresight?” 

“I don’t see you doing any cleaning up, Dabi…” Big Sis threw a look in the smoking man’s direction – 

Heehee get ‘im Big Sis! 

– as Twicy interjected, “Hey, hey, fuck him up! Let’s not fight amongst ourselves. I wanna!” 

Himiko was getting excited again, the surge of energy in the room winding her up at the prospect of doing something, rocking on her heels as the others tossed complaints and insults back at each other until it bubbled over. 

“Ne, ne,” she tugged on Spinny-san’s strong scaly arm, “Lemme go talk to him, hmm??” merely grasping harder as he blushed and tried to shake her off, “I can be friends with him, can’t I? Can’t I?” 

Himiko could barely contain her elation at the thought of finding out more about her two new best friends and her bloodied up crush. 

“I want to be friends with him!” she bounced, pleading into the green man’s face, “I want to be him and ask him about his friends!” 

“Whatever!” the heteromorph finally ripped his arm away, “Just keep off of me,” and she felt herself lifted from the ground by the back of her sweater, dangling like a scruffed cat at arms length away from him. 

          - GASP - 

“Really?” Giggling and gasping, she grabbed the wrist that was scruffing her with both hands and swung herself like a pendulum, sideways and upward, breaking free of his hold as she turned fully upside-down, using her grip on his wrist to twist mid-air, “Really?? I can talk to him?” and landed seated on his shoulders. 

“No.” 

Spinny-san’s spluttering and struggling halted, and Himiko narrowed her eyes at the low command from the corner. 

“No, you’re only allowed to talk to the kid if we need to dispose of him in several places…” 

Smiling her sweetest smile at him — it didn’t reach her eyes — her fingers inched toward her knife, her manic grin falling open to retort when the TV interrupted. 

“Very good, Dabi. It seems you have remembered you were the leader of this mission after all.” 

No one moved. Or spoke. Or breathed. 

Even Mr. Misty paused his cleaning.  

Again, the voice issuing from the ancient box was cheerful, encouraging. 

And again, Himiko’s skin erupted with chills as its booming chuckle echoed around the bar. 

"What a wonderful asset to have in Tomura's absence! I have no doubt you will greatly enhance his position upon his return. You all will." 

And the TV spoke no more. 

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

Things were quiet despite the tension that still hung heavy in the apartment. 

After the fucking mess of last night, Tomura, unsurprisingly, hadn’t been able to sleep and eventually caved to his need for distraction, carefully detangling himself from Kyouyuu and hoping to slip out to the living room to game. But she’d roused immediately and point blank refused to be separated from him, following him to the couch and curling up in his lap while he started an old RPG with a long campaign. 

A few hours had passed, the sun now peaking its way through the windows to taunt him, and he heard soft noises from the kitchen. Shortly after, Shinsou emerged, and, without sparing so much as a glance to either of them, left. 

“–’ve never ‘ought before.” 

He jumped at the small voice gravelly with sleep and muffled against his abdomen, not realizing Kyouyuu was awake, but calmed immediately as she slid her arms between him and the cushions, wrapping them around his back and burying her face further into him. 

“– don’ know how t’ act ‘round ‘im.” 

“Clearly, the feeling is mutual,” he gave a short derisive snort. He wouldn't be forgiving the bag-eyed bastard for Brainwashing his girlfriend for a long time. 

She groaned melodically, squeezing him harder and curling her legs further into herself. 

He knew she was frustrated, but he didn’t know what to say. He’d never had anyone to get in fights with – how would he know how to move past one? 

Even Kurogiri had always just taken all his insults and punches in stride. 

“You already said your peace right?” he tried, “Just act normal.” 

Kyouyuu twisted her face out of his stomach enough to eye him skeptically. 

“I don’t know, if you’ve said all you need to say, what else are you supposed to do?” 

She gave a little ‘hm’. 

Wait, really? Was that good advice? 

He sat up a little straighter, the corner of his mouth curling upward, impressed with himself. 

It did not go unnoticed. 

Kyouyuu’s lips were pursed together when she sat up, trying to hold back her smile. 

He nestled himself into the corner of the couch as she stretched, then pulled her between his legs, wrapping his arms and legs around her like a spider and continuing to game. Automatically, she settled herself against him, crossing her arms at the wrists — her hands wrapping gently around his forearms, steadying herself and caressing his skin — and nuzzling her face into his bicep, peppering him in light kisses. 

Tomura didn’t think he’d ever felt so comfortable, even considering the fact that she was continually raising that bar. 

It was the way she gave herself for him. How he’d pull her in and wrap her up, but she’d snuggle in farther, or otherwise find her own way to touch him, letting him know that it was her choice as much as his. 

He was in rapture over it. 

Her weight sinking into his chest, her body subtly rising and falling with his breath, was his everything right now. 

Because his mind was everywhere. 

On the events of last night, being discovered by none other than Eraserhead, who was the father figure she so clearly admired and cared deeply for — who he’d personally attacked and nearly killed. 

On the fact that Kyouyuu had not said one word to him — angry or otherwise — for keeping the imminent training camp attack from her, despite knowing every detail of the plan. 

On the memories that she’d stirred just before the Pro Hero arrived, who he was, who he’d been before Sensei, his family… that oppressive force that hid in shadow… 

And, of course, on how he’d become an informant for his own crime organization, relaying every last scrap of information on The League that seemed relevant. 

He could say it was because he’d had no choice, faced with Eraser and Shinsou-kun and the threat of additional hero and police presence, but that hadn’t been it. It hadn’t been noble either, hadn’t suddenly been overcome with remorse and want of contrition, hadn’t even felt much guilt about the students themselves. 

He simply no longer cared about that particular future. 

And if destroying his previous goals was how he was to attain the new one, good fucking riddance. 

Eraser had, to his immense shock, drawn that conviction to the surface. 

Of course he wanted to protect Kyouyuu. 

She was his. 

The realization had hit him like a blow to the head, the clarity ringing loud in his whole being — if she was to remain his, he had a responsibility to her. 

That thought warmed him, filled him. Made him feel immensely light, and incredibly strong. Confident. 

He had purpose. 

But. 

To have actively betrayed Sensei… 

His blood ran cold at the thought, and colder still that he was unsure whether it was from fear or shame. 

“You got far,” Kyouyuu interrupted his stream of consciousness, having watched him traverse the map to a newly unlocked section. 

He nodded in agreement. The game hadn’t been easy exactly, but it was quick to consume, holding his attention — mostly — and spurring him onward. 

“None of the games you guys have are my typical choices,” he felt her snort, her body jumping lightly against his chest at the sharp exhalation, lips twitching where they were buried in his arm, and he could practically hear her rolling her eyes at him, “but overall not a terrible selection,” he conceded, smirking. “This is one of yours, then?” he asked despite knowing the answer. He'd chosen it specifically because it was one he’d assumed she played. 

“What can I say, I love a convoluted storyline and a magical weapon.” 

They stayed that way for a long time — Kyouyuu intermittently encouraging him or backseat driving; and Tenko here and there lowering the controller to let her indulge him by toying with his fingers. 

Eventually, she detangled from him, yawning and stretching again. 

“I’ma make coffee. Want something?” 

His eyes had fluttered shut as she’d left him, relishing her warmth still lingering throughout his body, but they opened again at her offer. 

He was used to looking after himself. Poorly, he could admit, but he was alive, wasn’t he? And when it wasn’t enough, his Keeper would step in to assume the role of caretaker to petulant child, either with himself making demands of the butler-esque man or the human mist dutifully suggesting the ‘proper’ path for him. 

When had he ever been offered anything for the sake of it? Asked his preference? 

“Just… just tea. Whatever you have.” 

“Oh yeah, you like a little leaf juice with your water, I forgot.” 

He smiled at the jibe, pulse quickening slightly that she knew him enough to be able to, and continued to slash at AI enemies. 

When she returned however, she also plopped a plate in front of him. He hadn’t even noticed the sound of her preparing food. 

“Made you breakfast!” 

Tomura eyed the thing somewhat suspiciously. It smelled delicious, but he couldn’t help noticing its resemblance to a giant yellow slug, unable to keep the apprehension from his voice as he asked, “What is it?” 

“You’ve never–?” but she cut herself off, apparently thinking better of the question and smiling encouragingly, “It’s omurice!” 

He stared as she sliced down the middle of the dish, mouth opening slightly in amusement as the omelet draped inside out over the rice beneath it. 

“I left the ketchup off,” which explained the bottle she sat beside the plate, “With your preference for weak tea, I wasn’t sure if you’d like it…” 

She trailed off, a little hesitantly. 

“Oh,” he didn’t know what to say, “You didn’t have to.” 

“You’re welcome,” she snorted — it looked like she was struggling not to add ‘...asshole’. 

“Itadakimasu⁶,” he mumbled, a bit sheepishly, before carefully picking up his spoon and digging in. 

It was scrumptious, and he shoveled in bite after bite — his forgotten hunger seizing him after the first mouthful — as Kyouyuu ruffled his hair, padding back to the kitchen and returning with her own plate, a gentle smile toying her lips, her eyes bright. 

Is this… how normal people live? 

He frowned, thinking of all his years surviving on little more than konbini chips and spite. 

But then, he supposed she wouldn’t have been very familiar with normal life either having grown up in an orphanage. What he knew about them wasn't much but enough to know that in a lot of ways, he was better off with Sensei than in one of those facilities. 

She made her own normal? You can do that, huh… 

How long had it taken for her to learn this? Had Eraser taught her? Would he — would she — teach him, too? 

As they ate, Kyouyuu having casually stolen the controller as she settled back in beside him to show off the differences in their playing styles between bites, he found himself wondering what his own new normal might look like. And how he might be content if it looked just like this. 

Throughout the day, she doted on him; lifting his plate from his hands — “I’ll take that!” — as he made to clean up after himself, a practice he was not adept at but for her sake was willing to try; encouraging him to relax and continue gaming amidst shoulder rubs and endless head scratches; washing his clothes — “even without the hands, your look is pretty conspicuous, especially the shoes” — and declaring that they’d have to get him some new outfits; plying him with so many snacks and drinks that he didn’t have a chance to become hungry or thirsty. 

It was… objectively nice… and he was enjoying it, becoming more captivated by her boundless warm energy and thoughtfulness as the minutes and hours passed. 

But simultaneously more wary. 

It wasn’t what she was doing, as much as how. 

Something in her actions seemed… ingenuine, almost forced.

Self-sacrificial. 

She never stopped smiling, her eyerolls and sarcasm suspiciously absent, and immediately waved him off when he’d try to turn down whatever latest wonderful thing she was offering him… 

And. 

She was watching him. 

Subtle at first, but growing more obvious throughout the day, her eyes lingered on him –

“What?” 

“Nothing!” 

– darting away innocently when he’d catch her. 

She was starting to act like some warped version of fucking Kurogiri, monitoring his actions and reactions, and responding accordingly. Tiptoeing around him like she was afraid he’d… 

Turn on her? Decay something? Leave? 

It was making him feel gross. 

They had just entered her room — at her suggestion, he’d followed, hoping that maybe her doting was now going to manifest in other ways — when she asked if he wanted to nap. 

“Want to try to get some sleep, Tenko? Is it too warm in here? I can go get a fan or –” 

“Oi! Cut it out!” 

Her head snapped to him, “What?” 

“If I wanted a damn Keeper I could’ve stayed home with Kurogiri.” 

“What do you –?” she spluttered, “I’m not –” but when he raised an eyebrow at her, she balked, “Well,” starting to blush despite continuing to refute him, “excuse me for looking out for you after all you’ve been through in the last –” 

“Don’t,” his eyes rolled in time with his head before pointedly glaring at her between the hair he didn’t bother flicking out of his eyes, “That’s not why. This isn’t you.” 

She just stared at him, blinking rapidly. 

“What – you didn’t think I would notice?” he grinned as her lips pursed in a frustrated pout and she looked away. 

He stalked around behind her, snaking possessive arms around her waist and pulling her flush against him. 

“A good boyfriend knows when his girlfriend is faking it, you know.” Her ear grew hot where his lips whispered against it, and he grinned more broadly. “No, you would be… I dunno, teasing and bossing me around or some shit. Not jumping to refill my tea the second it emptied.” 

She let her head drop back against his shoulder with a hmph — she had just filled his mug before they’d headed back here. 

“So?” he pressed, taking advantage of her exposed neck to kiss up and down her flushed skin, “the hell are you doing, Kyouyuu?” 

Something between a hum and a low chuckle ecked from her throat as she turned her face into him, kissing up his jaw and stopping just shy of his mouth, when she murmured, “The truth, huh… Alright. 

“I wanna… de-groom you.” 

Mouth open, about to claim hers, Tomura froze. 

Hah? 

“I can’t stand it. What he did…” she whispered darkly, twisting within his arms to face him, but not meeting his eyes, “I can’t forgive him. And this morning, I could feel your worry for betraying him." Her hands were twisting as she spoke, "So I wanted to show you, you don’t need him. Wanted to reinforce… what you could have instead.” 

Hah! Kyouyuu! Kakkoii⁵, na… 

“You’re kinda wicked in your own way,” his smirk split slowly into a wide grin, “aren’t you.” 

Her gaze dropped further, her face twisting away at his words. 

But his long meticulous fingers grabbed her chin, “Uh uh,” tilting it up to look at him. 

“I like it.” 

It had already been too long. Far, far too long since her pillow soft lips locked between his, her hands gently snaking up his arms, around his neck, tangling in his hair. 

He hoped he would never get used to this. 

She tasted like heaven. The subtle sweet flowery flavor lingering from the particular tea she liked enhancing her own essence, like the first hints of spring after a long winter. Unexpected warmth in the breeze, sun on snowmelt, and brave buds stretching toward the long forgotten light. The earth’s revival. 

Her eyes were closed as she melted into him, but he watched her, wanting to memorize every detail of her commitment and dedication to him. 

The way her features tensed and released throughout their embrace, brow furrowing when they parted for breath and immediately softening at his return, a little sigh leaving her in relief; how she moved as he moved, his easy grip on her chin directing her as he wanted, her hips meeting his, her hands adjusting their grasp in his hair as he moved his head; the delicate way her dark waves fell around her face, framing those gracefully fierce features making such sweet expressions for him. 

Vaguely, he wondered when he’d become so soft. 

And then, how he could be both so soft and so hard at the same time. 

“Get… in… the shower… you dirty… child…” she was breathing against his mouth between kisses. 

Yep, so so hard. 

“And if… you actually wash… your body… not just your hair… I’ll join you…” 

He tried to hide his slight flinch at the accuracy of her taunt but she was already chuckling. 

There she is… 

Smirking against her mouth, he began walking her backward. 

Those gleaming pink eyes never wavered from his, pupils blown wide behind lazy lids, completely steady as he steered her — his hands on her shoulders, each index finger raised so as not to destroy yet another shirt — through the door and into the bathroom. 

Tomura locked the door behind him despite being the only two in the house, reveling at the click in the small echoey space, and in the second his hands had left her, she’d crossed her arms at the waist to tug her shirt casually over her head. 

He reached for her, ogling her bare torso, but she sidestepped him, grinning. 

“Shower first, Dusty,” she purred, leaning back against the vanity to watch him, “Turn the water on.” 

She crossed her arms in a show of stubborn seriousness, cruelly pushing up her breasts that he couldn’t wait to devour, and, stifling a grunt, he limped toward the stall to adjust the controls. 

When he turned back, he found her seated on the counter, the heels of her palms pressing against the edge of the cool surface and shoulders rounded playfully, swinging her legs and biting her lower lip, grinning. 

And again, “Nuh uh,” she stopped him before he could make his way toward her, “Undress,” absolutely thrilled with ordering him around. 

“Wanna watch, huh, angel?” 

She merely grinned at him, eyes glinting. 

He watched her gaze slide hungrily down his chest as he whipped his shirt off, and lower as he shrugged out of those horrible sweats, smirking as her tongue darted out to press to her teeth when his dick caught the fabric and slapped back into his abdomen. 

“Get in,” her voice had dropped an octave as her eyes finally settled back on his face. 

Fuck she was hot. 

And he was growing impatient with this charade, wanting to finally touch her, grip her, claim her. He reached her in one stride, “This is cute an’ all,” forcibly spreading her legs to stand between them, “but –” 

He gasped. 

“I said,” his cock jerked in the smooth little hand that had just grabbed him, “get in, Tenko.” 

Little brat… 

He yanked at her sweats with careful hands — the fabric over the edge of her hips in a second and slipping to the ground — pulling her into him, catching her when she lost her balance and spinning her off the counter to pin her against the wall. 

Their breath whipped at the haze now billowing from the stall, their foreheads pressed together, each smirking and eyes boring into each other’s. 

Both wanting the upper hand. 

Both thinking they held it. 

“You’ll need to clarify,” he taunted, tracing his nose along her skin until he could nip at her neck, “where I should ‘get in.’” 

She tilted her head, allowing him better access as he ran his tongue along her pulse. 

“It’s sure as hell,” she uttered a soft sweet sound when he leaned further against her, his cock twitching between her thighs in time with his heartbeat, “not in me until you’re properly clean, menace…” 

He couldn’t stop grinning — he’d really missed her sarcasm all day. 

With an effort, she pushed him from her, and, reluctant though he was to relent, he let her guide him into the steamy stall and beneath the warm stream. 

They were quickly becoming familiar with each other’s bodies, but this, he realized, was on a whole other level. 

Tomura didn’t know if it was the water — beading and running in tiny rivers down every inch of skin, making it seem new and discoverable all over again — or the banality of washing, which was somehow more intimate than sex, but when she poured shampoo in her hands and began to work it into his scalp, he unraveled. 

Her methodical fingers rubbed and scraped hypnotically at his skull, pushed dripping tendrils and soap lather away from his eyes, and trailed down his back, gently tracing the years of scarring mapped there. 

He’d just finished watching the last suds swirling toward the drain through drooping eyes, when he felt her nails drag sharply down the back of his neck and bite into his shoulders, turning and pressing him against the shower wall. 

He hissed at the sudden cold compared to the water’s heat, “–sss, the hell was -” and while he was distracted, Kyouyuu dropped to her knees, “- that fo–” 

And deftly wrapped her lips around his cock. 

“Hahh–” 

Her mouth was impossibly warm. 

“So th-this was your plan, huh,” his head fell back against the wall as she cupped his balls, “sss – all along, wasn’t it… just couldn’t – hah – wait to suck me off, hm?” 

He glanced down at her, smirking at his taunt straight out of a porno. 

And his breath caught. 

Her eyes! 

Those cotton candy dreamscapes glazed with honeyed lust answered, ‘yes.’ 

‘Yes Tomu, yesss.’ 

His hips bucked instinctively, hands flying to tangle in her sopping hair. 

But she caught his wrists, pinning them to the wall. 

Oh? 

“You wanna be in control, angel?” 

His girth slipped in and out of her mouth as she slowly nodded around him, crystalline eyes still locked on his. 

“Hmm," he smirked, "What was it you said – you wanna un-groom me or something?” 

Tomura growled as she nodded again, her tongue beginning to move impatiently along his length. 

“Yeah? Wanna convince me to be good with just your mouth?” 

He groaned as she pulled off of him with a ‘pop,’ but his smirk slowly widened as she countered. 

“No, I wanna show you what good is with just my mouth,” her gaze darting back to his dick to take him again, “now shut the fuck up.” 

          - はっ - 

Why– why did he like this so much? 

Experimentally, he twisted his wrists in her grip, and she pushed against them harder. 

Speaking of harder… 

A grunt left him when she caught his leaking head with plush lips, rolling those gemstone eyes back up to watch him watch her, then an actual moan when she worked his length into her salivating mouth. 

“Hahh Kyouyuu…” 

She hummed her satisfaction around him, running her tongue along in time with his throbbing veins, beginning to make pretty little sounds as she helped herself to his pleasure. 

His eyes were nearly closed in desire and the effort of not fucking touching her, and she squeezed his wrists again to catch his attention, glaring at him and somehow smirking with her mouth completely full of him. 

‘Do not move these,’ those hungry eyes said. 

What is this?? 

He was giddy with the want to oblige her. 

Balling his hands to fists and pressing them into the wall, he nodded, teeth bared behind his smirk, and she released him, her hands moving on to better conquests — one gripping his thigh, massaging him and holding him in place, the other moving to stroke whatever wasn’t in her mouth. 

“Fuuuck…” he sucked the curse in on a ragged breath. 

He could already feel himself building — his veins throbbing against that sinful tongue as she licked and sucked and milked him — could feel his lust pooling, ready to shoot down that pretty throat. 

Kyou was gasping now, too, the warm water all but forgotten as it sent drool dribbling from her lips in rivulets down her body whenever she paused for breath, staring up at him from beneath damp lashes and fisting him, watching him fall apart for her, then taking him back in her slick warmth, humming in delight whenever a soft “fuck” fell from his lips. 

But his resolve was starting to break, her soft sounds working him up more, imagining that tight little hole dripping and fluttering, waiting for him. 

He wanted to grab her — was dying to bend her over, to plunge himself deep inside her tight walls and snap his hips against her ass over and over… 

But her hands flew back to his wrists the second he was about to move. 

“Ky–Kyou–” 

His gasp caught in his chest, his frustration at being denied what he wanted relented in favor of pleasant surprise. 

Her Quirk. 

The little Psychometrist was reading him like a damn book right now, accepting reactions she approved of, denying those she didn't. 

Smirking up at him — well, as much as she could smirk, the expression settling mostly in those playful bubblegum irises since that delectable mouth was far too busy to do anything other than stretch around him — she caressed his wrists where she held them. 

'Good, good boy, Tomu…' those soft movements said. 

His excitement was mounting, his chest swelling with pride, the way she was manipulating him, and doing it so, so well. 

Shit! He wanted to take those reigns back, to snap them against her eavesdropping skin and spur her forward, to praise her. 

And he could tell she sensed it. 

She dove down on him, her nose burying into his pelvis and gagging as she fought to take him in completely. 

“Hah yeah– c’mon, angel, relax your throa–ahh… that’s it, good girl…” 

Her grip on his wrists tightened, and he cackled. 

“Shiiiit… hahah! Ah fuck, yeah…” 

He was losing control of his speech, his cock fully sheathed in her impossibly hot, devastatingly wet mouth, the outline of it appearing in the flushed skin of her neck. 

It was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. 

He wanted to grip it, squeeze it, to indirectly jerk himself off. 

And not a second after he’d thought it, she released one of his hands, and did just as he’d imagined –

“Hahhhhh–” 

– massaging her own throat with him inside it. 

She was holding him on a knife's edge, giving him just enough to keep him satisfied and still maintain the upper hand. 

He was impressed as fuck. 

Drawing back to admire her work, tears streamed down her flushed face. She looked undeniably pleased with herself while he grinned down at her like a maniac, before diving back down his length, her head bobbing and fist stroking in beautifully agonizing tandem as she pushed him closer and closer to release… dragging him right over that threshold… 

Her other hand left his wrist, squeezing and caressing his hip, his thigh, encouraging him. 

'Yes Tomu,’ he translated, ‘Yes! I want your cum down my pretty little throat!'

“F-fuck, that’s it,” he stuttered, unable to keep his hips from bucking as he felt himself cross the point of no return, “Take it, take it, take iiittttt hahhh…” 

As the first ropes of his cum hit the back of her throat, Tomura felt her moan, the vibration making him sputter and coaxing more of the white, hot mess into her mouth. 

His head fell back against the wall again, his knees weak, breathing hard, as she swallowed each shot of sticky spend. 

“Goddess…” 

He wasn’t even fully through his high, but he wanted her against him, to envelop her small warm body as he held her… kissed her… merged her perfectly twisted soul with his own… 

But she held him in place, her hands moving once more to his wrists. 

When he whipped his gaze to her, again she gave him the silent command with her eyes – 

‘Do not fucking move these hands.’ 

– before wrapping her fingers tightly around him and working down him again. 

“K–you!” 

He squirmed immediately but she pushed harder against the base of his cock, forcing him to stand as tall and stiff as still possible after the monumental load he’d just forced down her throat and pinning his hips in place, the other hand still mercilessly pressing his forearm into the wall. 

It was wonderful. 

     It was too much. 

He wanted to die. 

     He never wanted it to end. 

His free hand flew toward her – 

‘No’ 

– but in a split second, he directed it toward his own hair instead, ripping at his dripping tendrils as she overstimulated the ever loving fuck out of him. 

He couldn’t feel anything else. 

The water must have gone cold by now, he surely was losing hair with the desperate way he was tugging at it, and Kyouyuu had to be fucking cackling the way she was making him absolutely fall apart. 

Who cared. 

His stuttering hips, trembling legs, and that demonic little tongue was all that existed. 

Someone was moaning desperately, low feral sounds of misery and ecstacy, and it took him far too long for his blissed out brain to process that they were coming from him – 

“Ah– ah– fuuck!" 

– his breath coming in heavy pants –

"Kyou– yuu– fuck!” 

– his hips twisting, legs writhing out of her control – 

          - SMACK - 

The sudden sharp pain delivered to his inner thigh recaptured him, forcing his attention back on her, to those goddamn eyes daring him to squirm like that again. 

Over and over and over and over and over that sinful mouth took and took, her other hand now stroking in exaggerated torques, milking the last of him — everything he had to give — as she licked and sucked. 

He had no idea how much time had passed, how much more cum she'd drained from him, when Kyouyuu eased her delicious torture and his breathing began to slow, the electric shocks rolling through his body subsiding and blood receding from his indisputably defeated dick. 

Releasing him gingerly, she stood, smirking as she wiped the residual mess from her lips with her fingers and licked them clean before raising on her toes to plant a kiss on his nose and then both cheeks. 

“You…” he breathed, glaring at her through nearly closed eyes, “you little…” 

She gave a pompous little giggle, placing her hands carefully to either side of him and leaning in close, but not touching him anywhere below his ribs. 

How kind. 

He continued to come down, and while he did, she peppered his face, his neck, collarbone and chest with slow, gentle kisses. 

Fuck. 

This little shapeshifter. 

This precious, delectable, little brat. 

This absolute Goddess. 

The reason his heart raced and misery ebbed. 

His salvation. 

His. 

Unable to stand it a second longer, he wrapped her in boneless arms, pulling her to his chest. His cheek dropped to her head, one hand tangling in her hair and the other caressing her side. 

He enveloped her easily, but he felt small in her presence, her energy in turn wrapping him in a warm blanket. 

“Tenko…” she breathed on a happy sigh, tickling his skin where the warm exhalation disturbed water droplets there. 

Oh yeah, they were still in the shower. 

They could’ve been on a distant planet for all he knew. 

His eyes were closed, relishing her warmth and breathing her in, but after another long moment, he released her. 

“Stay here, Goddess.” 

Climbing out of the shower, he located a towel, quickly dabbing most of the moisture from himself and running it roughly over his hair before securing it around his waist — wincing as the fibrous cloth settled against his overly sensitive dick — then grabbed a fresh one and ushered her out, wrapping her up tight like a maki roll before pulling her back into his chest. 

She smiled up at him, absolutely glowing — pools of dewey roses dancing, flitting between each of his eyes — then stood on her toes again, her body leaning into him for balance. 

He made to claim her lips with his own, but she aimed higher. 

Laying a kiss directly on the scar over his right eye. 

          - ドキドキ⁷ - 

And then over the left corner of his lips. 

          - ドキドキ   ドキドキ - 

Tenko could feel the surprise on his face, and when she pulled back, she was blushing. 

A current of understanding had passed between them with those precise kisses. 

Neither had said a word. 

They didn’t need to.

Footnotes:
¹ Daisuki:  used to describe a deep liking of something, when referring to another person, it’s a very intense way to say ‘I love you’
² Nee-chan:  affectionate term for a younger sibling to address their older sister. The canonical nickname ‘Big Sis’ Mag comes from this splicing of ‘Magne’ with ‘ane’ meaning older sister.
³ chu:  onomatopoeia for a kiss
⁴ ひゃっ~~~~ :  ‘hiyaaaa’, onomatopoeia, roughly equates to ‘eek’
⁵ Kakkoii:  cool 
⁶ Itadakimasu: typical phrase uttered before eating a meal expressing gratitude for its preparation 
⁷ ドキドキ :  ‘doki doki’, onomatopoeia for heartbeating

Chapter Text

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

Kyouyuu had never felt this sensation before. 

It was agony of the sweetest kind. Flooding her with adrenaline, and tucking her to bed. Gut punching her with feathery kisses. Pushing her over the edge of an incredible height, and holding her hand while she fell. 

Potent, exhilarating energy had traversed their skin when she’d kissed his scars. 

     ⌜ •  °  •  ... kneels ...  •  °  • ⌟   

Ataeyuuko’s message was soft at first — a whisper on a warm breeze, a lone candle in the darkness — so soft that Kyouyuu could barely register it. 

     ⌜ •  °  •  world ... in awe  •  °  • ⌟   

She let the cryptic humming play in the background, much preferring to revel in Tenko — the way he dropped his chin to her head as he held her close, the bliss and annoyance that still toiled pleasurably within him, the possessive way his thoughts dwelled on her. 

But in their relative silence, Ataeyuko’s message grew louder and louder – 

     ⌜ •  °  •  the world ... kneels ... in awe  •  °  • ⌟   

– thrumming in tandem with every beat of her heart. 

And still, not a word was spoken. 

Tenko’s mouth was far too busy for any intelligible language to pass his lips, but — even aside from the way his delicious revenge was quickly devolving her into a haggard, whimpering mess astride him — Kyouyuu had found herself simply incapable of speech. 

Any word felt too insignificant yet simultaneously too intense. Each time Ataeyuko’s refrain rang through her, she was intensely reminded that she should say something, and yet their hands and eyes and gentle sounds were all the language they seemed to need. 

Comfortable discomfort. 

The duality swelled within her, pushing outward against her skin, until her limbs ached from the effort of containing it, humming with pride. 

She was a supernova. 

Light embodied, dark incarnate. 

Terrible and beautiful. 

An incredible deadly force. 

She could stand up to anything right now. 

Anyone. 

Unquantifiable time passed as they waded leisurely in Elysium's shoals, and even after the tide had gone out, that godlike vitality remained, chorusing through Kyouyuu's veins like valkyrie song, punctuated here and there by Tenko's musings. 

     ⌜ •  mine  • ⌟   

           ⌞ •  protect  • ⌝   

She smiled serenely, burrowing further into his warmth with a happy hum. 

     ⌜ •  protect  • ⌟   

           ⌞ •  betrayal  • ⌝   

     ⌜ •  Sensei  • ⌟   

           ⌞ •  hiding  • ⌝   

     ⌜ •  won't lose  • ⌟   

           ⌞ •  mine  • ⌝   

"I'm not gonna lie," chuckling, she finally broke their reciprocal silence, "I love hearing you go all yandere over me," and gently dug her nails into his chest, "but keep that piece of shit out of my bed." 

Tenko grabbed her fingers, "Still ordering me around, huh..." bringing them to his lips and kissing them, "Maybe you need me to eat you stupid again?" 

"Hmm... I'd rather you fuck me stupid," unable to pull her fingers loose, she shifted her leg, nudging it into the crux of his legs, "but..." 

He flinched reflexively — it’d been too long for him to actually still be that sensitive, but he’d reacted just as she predicted — and she cackled mirthlessly, then shrieked, writhing and wriggling fruitlessly as Tenko calmly wrestled her. 

His lithe strength overpowered her quickly, and she lay breathless between giggles, Tenko’s body stretched along her side, caging her legs together with his own and pinning both her wrists above her head within one broad hand. 

“So," he smirked, dragging a free finger tantalizingly over her abdomen, "you were listening?” 

“Naturally.” 

     ⌜ •  enthralled  • ⌟   

"Mmm..." he pouted — despite the grin stretching across his face — and rolled further into her, "It's not fair,” letting those brilliant red sapphires slip closed as he buried his face in her neck. 

Expertly controlled fingertips dragged feather light up, up, up, “You can read my mind,” and maddeningly slowly down, down, down, “but I can’t read yours,” as goosebumps erupted, her skin desperate for more touch, from thigh to forearm. 

Gods, he was distracting... 

Kyouyuu swallowed, trying to focus on her response as he began steadily peppering her with soft, scratchy kisses. 

"I can't just –" she breathed between caresses, "read your mind –" ignoring how Tenko nodded, nuzzling a cheek against hers in contradiction, "it's not... that simple. There's... work involved. It takes some... translation... and inference." 

"Mmhmm," Tenko hummed. 

She suspected he was no longer listening, but she didn't really care – 

     ⌜ •  °  •  the world moves...  •  °  • ⌟   

Give it a rest, Ataeyuko... 

– and strained against his grip on her wrists in an attempt to thread her fingers through his hair. Surprisingly, Tenko relented, releasing her hands and pulling her onto her side, facing him, as she draped her arms around his head and kissed his crown. 

“All that effort...” he was making her brain go fuzzy again – 

     ⌜ •  °  •  it kneels ... in awe  •  °  • ⌟   

Shh... 

– kissing along her collarbone now, “all for me... Wanna get inside your head, Goddess." 

"Hah,” her back arched as his lips murmured up the column of her throat, “Inside my body's not enough?" 

“Nuh-uh. Wanna know... why.” 

     ⌜ •  curious  • ⌟   

She giggled, dragging a nail of one hand down his spine and directing his chin upward with another, “Why what, Tenko?” kissing him through her smile. 

For a moment, there was silence again except for their soft sounds – 

     ⌜ •  °  •  ... moves for ...  •  °  • ⌟   

– and then he pulled back, crimson gemstones glinting into hers, and answered. 

“Why you’re doing this for me.” 

     ⌜ •  doubt  • ⌟   

Kyouyuu blinked, still grinning. 

“What?” 

But he just continued to stare at her, irises flitting back and forth between each of her own like a bloody tennis match. 

He wanted to know... why was she keeping him around? 

     ⌜ •  °  •  ... kneels before ...  •  °  • ⌟   

If she was honest with herself, he’d been a fixation. That first, and even their second, meeting merely an encounter to ponder forever, never unearthing the full story. 

Except that he’d appeared — materializing on her doorstep as if she’d manifested him from her lingering thoughts — with his heavy soul calling like sirens across his skin, with his intoxicatingly euphoric touch. 

And then things had progressed more intensely than she could have ever imagined — his identity, Jiji discovering them, the attack on the students — and quicker than she could really process it, she’d become part of his narrative. 

In each moment, she’d acted on impulse, pure gut feeling driving her decisions. 

So, logically, why... 

Why was she doing this? 

     ⌜ •  °  •  ... before it in awe  •  °  • ⌟   

The fuck are you saying, Ataeyuko?! 

     ⌜ •  °  •  if you need to ask, you’ll never know  •  °  • ⌟   

Ugh! Shut up, you cryptic bitch... 

She sighed, frustrated. 

“See?” Tenko whispered, pressing his forehead against hers as if trying to force a psychic connection, “That’s not fair. Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

Kyouyuu ignored Ataeyuko, attempting to gather her thoughts. 

“I’m... not doing it for you,” she gambled, “It’s more like, I’m doing it with you.” 

Tenko pulled back to look at her. 

     ⌜ •  hope  • ⌟   

“I mean, I’m in it... Really I’ve had every opportunity to back out, but I just continue to get more in it.” 

She stared at her hands, “And yeah, it’s messy and dangerous and objectively stupid of someone so unpowered to pit herself in the midst of these terrible forces,” twisting and pulling her fingers one by one, “but... against all rational sense...” 

A light chuckle loosed from her chest as she shook her head, blushing, “I don’t hate it...” and forced herself to look at him, “not even a little.” 

His eyes swallowed her whole. 

     ⌜ •  warmth  • ⌟   

And that smile was back. That same one he’d worn right before it’d all gotten so complicated — before she’d found that severed hand in his sweatshirt — when she’d asked him to stay. 

So innocent and full of life — so happy. 

This time... she’d make sure he kept it. 

Tenko’s arms wrapped further around her waist, clutching to her like a drowning man to a life preserver, and let his forehead nuzzle against hers again as he cooed. 

“That was an amazing confession.” 

     - えっ？？ - 

Ataeyuko giggled as Kyouyuu felt her skin begin to burn. 

“Confess- Wh-what?! I- I didn’t say –” 

     ⌜ •  elation  • ⌟   

“Yes, huh,” he argued, “You always speak this way. ‘I’m no hero;’ ‘I’ll keep him anyway;’ ‘I wanna de-groom you,’ ” practically giggling and squeezing her almost painfully, “You deflect to cover up what you really mean!” 

“I- no, I-” desperately trying and coming up empty to refute him after he’d used her own words as evidence, she instead tried to squirm away from him, “You got all that from ‘I don’t hate it,’ huh?” 

     ⌜ •  triumph  • ⌟   

“Oh ho!” he scoffed gleefully as she failed to escape him, “You can’t even deny it,” cackling and trilling, “You fucking love me!” 

     - きゃあ～～～ - 

She wriggled her palms and knees between them and pushed, forcing him to release her and scuttling away, wrapping arms tightly around her knees to hide her face that mirrored the shimmering rouge of his eyes. 

“That is not what I said.” 

“It’s okay,” he cooed with a mile-wide grin, leisurely tugging at an ankle to draw her back toward him, “You can say it when you’re ready...” 

     ⌜ •  °  •  purrrrr  •  °  • ⌟   

And when Kyouyuu groaned — irritated with his and Ataeyuko’s teasing, kicking his hand away and tucking her legs farther beneath her — he giggled once more, hanging his head and sighing. 

He scooted himself to where she sat glaring at him like a salty cat, wrapping all of his limbs around her and kissing her blazing cheek. 

“Thanks for letting me in your head.” 

“Glad you enjoyed it,” she spat, “‘cause it’s never happening again.” 

But he just hummed, unfazed, kissing her cheek, her jaw, her temple. 

     ⌜ •  content  • ⌟   

What the hell had just happened? 

All she’d really said was that she’d stuck with him regardless of all sense and reason — she hadn’t said that she – 

     ⌜ •  °  •  The world moves for love  •  °  • ⌟   

Really, she hadn’t... 

     ⌜ •  °  •  It kneels before it in awe  •  °  • ⌟   

But... I don’t even know what love is... 

     ⌜ •  °  •  if you need to ask, you’ll never know  •  °  • ⌟   

Those glittering, elusive swooping sensations in her stomach. Her need to relieve him of his suffering, to replace it with pleasure and joy. The gnawing desperation to protect him. That painfully delicious, supernova energy. 

     ⌜ •  °  •  if you know, you need only ask  •  °  • ⌟   

This... is love? 

     ⌜ •  °  •  I’ve been trying to tell ya  •  °  • ⌟   

Passing over the fact that her personified Quirk had been whispering thinly veiled nonsense for the last several hours, Kyouyuu felt as if she had as many questions as answers. 

How did he know before I did? 

Ataeyuko giggled. 

     ⌜ •  °  •  listen  •  °  • ⌟   

For a moment, she thought her imaginary friend was being cryptic again, but then she tuned back in to Tenko. 

     ⌜ •  pride  • ⌟   

           ⌞ •  Sensei  • ⌝   

     ⌜ •  better  • ⌟   

           ⌞ •  happy  • ⌝   

    ⌜ •  won't lose  • ⌟   

           ⌞ •  mine  • ⌝   

Ataeyuko was purring again but Kyouyuu ignored her, wanting to experience this as much as possible without commentary. 

At his feeling of happiness, she thought she might melt. It didn’t matter what her feelings were for him, whether it was 'love' or some warped thrill ride. 

For the first time since she’d met him, he felt happy. 

And she would let no one take that away from him. 

Her hands unclenched, sliding them from around her knees and curling them against her chest, leaning into him, her voice no more than a whisper. 

“I’m not willing to let him have you, Tenko.” 

His breath hitched, excited surprise radiating through him as he nuzzled into her closer, his lips murmuring against hair, “I know.” 

“That’s why,” she paused, gently rearranging herself so she was seated facing him, his limbs still enveloping her, “I want to continue where we left off.” 

     ⌜ •  want  • ⌟   

Tenko smirked, raising a brow and leaning forward, “Say less, Goddess,” cradling her face in both hands as he swallowed her soft chuckle. 

His lips were as rough as ever as they moved gently against her own, and Kyouyuu responded in kind, humming contentedly despite being interrupted, tasting herself on his tongue as it slid languidly against hers, fervid with lazy need. 

Before he could pull her atop him — her breath was already shallowing, brain hazing with lust — she pulled away, intent. 

“I meant where we left off before Jiji showed up,” she clarified, rolling her eyes though smiling, “when I was uncovering your memories.” 

Tenko huffed, slumping back and caressing her arms, “Why?” 

“There’s something I still don’t understand about how you wound up with him. You looked so... optimistic. How does a cheery little kid end up –” 

“Like me?” he snorted, "You were the one going on and on about how I was taught to be like this.” 

“No, I mean...” she bit her lip, wanting to tread carefully, “It was no insignificant thing that happened to you... and I’m sure that monster didn’t hesitate to use that to mold you as he wanted, but...” 

Her mind lingered on that hand. 

“I can’t really explain it, but it feels like there’s something more. Like it wasn’t the only thing he used...” 

     ⌜ •  hesitation  • ⌟   

“When Jiji started banging on the door, it seemed like we were stumbling into some dark memory. I can’t help thinking it’s important somehow.” 

“But, those memories were the ones I’d lost. From before Sensei... How would he have been able to use something like that?” 

“Well... exactly.” 

His hands had stopped their soft tracing up and down her arms, a slight frown tilting his mouth. 

     ⌜ •  trepidation  • ⌟   

Kyouyuu took his hands, folding them dotingly within hers. She caressed his skin, listening to his wariness, how he lingered on that oppressive unseen force — and the creeping, childlike fear it had triggered. 

She threaded their fingers together, “Tenko,” and warmth pulsed through him in response to his name, “I won’t push you if you really don’t want to. But, you know I’ll be right here if you do.” 

He gazed at her, sunlit rubies glinting in his gaunt face, and then – 

     ⌜ •  protect  • ⌟   

           ⌞ •  promise  • ⌝   

     ⌜ •  won't lose  • ⌟   

– he nodded, before a smirk tore across his somber features. 

“So uh...” he leaned forward, “remind me how this works,” rising onto his knees and forcing her back against the bed, “You need me to ‘make you lost in me,’” hovering above her on all fours and beginning to kiss down her neck, “right?” 

“Nymm...” she mewled, tracing her fingers up his chest, over his shoulders and down his back, pulling him closer, “That’s what’s worked so far...” gasping lightly as he nipped at her collar bone, “But I don’t know if I’ll actually be able to do this.” 

“Baka,” he deadpanned, poking her affectionately in the forehead before continuing to nip and lick down her torso, “You’ve already done it." 

"Okay yeah, but I wasn't really trying,” she giggled, delivering a flick to his own forehead, “I just sort of... followed your lead. I’ve only ever consciously sought information from objects.” 

Tenko hummed, peppering kisses along her inner thigh now, making it maddeningly difficult to think. 

“In... hah... In theory, the process should be the same but... nmm... I've never intentionally 'negotiated' with someone before." 

"Hm,” he paused, head cocked thoughtfully, and she pouted, her nails scrabbling at his shoulders in vain as he sat back on his heels, “But, you did that, too. When... with Father. You made me let you go." 

What? 

They hadn’t really discussed what had happened that night. 

About who he was and why he was, yes, but not about what he had done to her.  

Honestly, Kyouyuu hadn’t wanted to. 

It had terrified her, that hand — it still did. But when he’d put it on — when she’d watched him physically transform from the quietly tumultuous punk into that cold, hollowed shell — all she could think about was removing it. 

The hand was a curse, she’d thought, over and over while she struggled beneath his grip, and if he would just let her go, if she could just free him from it, then he’d come back to her. 

"I was trying to make you be quiet,” he continued amidst her wide-eyed silence, not meeting her gaze as he attempted to explain, “I yelled it in my head so your Quirk would pick it up, but then you, I dunno, shocked me or something. I couldn't hold on to you." 

She remembered. 

How she’d felt his voice — “SHUT UP” — permeate her skull and reverberate through her entire body.  And how his hands had abruptly leapt from her skin, and he’d nearly tumbled backward from where he had her pinned to the bed. 

"But I felt like I couldn't speak..." 

Her throat had seared with effort, trying desperately to scream her indignation at him, but a strangled whisper was all she could manage. 

Had she negotiated without realizing it? 

Tenko leaned back down, fisting his hands so he didn’t destroy the bed as he crawled over top of her. 

“I’ll never treat you like that again, Goddess...” 

His whisper, warm and sweet, tickled her skin. 

“Whatever you want,” he brought a hand to her waist, “consider it yours,” smoothing her gooseflesh with a steady palm. “Negotiate away.” Diligent fingers traced up her arm, gently guiding one then the other beside her head and letting his weight settle over her, his lips ghosting over hers as he whispered, “I trust you.” 

     ⌜ •  devotion  • ⌟   

It was her turn for her breath to hitch. 

     ⌜ •  °  •  The world moves for love  •  °  • ⌟   

She looked at him a moment longer – 

“Okay.” 

– before threading her fingers through his and stepping across the threshold into his memory. 

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

.·°·.┈┈°·.·° earlier that morning °·.·°┈┈.·°·.

Hitoshi let out a long, heavy breath as Kyou’s texts interrupted his rage-scrolling and a wave of something between relief and annoyance crashed against the empty pit in his stomach. 

Last night had been a shit show.

When she’d rounded on him again for trying to Brainwash her to safety, he’d had it out with her, having never been the type to let things sit. 

Speak plainly, and be direct — that was the most efficient way to achieve any sort of consensus — a learned habit thanks to his Quirk. 

But he should have known there would be nothing simple about this particular argument. 

There had been maybe a single round of reasonable back and forth before it had devolved spectacularly into two typically level-headed, open-minded introverts each trying to be the louder to state their case. And he’d finally thrown up his hands and gone to bed, sending one last glare at the homicidal maniac casually sitting at their dining room table. 

The only thing keeping him from going completely feral — then and now — was Aizawa-sensei’s apparent compliance. 

But how... 

How could Sensei be okay with this?? 

Why in the world was he content to trust Tomura Shigaraki? 

When his alarm had gone off that morning — bleary eyes already open and staring at the ceiling — he’d packed himself up for the long day ahead of him and felt his frustration settle unpleasantly in his gut. And as Hitoshi had walked toward the door, Shigaraki had eyed him silently, forearms braced against Kyou’s sleeping form, those murderous hands, pinkies aloft, on his game controller. 

It was an objectively innocuous scene. Really, it was shockingly ordinary all things considered, but all Hitoshi could think was how pissed he was to see his traitorous sister cuddled up with the ringleader of The League of Villains, both at their leisure, while half his classmates were laid out in hospital beds — so he’d refused to acknowledge either of them, the jarring, ugly sound of grinding teeth his only departing sentiment as he left without a word. 

And the unpleasantness in his gut had only grown as he’d walked toward the station, sinking like lead and poisoning his veins as he boarded the train and scrolled angrily through his phone. 

Now, however, tired eyes reading and re-reading Kyou’s cautious words, his discomfort wasn't quite alleviated — it was still there, sitting like a heavy lump that refused to digest — but it had knocked loose a little, as if at least it was starting to split into smaller pieces that could be tackled bit by bit. 

For a while, he left her on read, content to let her sweat while he contemplated the correct amount of shitty for his response. But after he’d let the same stupid video play over his headphones for the fifth time without taking it in, he sighed again. 

Atae Me a Headache³  

08:23
hey… must’ve still been asleep when you left
just wanna make sure you’re safe, considering
let me know where you are?

08:37
omw to hospital, visiting everyone

even class A?
don’t give that monoma guy a heart attack

Something between a grimace and a grin tugged at his lips against his will — it hit a little differently this morning, but her use of dark humor, for which they shared an appreciation, to loosen the current tension between them was not lost on Hitoshi — and he shook his head, scoffing. 

For reasons he couldn’t begin to comprehend, his spacey senpai-sister had bae’d up a literal villain and let him stay in their shared apartment, but… 

It seemed that the bastard hadn’t changed her. She was still Kyou. 

Nothing made sense and nothing had been resolved, but –

08:39
at least there’ll be doctors nearby 
let you know when i’m heading home

– maybe they could still find their way through this nonsense... 

.·°·.┈┈°·.·° で °·.·°┈┈.·°·.

The attack on the Forest Training Camp had left twenty-seven students injured. Eighteen had been admitted to the hospital, the majority of them having fallen victim to one the villains’ Quirks that released some sort of gas. Of those eighteen, fourteen belonged to Class B. 

More than half of their entire class, more than half of the total injured... 

Hitoshi felt his stomach churn again. 

On the way upstairs, he was greeted by Nirengeki Shouda whose minor injuries had been treated quickly but who had stayed behind with Itsuka Kendo for support — “it was Kendo-chan’s idea of course, but she’s right, it’s our duty as Class President and Vice President” — and Hitoshi realized with a pang that this was one of his teammates he’d nonconsensually Brainwashed during the Sports Festival. Shouda was gracious enough to not mention this, merely grateful to Hitoshi for coming at all. 

“Everyone will be happy for the extra support. Morale is pretty low, to be honest…” Shouda admitted as he led them toward the wing which housed their classmates, “After the USJ incident, there was a huge gap between Class A and B. And, naively, I think we were all a little jealous of that extra experience... but, well... it feels different now...” 

Any awkwardness of their unfamiliarity was filled easily with Shouda’s reflections on all that had happened as they continued down the hall, past the nurse’s station where an employee in scrubs gave them a little wave and a wan, sympathetic smile, but Hitoshi tuned out when his vision honed on two men who had just exited a room half the corridor ahead of them. 

They turned, now walking in their direction. 

A man in a suit and tie accompanied by none other than – 

Hitoshi felt his stomach freeze, making the rest of him break out in a cold sweat, and instantly he became aware of how conspicuous that must look.

– the Number One Hero, in dizzying contrast in both size and attire to the man beside him, drawing closer and closer – 

All Might hadn’t always been that hulking, had he??

– and when they were two rooms away – 

Of course, the other man was a detective. The two of them were here collecting information about the attack, and here he was, arrest-ready thanks to his sister’s shit taste in men.

– his brawny head turned, sliding hooded eyes down to Hitoshi – 

He begged his feet to maintain a normal rhythm, hoping it resembled something — anything — that wasn’t the gait of someone harboring a murderer in their fucking house.

Shouda and Hitoshi stopped, both offering a slight bow as the other pair drew level. Hitoshi kept his eyes fixed to the ground, barely breathing, tracking each heavy footfall as they crossed his field of vision, but couldn’t keep his eyes from snapping to their backs after they’d passed. 

          - GULP - 

All Might’s sideways gaze was still locked on him — SHIT — but curiously, the hero winked at him, never breaking that signature smile as he faced forward and continued on his way. 

What… What did that mean? 

“I’m still not used to seeing him around,” Shouda shook his head, awed, “Anyway, Tetsutetsu’s in here…” 

“Whoa! Shinsou-san? No way!” The steel-Quirked student actually tried to jump out of his hospital bed to greet him before Shouda waved him hurriedly back down. 

“You just missed Kirishima-kun!” Tetsutetsu lamented, “He and Todoroki stopped by after seeing Midoriya. I guess he’s in pretty bad shape…” 

Hitoshi nodded, relatively unsurprised by this — the guy seemed almost unable to care about his own body’s wellbeing. 

“Physically he was one of the worst off. Did you hear he defeated that huge monster of a villain by himself –” 

“He what?!” 

“I know. I couldn’t believe it. He even saved a kid! But during the fight, he busted up all his limbs again like during the Sports Fest — well, you know –”  

He did. How could he ever forget? How Midoriya had broken his own fingers to free himself of Brainwash, and had barreled toward him with silent ferocity, ignoring every bit of pain inflicted on him until he’d tossed Hitoshi out of bounds. Or in the subsequent round, how he’d sacrificed one digit at a time, breaking them over and over until they were crooked and bleeding, to fend off Todoroki’s attacks. 

Hitoshi wondered just what he had sacrificed against an actual opponent? 

“– but that’s not all,” Tetsutetsu continued in a hushed voice, “Apparently the student who was taken — Bakugou, that mouthy explosive one — was Midoriya’s close childhood friend… They took him right out from under his nose.” 

Hitoshi felt his stomach return to ice, the cold seeping steadily through his veins as Shouda spoke. 

“ ‘Out from under him’… What do you mean?” 

“Todoroki said one of the villains had a Quirk that can compress things into little marble-like cages. Both Tokoyami and Bakugou had been captured, and before the villains could leave, there was another scuffle. They got Tokoyami back but… The villains vanished into thin air, with Bakugou, right as Midoriya reached them.” 

The room filled with a sickening silence. Then Shouda spoke again. 

“He doesn’t think it’s his fault, does he?” 

“It sounds like it. I guess after the villains disappeared, Midoriya just screamed,” Tetsutetsu shook his head commiseratingly, “like, completely inconsolable until he finally just collapsed.” 

“But –” Shouda countered, “he’s still in and out of consciousness — it was incredible that he accomplished as much as he did! He can’t possibly think there was anything more he could’ve done.” 

“Yeah, he would...” Hitoshi sighed, speaking at last and rubbing a hand over his face, “That’s who Midoriya is.” 

It was lucky that the students he visited all seemed to be grateful for his presence instead of suspicious, because the longer he stayed and the more students he saw, Hitoshi realized his guilt was the only real reason he was here. 

He wasn’t friends with them. He barely knew them. And yet he’d stormed his way here as if there was nowhere else he could possibly be, compelled to each bedside like a moth to a flame. 

Every face that rolled toward him when he entered their room, every pair of eyes that lit up as they smiled at him in pleasant surprise, was another weight lifted off his chest –

Sestuna. Rin. Yaoyorozu. Shouji. 

It’s okay. They’re all okay. 

– and every room he had to pass by, every unconscious form still fighting the effects of that villain’s toxic fumes, was a weight placed right back. 

Kaibara. Shiozaki. Komori. Jirou. 

They’re suffering because of the bastard in my house. 

Hitoshi was visiting Honenuki — who was explaining for the third time just how hilarious it had been when Yanagi, currently present and also not laughing, had successfully scared Todoroki and Bakugou before all hell broke loose — when Kendo walked in, looking for Shouda. 

Under cover of the class reps’ conversation and Honenuki still giggling, Hitoshi slipped out of the room unnoticed, heading slowly down the hall toward the one person he actually wanted to see. 

He was unsurprised by the lack of response when he knocked softly on the door, glad this was one visit he could conduct alone. And as he slipped inside the sliding door and approached the bedside, he felt immensely relieved that Midoriya wasn’t even awake — he didn’t think he could have hidden his grimace at the sight of his classmate. 

Swaths of bandages wrapped his head and chest, and another patched an injury on his cheek. Both of his arms were fully encased in casts from hand to mid-bicep, and an IV bag hung from a pole beside the bed, providing what was surely a potent cocktail of fluids, painkillers and antibiotics. 

His hands, Hitoshi realized, were shaking. 

He clenched them into fists and stared down at the broken body — into the medically-induced peaceful face of the one who stopped at nothing to accomplish his goals — at the trainee hero whose signature move was sacrificing himself to save others. 

Shigaraki… 

He was responsible for this, regardless of his physical presence there and no matter how Kyouyuu defended him. 

If only Hitoshi had recognized him sooner… 

He hadn’t known the creep’s face when he’d shown up on their porch that day, but even in that moment, and in the days that followed, there were other signs, suspicions he’d chosen to ignore. 

“I can’t believe I trusted him… trusted you,” he’d shouted at Kyou last night, “I should never have ignored my instincts. The second he arrived, I knew it. I knew it. But you said he was ‘sensitive’ and he’d ‘had a hard life’, and you convinced me — convinced yourself — that everything was ‘okay.’ With tears in your eyes! And for some idiotic reason I bought it. And now here we are.” 

“No!” she’d finally shouted back, shaking her head all the while he’d been speaking, “Shins, you spent all day with him, you even liked him. You know there’s good in him — your instincts were right! You’re only upset because of some misplaced heroic bullshit thinking you whiffed catching the ‘villain’ –” 

          - クソ⁴ - 

It was at that point that he’d had to walk away. Because if there was one thing Kyou had been right about, it was that. He had missed the ball. 

Didn’t she understand that was the point? 

That in failing to realize, in waiting for a more obvious sign, in not acting… 

This attack was his fault, too. 

“Forgive me…” he whispered, bowing low in apology to his unconscious schoolmate, forcing the words from where they lodged in his throat, his eyes squeezed tight, “Midoriya… we’ll – I’ll make it right… somehow…” 

“Shinssou-kun?” 

Hitoshi jumped, his eyes flying open — shocked to see the wide, hollowed ones staring back at him — as he straightened again. 

Midoriya’s voice was soft and slightly slurred, “What’re y’doing here?” 

Hurriedly composing himself, “I, uh –” Hitoshi adopted a tone he hoped sounded airy and casual, “I heard what happened, so I just wanted to visit everyone.” 

“Aww,” dulled green eyes winked closed as he smiled up at him, “That’s really thoughtful, Shinssou-kun!” 

“It’s nothing,” he deflected, rubbing his neck and trying to determine if, between the meds and his condition, the guy was actually lucid. 

“But…” Midoriya’s head cocked in confusion, shifting dark green locks in sharp contrast to the white bandage beneath, “how’dyou hear? Didn’t think you liked ClasssA or B…” 

          - CLENCH - 

Even heavily drugged, he was sharp. 

“Oh, uh, it was Aizawa-sensei. He's kind of my mentor now, so he came to check up on u– on me, as soon as he got home.” 

He’d almost said ‘us’, and vaguely he wondered if it was strategy or cowardice that kept him from mentioning his sister. 

“Aizzawa-sensei? Really? Tha’s great! You’ll get into Hero Course! Deffinitely!” 

Hitoshi’s stomach was leaden again. 

Hero Course. 

The last time he and Midoriya had spoken was after the versus battle — when he’d proclaimed he wouldn’t give up, that he’d get into the hero course, get licensed, and definitely become a better hero. 

But… 

“How can I… when I can’t even…” 

Midoriya was cocking his head again, blank eyes blinking, “Hm?” 

Shit. What was he doing? It was the second time he’d nearly revealed himself. 

He couldn’t tell him. Even if there was no way this emerald weapon of self-destruction would remember this, even if it wouldn’t bring retribution to his sister or to Sensei, even if it would make him feel better. 

This was his burden. There was nothing he could say right now… 

But… 

“That’s what makes a hero, right? They act when they have the chance.” 

“U-un⁵...” 

Hitoshi nodded and looked away, turning to leave, “That’s why… you’re a hero.” 

“Wait! Itteee⁶…” 

Midoriya had reached out, attempting to grab Hitoshi’s wrist but apparently had forgotten — or not realized — he was wearing a full arm cast. 

Hitoshi paused, head hung, his back to him. 

“Shinsou-kun, are you okay?” 

I’m okay. We’re all okay. 

We’re all suffering because of that bastard in my goddamn house. 

He shook his head and sighed, “I promised,” glancing over his shoulder, “that I would catch up –” Midoriya’s eyes had cleared a little, and he was looking at him with genuine concern as Hitoshi again made to leave, “but I still have a long way to go." 

He was sliding the door open when Midoriya spoke again. 

“We both do,” the young hero agreed, his brow smoothing as he slumped back into his pillow and his face slackened, rapidly succumbing once more to unconsciousness. 

“We’ll get there… together… Shinsou-kun.” 

.·°·.┈┈°·.·° で °·.·°┈┈.·°·.

He needed answers. 

Last night had been frustrating enough, between Kyouyuu’s biased oversimplifications and Sensei’s apparent willingness to cooperate, but today... seeing all of these students — kids — in various stages of recovery, hearing them recap the night’s violence... 

He couldn’t stand it any more. 

Aizawa-sensei's voice was sharp, direct, when he picked up before the second ring. 

     "Shinsou? What is it." 

"N-nothing," he stammered, surprised by the notable anxiety in his mentor’s voice and hastening to put him at ease, "Everything's fine. I just… wanted to talk to you about something." 

There was a brief exhalation on the other end. 

Was he worried? As far as Sensei knew, Hitoshi was still at home. Did that mean he didn’t trust that bastard too much after all? But before he could ask, his mentor continued. 

     "Good. So I guess the training wasn't too difficult?" 

Huh? 

"Training, Sensei?" 

     "Don't tell me you haven't even started on the exercises I left you… You know you have to work harder if you ever want to master it, Shinsou." 

What the hell was he talking about? 

Aizawa-sensei had mentioned he'd start to teach him to use the binder cloth soon, but the support item hadn't arrived yet, and he hadn't given him any additional training, especially not with what was going on. 

And why was he calling him Shinsou? Sensei had eased some of the formalities between them around the same time he and Kyou had adopted their own nicknames, so why was he acting – 

Ohhh. 

"N-no, I haven't started on them. Sorry, sir." 

Sensei was acting — either he was around someone and couldn't speak openly, or he thought they were being watched — so he'd play along. 

     "Well, you need some additional coaching, anyway. I've contacted another expert — he’ll be a better help than I could."

"Expert, sir?" 

Had Sensei told someone else about the situation? 

     "I invited him over for dinner so you could meet, and so he could assess your training first hand. Apologies for not running this by you first. He was... very enthusiastic." 

Hitoshi could hear the honest annoyance in his mentor's voice despite the coded speech. 

He had a bad feeling about this. 

     "He's probably the only other person who could provide us with additional insight to help you master the technique, so please make sure you're prepared to show him your progress." 

If he ignored anything to do with 'training', it sounded like Aizawa-sensei was saying this person was coming to make sense of things, that he was the only one who could. Hitoshi couldn't immediately guess who that could be, but 'be prepared' was likely in reference to letting the apartment's other occupants know someone was coming. 

"Understood, Sensei. I'll tell Kyouyuu to expect visitors, too." 

     "Please do. I also texted her, but haven't heard back." 

That note of anxiety had returned. Godsdamnit, Kyou. 

"I will." 

     "Good. See you then." 

.·°·.┈┈°·.·° で °·.·°┈┈.·°·.

14:37
on the train, btw
home in a few hours
have you talked to sensei?

15:49
oi

16:02 
neeeee-sannnn⁷

16:07 
[missed call] 

16:16 
dude, seriously, you good?

[missed call] 
[missed call]
[missed call]

Hitoshi distractedly navigated the crowded station, refreshing the chat window where his six messages and four calls to Kyouyuu sat unread before punching out two more short messages. 

16:42
answer your fking phone
i stg

Huffing out a slow breath, he tried talking himself down. 

He was probably worrying for no reason… As much as he didn’t trust Shigaraki, the Shit apparently hadn’t been anything other than — he grimaced — good to Kyouyuu. And grudgingly, he could admit there was absolutely nothing threatening about Crusty playing a decades-old child’s fantasy game when he’d left this morning. 

Yeah, Space Cadet Kyou had probably just forgotten about her phone. He’d get home to find her completely unaware of the time or who had been trying to contact her... 

All day... 

“That’s what makes a hero, right?” 

The day after an attack on UA students... 

“They act when they have the chance.” 

With the organizer of said attack seeking asylum in their house... 

“That's why… you're a hero.” 

He didn't decide. 

It just happened. 

Mid-step, Hitoshi felt himself pitching forward, his weight shifting to the balls of his feet. 

And he was off. 

Barrelling his way through the bustling station, narrowly avoiding wiping out when his shoe clipped someone's luggage, and out into the streets of Mustafu, ignoring gasps and stares from those he rushed past. 

She would’ve responded. 

Kyou may be distractible, but she wasn’t irresponsible. She’d texted him to make sure he was safe after all. She wouldn’t just ignore her phone, not with the weight hanging over them all. 

He was five blocks away. 

There was at least some comfort in the knowledge that for some reason Shigaraki couldn't Decay her, but if anything had happened... If that bastard had led The League of Villains to them, if she’d been captured or otherwise hurt… 

Two blocks away. 

The air screamed in his lungs, searing across his ribs. But when he slowed to catch his breath, the panic was worse. 

He could see their apartment, intact and undisturbed. 

A good sign. 

The first thing he noticed when he crashed through the door was silence. 

The living room was empty, the TV dark. Everything had been put away. Nothing out of pla– 

          - THUMP - 

He strained his ears again for the soft sound. 

“Kyou?” 

          - THUMP - 

     - THUMP - 

          - THUMP - 

     - THUMP - 

“You’ve gotta be godsdamn kidding me.” 

Rage was building in his chest as he stormed his way toward the rhythmic thudding coming from his so-called sister’s bedroom. 

At this point, he didn’t even care what he would see. All he cared about was shouting himself hoarse. And maybe making Shigaraki punch himself in the balls. 

He’d worried. He’d hauled ass, made a fool of himself, to get here ‘in time.’ And for what? More forced voyeurism. 

“Yeah alright, joke’s on me, you bast–” 

The door was open. 

He could see Shigaraki through it, and immediately, he knew something was wrong. 

The sallow-skinned, scar covered back was to him, heaving like a predator, propped above Kyouyuu by one open, oppressive palm on her chest, pinning and sinking her into the mattress. The other arm rose slowly through the air, bent at the elbow, fingers curling into claws. 

     - THUMP - 

The source of the sound appeared — a tiny, defenseless fist, thudding limply against the wall. 

“K-Kyou? What...?” 

Her face was draining of color, her eyes wide and rolling backward. 

The clawed hand stopped rising – 

“Hi... tosh...” 

– and lurched downward. 

“~SHIGARAKI!~” 

Five fingers plunged into the mattress beside Kyou’s head, and the room filled with an acrid scent of burning plastic, quickly swallowed by a pungent must, like he’d found himself trapped in his grandparent’s heirloom wardrobe. 

He watched, transfixed, as the mattress rotted before his eyes — molding, eroding, and dissipating into nothing — and both victim and villain sank through it to the floor. 

Kyouyuu’s eyes fluttered closed. 

Hitoshi launched toward them, tugging at the decrepit villain's shoulders. 

“~Shigaraki!~” he screamed, terror and frustration pounding through him, “~You’re gonna kill her!~” 

Linking his arms under both of the deceptively strong older male's, Hitoshi heaved with everything he had as, struck with sudden inspiration, he called out with the name that Kyou had insisted upon — 'his true name,' she'd called it — and that he'd refused to use. 

“~STOP, TENKO!~” 

They stumbled backward as Kyouyuu gasped for air — the desperate rattling sound echoed horribly in his ears — but the maddened menace recovered first, rounding on him. 

Hitoshi froze. 

A haunted figure stood where a man should be, its lips curled back over its teeth in a horrifying smile, disturbing plumes of Decayed mattress with each heavy exhale, its red eyes gleaming with demonic pleasure.

It letting out a single, searing cry – 

“SHI-NE⁸!!!!” 

– before its eyes went blank and silence fell. 

Footnotes: 
¹ えっ？？:  ‘eh??’
² きゃあ～～:  ‘kyaaaa’, onomatopoeia for shrieking
³ Atae Me a Headache:  Shinsou is making a pun on Kyouyuu’s last name since it uses the kanji for ‘giving’
⁴ クソ:  sound of frustration, often translated as ‘damnit’
⁵ Un:  sound of agreement
⁶ Itte:  ouch
⁷ Nee-san:  used to address an older sister  
⁸ Shi-ne:  die

Chapter Text

“~GET OUT!~”

Hitoshi screamed it, every ounce of the day’s tumultuous emotions forcing their way out of him, searing his throat.

It was too vague, he knew — it’d be real shit if after all of this, they got caught because he’d accidentally sent the bastard wandering naked through the Mustafu streets — so as he rushed toward his sister, he hastily specified to remain in the hallway, hands clasped, awaiting further instructions.

His knees sank into several inched of dust and mattress fibers at Kyou’s side.

Be alive. Please be alive.

His trembling fingers groped beneath her jaw for a pulse, but her neck was too swollen, and all he could feel was his own frantic heartbeat.

C’mon damnit.

He reached for a wrist –

Give me something. Anything!

– the one that had fallen limp, exhausted from calling for help –

     - THUMP -

          - THUMP THUMP -

He let out a manic huff of relief — there was a pulse, erratic but strong — then forced himself to put a hand beneath her nose.

Sharp, shallow exhalations cooled his sweat slicked palm.

“Oh thank fuck...”

He collapsed back on his heels, head lifted to the ceiling as what had to have been a hundred pounds lifted from his gut, and he squeezed his eyes shut on his blurred vision.

But this wasn’t over yet.

Just because she was alive didn’t mean she’d stay that way, and he had no idea of what condition she was really in.

His head dropped back toward his lap as he pulled out his phone but kept his eyes averted from her as he dialed Aizawa-sensei.

He didn’t want to see it.

Turning away, he busied himself with searching the closet, quickly filling in Aizawa-sensei when he answered, maintaining the code they’d established earlier while making sure he’d get there as soon as possible. And to bring help.

But once he knew they were en route and he’d located a spare dust-free blanket from the closet, there was no other option.

He had to assess her.

Hitoshi turned, slowly, and gently draped the clean cloth over her legs and torso, keeping his gaze unfocused and fixed on a point somewhere above her head.

Later, he supposed he should have been more alarmed, embarrassed even, by the fact that he’d just seen her entirely naked body, but at the time, his mind on autopilot and fueled by terror, he was a thousand times less bothered by his close proximity to her bare skin than by the horrible color, the gruesome texture of the one area he'd left exposed.

Steeling himself, he forced himself to examine it properly.

[[  !!  CW  !!  ]]

The skin running outward along each collarbone and creeping up her neck was grey-tinged, shiny and oddly bloated, reminding Hitoshi wildly of some deep-sea creature. The blankets that he’d haphazardly draped around her concealed much of it, but he could still see how the discoloration and bloat worsened as it approached the source of damage, the skin growing darker and blooming deeper bruising.

At some point closer to the center, the bloat reversed sharply, as if the all the tissue and fluids had deflated, causing the skin there to sag in contrast.

Then, at the epicenter itself, was what made Hitoshi’s stomach turn. A swath of her skin had blackened, somehow looking both dry and wet. The surface layers had cracked, carving a network of jagged grooves deep into her skin, and had also blistered, viscous pustules in varying degrees of formation, some popped and oozing.

But worse even than the grotesque physical effects, was how the damage had been contained into a distinct shape, disturbingly vivid and horribly ironic.

[[    End CW    ]]

The perfect imprint of a hand.

He turned away again, but one look had been enough to burn onto his retinas.

What do I do??

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. Cuts? Bruises? Something that their home First-Aid kit could handle?

Frustration crashed around him like rough ocean waves, and helplessness grabbed at his ankles, threatening to pull him under.

He stood rooted to the spot, cursing his lack of medical knowledge. Cursing this fucked up situation. Cursing Shigaraki. Cursing Kyou for falling for him.

Cursing himself.

And the longer he stood there, the angrier he became.

He knelt beside Kyou again, unable to wait like he knew he should until Aizawa-sensei arrived with Recovery Girl.

He needed answers. And this time, he was going to get them.

“Kyou?” He hesitated, patting her cheek a bit, but she didn’t rouse.

He shouted a little louder, “Kyou??”  and patted at her a little harder.

She gasped awake and immediately coughed, her arms reflexively going to her chest as she cried out in pain, and Hitoshi grabbed her wrists to keep them away from her tattered skin.

“Shh... Kyou, it’s okay, you’re okay, but try not to move –“

“Where’s Tenko?”

Seriously?!

He fought down his frustration, which was difficult as she struggled against his hold on her, each movement causing her to wince.

“Kyou, stop. He’s... Kyou. Stoppit –” he succeeded in pinning her elbows down, “He’s Brainwashed, out in the hallway –”

She screamed in pain, and he released her automatically — she’d tried to push herself up despite his weight and something gave an audible pop — where collapsed back against the floor, panting and coughing and wincing.

“KYOU,” he yelled at her, not bothering to hide his frustration anymore, “Jiji’s on his way with Recovery Girl, so you’ve got about five minutes to tell me what happened before I call the fucking cops, too!”

She glared at the ceiling, gritting her teeth and grinding her heels into the dust-coated flooring, but otherwise had stopped trying to get up. Still, each breath looked to be causing her excruciating pain, and for a moment, his anger lay forgotten again as a panicked thought swam into focus.

“Try to calm down,” he said, then immediately backpedaled, knowing that would only set her off again, “Y-you know, just breathe normally. Can you? H-how do your lungs feel?”

She tried to speak, but coughed and cried out again, and Hitoshi could do nothing but offer patronizing ‘yep, in and out’s and ‘good, that’s it’s as she struggled to focus her breath, bolts of anxiety shooting through his entire body in response to each cry of pain.

Finally, her face settled into a steady grimace, and with short shallow whispers, she said, “Chest on fire... Hurts bad.”

But she was getting air, and even if it was painful, she seemed to have control of her breath. He allowed himself to feel a slimmer of hope — if the Decay had spread to her lungs, it would surely be much worse than this.

But as soon as the panic ebbed, anger rushed back in, and he wasn’t surprised to hear how cold his voice sounded.

“What happened.”

Either from his threat to call the police or from the pain, she remained obediently still, looking miserably at the ceiling, and he watched her face contort again, wondering if some new painful symptom was settling in, when he realized she was trying not to cry.

“Kyou, what happened?” His voice had warmed a bit, but he couldn’t quite contain his frustration, “Why did he turn on you?”

“Accident,” she gasped as the first tears fell, “I tried... to find his memories...”

She shook her head.

“Horrible...” she whispered, closing her eyes and shaking her head harder, then winced and more tears leaked out.

“Lost him... Quirk. Out of control. Just like... in the memories.”

She went into another coughing fit and cried in pain again.

“Okay,” he tried to soothe her, feeling both satisfied and like a real dick for pushing her, “Okay... Just breathe. I’m sorry. I... I had to know.”

She shook her head again, slower and crying in earnest now, then shuffled her hand across the floor, laying it over his. “I know. Thank you... Hi– ittee¹– Hitoshi... for saving me.”

His own mouth pressed into a firm line, fighting off the intense swell of emotion that surged at her words. He squeezed her hand back, nodding curtly.

She had turned back to the ceiling again, her face scrunched and lips pursed with the effort of steading her breath between sobs, and as he stared down at her hand over his, her words echoed from their fight last night.

Misplaced heroic bullshit.

The heat in those words as she’d said them had seemed so out of character for someone who had always supported him, encouraging and praising his efforts. And now, as she thanked him for that very same ‘heroic bullshit,’ something clunked sluggishly into place.

She hadn’t been insulting him at all, even if that’s how he’d taken it, but in the heat of the argument, she’d let it slip. Something she probably tried to hide — maybe from everyone for the obvious reason that she went to a Hero-focused high school; but especially from him, in attempt to not dampen his dreams. He didn’t know how deep it went, but it felt painfully obvious now.

She had a disdain for heroes.

He wanted to confirm this sudden realization, but decided that conversation could wait — sobbing on Death’s door was not the time.

Several moments passed, silent except for her crying and his occasional ‘it’s alright’, but when it seemed her tears had begun to slow, he cleared his throat.

“I’m going to ask some more questions, but don’t try to answer. Just nod ‘yes’ or ‘no’, alright?” She nodded and he continued.

“You said he lost control of his Quirk.”

Nod.

“And he had done this sometime in his past, too.”

Nod.

“So the memory set him off?”

Nod.

“Because you used your Quirk to recall it.”

Nod.

“But I thought your Quirk negated his?”

Hesitant nod. Head tilt.

“You think, after what happened, maybe not?”

She shook her head, but wasn’t looking at him, which he took for less as firm ‘no’ than that she was unsure.

“Why only now?” he wondered aloud.

She continued frowning in thought for a minute, then whispered.

“Stronger.”

Hitoshi considered that. “His Quirk going haywire... you think it made it stronger?”

Nod.

“Stronger than... whatever made yours stop his?”

Nod.

He paused again, deliberating. She wasn’t going to be happy with what he wanted to say, but he felt her fingers give his a faint squeeze, and turning back to her, he saw her expression was soaked in misery.

She’d already heard it.

But for his own sake, he had to say it aloud.

“Until we know for sure why it happened and what to do about it, it’s not safe for you to be around each other.”

Reluctant nod.

“I’m serious. If Jiji doesn’t insist on it, I will.”

More tears, and a nod.

He sighed, looking at her piteous face. “Kyou, how’d you get mixed up in this...”

The question was hypothetical, and she must’ve known because she merely looked at him, her eyes dancing over his face.

“I don’t understand it,” he continued, “I still don’t trust him. And... believe me, I want to trust you about him!” And that was the truth. That this dangerous, feral monster could be taken off the streets and tamed was more than anyone could ask for.

“But... you’re so biased –”

Shake.

“Yes, you are, okay? Look, I’m sorry, but ‘he’s had a hard life’ and ‘I can save him’ isn’t enough for me. I need to understand why he is here, and that you’re not there.”

It was the first time he’d said that thought aloud.

Kyou’s brows knitted together slightly, confused, so he clarified.

“I can buy that you intrigued him, alright? And that you were a welcome distraction from what must be heavy... villain stuff. And that he wanted to keep you.

“But that’s just it, Kyou — why didn’t he just keep you?”

Her brows were furrowed, her eyes hanging on his every word, so he plunged on.

“Like, he could have taken you. Kept you for himself. It’s not like he didn’t have the means. But instead, he left? Just up and abandoned everything he’d ever known. Why?”

“Shins...” she whispered.

He tried to shh her, feeling dickish again — he hadn’t meant to make her speak, hadn’t thought she’d be able to answer, and had really just been airing his frustrations at her — but she squeezed his hand again, swallowing, gathering strength.

He thought she might pass out again. Her eyes were starting to droop.

“Can’t explain... full thing. Memories. So many.”

She closed her eyes and was silent for so long, he thought she had fallen unconscious again, but then she grasped his hand tighter and spoke, her voice falling inaudible at times so that he had to lip read.

“He couldn’t have kept me. There... with him... nothing was his. Coming here... was freedom.”

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

He was walking.

He didn’t know how, couldn’t remember leaving, but immediately he knew why he was walking — that gross, wet, burning feeling still lingered at the back of his throat, the one that always prefaced hours meandering the city.

These streets seemed familiar but in a detached way, like his feet hadn’t pounded this path in a long, long time.

And something else was odd, too.

Was there something wrong with his vision?

Everywhere he looked, the edges seemed to be flaking. Buildings, pavement, the sky — they all seemed to be drifting away, like dust caught on a breeze.

Looking down at his feet was another strange thing. He was watching them move, each step carrying him loyally down this Decaying sidewalk, but they felt stiff, immobile.

A numb comprehension settled upon him just as he felt that looming weight at the back of his neck. He turned, and saw nothing but the expanse of sidewalk he’d just traversed.

Huh.

He blinked slowly, thinking it was weird how something could be felt every day and still be forgotten — the reason pushed deep into the archives and locked up tight, while the feeling never relented.

That sensation, he knew anywhere. And now he remembered why.

He faced forward, giving that a free shot at the back of his neck. It loomed again, but the bolt of lightning didn’t come. Instead, he felt insanely light, and the corners of his mouth twitched as he started walking again.

He rounded a corner, and suddenly, he was in his bedroom, staring down at himself.

How could he have ever been so small.

The whole family was there. It was the first time they’d all been reunited since that day, each of them holding him.

He could remember feeling overwhelmingly sick, the worst sick he’d ever felt — the bile not just licking up his throat but sitting at the back of his mouth — except for once, he knew it wouldn’t spill, and the panic was gone.

With his family surrounding him, embracing him as if making up for lost time, the fear — that fear that itched and itched and itched and itched beneath his skin, burning to get out — was forgotten beneath the sturdy weight of those hands.

His tiny self stood there, looking like a crying child who’d been offered a candy apple in appeasement of his tantrum.

And then he heard Sensei, his deep assuring voice far away and echoey.

“...that’s my last name...”

There were other sounds, too, but these were ones he didn’t think belonged to his memories.

“... Tenko?”

The sound was distant but solid, as if it was actually hitting his ear drums instead of floating to him from a dream, and then he heard a sharp cry of pain –

Goddess!

– but his vision was going, the imagery peeling like forgotten paint chips to reveal the scene beneath it, and he didn’t hear her anymore.

He was back in the city, roaming the streets, and he was small, but not as small as then. In just a few minutes walking with his younger self, he realized he wasn’t out there to pass the time, meandering at his own pace and route. This was training.

“Watch people and learn them, Tomura.”

He was following a man, one of a handful of people he’d been tailing all week, lagging half a block behind when he saw it.

The sleek, shiny gaming console, brand new and begging to be played.

He side-eyed the man, knowing his routine would have him continue straight for several blocks — he had time — and then unashamedly pressed his face and hands up against the glass, keeping his fingers curled into his palms, to ogle the console.

The scene decayed again, and he was back in his room playing with that very console.

He’d successfully delivered to Sensei the full profiles — including physical description, schedule, Quirk, and personality — of several people he’d been observing, and the next day, he’d returned home to find the machine set up, a game and controller laid out, waiting for him.

It had been so wonderfully different from his action figures and puzzles which could never quite take the edge off his isolation, and watching the desperately careful way his younger self held the controller, he remembered how painstakingly he’d trained himself to play that way, unable to bear losing this source of pleasure.

But this was the day.

He couldn’t beat the final boss. He’d tried over and over and over for hours, ignoring meals and his other studies.

Helplessly, he stood there waiting, closing his eyes and refusing to watch, but the acrid smell of melted plastic wafted over him anyway, the small gasps and cries of instant regret lodged forever in his ears.

And Sensei’s voice, too, layered over the pleading.

“You let indulgence and impatience overcome you. If I were to buy you another one, it would be rewarding that impatience. Loss is a natural part of life, but it isn’t a necessary one. When you are patient and are free from attachments, then you will never lose, Tomura. Until then, let your sorrow be a learning experience.”

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

Hitoshi fought down an ominous sense of déjà vu as he hurried toward the frantic pounding on their front door and opened it onto the same panic-stricken face.

“It’s Kyou,” he said at once, backing away to let his mentor and Recovery Girl inside.

“Where.”

Hitoshi turned and led them down the hall, “Still in her bedroom. She’s alive but just passed out again.”

They rounded the corner toward Kyouyuu’s room onto the emptied hallway and held out his arm to allow them entrance first. For a moment, Aizawa-sensei stood frozen in the doorway, and Recovery Girl had to nudge him out of the way, tutting anxiously, to rush toward her downed student.

Last night had been disquieting enough, seeing his stoic teacher unnerved in the face of his daughter in danger. But this was worse.

He watched nervously as Aizawa-sensei took a few steps into the room, staring at Kyou with unblinking eyes, his jaw set.

That wasn’t focus or determination that settled on his features as they had last night — it was fear.

Maybe it was because Hitoshi was too full of adrenaline, because he’d already been forced to acclimate to her condition, but the look on his mentor’s face scared him just as much as the rest of it.

He raised a hand uncertainly and placed it on Aizawa’s shoulder, who didn’t stop staring at Kyou but took a few quick breaths, closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded in what he thought might be silent thanks.

They stayed that way all the while Recovery Girl worked, watching as various items — a blood pressure cuff, syringes, salves, bandages — came briefly into view and then disappeared back into a small white and pink bag adorned with a red “R” and cartoon yellow syringes.

     - CHYUUUUU -

The tiny woman stood, backing away from Kyou and turning to face them.

“I’ve done as much as I feel safe doing for now.”

Hitoshi was silent, his mouth too dry to speak, as Aizawa stepped forward out of his palm and crouched beside Kyou, staring at the handprint — in the same way Hitoshi hadn’t been able to look at it, he supposed his mentor couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Her sternum is cracked,” Recovery Girl continued, “but it seems to have done its job and shielded her lungs and heart.

“She’ll be very weak for a while. Her circulatory and lymphatic systems were affected since the damage was in such a critical area. Coughing, dizziness, and lethargy are expected, as well as swelling, but most of those should alleviate once she’s strong enough for a second treatment.

“The skin, however...” she tutted sadly, “The deepest afflicted areas will probably never recover. The damage is too great. She’ll have that mark forever.”

Hitoshi thought there was something like suspicion on Recovery Girl’s face as she stared at Aizawa, who was too busy wiping a tear from Kyou’s cheek to notice.

“My Quirk cannot reverse what has already decayed,” she pressed.

Hitoshi froze, waiting for his mentor’s lead. The fewer people who knew, the safer their situation was. But clearly, the cat was already out of the bag.

The stoic Pro Hero rose slowly from his crouch, “I see. So the skin has decayed,” evading her hidden question with an overly casual tone.

“Don’t insult me, Shouta,” the tiny woman quipped, seeming to tower over her junior teacher despite being half his size as she abandoned all pretense, “This damage is a more severe version of what was done to your arm at the USJ.”

Hitoshi shifted his weight uncomfortably, and beside him, Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose but said nothing.

“How was he here?” she demanded, then suddenly rounded on Hitoshi. “And why did you phrase things so casually? A training accident?? Hah!” but before he could do more than open his mouth to babble incoherently, she’d turned back to Aizawa. “Unless - I see. You knew what the situation was already, didn’t you? That’s why you brought me along instead of bringing her in?”

Aizawa looked at her a moment, seeming to weigh their options, then answered simply, “Yes.”

She was silent, head swiveling between the pair of them — it was hard to tell on her weathered features whether she seemed angry, scared, or amused; Hitoshi thought maybe all three — then let her gaze linger on Kyou for a while before she sighed, almost comically.

“Where is he?”

Hitoshi thought he saw the corner of Aizawa's mouth twitch before running his fingers through his hair and nodding meaningfully at him.

He hesitated, raising his eyebrows, silently asking, ‘you sure?’

“It’s alright,” Aizawa sighed, “This was bound to happen. And if anyone else was going to be in the know, I’d rather it be Chiyo.”

Recovery Girl patted Aizawa’s arm with a grim sort of smile, then turned toward the soft sounds of feet padding from the hall, and Shigaraki’s dulled red eyes came into view.

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

Physically, he knew he was still in Kyou’s house. Really, he’d always known, but the signs had been growing clearer beneath his continually shifting vision.

Eraser’s voice had entered the distorted fray, as well as the high-pitched croak of some obaasan² he didn’t recognize but who was probably that ancient school nurse UA leaned on so heavily.

He wasn’t alarmed, or even surprised.

He knew why they were there.

But as his memories played across his vision like some raggedy film strip, he thought over and over how great this Brainwash shit was.

Here, all he had to do was watch his dismal life play out, and he didn’t even seem to feel a type of way about it.

It was liberating.

The next scene came into focus beneath the remnants of the last, and he found himself lounging against an alley wall, scratching his boney pre-teen back against the filthy brick before pulling an ice cream from his giant hoodie pocket.

Wait…

Another skinny teenager dropped into the dirty alley beside him. He hardly flinched despite their sudden appearance and lazily tossed the newcomer a second ice cream.

This one looked a little older than he was but more disheveled, like they were a full-time street urchin sans Sensei-provided comforts, except their smile came much more easily than his ever could.

“What, no strawberry?” they were saying, the voice barely disguising laughter.

No. I wanna skip this cutscene…

But the memory continued, with its cracked and rotting edges and without his acknowledgement, forcing him to watch as his younger self side-eyed his fellow street rat beneath his fringe.

“You’re getting better,” Kagami smirked. “Didn’t I tell you having your hood up would help? You didn’t look shifty at all this time. Nice job.”

He sank further into the wall, shrugging his shoulders in mock humility to hide the feint flush that crept up his neck.

Their taunt irked him — Kagami was much better practiced at being inconspicuous out of necessity for their Quirk — and he was annoyed he hadn’t made that connection sooner.

But the compliment had taken him off guard.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Teaching has its rewards,” they chuckled, tearing through the packaging and moaning obscenely as they devoured the sweet treat, “Oh, this is good.”

His own movements as he unwrapped the ice cream were controlled, precise but no longer agonizingly cautious. Every trace of hesitancy was gone, and it’d been over a year since he’d accidentally Decayed anything.

“Hey,” Kagami said with a thumb in their mouth, licking up every last trace of sticky sugar, “I guilted some lady into money for train tickets. Wanna go to the beach?”

“No.”

“C’mon... you can still wear your hood!”

“I hate sand.”

“What? Shut up. You don’t know — you’ve never even been.”

He hadn’t, but he'd always thought sand was probably a lot like dust in that that shit got everywhere.

“I get to see beaches in Black Flag and that’s enough.”

“Isn’t that a video game?”

He froze.

He’d met Kagami by happenstance. Weeks ago, he’d turned into the alley and found them working over a dumpster. It was a short, nothing interaction, so he didn’t know why something about them stuck out, but it had. And for weeks after, he'd frequented that alley and the surrounding ones, keeping tabs and trying figure out what it was.

Until one day, they dropped from a fire escape behind him — close enough to feel like a threat, but just outside of his reach. Instantly, he’d braced himself for a fight, but curiously they didn’t seem to be afraid of him. They just said his stalker skills could use some subtlety and laughed.

‘Every interaction is a transaction, Tomura,’ Sensei’s voice had rung in his head. ‘Humanity survives on give and take. Quid pro quo.'

Over those weeks he’d spent watching, he’d realized their Quirk alienated them from society — not because the Quirk was outwardly dangerous or off putting, in fact he hadn’t yet worked out their Quirk, but it was obvious in the way they held themselves, in how they interacted with others, in how they were isolated by choice — yet in deciding to engage with him just now, in offering easy laughter instead of fists, they’d shown their cards.

Isolation was their choice, but it wasn’t an easy one.

“Subtlety, huh? And you could use some food,” he’d responded, scoffing and looking down his nose at them, but Kagami had just smiled wider, “I got that.”

“You offering to take me to dinner?” they cocked an amused eyebrow at him.

“For a lesson in subtlety.”

They’d looked him over, tilting their head and smirking.

“Class is in session,” they'd said finally, clapping and standing at attention before tapping words out on an invisible blackboard, “Lesson one: blink more. You look like a fucking creep.”

Since they’d met, he’d managed to keep their interactions strictly surface level — spending time and sharing space as required of the deal, but avoiding anything personal — just like Sensei had drilled into him.

It had always been enough.

But now he’d slipped.

“How do you have access to video games??” Kagami demanded, full of excitement.

“I–” but he couldn’t backpedal fast enough.

“Tomu, you asshole, you’ve been holding out on me!”

His face split into a reluctant grin, and then he began to laugh. 

Kagami’s insults had never landed.

Their Quirk was True Colors — at least, that was what he'd decided it was called, having not actually confirmed his suspicions.

But what he did know was that looking at Kagami was sort of like looking into a mirror, except what got reflected wasn’t physical.

Their Quirk showed someone who they really were.

It was why they had learned to keep to the shadows, remaining as inconspicuous as possible, because ‘good’ people didn’t react well to seeing themselves in less than perfect lighting.

So, in spite of the potential danger that would come from this split decision, he pulled out his phone and carefully tapped a quick text to Kurogiri. 

‘Quid pro quo, Tomura.’

His thumb hovered over the send button, glancing slyly up at Kagami.

“For a favor,” he said.

“What kind of favor,” they asked, for once wary, but their eyes kept darting to his hovering thumb.

He smirked. 

“Anything I want.”

They deliberated a moment longer, then smirked back. “Yeah, alright.”

As they awaited the warp gate that would take them back to his room, his excitement was palpable, his grin a mile wide.

He'd been flooded with pride at the deal he'd struck — an unlimited open-ended deal, a favor of any scale, whenever he wanted — and about how impressed Sensei would be.

But there had been something more than that, too. Something childish.

And when the black misty portal appeared and their mouth hung open in enthusiastic surprise, that giddiness bubbled up his throat in a manic giggle as he practically bounced forward and waved them through. 

The rest of that day was the best he’d ever had.

There was only the one controller, but he'd found he was just as happy to teach Kagami than to play himself.

His room had never heard laughter, and it was loud.

Hours had passed, and exhaustion had settled over him in a way it never had before. He'd rested his head sideways against the bed, just for a minute, a grin on his face as he settled in to watch them beat their first boss.

But when the darkness of the warp gate abated, the next scene swirling into focus, he was waking with a start, wiping the side of his face of the drool that had pooled beneath it.

The monitor was dark, the controller abandoned on the floor.

He jumped up ungracefully — his knees and ankles rebelling from being slept on in such an odd position — and hobbled awkwardly to the door, flinging it open onto his Keeper.

“Tomura Shigaraki,” the deep ethereal voice wavered.

He froze, clearly caught, but not speaking until his Keeper did.

“I have seen your friend out. Forgive me for not waking you. I thought you could use the sleep.”

“They... aren’t a friend. I was just showing them some video games. We made a deal.”

“I see,” Kurogiri said simply and then let the silence stretch in that infuriating way that made him want to spill his guts.

“It was fine!” he shouted, “The only thing I ever told them was my name. They don’t know where this is ‘cause we warped straight here. I’ve never said anything about us, not you or Sensei, and as far as they know, Warp is my Quirk and this is some random house I found and the games aren’t even mine. And anyway, they don’t have anyone to tell this to, no family or anything and –”

The sound of heavy footfalls stalled his speech.

“And no harm done, right, Tomura?”

Sensei came into view, filling the doorway and smiling down at him.

“R-right.”

All his confidence vanished, and dread started to sink in.

“Tell me, Tomura, what were you to expect in return for such a gesture of kindness?”

“A favor, no limits,” he said, standing a little straighter and swelling with pride. “Whatever and whenever I want.”

Sensei hummed like a parent entertaining a toddler’s fairy tale.

“And what value had you gained of them so far, that made a favor from a vagrant child worthy of showing your hand?”

His shoulders sank, his voice grew quieter with each word, “They were teaching me how to up my Stealth stats, so...”

Sensei laughed, a deep booming laugh that registered judgment rather than amusement.

“We can hire someone to teach you those things, Tomura. You know that.”

He remained silent.

“Your friend is a common thief, a useless nobody of no value to you. And those of no value are not worth your time.”

His muscles tensed as if his entire body was trying to take back his mistake, trying to escape the consequence.

“Luckily, for the reasons you shouted, this was a mild blunder and hardly cause for concern. But in future, you must exercise greater discernment in your dealings.

“A successful transaction is not just about gains, but about costs. Remember, Tomura, a deal is a loss if what you give is more than you stand to gain. And we do not abide loss. It is beneath us.”

“Yes, Sensei,” he said automatically, hardly hearing the lesson in amazement that he seemed to have gotten out of this with no more than a scolding.

Sensei smiled down on him, then turned and walked through a Gate Kurogiri had just opened.

He sighed loudly in relief in his sensei’s absence.

"So Warp Gates are out," he began muttering, shaking out the rest of his numb limbs and backing farther into his room and picking up the controller, "That's fine, I definitely pushed my luck there... I'll make up an excuse for why there'll be no more games — maybe this sweet setup was only temporary, I broken into a vacationers’ home or something... yeah — but since Kagami enjoyed themselves so much, I can hold it over their head and barter for a lot more than just one favor..." 

He looked mollified as his quiet stream of consciousness continued, pausing to bark at Kurogiri to get him a snack, completely unaware of the way those yellow splotches drooped slightly as the Keeper complied obediently. 

He never saw Kagami again. 

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

Hitoshi watched Recovery Girl’s reaction closely, but it was impressively lackluster.

She didn’t gasp. She didn’t widen her eyes or otherwise show any sign of surprise. She merely frowned, looking back and forth slowly between his sister and the famous villain.

“So he’s just a boy after all...”

Hitoshi would bet a lot more than he had that over her tenure as a Healer of hormonal teenagers, she’d most definitely handled her share of ‘spicy’ injuries, and he wondered if she knew the nature of their relationship even before a Brainwashed Shigaraki reentered the room from where Hitoshi had stashed him, draped haphazardly in a dust-coated sheet.

Aizawa had taken one look at the red-eyed bastard, narrowing his eyes and huffing, before returning to his crouch beside Kyou and pushing a stray lock back into place. He didn’t look up as he addressed Recovery Girl again.

“The full truth is a long story we don’t have time for, but I promise you’ll hear it. For now, please accept that we need to get Shiga–” He shook his head, frowning as if wrestling with something. “We need to get Tenko hidden and under UA’s protection...”

Hitoshi could practically see the furious way his mentor’s brain was working, adjusting to the current situation.

Recovery Girl turned to Hitoshi and asked quietly, “Tenko?”

“It’s apparently his real name,” he whispered back.

“We need a way to contact Nezu...” Aizawa stood again, crossing his arms and brainstorming aloud, “...to get inside the barrier that was fortified to keep him out.”

“We can speak in code again,” Hitoshi offered, “can’t we?”

“I don’t think so. You were incredibly quick on the uptake but you already knew the situation. As highly intelligent as Nezu is, he would only be able to glean so much without context. Our circumstances are against him.”

“Code?” Recovery Girl interjected, “If you think your phone is tapped, making that call is the least of your worries.”

“Not my phone specifically,” Aizawa explained, “Or Hitoshi’s, or even Kyouyuu’s. I’m cautious of putting anything out there that would catch if someone has cast a wide net, so to speak.”

She looked skeptical, “You think this punk and his cronies have those kinds of resources?”

Aizawa looked gravely at Hitoshi then back at his colleague, “We have to assume that. Tenko himself explained that The League is truly headed from the shadows by someone called All For One, and the guy sounds like he could have his hands in just about everything.”

The effect of that name on Recovery Girl was instantaneous.

“All For One?” she breathed.

Hitoshi was surprised, though if Aizawa was, he didn’t show it.

“You know him.” It wasn’t a question.

It was a moment before she spoke again, and when she did, her voice had lost some of its snap.

“Only of him, but... You’re sure?”

“Yes,” he responded flatly, “Tenko is his protégé.”

If possible, her features became more lined and troubled than ever.

“Let me call Nezu.”

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

As the memories rolled on, he was finding it harder and harder to stay apathetic.

Partly because he could tell something was happening around his physical body, the world outside of his eyes appearing briefly through the cracking visions. From what he could glean from the erratic, disjointed flashes, it looked like he was being directed around the house with no context as to why.

But mostly, he was becoming more distressed by the memories themselves, the mental dumpster in which he’d stuffed them now overflowing and impossible to keep a lid on.

Something was building.

It started low, in the pit of his stomach, but it didn’t creep up his throat like bile. And it didn’t burn beneath his skin like the itching.

It simmered there, steadily raising his internal temperature as he watched the scenes flick by.

In the current Decay-fringed Hellscape, he sat in his dark room typing away at his computer, the scene much more familiar, only a few years old.

He was alone now.

Sensei had prepared him for this. Over and over, he had equipped him with the means to cope with an eventual departure. By now, he should have been used to solitude, well-practiced at accepting loss.

But this went deeper. Because nothing before was ever something he’d actually had. He’d had nothing but Sensei.

And now he had nothing.

Because Sensei had fallen to All Might.

He had survived, of course — the doctor graced him and Kurogiri with his occasional contact and vague updates — but barely, plugged into machines that kept his organs functioning, kept him locked away in some distant facility, kept him gone from the world. From him.

It also kept their assets from him.

“In my condition, I cannot possibly maintain all of my investments.” Sensei’s voice buzzed out of an old television monitor. There was no video. He kept asking the doc to get that fixed who kept saying he would. “You have learned a great deal, Tomura. It will be up to you to support yourself until I return.”

So he sat at his desk, cursing All Might and running online scams to keep the lights on.

Almost all of his early scams failed because he’d tried to do too much. He always started with some sob story, which seemed to draw in views, but stumbled by giving too much information and getting caught in the details. Either people didn’t care enough to read it all or he got found out, forced to make do with his meager intake and shut things down, erase his tracks.

Less — he’d discovered — was definitely more.

Like, stupidly less.

          – Sgl mother of 3 Homeless Plz help Thx –

That was it. The whole post. Then he’d stolen random photos from a basic web search, and every few weeks he’d post new stolen photos with ‘updates’ of how donors’ money had helped support them. They weren’t even of the same kids, but the funds continued climbing.

The internet was fast to forget and easy to please — or anger, which worked just as well.

The ‘family’ scam was his longest running, but he kept others in rotation as well. Making ‘friends’ online was easy if you had enough patience — and he could when he wanted — especially in pockets of the internet where emotions were plentiful. Deals made behind a screen were always a net gain: it cost him nothing to pretend to connect with someone, but the ROI was massive.

Most of his success came from support groups, seedy chat rooms, and dating apps.

All online. Fake. Impersonal.

And all full of soft-hearted idiots.

Each day he’d compile the funds to a single account, where Kurogiri would move it again, then send them to someone who would trade them back cash and, for a percentage, would cover their tracks.

Then he would troll the hero forums.

That habit didn’t make money, but it helped take the edge off of his continuously rising internal temperature and its source:

Rage.

Boiling his insides. Filling his head with steam.

Hating All Might was his only outlet, shitting on him and his fans, his one small way to lift the lid and let the some of the heat escape.

It felt incredible to pick fights with All Might-stans, to know he was an active obstacle in their efforts to make the world a so-called better place, that he would be there to make sure they were not safe, not from him.

He loved well-written lengthy arguments with sound logic, only for him to respond with ‘yeah no lmao.’

He lived to watch their indignance flash across his screen, to witness their responses devolve from polite engagement to petty insults.

He reveled in watching them become as angry as he always felt, to make just one person feel as shit as he did every damn day.

For weeks, and months, and years, he sat in that chair and simmered, wondering when he would be nothing more than water stains on an empty pan.

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

“Everyone deals with traumatic events in different ways, Mr. Head,” the ancient Healer quipped into the receiver. “If I want to invite my grandson to play hanafuda ³ and keep my mind off what’s happened to our students, I will.”

The room was silent for a few minutes, except for the faint mumblings of high-pitched speech.

“Yes... Yes, understood. Thank you, Principal-sama.” She hung up, looking triumphant, then looked up at them, “We’ve got a day pass. The barrier will accept a single unregistered entity within direct proximity to me in 30 minutes.”

Sighing audibly, she added, “He’ll never forgive me for lying, but if All For One is involved, that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

Since Aizawa and Recovery Girl had taken a car to get there it would only take a few minutes to arrive at the barrier, but once there was an actual plan they all jumped into action.

Aizawa began packing a bag of things for Kyou while Recovery Girl tried to clean up and prep for moving her, while Hitoshi headed to his room with the red-eyed bastard in tow and began tearing through his closet for what might provide him a reasonable disguise.

He estimated they were about the same size and build, albeit Shigaraki was a bit lankier, and ultimately grabbed a pair of jeans he could part with, a few old concert tees, and an unassuming grey track jacket which was well-worn but had a hood. For now though, he laid out an extra school uniform, figuring that if anyone was on the lookout for him, a kid in a UA school uniform would be the farthest thing from their radar.

He also dug around the bathroom cabinets, struck by sudden inspiration, and finally, shoved right to the back, forgotten, he found a box of Kyou’s hair dye.

He’d razzed her about it when he first saw it, for one because it was a simple reddish brown when he’d expected a fashion color or something more drastic; and two, because she’d never used it, still sporting, and always had, her natural silvery charred umber.

Now, he was just glad she hadn’t thrown it out.

It took to Shigaraki’s parched mop like blood on snow.

“Laugh it up, dickwad,” he growled, squeezing another gloop of dye onto the head of Shizuoka Prefecture’s number one villain and scrubbing it through the dry waves, hastily bunching and tugging the locks with a gloved hand in attempt to coat each strand, “This’s gotta be the weirdest fucking thing I’ve ever –”

          - キャア ⁴ -

Nearly dropping the little squeeze bottle, he abandoned Shigaraki and rushed toward the sound of the shriek, holding his dye-covered hand aloft.

Recovery Girl was standing, broom in hand, in front of a swept pile of Decayed mattress. Her hand was over her mouth, staring at the thing Aizawa was holding with two fingers, a disgusted look on his face.

“Is…” Hitoshi stammered, “Is that... ?”

“Part of his costume?” Aizawa finished for him, “Yeah...” and gave the hand a little shake, freeing it of some of the dust. “It must have been under the bed when it Decayed.”

“My, my...” Recovery Girl said at last, taking the hand to examine it herself, “It’s... real.” She turned it over, examining the bronzish box at what should be the thing’s wrist. “This device must be keeping it preserved.” She looked up at Aizawa, passing it back with the most pronounced frown Hitoshi had so far seen her wear as she asked, “Why?”

No one could answer her. At least, no one who could speak right now.

“And Shouta, you said his costume– it’s covered with these things?”

He nodded, wiping more of the digits clean against his pant leg. “Maybe a dozen of them, all connected with tubes and gripping his arms, shoulders. His face.”

An uncomfortable silence followed this.

“Here,” Hitoshi started forward, reaching for the thing, “I’ll pack it with his clothes and stuff.”

They both stared at him.

“What? He brought it here but none of the rest of them? It’s probably important. And I don’t want another reason to set him off. He’s already gonna be piss– sorry — annoyed enough.”

Recovery Girl flapped at him for adjusting his speech on her account, but Aizawa gave him what he thought was a calculating look before handing it over.

It shouldn’t have, but when he took it, it surprised him how cold it was.

Repressing a shudder, he turned to head back to his bizarre task when he kicked something on the ground. Between carrying the severed limb and his own dye-coated one, he had no hands to spare so after a second’s deliberation, he tucked the severed palm under his arm and bent to pick up what he’d kicked.

It was a tiny flip booklet, drawn, not printed, and stapled crudely along one edge. Hitoshi thought that Kyou had likely made it herself, and placed it upon a pile of sketchbooks Aizawa had gathered up for her.

Finally, they were all ready:  bags packed, Kyou’s room swept of lingering mattress debris, Shigaraki dressed in the UA uniform with his still-damp shittily dyed hair, and all of them gathered at the door, Kyou balanced between himself and Aizawa.

She could stand but not well, and was so weak that even allowing Recovery Girl to quickly dress her had drained her of the little energy she had left. So with her consent — her head looking like it weighed a ton with the heavy, sluggish way she’d nodded — Hitoshi had used Brainwash on her in the hopes of better coordinating their movements.

And then they were off.

Recovery Girl led the way to the car, followed by her ‘grandson’ (aka Shigaraki), and then by student and teacher, each of them with a firm grasp on Kyou’s belt so that they mostly carried her weight between them.

“Just a few short steps, Kyouyuu,” Aizawa spoke more softly than Hitoshi had ever heard him, “Just a little more pain and you’ll both be safe. I know you can do this.”

Hitoshi let out his breath slowly when they all clambered in without issue, Aizawa up front with the UA driver to hold his attention and Recovery Girl standing, small as she was, in front of Shigaraki’s knees and blocking the view of him in the rearview mirror.

It was a short route. Practically, Hitoshi knew this, and the drive would take five minutes, tops. But it felt like an eternity.

His eyes darted nervously around the car, trying to steady his own palpable panic by examining his companions’ faces when he noticed Recovery Girl eyeing Shigaraki closely and watched her press gentle fingers to his neck.

They came away red.

And before he had time to process that what he’d mistaken as stains from the box dye was blood, she’d lifted the bastard’s hand carefully by the wrist and kissed it.

He supposed she couldn’t help herself. The skin began to scab instantly.

Finally, they passed beneath the UA barrier, and for a moment, no one breathed, waiting for the moment of truth. But Nezu had followed through, and the alarm did not sound.

Hitoshi could feel the tension leave the car like a physical presence.

It was summer break, and the normally bustling campus was all but devoid of life, allowing them to get Kyou up to Recovery Girl’s office without issue or suspicion.

We made it, he thought, taking a seat beside Shigaraki on the bed opposite Kyou and recalling the day’s events — was it possible this had all been a single day? — as a wave of exhaustion began to crest, looming over him.

And as the tenured healer bustled around plying Kyou with additional medications, replacing bandages and getting her more comfortable, Hitoshi suddenly remembered the reason his panic to get home had been set in motion in the first place — Aizawa mentioning he couldn’t get ahold of Kyou.

To warn her about their surprise guest.

Aizawa gave a little start when Hitoshi asked him about it, as if he’d only just remembered as well, and pulled out his phone, tapping a quick message.

“I guess he’ll have to meet us here instead.”

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

Tomura blinked. Several times.

Was this... the USJ?

It had to be. He’d never been in such close proximity to him otherwise.

He looked around, confused.

Yes, there was Eraser, those eyes glowing red and locked on him, but... this space was too small, decidedly a room, not the vast environment in which The League had made their first move.

So where –

There was a soft swishing as he turned, and he realized he was sitting on a bed. To his right, Hitoshi Shinsou was staring at him. And behind him, lying in the bed opposite was –  

It hit him.

This wasn’t a memory.

Which meant he was actually here.

He took a long slow breath and let it out.

Then, with what he thought was the greatest effort he’d ever undertaken, he looked up into the face that embodied everything he hated.

“All Might.”

Footnotes: 
¹ ittee:  ouch / ow
² obaasan:  grandmother
³ hanafuda:  Japanese playing cards
⁴ キャア:  ‘kya!’, onomatopoeia of a shriek or scream

Chapter Text

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

.·°·.┈┈°·.·° earlier °·.·°┈┈.·°·.

Hitoshi had been watching Recovery Girl scuttle around her office for the last several minutes, and it was starting to make his temples throb.

He couldn’t blame her nervousness necessarily — his own knee had been making a symphony out of the cot springs beneath him ever since Aizawa had left to retrieve Japan’s number one hero — but when she began fussing over Kyou’s monitors for the tenth time, he forcibly stalled his jumping leg and addressed her.

"Is there something I can help with?”

“What?” she snapped, but then her whole body seemed to soften, and she sighed.

“I can’t believe they want to meet here,” she explained on a whine, grabbing a container off her desk and heading toward the adjacent cot and its Brainwashed occupant at a marginally less panicked pace.

“I know it’s the most secure place to do it, what with trying to hide him and all — sorry, can you just...” She had reached them, dipping her fingers into some sort of salve and gesturing for Shigaraki to bend forward so she could reach him. Hitoshi obliged.

“Thank you — but it’s certainly not the safest place to do it! I mean, you’ve seen the kinds of messes All Might leaves in his wake, right?”

Huh?? She was this anxious because of All Might??

“I would think it’d be him we should be worried about.” Hitoshi pointed blankly to the guy whose face the tenured nurse was now dabbing salve.

“Hmph! To be a kid is to be messy, but adults should know better,” she snapped, passing a gross oversimplification as wisdom in the way only the elderly could. “And our precious Symbol of Peace seems to be incapable of doing anything without a mess.” She sighed. “Smash this, smash that – I wish he could use some restraint sometimes. But – what is that saying? It’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks?”

She sighed again.

“That can’t be helped, I guess. But I don’t want my office destroyed! So, if it looks like it’s going to become a fight, keep him from going overboard, won’t you?”

Hitoshi could only blink, trying to comprehend that she was asking him to Brainwash All Might, when the door began to slide open –

“Watashiga... KITA¹!!!”

– and the legend himself appeared, nearly cracking the frame as the door flew the rest of the way open.

Hitoshi almost tripped in his haste to stand, but Recovery Girl merely shook her head.

An awkward silence followed in which Recovery Girl finished with Shigaraki and Hitoshi stood rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do, all while All Might remained posed dramatically in the doorway, his face falling slightly with each second.

Finally, Recovery Girl started back toward her desk and grumbled, “Really, All Might, this is not the place for that energy,” glancing at Hitoshi with an expression that read ‘what did I say.’

“And you’re blocking the entry,” Aizawa muttered, still out of sight.

“G-gomen²...” The hulking hero sounded sheepish as he finally relinquished his pose and stepped inside the office.

Aizawa followed close behind, All Might’s polar opposite with his typical deadpan and tired swagger, already looking irritable as he slid the door closed behind them.

“HA HA!” All Might boomed, and Hitoshi barely had time to register how unnaturally fast the hero had regained his poise before he was there, smiling imposingly down at him, “Hello, young man. Aizawa-kun said there would be students here, but I was under the impression we would meet you at your residence. Shall we all walk over together?”

Hitoshi was unable to keep his eyes from shifting toward Shigaraki, simultaneously incredibly anxious and a little proud that All Might had not appeared so far to recognize the famous villain.

“Uh...”

He glanced nervously at Recovery Girl who was quiet but grim-faced, and then at Aizawa, who also said nothing, but nodded reassuringly before loudly locking the door.

“You may be familiar with Hitoshi Shinsou,” Aizawa drawled, following his colleague into the room and introducing Hitoshi as if this were a totally normal situation. “First year, Class C.”

“Yes, very nice to meet you properly, Young Shinsou. I apologize for my distance earlier at the hospital. I was on the job – you know, not really the time to socialize.”

“N-no problem, All Might, sir.”

“AHA HA HA!” the hero boomed. “Just All Might is fine. No ‘sir’ necessary.”

Hitoshi rubbed his neck uncomfortably as, for about the fourth time since All Might had addressed him directly, he felt his eyes dart in Shigaraki’s direction, still amazed and panicked that he hadn’t even seemed to notice him.

But now that his own interaction was coming to a natural conclusion, All Might’s attention wavered.

“And I see we have more company!” he alluded happily, beginning to turn toward the unnaturally still ‘student’ sitting opposite Hitoshi.

“Yes, over here...” Aizawa said calmly, directing All Might toward the cot across the aisle from them. Hitoshi let out a breath and followed the two Pros across the room, “Allow me to introduce my daughter, Kyouyuu Atae.”

All Might gaped. “Your –?” he started, looking taken aback, but seemed to think the nuances of his colleague’s relationship could wait, because he continued, softening his features and lowering his voice to something more appropriate for a sick bed.

“My deepest apologies, Aizawa-kun. I had no idea. But, of course, you would want her closer to home instead of at the hospital with the others –”

“Kyouyuu is neither a first year nor in the hero course,” Aizawa corrected him. “But, in a way, her injures are connected to the training camp attack,” he finished elusively.

All Might etched a layer of confusion over the concern chiseled into his face, and Aizawa sighed.

“Apologies for our secrecy and deception, but if the slightest hint of what I’m about to tell you had gotten out, it would mean danger for everyone. All Might, please brace yourself.”

Hitoshi gulped.

So we’re doing this.

In the slight pause before his sensei delivered the blow, Hitoshi glanced at Recovery Girl. She was already looking at him pointedly. He stood a little straighter.

“It seems my daughter has formed a bond with Tomura Shigaraki.”

All Might tensed, the inquisitive concern vanishing and replaced instantly with ferocity, his shoulders broadening and fists clenching as if he could Smash the uncomfortable news away.

“What?”

In answer, Aizawa merely tilted his head toward the cot opposite.

The hulking hero jerked around, knees and arms bent, but just as quickly loosened his stance as he looked down at the lanky UA-jacketed youth with parched orangey-mauve hair.

All Might chuckled.

“Aha very good, Aizawa-kun. You had me for a second.”

He looked at each of them in turn, his face falling a bit more each time he turned his head.

Hitoshi grimaced sympathetically.

Then All Might’s smile sagged almost comically, a frown with teeth, as he tensed again and slowly looked back at Shigaraki.

“It’s safe,” Hitoshi offered. “I’ve got him.”

All Might’s expressive comic book face turned to him again and another smile appeared.

“Ah, I see. Brainwash, right?” he asked. Hitoshi nodded. “Very good, Young Shinsou. I look forward to having you in classes soon.”

Hitoshi felt his face grow hot and chanced a glance at his mentor. His face was mostly buried in the binder cloth, but his gaze had lost some of its usual terseness.

“Strange,” All Might was saying, bent forward and examining Shigaraki closely, “I guess without all the creepy getup and malicious intent, he just looks like your average kid, huh?”

Recovery Girl tutted behind them.

He straightened again, massive fists on his hips.

“Well, good job, you two. And you say Miss Atae helped, as well? That’s UA for you, even its cocurricular courses making an exemplary show of heroics.” He pulled out his phone. “Only thing left now is to inform Tsukauchi –”

“No,” Aizawa interrupted.

All Might paused mid-dial, “Hm?” looking at his colleague as if he’d misheard him.

“We didn’t ask you here to arrest him.”

“Aizawa-kun, I don’t –”

“As soon as he gets brought into the station,” Aizawa launched into lengthy explanation, crossing his arms, “we run the risk of it getting out: exactly where he is and how he got here.

“We already have secrecy on our side, and it’s buttoned up as tight as it can be. He left on his own, without a trace. As far as The League of Villains knows, he could be anywhere. And in the meantime, we have an opportunity to acquire as much useful intel on the inner workings of The League as possible.

“Thanks to my daughter, I have already established an accord of sorts with him, but he has no reason to work with keisatsu³. For now, this is our most ideal situation.”

Throughout this explanation, All Might had been reacting loudly, attempting a few times to counter, but Aizawa had continued without pause. Now, that chiseled face was merely frowning, his shadowed eyes locked on his colleague.

“I asked you here so you two could talk,” Aizawa concluded.

All Might’s frown increased.

“What about,” he uttered at last.

Hitoshi’s pulse picked up as his mentor took a deep breath and unfolded his arms –

Shit. Here we go.

– positioning himself in the center of the room with clear line of sight to all its occupants.

“As I mentioned, he and I have an understanding, and he has agreed to share any information that will return Bakugou to us and secure Kyouyuu’s safety.”

Aizawa turned his head toward the front of the room where Recovery Girl was still sitting quietly at her desk. All Might turned, too, looking alarmed again.

“Chiyo?” Aizawa asked.

“If you must,” Recovery Girl bemoaned, gripping her cane a little tighter.

“Ch-chotto⁴, Aizawa-kun!” All Might spluttered, taking a couple steps away from Shigaraki.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

“But what you discuss...” he continued, nodding meaningfully to Hitoshi then turning back to Shigaraki and activating Erasure, “is completely up to you both.”

Okay...

Hitoshi felt a moment’s relief — as it always did when he released someone from Brainwash, his mind no longer cramped and aching — before stiffening again, preparing to hurl every insult he could think of in case he needed to put him — either of them, he thought, gulping — under control.

For several long moments, it was silent except for Shigaraki’s deep inhalation, the room itself seeming to hold its breath as the disguised villain blinked his eyes back into focus.

Hitoshi watched — lips parted, his heart hammering his ribcage, ready to shout if the bastard so much as lifted his arm — as Shigaraki stared dazedly at All Might and then at Aizawa; as he froze, scratching lightly at the sheets he’d disturbed as he’d shifted; as those blood red eyes narrowed, brows drawing together, when they met Hitoshi’s, and then how they dulled as they slid past him to Kyou’s bed, his entire face blankening as he slowly faced forward again, and looked up at his self-proclaimed nemesis.

But the voice that spoke was quiet and heavy, like that of someone who hadn’t slept in years, and if Hitoshi hadn’t watched Shigaraki’s mouth move, he would’ve thought it belonged to someone else.

“All Might.”

The silence that followed was the loudest Hitoshi had ever heard.

He stole a glance around the room — at Aizawa, whose glowing gaze was unreadable; at Recovery Girl who was frowning at her hands; and then at All Might, who was tensed again, poised for attack, but his grimace was slack — and was not put at ease.

Hitoshi had witnessed Shigaraki’s bloodlust for All Might last night, and now, with the hero in prime striking proximity, he was just sitting there, staring at the floor, giving no other signs of life.

What’s your angle, bastard?

All Might, apparently along this same line of thinking, puffed out his chest further. “That’s right, Shigaraki. I’m here. So don’t try anything funny.”

But silence rang again. Shigaraki looked carved from stone.

After another minute, All Might asked softly, “It’s... really him, right?” directing the question over his shoulder without taking his eyes off Shigaraki.

But Aizawa’s hair had already begun to fall to his shoulders as he blinked, slowly and purposefully.

“Thank you,” he said at last, addressing Shigaraki, “for not making this harder than it needs to be.”

Still, Shigaraki gave no response.

Hitoshi eyed him closely while Aizawa continued questioning him.

“Do you know where you are?”

The bastard was sitting on the edge of his cot. He wasn’t leaning forward exactly, like Hitoshi had originally thought, but slumped, like his whole body had gone limp.

“Or how you got here?”

His head hung over his knees, one cocked out to the side where the ankle below had turned out, his foot tucked casually on its side.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

And, although his eyes were hidden by his freshly dried hair, Hitoshi felt suddenly sure that his gaze was fixed on the hands that lay loosely in his lap.

“Do you know what has transpired?”

Almost imperceptibly, Shigaraki flinched, tilting his head as if Aizawa had clapped in his ear.

Oh... that’s what it is.

Without his meaning to, Hitoshi’s limbs relaxed.

“Is it a side effect of Brainwash?” All Might suggested.

“No,” Hitoshi responded bitterly, before he could stop himself.

All Might made a sound that might have been in apology or exasperation.

Maybe that’s unfair... Not everyone can recognize it that quickly...

He cleared his throat, hoping to disperse the worst of the sourness on his face as he clarified.

“No, Brainwash doesn’t leave any aftereffects. This is... different.”

After a second’s hesitation, he grit his teeth and stalked up to his sister’s stupid bastard boyfriend, ignoring the notes of warning from All Might.

“Hey,” he said flatly, kicking at Shigaraki’s limp foot, “We know it was an accident, alright? Kyou’s gonna be fine.”

Shigaraki’s head turned slightly in Hitoshi’s direction, his eyes still in shadow, and in a dry, cracked voice, he muttered something that sounded like, “... game over...”

“It’s not game over,” Aizawa’s voice called behind them, and Hitoshi turned in time to see his hair fluttering to his shoulders again. “Don’t be so quick to abandon your commitments.”

Shigaraki gave a quick inhalation that only Hitoshi could hear over All Might asking Aizawa for explanation and Aizawa shushing him.

After another moment, Shigaraki spoke again, and his voice sounded closer to its usual sarcastic drawl.

“What’s he doing here then, if not to hand me over to the police?”

“As if I couldn’t have done that myself,” Hitoshi scoffed.

“I told you,” Aizawa reiterated sternly as if admonishing his student, “you have commitments to keep. All Might is here to continue the conversations we started last night.”

Shigaraki’s head turned toward Aizawa and froze again.

“If your Teacher is puppeteering The League, All Might needs to know what he’s walking into. Help bring him up to speed on this man before he leads the charge to rescue Bakugou.”

Hitoshi jumped, taking a step back.

Finally, Shigaraki had reacted in a way they had all expected, cursing and growling, his hands flying to his neck.

And it pissed him off.

“I don’t get you...” Hitoshi threw at him. “You’re genuinely guilt ridden over hurting Kyou, but you won’t give us information that will keep her safe – keep you safe.”

Shigaraki was still silent, but had paused his scratching, and when Hitoshi spoke again, some of his anger had abated.

“Kyou said you left so you could be free of him. Don’t you want that?”

“You’re already within the UA barrier,” Aizawa added immediately. “The only ones who know you’re here are the people in this room. We can protect you. Tell us what we need to know. Help us secure your freedom.”

The room was tense again.

All Might’s face was carved into angry lines, his fists clenched, as if he couldn’t disagree more with what his colleague had just said, but Aizawa was focused only on Shigaraki.

Slowly, his hands lowered back to his lap, and he muttered, “Fine.”

“But why would we possibly trust any information coming from someone like you,” All Might growled, breaking his furious silence at last.

“Aa... I know, right? How could a villain have any more value than dirt beneath your feet...” Shigaraki deadpanned. “Eraser, give Number One his explanation. I can’t deal with that.”

There he is.

Hitoshi almost grinned but caught himself.

“Aizawa-kun,” All Might accosted his colleague, his booming bouncing cadence succumbing to frustration, “This is inadvisable...”

Hitoshi walked back to Kyou’s cot and leaned against it as Aizawa began to explain the situation fully — how All Might’s reaction wasn’t dissimilar from theirs initially, but after watching Shigaraki interact with Kyou, both as a person and in regard to her Quirk, it became obvious he wasn’t faking; and then about Psychometry and how, until now, it had somehow made her immune to Decay.

“But that’s incredible!” All Might praised. “Young Atae shows amazing promise to have subdued and contained him –”

Hitoshi glanced at Shigaraki. He’d already arranged himself into a comfortably casual stance — both feet off the floor, one leg curled under him and the other bent with his arm draped over his knee — but, unsurprisingly, had begun digging into his neck again.

“– And from a Support Course student! My dearest friend also has a daughter who – but that’s for another time. You should be proud, Aizawa-kun! Both of her courage and her sacrifice. How selfless your daughter is!”

          - PFT -

Hitoshi failed to cover his scoff as a cough. All Might and Aizawa both looked at him.

“Sorry, it’s just. Selfless isn’t the word I’d use.”

Aizawa gave him a look and spoke before All Might could. “As I already mentioned, Kyouyuu formed a bond with him. The strength of her Quirk is in understanding others, not fighting them. She saw more to him than violence.”

All Might opened his mouth, then paused, looking uncomfortable as he glanced skeptically at Kyou.

“Forgive me, Aizawa-kun. But, then why is she injured?”

Recovery Girl sighed.

“It was an accident,” Hitoshi repeated, eyeing Shigaraki warily. “Kyou said she’d been using Psychometry to search through his memories or something? And that his Quirk went haywire because of it.”

For some reason, Aizawa was smiling into his binder cloth.

“What a powerful ability,” All Might said quietly, “to peruse someone’s history at will.”

“I didn’t know that was something she could do,” Hitoshi admitted. He looked questioningly at Aizawa, “I thought it was just reading people’s emotions.”

“That alone would make her a greatly sought after sidekick,” All Might interjected. “Though you say she went the Support route?”

“Not everyone is predisposed to heroism,” Aizawa shook his head admonishingly, then continued. “Kyouyuu is still uncovering what Psychometry actually is. She has discovered much in her Support studies and has developed her Quirk well in that regard. But this is a side she has always under-explored because of her aversion to people.”

That made sense, Hitoshi realized. She’d shared with him a bit about how she hated touching people because of what she’d accidentally pick up. He never saw her interact with anyone unless she had to, keeping herself drawn in and wearing concealing clothing, even in summer. He didn’t think she had friends, except for himself. And even then, she never touched him, exceedingly careful to avoid collisions in their shared living space.

But she’d been stuck to that bastard like glue.

“She’s leveling up.”

All heads turned to Shigaraki.

His neck looked raw, but his hands were still, his arm draped back over his propped knee. And he was grinning.

“Yes,” Aizawa chimed, “and she’s not the only one.” He began motioning All Might toward the cot opposite Shigaraki, “You’re about to do some growing of your own,” and donned that humorously cruel Teacher Smile.

“You’re going to answer all of All Might’s questions, no matter how much you dislike it. Aren’t you?”

Shigaraki’s grin vanished, but he gave a short nod.

All Might seemed to be at war with himself, his features chiseled into a grimace as he looked between his colleague and the young villain.

“Why involve me directly?” he asked. “Why not go to Tsukauchi first?”

“I had to be 100% positive it wouldn’t come back on my kids. Tsukauchi is a great detective, and his team has proven themselves as well, but could every one of them be sworn to secrecy? Could I trust that, even if they did?

“But during this morning’s debrief, Tsukauchi called you even with Vlad and I in the room. Straightlaced as that man is, he didn’t think twice about breaching confidentiality for you.

“In other words, he trusts you. And so, I can trust that you will deliver this intel back to him without having to fully explain its source. Am I correct?”

All Might hesitated, like he might argue, but wavered under Aizawa’s stern gaze.

“Of course, Aizawa-kun. I would never put you and yours at risk.”

“Thank you, All Might,” he said, bowing slightly, then readopted his stern cadence as he continued.

“Now, he has already disclosed a lot of information about The League: its prominent members and their respective Quirks, the location of their hideout, their current aims, etc. Some of this Tsukauchi confirmed this morning, and much of the rest of it by now I would assume he has worked out as well. But he has also explained a bit about the man really running things, his Teacher, All For One, and how he raised him –”

“Raised?”

Shigaraki had been bouncing his foot in what Hitoshi thought was either annoyance or boredom, but at All Might’s response he paused.

“Yes,” Aizawa continued as if uninterrupted, “he was taken in by this man when he was very young. And since I only know rumors of that name, my questioning could only yield so much useful information.”

He paused, looking apologetic.

“Hesitant as I was to put either of you through this, as All For One’s nemesis, you know best what questions to ask. And as his protégé, Shigaraki knows best how to answer them.

“Please, All Might, take this information and get our student home safe.”

The enormity of their situation rang like an explosion in the silence, all eyes on the Number One hero — except Shigaraki who was glaring at his lap again — as he clenched and unclenched his fists, then lowered himself to the cot facing Shigaraki, dwarfing it comically.

His chiseled features almost resembled his signature smile — his mouth set into something closer to a snarl, piercing blue eyes barely visible behind furious brows — and his voice was commanding, taunting, encased in pure ice as he spoke.

“Tomura Shigaraki.”

For a moment, the famous villain sat perfectly still — Hitoshi wasn’t sure he was even breathing — then slowly, nearly imperceptibly, the mop of dyed hair began to lift, and finally that sallow face, set in a sneer of barely contained malice, looked up at the face of the man he had failed to murder.

“Final boss.”

Hitoshi’s skin erupted with goosebumps.

So this was what a face-off looked like up close.

This was why just All Might’s name could strike fear in the hearts of criminals; this was the underlying terror wielded by the League of Villains; why simply being told something and experiencing it were worlds apart; why Class A was on a completely different level than the rest of first year.

This was the world of Pro Heroes.

“ ‘I will kill you next time,’ ” All Might quoted, “That’s what you said the last time we met,” distaste dripping from every word, “before you slunk back to your hole.”

Shigaraki settled backward, crossing an arm across his chest, the other hand in front of his face, picking at his fingernails. “Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

“Hm. You do actually hate me,” All Might looked almost thoughtful, “I guess not everything you say is regurgitated straight from your Master.”

Shigaraki narrowed his eyes over his fingers but said nothing.

“Is he in Kamino with the others?”

“No.”

“Where then?”

“Don’t know.”

All Might clenched his clasped hands and grimaced, his piercing cyan eyes clashing with crimson before they closed.

When they opened again, his voice was quieter, with a somber air. “I thought All For One was done for good after our last battle. When I learned he was moving again...” he trailed off.

“Aw, that must’ve been terrible — I’m really tearing up.”

All Might glowered, but otherwise ignored Shigaraki’s continued trolling.

“How did he survive?”

Hitoshi watched Shigaraki’s jaw clench, but his voice was level when he responded.

“He’s got this really loyal doctor friend. Into all sorts of experimental shit. He put Sensei back together.”

“I see,” All Might nodded. “Is that also who’s making the Nomu?”

“Figured that one out, did you. Good job...” Shigaraki chided. “By the way, where’s my Nomu? You’ve got him, right? That’s how you and ‘Tsukauchi-kun’ already knew Sensei was behind The League.”

All Might’s comic book frown increased, and Shigaraki smirked.

“So,” All Might pressed on, ignoring the taunt, “five years ago, your Master falls during his battle with me, he gets nursed back to health, thanks to this doctor, and begins working on the Nomu with his collection of stolen Quirks. Meanwhile, you’re... what – his son? Aizawa said he raised you, right? What were you up to, then? Playing your video games and waiting for your allowance?”

Hitoshi flinched. Five years ago, Shigaraki would’ve been about as old as he was now.

“Hardly,” Shigaraki answered through gritted teeth.

All Might hummed in contemplation, shaking his head. “I just can’t see it. What would he want with you?”

Shigaraki stiffened.

“He’s a patient man, sure,” All Might continued, “but high risk, low reward was never All For One’s style. And this seems like a big risk, putting that much effort into a punk with no ideals, lending his power to a petulant child who only craves destruction.”

Ouch...

Hitoshi blinked, surprised with himself. He hadn’t actually just felt insulted on that bastard’s behalf, had he?

I’ve been listening to Kyou too much...

“So what is it? What is your Master’s intent with you?”

Shigaraki was silent, his eyes shadowed beneath his hair again.

“Who knows.”

All Might made another contemplative hum, eyeing the villain sternly, then pressed on.

“How is The League structured? You seemed to be the ringleader, but Aizawa said All For One ‘puppeteered’ them. Will he lead them in person, in your absence?”

After a moment, Shigaraki answered, “No,” almost thoughtfully, as if he had pondered this same question himself. “He knows he doesn’t have to. Kurogiri will stick to the plan — my plan — which was to appeal to the kid’s violent nature. We’d convince him The League was a safe space for that kind of disposition, and that he could be free to act as he wished without fear of being oppressed or subdued.”

Hitoshi grimaced inwardly, suspecting that was a direct reference to Bakugou being muzzled on his victory podium.

“It didn’t matter how long it took,” Shigaraki continued, beginning to pick at his nails again. “He’d join us one way or another eventually.”

“ ‘It didn’t matter how long’ – are they not worried about retaliation?” All Might questioned.

“The base is essentially hidden in plain sight,” Shigaraki countered, waving his hand matter-of-factly, “just one shady place amidst a slew of shady places, in a sea of shady people. Plus, after this, they were ordered not to be seen going in and out, since their faces were exposed and all. They’ll think themselves invulnerable.”

All Might gave a tch.

“But even if the hideout would be discovered, they know Kurogiri could bring over any amount of Nomu needed to make their escape.”

There was an undercurrent of pride to Shigaraki’s voice that made Hitoshi’s stomach churn.

“What’s the risk that they try to move hideouts? For all they know, you could be being tortured for information.”

Shigaraki laughed hollowly before All Might had finished speaking.

“No one would ever expect me to cooperate with the heroes, even by force.”

“I have a hard time believing that your Master wouldn’t consider –”

“Especially Sensei.”

All Might’s eyes narrowed. “Why.”

“He’s the one who instilled my bloodlust for you after all,” Shigaraki said simply, smirking at his fingers.

“Where is All For One, then?”

“I told you, All Smite, I don’t know.”

“You must know something.”

Shigaraki paused. His smirk was gone.

“All I know is that he’s not around. And wherever he is, he’s gotta stay plugged into life support.”

All Might appeared visibly relieved. “So he’s downed at least,” he muttered, seemingly to himself.

“I didn’t say that.”

All Might stared at him, but Shigaraki didn’t speak further. His hand began picking at his neck.

“What do you mean?”

“He just visited me. A few weeks ago, after the USJ. To see how I was healing and make sure I was watching your precious Sports Festival.”

Hitoshi frowned.

Didn’t he say last night that taking Bakugou was his own idea?

But All Might continued before he could ask.

“If he has to stay hooked to machines... then, did the machines come with him?”

“Obviously.”

All Might appeared mollified, but Shigaraki’s distress was progressing again, the room filling with the sounds of his scratching.

Hitoshi was about to call this out when Aizawa accosted the youth himself.

“Reserving details will help no one, least of all you and Kyouyuu. Your best move is to leave no stone left unturned. Now, what specifically is All For One’s reliance on the machines? What is his level of mobility?”

Shigaraki’s hand stilled and Hitoshi thought he might have muttering something that sounded like ‘cool’ as he hung his head resignedly.

“It’s... like a big helmet. It supplies everything he needs. It has its limits of course, but he’s fully mobile –”

The bastard cocked his head upward at the hulking hero across from him, one constricted pupil glaring through the fluffy dyed bangs before delivering the final blow.

“– fully capable of fighting.”

There was an extended silence in which All Might sat steaming.

Literally.

Were there... vapors coming off of him??

Hitoshi, already unnerved by Shigaraki’s hateful sanguine gaze, choked back a gasp as the Symbol of Peace seemed to inflate, somehow appearing even more massive than he already was, pure intimidation radiating from every muscle fiber.

In contrast, Shigaraki choked a startled but humorous sound, looking delightedly terrified — his smile huge and wild, lips vanishing against his sallow skin, his eyes wide and trembling.

“So,” All Might’s voice had changed, too, abandoning the indoor-appropriate volume for its typical intimidating boom, “For what purpose did he have you watching the Sports Festival? He realized you’d bit off more than you could chew with me, so set you scoping out children for your victims?”

“Nah,” Shigaraki beamed, “Recruits.”

“Why are you really here, Shigaraki?!” All Might roared, rising to his feet. “Where does your allegiance lie?!”

“All Might,” Aizawa warned, eyes ablaze as he stared down the hulking hero, “calm yourself, please.”

From his periphery, Hitoshi saw Recovery Girl shake her head, and when she noticed him looking at her, she gestured exaggeratedly.

All Might took a deep breath. When he spoke again, he’d lowered his voice but remained standing.

“It was obvious at the USJ you were just spouting someone else’s agenda, his propaganda. And now, too, you’ve chosen...” he glanced skeptically in Kyou’s direction, “a different path. Yet, here you sit smiling about abducting children! Why should you be offered protection within UA’s walls? How are we to believe this isn’t a trap –”

He glanced at Kyou again.

“– yet another plan. This time to recruit Young Atae? To steal her from under the nose of Aizawa-kun –”

Oh no.

Shigaraki’s smile had subsided to a smirk, and the manic look in his eyes had been replaced with one of triumph.

“~Oi, bastard...~” Hitoshi hissed.

“– and indoctrinate her to The League of Villains?” All Might plowed on. “To not only prove UA vulnerable, but that even the family of Heroes are corruptible?”

All Might’s words echoed around room while Shigaraki’s face returned to a neutral expression and he began unfurling himself, slowly lowering his leg and sliding from his cot.

All Might looked alarmed, his massive body tensing in preparation, but Shigaraki turned away from him, padding past him calmly across the aisle, ignoring Aizawa’s blazing glare and Hitoshi’s second ~Oi!~.

His voice was quiet and overly casual as he looked down at Kyou, “Aa... and what if that was my plan, Number One?”

He sat beside her, “If I got to know her, understood her... and eventually –”

He drew a foot to rest on the bed, lacing his fingers around his knee.

“– she sought sanctuary in the things I could offer her?”

No one moved.

“Like I told Eraser last night, I wasn’t trying to trick Bakugou-kun. I thought I could help him –”

“Preposterous. What help could a villain offer Young Baku–”

“I miscalculated,” Shigaraki continued over All Might. “As everyone has told me and I can admit now, Katsuki Bakugou only wants to be a bright shiny hero. But Kyouyuu...”

He lowered a hand to hers and began tracing the backs of his fingers up her arm.

“She likes me. No tricks, no coercion...” He chuckled suddenly. “Actually, when I showed up, she was trying to find me!”

Hitoshi froze, remembering that day he’s arrived at their door.

Shigaraki was silent for another moment, his fingers trailing up and down Kyou’s arm.

“Tell me. If she’d sought me first — if she’d stood willingly by my side...”

He looked up at All Might.

“Would you go to the same lengths as your precious hero-in-training to get her back?”

Hitoshi’s stomach sank.

The bastard’s sudden look of triumph, this whole charade of threatening Kyou... He had everyone right where he wanted them.

“Of course,” All Might confirmed immediately, turning to his colleague and repeating, “Of course, we would. Aizawa-kun, we would never rest until Young Atae was returned safe to you.”

But Aizawa was staring fixatedly at the fingers on Kyou’s arm.

Shigaraki nodded, humoring All Might’s response.

“And,” his eyes went back to his tracing fingers, voice light and curious, “if I’d found her before Eraser? If there was no one to vouch for her, no one to demand her returned to good society –”

“You’ve made your point, bastard...” Hitoshi hissed.

Shigaraki’s mouth twitched.

“Just a random girl, Number One,” he cooed, dragging the backs of his fingers back down Kyou’s arm once more, then pulled them upright from her skin, “hoodwinked by villain scum,” and let his hand hover palm down just above hers.

“Would you rescue her?”

All Might hesitated.

“I... regret, I cannot be everywhere at once –”

“Sure, sure,” Shigaraki’s voice was growing louder, faster. “But if not you, anyone. Do you think anyone would rescue her?”

“I...” All Might blustered with a sideways glance at Aizawa, “If no one reported... the police wouldn’t know...”

“So,” Shigaraki’s voice rose again, that casual curiosity fading fast, “if I’d freed her from that orphanage instead of Eraser — if I’d given her support, encouragement, a greater purpose — what then, Ore Might⁵, Symbol of Pieces of Shit?”

Shigaraki finally turned his hateful gaze back to All Might.

“Would you arrest her? For being missed by the heroes' radar? For seeking the wrong kind of peace?”

All Might went pale, side eyeing Aizawa and stammering.

“If she – that is, if anyone... in that situation – was to reach out –”

“BULLSHIT!”

Shigaraki was on his feet before Hitoshi saw him move, and in another instant, Eraser’s binder cloth had snapped his arms to his side, but not tightly enough to keep him from clawing his neck to shreds.

All Might’s face was twisted into a grimace, cyan eyes blazing, and he seemed to be inflating again.

“That’s enough,” Recovery Girl called, hopping out of her chair and stomping up to them. “This is a recovery ward, not Ground Beta.”

“...ko...”

Hitoshi closed his eyes at the soft sound.

Of course.

“All Might. Aizawa-kun,” the tenured nurse called again, and when they remained unresponsive, she followed their gaze, tutting.

“Now really...” she whined, scurrying over to Kyou and beginning to mess with her IV bags.

Aizawa, All Might, and Hitoshi all stared at Kyou’s shaky hand, tracking its painstaking trajectory toward the borrowed UA jacket Shigaraki was wearing.

It made contact at last, her finger and thumb grasping as much fabric as she could reach as the strength in her arm finally gave way.

Shigaraki didn’t look at her, but slowly stopped scratching.

When the binder cloth loosened, then retracted — All Might’s head snapping to Aizawa in response — he lowered his arms, closing his fist before bringing it within her reach.

Kyou’s eyelids fluttered a few times, and ultimately remained closed while her fingers scrabbled down Shigaraki’s sleeve and grabbed his wrist.

And as Shigaraki sat back down beside her, she passed out again, her arm and shoulders falling limp.

“Recovery Girl’s right,” Aizawa said finally. “This is probably all we can expect out of either of you. I just hope it wasn’t a waste of time.”

All Might frowned, his mouth opening slightly as if to respond, but kept quiet.

“Shiga– Tenko,” Aizawa addressed Shigaraki, “As we mentioned before, you’re within the UA Barrier. Which means you’re successfully hidden, protected, but also that you’re going to be monitored. Thank you for ... mostly cooperating so far. I know it wasn’t easy for you. And please continue cooperating a bit more. We don’t want to have to move you by force –”

“I wanna stay,” Shigaraki interrupted. “Here.”

His head was hung, his closed fist still in Kyou’s limp grasp, and as if to amplify his intent, he pulled his legs up onto the bed, resting his chin on his knees. “Sedate me, I don’t care. Just... let me stay.”

Aizawa looked to Recovery Girl who shrugged and addressed the haggard child directly.

“You can’t share her cot. She needs space to heal, but otherwise, it’s no skin off my nose.” Then turning back to Aizawa she said, “I can keep him well under.”

As Recovery Girl directed him to his own cot and busied with hanging IV bags for him, Aizawa and Hitoshi monitored him closely, but he did as he was told, his eyes shadowed once more.

He hardly seemed to notice when the needle went into his arm, and only a few seconds later, he was out like a light, his head slumped sideways and mouth hanging slightly open.

“That... was disastrous, Aizawa-kun.”

From Shigaraki’s outburst until Recovery Girl had ushered them all out, All Might had remained still and silent, but now it seemed, he couldn’t hold his tongue. “What were you hoping for?”

“Honestly, it was a lot better than I expected.”

Hitoshi snorted in commiseration.

All Might shook his head, still confused.

“And what was that at the end, about your daughter — your daughter — running off to The League? Ludicrous! And all that about her seeking – what did he say – the wrong type of peace?”

Hitoshi looked at All Might, feeling strange.

On the other side of the hulking hero, Aizawa looked up, too. He caught Hitoshi’s eye, then answered.

“He wasn’t talking about her.”

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈ °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

Everything was red, as if a veil of blood had drifted over the world.

It caught in her eyes and her throat.

Her chest stuttered with the effort to draw thick choking breaths, heaving to rid herself of the hot, bitter bile surging up her throat and flooding her mouth.

Mon-chan... Hana... Mother...

They were gone.

All of them, gone — their flesh melted, their bodies morphed to stinking rot and sunken in on themselves, crumbled into chunks of decomposing meat — right before her eyes...

At her hands.

All she’d done was reach for them. Seeking comfort, craving security. Needing waking from this nightmare she’d found herself in...

On all fours, she gasped and spluttered, her hands clawing into the earth –

          “~Shigaraki!~”

– begging for death. Absolution for her horrific deeds. An end to the inferno in her brain, her stomach, her chest.

     - LOOM -

She felt the presence before she heard it, a lightening tingle at the nape of her neck, forcing her shoulders upward, her eyes wide.

‘Tousan...’

She was clawing at her own face –

‘I don’t know what’s happening!’

– pleading with him, for once, to understand.

‘I think it’s coming from me!’

     - SCRITCH -

‘I can’t stop it!’

     - SCRAAAAAPEE -

‘Tousan! Help me!’

But no sound would come.

And through the choking, blinding wash of blood coating her vision, she caught the look on her father’s face.

          “~You’re gonna kill her!~”

Fear.

Repulsion.

Yet, even up till the moment the metal struck her face and her mouth flooded with molten iron, she thought...

‘Maybe...’

‘Maybe this time...’

But no... Of course.

Her father had been her father to the end.

Intolerant.

Unyielding.

Weak.

But she wasn’t.

          “~STOP, TENKO!~”

And in that moment, in one single moment of absolute clarity, she felt a sense of calm she hadn’t ever felt within that house, unbridled glee pulsing through her as she leapt into the air, her hand outstretched.

This was her legacy.

She was destined to rid her world of villains.

So she did.

Kyouyuu’s scream started in the depths of her churning stomach, her entire torso convulsing in effort to force it up her throat, and it ground across her vocal cords like an old bow on a violin string until the high, sharp note resonated at such a pitch –

“ngh....nnNNO!”

– that she jolted forward, panting and sweating and finally awake.

As she sat, heaving over her hands — her hands, with their familiar healed scrapes and callouses, clean and unsoiled — and gripping the crisp white linen sheets, she heard the undeniable clacking of plastic wheels and a voice like cough syrup said, “My, my...”

She remembered where she was.

“It’s alright, dear,” Recovery Girl cooed, pulling back the privacy curtain and rolling up beside her cot. “You had a bad dream, huh?”

If only that was all it had been.

Big, fat tears plunked the fabric between her clenched fists.

“Yosh, yosh⁶...” Recovery Girl was beside her now, attempting to soothe her by rubbing her back.

But her eyes only stung worse at the warm touch, and she bent more, gasping in frustration, not even able to clutch at the horrible ache in the left side of her chest for fear of further aggravating her wound.

If only this was how it had been then...

“Why? Why am I –” she choked between great heaving sobs, “when you –”

Why did no one comfort you, Tenko?

“Alright, dear. It’s allllright. Just catch your breath now.”

She was beginning to cough, her chest searing with each violent exhale, and at Recovery Girl’s gentle urging, Kyouyuu allowed herself to be lowered back against her propped pillows.

“I even maxed out your sedatives, too,” Recovery Girl tutted. “I’d hoped you could rest a bit more before I tried to heal you again, but,” she sighed, “I guess I should have expected as much. You’ve been through quite the ordeal, huh.”

Kyouyuu just sniffed, staring miserably at the foot of her cot.

“Here,” Recovery Girl handed her some water, which she gulped down greedily, not realizing how parched she was until it’d touched her lips.

“Good,” she praised, “you’ll need it. I wasn’t able to heal you fully because you were almost completely out of stamina. If I’d tried, it could have killed you,” then eyed her seriously.

“Although, frankly, I’m amazed you weren’t dead when I arrived.”

Kyouyuu froze, the last gulp of her water she’d just drained still in her mouth.

“I suspected you might not have realized how lucky you were,” Recovery Girl nodded again, her tone somehow both sympathetic and admonishing, “so I wanted you to know.”

She swallowed hard.

“Where’s Tenko?”

Recovery Girl frowned at her.

“Somewhere safe. The principal has agreed that UA will protect him, but he’s being monitored.”

What did that mean? Was he handcuffed somewhere? In a cold room being watched behind one-way glass?

And what was going through his mind right now?

“I need to see him.” Kyouyuu sniffed. “He shouldn’t be alone right now. Not after... all that.”

“I think it’s you you should be worrying about right now, dear.”

“No!” Kyouyuu shook her head, starting to tear up again — his recovered memories, losing control of himself, being forced to confront All Might; he was a ticking time bomb right now — “You don’t understand –”

“Hmph!”

Kyouyuu looked up, surprised.

“You children are all the same,” Recovery Girl quipped, “thinking you know everything and us adults know nothing.”

“B-but –!”

“You’re afraid that after uncovering his tragic past and being forced to confront his enemy that he’ll lose all the progress he’s made with you and slip back to his old ways, right?”

Kyouyuu blinked.

     ⌜ •  °  •  lol go off, grandma  •  °  • ⌟  

Don’t you start.

“Well... That’s not quite how I’d... What makes you think that?”

“I’ve got eyes, sweetie,” Recovery Girl gave an exasperated sigh, “and I’ve been around the block or two, myself.” Then, after a pause added, “You woke up and reached for him, calmed him down. Could you hear his conversation with All Might?”

Kyouyuu nodded. “Bits of it.”

Since Shins had woken her amidst a pool of dust on the floor of her bedroom, her body had experienced level after level of deepening exhaustion until every muscle was completely zapped of energy. But even after arriving here, safe and comfortable and allowed to rest, her mind had been left racing at full speed, her consciousness bobbing along the surface from the mire of sedatives.

But then he’d touched her, petting her arm like a promise, and she felt alert — unable to move, but hanging on every word.

“At least up until Tenko yelled. I don’t remember much after that.”

“And what do you think?”

“About what?”

“Do you think he’s slipping back to his old ways?”

Kyouyuu stared at her lap, thinking, but her answer was immediate.

No.

Not really.

Actually, she’d felt proud of him. Sure, he’d been a shitty little troll — that was only to be expected — and yes, he’d lost his temper. But she’d felt conviction, pride and confidence in himself, radiating from him amongst the anger, and she’d detected none of that cold, cruel indifference.

     ⌜ •  °  •  what’s worrying you, then?  •  °  • ⌟  

“I don’t know...” she admitted aloud.

She wanted to see him, to touch him. To know what he was thinking, feeling, now.

Recovery Girl tutted sympathetically.

“I know you care for him, but believe me, that’s hurting you more than it’s helping him right now.”

For the second time, Kyouyuu balked at her, starting to get a little irritated.

“What do you mean?”

How could her presence not help him right now? She was the one who understood him, who believed in him, who knew the real him. She was his only defense in this place full of people who hated him.  

“Ah jeez... I mean, look at you!” Recovery Girl pointed at her chest with calm accusation. “This happened because you went fishing around his head and dredged up something scary, right? To whose benefit was that?”

Kyouyuu blinked at her, offended.

What did she know. She was only trying to help him.

     ⌜ •  °  •  where you, though?  •  °  • ⌟  

Yes!

All she wanted was to know the full story, to understand what he wanted with innocent baby-Tenko and find a way to fix it.

     ⌜ •  °  •  so that he’d be yours?  •  °  • ⌟  

She pursed her lips and glared at her lap.

Recovery Girl hmph’d again, but had softened when she spoke next. “Tell me about your Quirk. Your family said before today it made you invulnerable to his.”

“Right,” Kyouyuu confirmed, glad of something certain to discuss. “Because they’re both energy-based Quirks, mine reads his intended energy and negotiates with it to keep me safe.”

Recovery Girl narrowed her eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Kyouyuu answered, eyeing her right back. “What?”

“And this energy negotiation... You’ve never noticed it before?”

“Well, no,” she admitted, “But I use that side of it all the time when I’m working with materials.”

“Hm,” Recovery Girl tilted her head. “But these materials aren’t trying to kill you, I assume?”

“Um, no?”

What is this lady’s deal??

“But you still think it’s why he was able to touch you without consequence?”

“Yeah??” Kyouyuu snapped, unable to hold back the annoyance from her voice.

Recovery Girl hm’d again, then said with a completely straight face, “That makes no sense.”

What?!

     ⌜ •  °  •  gotta love a blunt woman  •  °  • ⌟  

“Y-yes it does!” Kyouyuu spluttered.

“An aspect of your Quirk you’ve never encountered before,” the tiny woman ticked off her fingers, “that happens to stave off a really powerful destructive Quirk, and then, just as suddenly, doesn’t? No, it doesn’t make a bit of sense.”

“W-well,” she said defensively, more than a little annoyed now, “it was stable, the energy negotiation...thing. But then his memories set him off! Deeply hidden traumatic memories. They came back and... and changed him. Made him stronger.”

Kyouyuu finished confidently, nodding assuredly, but Recovery Girl was pulling a skeptical face again.

“Besides,” she added hurriedly, grasping at straws, “people have Quirk glow-ups all the time! You must know that better than anyone as UA’s nurse, right?”

Recovery Girl opened and closed her mouth, remaining silent for a moment, in which Kyouyuu quietly celebrated having stumped her.

But then she spoke again.

“Shouta-kun said you were still discovering what Psychometry is...” she tapped her chin thoughtfully, apparently unaware of the gut punch Kyouyuu had just received upon hearing her mentor and father’s secondhand assessment. “I do think that your Quirk is... somehow related to your protection from Decay, but I don’t think your current theory is correct.”

She looked at her seriously again. “And anyway, if you really want to help him, you need to stop being so carefree about it,” then paused, turning her head away, speaking so softly that Kyouyuu thought she was speaking to herself. “It’d be cruel to risk putting him through that again.”

Kyouyuu stared at her incredulously.

Her shock at hearing someone else being kind to the face of The League of Villains battled for priority with the offense she felt at being told it was herself who had hurt him.

She didn’t think she had ever encountered someone so direct, didn’t think she’d ever felt so insulted and looked out for at the same time. And as frustratingly bizarre as that was, despite being shamed into silence, she felt grateful, too.

“Un⁷...” she assented, her face a little warm.

Recovery Girl patted her shoulder, and they lapsed into thoughtful silence as she began adjusting Kyouyuu’s IV bags. Then warmth began trickling its way up her arm, and everything, from the starchy sheets to the chinking of the privacy curtain rings, felt cozy.

Recovery Girl paused with her hand on the curtain.

“You won’t be able to protect him forever, you know.”

“Hmm?” Kyouyuu answered drunkenly.

Why does she look... sad?

“Not alone,” Recovery Girl continued. “It takes two to save someone. The rescuer, and the one being rescued.”

“Oh... well, yeah,” Kyouyuu frowned, blinking stupidly against the meds, confused why she was telling her something so obvious.

“If you heard his conversation with All Might, then in my opinion, there’s only one question you need to ask yourself — more important than how he’s fairing, even more important than the mystery of your Quirk relationships.

Ask yourself, are you sure he wants to be saved?”

Footnotes:
¹ Watashiga kita:  All Might’s famous phrase, “I am here!”
² Gomen:  an abbreviated form of gomennasai, meaning sorry
³ keisatsu:  the Japanese police force
⁴ chotto:  translates most closely to ‘a little’, but is often used as a type of modifier in Japanese. Used here, it means wait / hold on.
⁵ Ore Might:  basically Shiggy being rude. in Japanese, All Might is pronounced Oru Maito. Ore is an informal way of saying ‘I’ that can have a cocky connotation. So Shiggy’s implying All Might thinks highly of himself or only about himself.
⁶ Yosh yosh:  there, there / it’s alright
⁷ Un:  pronounced with a long ‘u’ / mostly the ‘n’. not really a word, but a noise commonly made in agreement to something.

Chapter Text

The once-crisp edges of each little page fell with a rhythmic staccato -

          - FLIIIIIIIIP -

- creating a poignant soundtrack to Kyouyuu’s spinning head –

          - グルグル¹ -

– overwhelmed with all the things in it fighting for attention.

     Tenko’s tragic origins.

          That she'd apparently almost died.

     All the contradictions Recovery Girl had made clear.

So when she’d reached into her bag and old sentiments rushed through her like a sudden wind, she didn’t snatch her hand away, but dislodged the little booklet from amidst her sketchbooks and held it reverently, closed her eyes, and embraced the gale.

At least these memories, deep and well trodden, were her own.

          - FLIIIIIP -

     ⌜ •  that sad and gentle, but genuine smile  • ⌟ 

          ⌞ •  the butterfly sunning its wings on her knee  • ⌝ 

Having finally been subjected to the healer’s Quirk – more exhausted than she’d ever felt but equally as restless – she’d taken to wandering UA’s eerily empty halls, eyes unfocused as her slippered feet scuffed a familiar path, and with each pass through the handmade flipbook –

          - FLIIIP -

     ⌜ •  aching cheeks  • ⌟ 

          ⌞ •  her blood-slicked pencil sinking into flesh  • ⌝ 

          - FLIIIP -

     ⌜ •  molten honey  • ⌟ 

          ⌞ •  rough bark at her back, hot breath in her face  • ⌝ 

– she slid a little further into her past.

The tiny book had once been a source of comfort, but over the years, it had imbibed as much darkness as it brought light, dense with the thoughts and emotions she’d tried to escape as she’d sought joy in its pages like an addict. It was now barely more than a summary of her life in that awful place, that she would’ve long gotten rid of if not for –

          - FLIIIIIIIIIIIIIP -

     ⌜ •  Koibito and her cronies backing away, hesitant  • ⌟ 

          ⌞ •  a four panel manga  • ⌝ 

     ⌜ •  Auntie Oba tripping on nothing  • ⌟ 

          ⌞ •  her tiny hand, wrapped lightly around theirs as they sketched  • ⌝ 

     ⌜ •  laughter  • ⌟ 

          ⌞ •  warmth  • ⌝ 

– Namashi.

At first, Kyouyuu wondered how the hell it had gotten into her things, having sworn that she’d tucked it so deeply out of reach that she couldn’t even accidentally touch it, but the most recent impression left on the flipbook was Shins picking it up, and she realized she had stowed it deep beneath her mattress that was now nothing more than a pile of fiber. 

In the echo of memory, she heard her faux-touto² consider the little object, watched him put it on the pile of things to pack for her.

He’d thought she’d made it herself.

     ⌜ •  °  •  you okay?  •  °  • ⌟ 

Kyouyuu shook her head to clear it of the skeletons she thought she’d buried, sighing a long slow breath laden with grief, bitterness, and guilt.

Yeah. Sure.

She scuffed to a stop, realizing where her feet had carried her out of habit, and looked up, tired eyes alighting on the sign affixed to the oversized door frame, its blueprint typeface shining like a beacon despite the dim corridor.

DESIGN STUDIO – Year 3

The room’s natural energy greeted her senses like a friendly wave.

As she wound her way through the spacious, open room – passing vacant workstations, each stamped with her classmates’ identities, and faintly rustling pin-up boards, their showcased progress sketches disturbed by the school’s State-of-the-Art^TM ventilation system – toward the cluster of desks that belonged to Class H and breathed in the smell of pencil lead, erasers, and ink-bleeding sketchbooks that had permanently seeped into the room’s every surface, she found herself thinking, not for the first time, that this was the only place in her life that had felt like home.

She sat down at her desk, staring at the tiny book in her hands.

          - FLIIIIIIIIP -

A little stick man sits against a wall.
Heavy clouds float by overhead. 

          ⌜ •  “look guys, look at her flinch!”  • ⌟ 

The clouds begin to part. 
Sunlight filters down.
The stick man’s head tilts upward.

               ⌞ •  “daisuki, Yuu-chan”  • ⌝ 

The stick man smiles and rises to its feet.
Its little arms reach toward the sun as the last cloud leaves the frame.

          ⌜ •  “stop by my office after your classes, I.. have something to discuss with you”  • ⌟ 

Kyouyuu’s head was beginning to spin again.

     Frustration.

          Melancholy.

     Determination.

The memory of Jiji’s offer was the last impression she’d ever left on Namashi’s gift before declaring she’d never touch it again, but so much of the weeks leading up to that fateful day – when she’d gone to his office as requested and he’d handed her an envelope of documents that would change her life – felt suddenly applicable, both toward the last few days and those to come.

The overlap of her acceptance to UA and her continued residence at the orphanage had been so contradictory, so chaotic. The bullshit had vastly diminished but lingered, because she hadn’t fully escaped. Even though she’d been elevated, separated from her fellow orphans for the elite high school, she still had to come home to the place she resented, to those who resented her. Then on campus, forget elite, she was barely even ordinary. She was an imposter, a novice to her own Quirk, struggling with her coursework, nearly drowning just trying to stay afloat.

She had been untethered, not in a way that felt free but as if she was falling without a net, too far out to sea. Like wherever she was, she didn’t belong. Like everything was just out of reach.

For weeks and weeks, she’d gone round and round, spinning her wheels without gaining traction.

     ⌜ •  °  •  and what did Aizawa-sensei say  •  °  • ⌟ 

Kyouyuu closed her eyes, sighing, and nodded. With an effort, she placed the little booklet aside.

“Back to basics,” she said aloud, her features relaxing as she pulled a sketchbook toward her, flipped it open, and began to write.

.·°·.┈┈°·.·° で °·.·°┈┈.·°·.

Kyouyuu sat back in her chair, massaging her cramping hand, and let out a low breath through puffed cheeks.

She’d written everything she knew about everything that was bothering her. Several spreads of her sketchbook were now completely filled, consisting mostly of a stream of consciousness – her sloppy penmanship becoming steadily smaller as she tried to cram in anything and everything – with extra notes scribbled in the margins where she’d gone back and made connections or corrections, emphasized or scratched out previous thoughts. But on this last page, bordered and bolded, were the results of this exercise, the realizations she’d unearthed and the building blocks for a plan.

Her first concern, just as Recovery Girl had encouraged, was whether the face of The League of Villains wanted to be saved. 

Kyouyuu had taken Recovery Girl’s advise very seriously, because when she ignored how offended she felt about it, she realized just how right Recovery Girl was. Jumping in head first, trying to hastily unearth and fix his problems, had done them no favors. It'd only made things messier.

Her Quirk had gotten her into this situation, but it had also kept her there. No matter how much Ataeyuko teased her and no matter how much she resisted it, she couldn’t deny she was emotionally invested in his future.

The first thing she had sensed from him – when their skin had touched for an instant, his finger grazing hers by centimeters – was helplessness, an all-consuming dissatisfaction with life. But then they’d met again, and beneath his tumultuous soul she’d felt the presence of a single, underlying sentiment, quiet and hesitant, curious and cautious.

     ⌜ •  hope  • ⌟ 

It had resounded within her, consuming her, until it brought her to action, desperate to quell the aching. So she’d taken him, so fixated on that feeling, wanting to feed it and help it grow that she hardly considered anything else, and that she’d known he enjoyed it – being noticed and appreciated, offered smiles and laughter – had only spurred her further.

But things had changed.

They couldn’t just hide out in her bedroom anymore. There was so much more at play now, so much more at stake, and she couldn’t afford to let her feelings cloud her judgement.

Back to basics...

So she stepped back, attempting to let Tenko’s actions objectively speak for themselves outside of her own bias.

The list was short –

1. He willingly committed atrocities against hero society. 
2. He accepted my offer to stay in lieu of returning to The League.
3. He is struggling with that decision.
4. Amidst the trolling, he tried to reason with All Might.

– and in the end, her answer was much the same, the facts consistent with her own deductions, except for one caveat:  it depended on what ‘salvation’ meant.

Because Tenko had skin in both games.

He’d opted for an escape from the constant turmoil he was subjected to as ‘All For One’s ward, but manipulated or not, he had gone to great lengths to bring chaos and destruction to heroes.

It’d triggered the shit out of him to sit calmly and speak with All Might, but, cloaked in hypotheticals, he’d also shown his enemy a glimpse of himself.

He’d accepted her offer to stay because of the new hope she offered, but was indulging the absence of darkness and death the same as wanting to be saved?

Kyouyuu didn’t think, somehow, that was quite the right sentiment... And maybe that was what Recovery Girl had been really getting at.

‘Salvation’ was a matter of perspective, wasn’t it?

What was salvation to someone who hated heroes?

What could salvation really be when offered by an enemy?

The concept started to sour even as Kyouyuu mulled it over, how pretentious it would be to be gifted your own natural rights to life –

     ⌜ •  °  •  back to basics  •  °  • ⌟ 

– and she shook her head forcefully.

What did she even consider salvation? Had she been saved?

But the word made her squirm. It seemed too ... dramatic. She, too, had only been trying to escape her own darkness, and the things that had gotten her out of it, really, hadn’t been grandiose complicated efforts, but unassuming moments in which someone was simply observant and kind.

She had been alleviated from isolation, taught what friendship and true connection with someone could be, all because Namashi picked up her book from the ground.

The only reason she’d been set on the track to UA was because when everyone else had told her she was a no-good angry delinquent, her counselor had asked why she was sad.

And Jiji. When she’d reached her breaking point, falling to pieces in front of him, he hadn’t pried, hadn’t tried to figure out what all of her issues were and fix them. He’d simply met her where she was.

“I’m sorry.”

Whereas she was trying to act like a hero – needing to ‘save’ Tenko as if it was some great mission that she alone could undertake – but what a double-edged lie that was.

She was no hero. She’d said it over and over.

It was all well-meant, sure, wanting to mitigate his sources of strife, but look at where well-meant had landed them: she, lucky not to be dead; he, forced to confront his biggest trigger and collude with his enemies.

When all she needed to do was to meet him where he was.

She’d shielded him, over-defended him, forced him to the table and demanded he be treated as an equal.

But he hadn’t asked for that, she had just done it. And he hadn’t even accepted it, so much as tolerated it. From that perspective – how she’d made decisions and decided his future for him – was what she’d done, what she was doing, any different than what he had done? Was she, really, any better for him than that monster had been?

Everything she’d done was in attempt to separate the face of The League of Villains from the person, to salvage Tenko Shimura from Tomura Shigaraki. But in doing so, was she denying the very real existence of the person he had been for most of his life?

Just like All For One had?

That man had stolen Tenko Shimura’s life from him, and Kyouyuu, no matter how many memories she could unearth, could not change that. But Tomura was right here.

Right in reach.

Running into him that day had opened a new path for him, offered him a choice. And maybe that, in the end, was all he needed, all he still needed from her. 

Just like how her adoption hadn’t changed the fact that she grew up in that orphanage, and learning to understand her Quirk didn’t erase all of the pain it’d caused her, but both had allowed her to discover who she really was and how to grow.

Maybe, for her, salvation was just freedom.

     ⌜ •  °  •  maybe for Tomura, too  •  °  • ⌟ 

Kyouyuu smiled, warmed by the thought.

I don’t know exactly what that’ll look like, Ataeyuko... how I can make sure the doors are open, the path cleared to finding out who he can be without that monster...

She held her hand in front of her, staring into her open palm, then slowly brought it to her chest. She closed her eyes, her fingers hovering just above the ones marked into her skin.

... But it might start with Decay.

All Tomura knew was destruction.

It was all he’d been allowed to know, but that could change. This was UA, the place ready-made for developing Quirks and pushing past limits. You didn’t have to be a student for it to wear off on you. You just had to look around.

That’s how she’d first started.

Jiji would help. She knew he would. Shins, too. Even if he’d pretend to grumble about it, she knew he wouldn’t be able to resist an actual sparring partner, a fellow trainee.

     ⌜ •  °  •  and you  •  °  • ⌟ 

She let out a deep breath, letting her hand fall back to her lap and shaking her head against the lingering ache that had little to do with her injuries. 

I hope so.

     ⌜ •  °  •  you will  •  °  • ⌟ 

Decay, and her questionable immunity to it.

That was the biggest mystery.

It’d taken her a long time to develop a list of unbiased, non-theorized basic truths about her and Tomura’s Quirk (in)compatibility, but the facts were these:

1. Psychometry responds to him more strongly than to anyone I’ve ever met.
2. Decay only works on me under certain conditions.
3. When we argued, he released me against his will.
4. His recovered memories weren’t the only difference between Decay functioning – there was also my response to them.

Painstakingly condensed over countless drafts, having to strip out hypotheses over and over until none of the points could be argued, she now had her foundation for sound theory.

“Yosh ³...”

Drumming her pen along the desk, she ran through her list, studying and trying to decipher what these facts collectively meant.

     1. Psychometry responded to him more strongly than to anyone she’d ever met.

That was obvious, but it was kind of the whole point – the first fact and the main question.

His thoughts and emotions weren’t whispered gossip she happened to overhear, they were spoken directly into her ear at varying degrees of ‘loud.’ And unlike most objects or people, there was a noticeable physicality to the transference – a humming, energetic current.

But why were the effects different with him than with anyone else?

Hm.

Kyouyuu considered the phrasing of that. She’d always thought of the effects as being stronger, but not so much about how they were different.

Actually, when she thought about it, there was something else, too. Barely noticeable because... well...

     ⌜ •  °  •  you care about him  •  °  • ⌟ 

Shut up.

But there was also a physiological reaction in herself to what Psychometry unearthed.
Why had she never considered how odd it was that the things she sensed in him directly affected her, not just that she had to bear witness to them but that they actually wore off on her – some level of his current mood spilling into her when they touched, her own emotions raising and lowering on the heels of his.

When he despaired her heart ached. When he worried, so did she. When he wanted her, she’d never responded faster.

She’d always thought that Psychometry’s effects were so strong due to the tradeoff of somehow not being Decayed, but this seemed more to do with him than with his Quirk...

     ⌜ •  °  •  it’s becaaauuuseee  •  °  • ⌟ 

Stooppp.

With another hm she shook her head, but jotted down this new insight before continuing with her list.

     2. Decay only worked on her under certain conditions.

Again, obvious. Decay had not worked at all until yesterday, regardless of his intent to harm her – she gulped, remembering how he’d rounded on her that day at the mall, gripping her arm fiercely – and even now that it had worked, it didn’t work as expected – as if it was slowed, the Decay only progressing so far, her injuries only skin deep. Really, phrased a different way, it meant that under certain conditions, she was protected from Decay. She jotted this clarification down, too. 

     3. When they’d fought, he had released her against his will.

She’d ‘shocked’ him, he’d described it. He ‘couldn’t hold on’ to her. And she’d heard his voice in her head – SHUT UP – and couldn’t speak louder than a whisper.

‘Negotiation’ was the only language she’d ever had to describe what she had always considered the least-passive part of her Quirk, but maybe there was more to it than she’d previously realized. Even working with materials, she never made an object tell her something – it was really just a matter of digging deep enough, sifting through enough energy until she found something useful. But that night, she had somehow forced him to relinquish his grip on her. Even if there was a trade-off, in memory, she had never used Psychometry to affect another person before.

Was there an ‘activated’ side to Psychometry? Had she never experienced it before because she’d never touched anyone this much? Or did it have something to do with Tomura specifically that unlocked this potential?

Kyouyuu hummed thoughtfully. She’d have to find a way to test this...

     4. His recovered memories were not the only difference between Decay’s functionality – there was also her own response to them.

Contrary to what she’d insisted to both Shins and Recovery Girl, she’d realized that the resurgence of his dark past wasn’t the only unique situation in that moment, because she’d also never before been so consumed by the things she uncovered with her Quirk.

It was one thing to have been curious about the things she sensed from him, even to have grown comfortable with them, but during this venture into his memory, she’d found herself transfixed.

Even as she’d felt it building, slow and steady, as she’d sunk further within his past –

     ⌜ •  cold  • ⌟ 

          ⌞ •  fear  • ⌝ 

     ⌜ •  anger  • ⌟ 

          ⌞ •  hate  • ⌝ 

– still, she’d wanted to stay with him, to be mired deeper, merged closer.

It wasn’t just that she couldn’t look away, it was like she wanted front row seats.

Kyouyuu felt a chill run down her spine, as the gathering theories from the third fact began to shape what the fourth could mean.

It hadn’t been until alarm bells began sounding – when she’d felt his weight bearing down on her chest, heard his choking, ragged breath – that she’d pulled back, attempting to raise her shields, to break the connection. But every time she’d tried –

     ⌜ •  loss  • ⌟ 

          ⌞ •  guilt  • ⌝ 

– she’d heard his soul cry out again –

     ⌜ •  anguish  • ⌟ 

          ⌞ •  betrayal  • ⌝ 

– and her shields would fall right back down, her meager resistance crumbling in favor of him.

She remembered her body weakening, how her window for physically removing herself had closed, how she could only watch like a fly on the wall as she’d succumbed to the darkness within him. 

And when his memories had reached their peak, when he’d reached out and attacked his father, he and Kyouyuu were no longer two people, but one sharing two bodies.

His rage had been her rage – her hatred, his hatred – oscillating between their souls, resonating.

She’d felt it as fully as if it was her own – the sensation of snapping, at reaching her limit, at not only wanting it to stop, but at wanting revenge – and how, as he’d reached out with pure intent to kill, to her core she’d wanted to see him succeed. 

Kyouyuu felt the wood give beneath her nails as she gripped the desk –

          - グルグル ¹ -

                    - グルグル -

          - グルグル -

                    - グルグル -

– and inhaled as if it was the first time she had in several minutes, her breath quick and shaky.

For a moment, she was 11 years old again, her dry eyes wide and staring, absently picking dried blood off her fingers.

     ⌜ •  °  •  breathe  •  °  • ⌟ 

She loosened her grip, massaging her fingerprints against the old grain –

     ⌜ •  sturdy  • ⌟ 

          ⌞ •  stoic  • ⌝ 

– until her breath returned to an even rhythm.

     ⌜ •  °  •  you’re alright  •  °  • ⌟ 

She scoffed aloud.

Am I, though?

She shook her head, forcibly swallowing the panic settling like a lump in her throat, then picked up her pen, drumming it furiously against her notebook.

No, never before had she been so consumed by the things she uncovered with her Quirk before, and now, she was beginning to wonder if it was because she’d never had a reason to.

Shakily, she scribbled a last revision to her list.

1. Psychometry responds to him more strongly than to anyone I’ve ever met. With him, the effects are different.
2. Decay only works on me under certain conditions, and I am protected from Decay under certain conditions.
3. When we argued, he released me against his will. There could be an active side to Psychometry I’ve not yet experienced or explored. 
4. His recovered memories weren’t the only difference between Decay functioning. – there was also my response to them.  This time, I wanted him to Decay.

•   ° ┈.·:·.┈┈  °   •    +   •   °  ┈┈.·:·.┈ °   •

What was he doing?

          - SCRITCH SCRITCH -

This was a mistake.

Of all the mistakes he’d ever made, this was the worst. The biggest and dumbest of them all.

Because he should have known better.

Trying to change classes mid-campaign? Was he a fucking n00b?

Why did he think for a second things could be different? Playing at the possibility of a ‘normal’ life? There was no ‘normal’ life for him, for people like him. His stroll down memory lane had made that abundantly clear.

There was really only one thing he could do right.

          - SCRITCH SCRITCH -

What was thinking?!

It had been one thing when he was hiding out in Kyou’s room, ignoring the rules of the game. But he’d never stopped playing. The rules still applied whether they ignored them or not.

Baka baka baka ⁴!

Of course things had turned out this way.

He was a killer, a villain through and through.

He had killed his family.

On purpose.

The big mystery had been revealed, and somehow, it was no big mystery.

The hands that he’d carried around with him for fourteen years, mementos of a family he thought he’d surely loved and tragically lost, were nothing more than trophies, and that of his father, he’d kept closest of them all, treasuring his greatest kill.

How could this be anything other than a durge run?

And yet here he was. Inside UA’s walls, not because of his own stealth checks but as an alternative to jail, working with the heroes and handing over the tools to Sensei’s defeat. To fucking All Might. Like some weak backstabbing little mole, trading secrets for petty comforts.

          - SCRITCH SCRITCH -

And not only that, but the only fucking reason worth doing any of that –

               - SCRITCH SCRITCH SCRITCH -

– was now laid out in a hospital bed.

She was alive but there was no way her approval rating hadn’t turned on its head –

          - SCRITCH SCRITCH -

– and like an absolute novice, his sheer curiosity had cost him a companion.

What the actual fuck had he done.

               - SCRITCH SCRITCH SCRITCH SCRI-

          - タン ⁵ -

Tomura stopped mid-scratch, shooting a snarl at the foot retracting from his cot.

“You’re doing it again,” Shinsou drawled, not bothering to look up from his handheld, but as Tomura continued to glare at him, he broke his eyes away from the screen just long enough to roll them. “What? You’d rather have your ass handed to you again?”

The sound of wailing drifted up from Tomura’s lap, his own device still clutched in the hand not tearing ribbons from his flesh. The joystick was pulled hard to the left, continuously sending his racer off track as soon as he was reset.

His lip curled at the vibrant pixels and techno-bubbly music.

“Look, man,” Shinsou continued over the soft tap taps of the handheld, “you’re the one who said you wanted to stay here. You’re lucky they let me babysit you instead of just locking you in maidens and stowing you somewhere.”

Tomura glowered. ‘Lucky’ was one word for it.

“I offered to talk, but no... which,” Shinsou shrugged, still not taking his eyes off the race, “whatever, but I’m not just gonna sit here in – oh fuck off,” he mumbled suddenly, mashing a series of buttons, “in silence and watch you mine for dandruff.”

Tomura resisted the urge to dive into his skin again after the UA brat’s dig, and instead growled, “Obaasan ⁶,” in the direction of the desk he knew was on the other side of his drawn curtain. “Sedate me again.”

Recovery Girl gave a high short laugh by way of response.

He grumbled, tossing the handheld away and crossing his arms, tapping a finger in irritation.

This was such shit.

He’d rather have the maidens and solitude. At least then he could brood in peace.

The purple-haired brat had already been posted there when Tomura had been allowed to wake up. The old nurse had scolded him immediately to stay put, nodding at Shinsou, and then turned her tiny geriatric back to him, as if a lone Quirk – and one that all Tomura had to do was ignore – was the fail safe between her and a swift death.

Did they really think anything could stop him if he wanted to attack them?

Or, did they actually believe he wouldn’t attack them?

Tomura wasn’t sure which was more stupid.

The sounds of victory chimed obnoxiously from the chair beside him, then cut off as Shinsou sighed, setting his device aside and pulling out his phone.

Kyou hadn’t wandered over, even though her cot was adjacent to his. He rationalized it was likely because she was still asleep... But it’d been hours. He hadn’t really known what state she was in yesterday. Shinsou had said she’d be ‘fine’ but what did that mean? How long would she be out? Was it possible her injuries were beyond the UA nurse’s skills and she’d had to be moved to the hospital?

          - TAP TAP -

More likely, she was awake and decided she didn’t want to see him. That she couldn’t face him... after what he’d done to her.

               - TAP TIP TAP -

Tomura ground his teeth as his thoughts were interrupted again, throwing sideways glances at Shinsou exchanging messages.

“Who are you texting,” he hissed.

“Your mom.”

Tomura blinked, momentarily startled out of his grumpiness, head snapping to Shinsou who had frozen, fingers hovering above the screen, paused mid-text.

“Hah?”

“Sorry,” Shinsou said, sounding sheepish. “It just slipped.”

“Slipped.”

“Yeah...” Shinsou shook his head, “I.. Kyou and I have a... I say it a lot.”

“She’s an orphan,” Tomura deadpanned.

“Well, that’s the joke,” Shinsou laughed hollowly, still averting his gaze.

“No shit,” Tomura scoffed, almost offended. He’d trolled the internet with his fair share of mother-related insults and dead-mom jokes. He just never expected one to come out of a wannabe hero’s mouth. “Kinda dark for a bright and shiny UA student, though,” he added, smirking despite himself.

Shinsou finally looked up, giving a scoff of his own.

“How many UA students have you actually met, bastard? We’re definitely not all sunshine and rainbows.”

Before Tomura could do more than narrow his eyes at this, the door to the clinic slid open –

“Shitsure shimasu ⁷...”

– and her voice drifted melodically across the room.

So she was awake.

And wasn’t here.

He allowed himself a half-second’s relief that she was well enough to be out of bed, but then soured again.

Where had she been? Why.. why was he stuck here with her stupid ‘brother’ and not with her?

Tomura was halfway to his neck when he felt another swift kick to his cot.

“Dude, chill,” Shinsou whispered, rolling his eyes again, and was about to pull back the curtain when he did a double-take, eyes roaming Tomura’s face and suppressing a grin. 

“What.”

Shinsou chuckled quietly, averting his eyes, and opened his mouth but then shook his head, closing it again, and ducked outside the curtain.

The hell was that?

He didn’t understand what could possibly be funny right now, but stopped caring when he heard Kyou’s voice again.

“Hey Shins...” She sounded exhausted. “I didn’t know you were here.”

Tomura was frozen, torn with indecision, as he eavesdropped on the conversation happening beyond his drawn curtain.

“Surprised you weren’t,” he heard Shinsou quip, “Shouldn’t you be resting?” and Kyou answer, somewhat evasively, “Oh.. Probably. I couldn’t sit there anymore, though...”

Should he get up, too? He should, right?

No, she obviously didn’t want to see him or else she would’ve been here. She could come to him. 

He settled down firmly into the cot again, legs and arms firmly crossed.

But no, that was ridiculous. He’d almost killed her, and he wasn’t even injured. He was the one who should go to her.

But what would he do? What would he say? There was nothing he could say. He should wait and feel it out.

Stuck arguing with himself, he barely heard Shinsou asking Kyou how she was feeling, and had just decided that yes, definitely he should stand, when he heard her voice shift –

“Wait, who were you... ”

– from sweet exhaustion to annoyance –

“Are you shittin-”

– and then hesitation, her voice dropping.

“He’s here?”

Still frozen with his legs swung halfway toward the edge of the bed, the silence seemed to stretch for several minutes, his insides growing icier the longer she went without speaking, without yanking back the curtain and rushing to his side.

Then he heard Shinsou chuckle – 

“Don’t worry,”

          - JOLT -

“I think you’re gonna like this.”

– as the curtain was pulled back and –

“Oh, excuse- ”

– she was there. She’d taken half a step backward, then stopped, a myriad of expressions sweeping across her features in an instant. He registered them all, scarcely breathing as he catalogued every one.

Fear, surprise, confusion, recognition, confusion again.

What was going through that head of hers?

Was she afraid of him? Worried about him? Was she angry? Did she hate him?

Again, the moment stretched like an eternity as they gazed at each other.

And then she burst into laughter.

The fuck?

Of all the ways he thought this reunion might go, this wasn’t even in the running.

Why was she laughing at him?

“What the hell,” she asked between guffaws, tearing those crystalline eyes away from him and turning back to Shinsou, fighting to stay upright, “did you do to him?”

‘Do to him?’ What did that mean?

“He needed a disguise,” Shinsou shrugged, failing to suppress a smirk.

Disguise?

Tomura looked down at his chest, horrified for a moment that he hadn’t actually changed out of that vile uniform as he’d insisted the second he’d woken up, but it was the borrowed grungy graphic tee of Shinsou’s, and there was the borrowed UA jacket flung at the opposite end of the bed.

“What,” he said, glaring at them.

Kyou burst out in renewed laughter, and Shinsou was chuckling now, too.

This was seriously starting to piss him off.

          - SCRITCH -

Kyou cleared her throat, obviously still trying to keep from laughing.

“Sorry,” she grimaced as she slid her bag from her shoulder, a little out of breath as she spoke, “I just... really wasn’t expecting that.”

“What,” he demanded. He rubbed at his face, beginning to wonder if Shinsou had given him clown makeup or something.

“Your hair,” she said on a tired giggle, and his hands jumped into his hair, feeling for abnormalities, “It’s like... orange.”

He’d just tugged at a clump of strands, trying to see for himself, when she slumped down onto the cot beside where he was still half poised to leave it.

Tomura tried to ignore the way his stomach clenched at how close her thigh was to laying against his shin.

“I actually kinda like it.”

He watched her watch him, still holding the strands of hair tight in front of his face, and as her eyes danced between both of his and a sad smile settled on her lips, he wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was.

What now?

The game had continued, but all the rules had changed.

Would they be able to keep playing?

Did she even want to?

He watched her lift her hand from her lap and stare at it, rubbing at the heel of her palm.

          - ドキドキ ⁸ -

               - ドキドキ -

It hurt how badly he wanted to reach out and take it...

They moved at the same time.

He’d leaned forward, sliding his upturned palm toward hers, ring and pinky finger tucked in, just as she’d let out a breath and raised her hand to his head, her fingers brushing a few stray locks, when –

“Nope!”

–  Shinsou barked, making them both jump as he hurried forward, grabbing for Kyouyuu’s hand.

“Nope, nope, nope.”

“I wasn’t-” Kyouyuu started then froze, her eyes blanking.

Tomura straightened away from her, settling his hand back in his lap, as he watched her retract her arm and stand, taking several paces backward, before her eyes cleared again.

“Touching’s off limits,” Shinsou said, his voice quiet as he looked between them, “until we know what’s going on.”

To Tomura’s surprise, and what he thought might’ve been Shinsou’s relief, Kyou didn’t seem upset about being Brainwashed again, but instead gave an amused huff, her head slumping forward as she nodded to her feet with a guilty grin. 

Shinsou hesitated, eyeing her warily, then after giving both of them a curt nod, pointed toward his chair, and awkwardly headed back to it.

Tomura watched Kyou busy herself – sliding back the curtain around her own cot, setting her bag down and sifting through it – and a fresh wave of cold rolled over him like a winter storm as each movement seemed to labor her. Each time her body turned toward his, he tried to catch a glimpse of her chest – where he knew his hand had been, pressing into her with all his weight, as the skin had burst and begun to rot – and felt a mixture of relief and shame that her shirt covered the area entirely.

“Has Jiji been by?” she asked, pulling out a sketchbook and laying it on the bedside table.

“Not since yesterday,” Shinsou confirmed.

She frowned somewhat as she sank onto her cot, folding her legs beneath her, and pulled the bag into into her lap. She retrieved a water bottle from it, fiddling with the lid.

“Do you think he will?”

“Probably later, but I think he’s heading out with Nezu and Vlad King-sensei now.”

Tomura had been focused on Kyou’s expressions – how her brows had knit together and she’d begun chewing her lip – but this last comment caught his attention.

“Where are they going?”

Shinsou narrowed his eyes at him briefly, then rubbed the back of his head. “Oh. I guess you two haven’t really seen since you’ve been out of it, but the news has spread about Bakugou being taken. People want answers. Nezu decided to call a press conference before UA takes any more heat.”

Interesting.

The mindless sheep were reacting exactly as The League had predicted they would, and the heroes were paying for it.

Tomura couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face.

“And Jiji’s going?” he heard Kyou ask. “That’s like his nightmare.”

“I know,” Shinsou said, commiseratingly. “But it’s his student. He kinda couldn’t not go...”

Kyou tipped her head in acknowledgement of this point, as Shinsou reached into his pocket.

“Speaking of which...” Shinsou continued, pulling out his phone and examining it, “now that you’re back, we should probably let him know we’re ready.”

He stood –

“Wait. Ready for what?” Kyou asked, shooting a furtive look at Tomura.

– and peaked around the half-drawn curtain, calling, “Recovery Girl?”

“I heard ya,” the obaasan croaked from out of sight. “I’ll let him know.”

“Who?” Kyou prompted again as Shinsou thanked the old nurse.

“I actually don’t know – Aizawa wasn’t specific – but he wants us to watch the broadcast with him.”

“Mendoukuse ⁹...” Tomura grumbled, not bothering to hide his annoyance at gaining more hero babysitters. “How do you even know about all this. You said Eraser hadn’t come by.”

Shinsou held up his phone, smirking. “You know I wasn’t really texting your mom, right?”

Tomura gave the purple-haired little shit a deadpan stare and heard Kyou choke on the water she’d just drank.

“He said he’s coming to fetch you,” the nurse called over the sounds of Kyou's coughs. “It should only be a few minutes.”

Now they were moving?

“What?” Kyou asked, still coughing somewhat. She tossed back the curtain on the other side of the cot, finally exposing the little old woman, whose legs dangled well above the floor and was so wrinkly he couldn’t tell if she was frowning or if it was just her face. “What do you mean ‘fetch us’? Where are we going, Sensei?”

“Just to his office.”

“But does he know about... everything?”

“Me,” Tomura corrected. Kyou grimaced.

“Don’t worry, young ones,” the ancient woman said in a patronizingly sweet voice, flapping a hand at them. “This man knows more of UA’s secrets than possibly even our dear principal. You’ll be just fine.”

“Tch...” Tomura sneered.

He wasn’t worried.

Kyou and Shinsou began gathering their things – Kyou placing the sketchbook back in her bag and requesting to fill her water bottle; Shinsou carefully packing the handhelds back in their case. Tomura watched them, hovering uncomfortably again between sitting and standing, and had finally swung his legs off the edge of the cot when his bare feet touched something soft.

Someone had laid out slippers for him.

A few minutes later, as promised, there was a knock at the door.

Recovery Girl hopped off her chair to answer it, and Shinsou strode toward the entrance after her, his shoulders stiff and chin held high.

Tomura glanced at Kyou. Her expression was wary as she, too, scuffed forward into the room, but it turned to tired delight as the door slid open.

“Silicon-sensei!” she cried.

A half-computer heteromorph stepped inside, issuing a series of nearly inaudible buzzes. He nodded at Recovery Girl, sliding the door closed behind him – Tomura noted that what appeared to be long finger nails were actually various cord ends and jacks – then pulled something out of his pocket and affixed it to his shoulder.

It was a little screen, and as the faint buzzing began again, characters began to scroll across it.

“HELLO, ATAE-SAN,” the words scrolled across the screen. A tinny AI voice lagged behind the text translations, too. “LONG TIME, HUH.”

“Good to see you again,” Kyou agreed, dipping into a small bow.

Silicon...

Tomura tried to place the name, from the hero charts or news articles, but couldn’t. He didn’t look familiar either, and he would’ve recognized someone with a circuit board for a face.

Must be Support Course?

“Silicon-sensei,” Shinsou said, striding forward and bowing as well. His voice sounded inflated, and Tomura wondered if he was trying to sound impressive. “Nice to meet you. I’m Hitoshi Shinsou. Aizawa-sensei told us you were coming.”

“LIKEWISE, SHINSOU-SAN. AND GOOD, MY THANKS TO ERASERHEAD. I ASSUME HE DIDN’T TELL YOU THE PLAN, THOUGH?”

“No, we’ve been trying to keep our communication vague or coded.”

Hm.

That was probably smart, Tomura thought, surprised and a little impressed that the heroes seemed to be taking no chances.

“THAT’S ERASERHEAD FOR YOU,” the AI voice said as if reading from an encyclopedia. “WELL, IF YOU’RE ALL READY, I CAN FILL YOU IN ALONG THE WAY.” The computer man looked at Tomura – at least, he thought he was looking at him since his circuit board face didn’t really have eyes – and nodded. “SHALL WE?”

Tomura blinked, unsure how to read the unknown hero / UA teacher’s tone. He’d definitely directed that last line to him, but without vocal inflection or human facial features, Tomura couldn’t tell if he was being threatened.

But then Kyou turned, grinning at him.

“Aa... Sure,” he said, shrugging, then added. “Let’s hear this plan.”

Silicon was leading them somewhere else in the building, explaining how Eraser had wanted a secure line of communication to them while he was holed up with the press, but Tomura was quickly losing track of how that had anything to do with his new babysitter or where they were going.

Kyou was walking beside him, her hand swinging intoxicatingly close to his.

They stopped outside an unlabeled door, and the tinny AI voice chimed “WE’RE HERE.”

Silicon unlocked the door by placing the back of his hand to the card reader and held it open for them as they stepped inside what looked like a data center.

Rows and rows of IT cabinets stood sentinel, humming faintly and issuing the occasional beep or LED flash. Kyou shivered, and he couldn’t blame her. The temperature had dropped significantly as they’d crossed the threshold.

Silicon gestured to a conference table nearby – “PLEASE SIT,” the AI voice intoned – and then retreated to a large office with a glass front that provided visibility back to the data center.

“So... how do you know this guy, Kyou?” Shinsou asked as they watched Silicon’s through the glass office front, passing even more ITE and heading toward a computer station with 8 screens.

“Silicon-sensei is UA’s Head of IT,” she explained somewhat unnecessarily, “but teaches a couple open electives.” She gazed admiringly at him through the glass as he plugged his finger straight into a port on his computer tower. “He’s a tech wizard. Obviously, I mean, look at him. I took his programming course a few semesters back,” she shook her head, smiling. “It was amazing.”

Shinsou yawned. “If you say so.”

          - DZZZZT -

A floor tile crackled and sparked halfway between their conference table and the office, and as they spun toward the source, they saw several large screens above the glass flickered to life.

“SORRY TO SCARE YOU,” the words scrolled, but Tomura could swear the teacher’s copper trace and solder mask face had rearranged into a grin. “ERASERHEAD INSISTED THAT YOU KNEW THE FLOOR WAS ELECTRIFIED.”

Tomura watched the two ‘siblings’ exchange exasperated smiles, and even he could hear Eraser’s message:  ‘behave yourselves.’

“THE PRESS CONFERENCE WILL BE AIRING SHORTLY, SO WE COULD HEAR FROM ERASER ANY TIME.” 

This AI voiceover was much more sophisticated than the shoulder translator, speaking with a lifelike cadence instead of a tinny monotone as it seemed to echo from all corners of the data center. Tomura wondered how much time went into selecting the right voice, if he even donned different voices for different audiences.

“UNTIL THEN, PLEASE MAKE YOURSELVES COMFORTABLE,” the words scrolled across the screens, punctuated by a kaomoji –

      (☛⚆‿˒⚆)☛

– “THERE ARE REFRESHMENTS AT THE BREAK STATION ALONG THE WALL BEHIND YOU,” and then went dark.

Shinsou turned back to them, smirking. “Think he’s got coffee or just a power bank?”

Tomura chuckled, propping a foot on his chair and settling in, as Kyou stared her brother down.

“Hey,” she hissed. “It’s because of that class that I was able to send off the basic plans for your mask, so show some respect.”

“Hai hai, nerd-senpai,” Shinsou yawned again, “But first, coffee,” and shuffled off toward the small cabinet on the opposite wall.

“Mask?” Tomura questioned.

Kyou, who had begun to swipe through her phone, paused, cringing, and glanced at Shinsou’s retreating back. “I hardly did anything, actually,” she said in a whisper, returning to her phone and continuing to swipe at it, “but don’t tell him that. The real reason I had to send it off was because... um...” She tapped repeatedly at the screen a few times. “... I couldn’t figure it out myself. Still...” she shrugged, continuing to swipe and tap at the little screen, “it was fun to... um... design – Hah!”

She gave a triumphant grin.

“It lives!”

Tomura still had no idea what she was talking about, but she had that face on – the one where he could tell she was working through a problem.

“What lives,” he encouraged, grinning back.

“My shitty little drone. We’re gonna watch the raid live.”

Raid?

What rai-

Oh.

Oh he was really dumb, wasn’t he.

“The press conference is a diversion,” he breathed.

“Yeah... Silicon explained that. Didn’t you hear him?”

He blinked. She was looking at him with what might’ve been concern or suspicion, so he forced his face into a smirk, hoping it looked natural and quickly invented a reason for why he hadn’t, in fact, heard Silicon explain this.
“Circuit Board Face was a little hard to follow,” he evaded, “WITH. THAT. AWFUL. TRANSLATOR,” mimicking the tinny AI voice of the shoulder device.

She giggled, but he could feel those pretty eyes linger on him even as he hooked an elbow around his propped knee and began picking at his fingers.

It was a good plan.

It frustrated him to admit it, but it was a good fucking plan.

To broadcast the press conference simultaneously with a raid on the hideout ensured the spotlight was on the school’s administrators. Even if they had the best answers possible and put the public at ease, it would still imply that they were on the defensive, not the offensive. Answering to the press likely wouldn’t do much more harm to their public standings than they’d already suffered, but it would put them at a hidden advantage against The League –

He inhaled sharply, his spine stiffening reactively.

Kyou had gotten up from the table, heading toward the glass fronted office, and as she’d passed his chair, ran her fingers across his clothed shoulders.

“Watch it,” Shinsou called, glowering as he returned with his coffee.

She turned back to sneer at him then entered the office.

“What’s the harm if she touches me,” Tomura grumbled, trying to settle himself from where she’d set his nerves alight. “I’m the dangerous one.”

Shinsou looked at him like he couldn’t tell whether he was serious or not, then, frowning, began unpacking the handhelds again. “You two are... I dunno. It’s like you feed off each other. It’s not dangerous for her to touch you, but whenever she does, you touch her back.” Shinsou looked a little embarrassed by this, but if Tomura was supposed to be, he wasn’t, merely surprised by Shinsou’s attentiveness. Because it was right. “We still don’t know what exactly happened, but if it’s something with your Quirks, and your Quirks are activated by touch...” Shinsou gestured with his hands as if to say, there you go.

Tomura thought about this for a while.

Not about the logic, which was sound, even though it made him ache – her proximity was painful without being able to feel her skin against his – but about Shinsou himself.

About why he cared.

“You don’t have to police us.”

Shinsou snorted, passing one of the handhelds to him. “You’re both awake for an hour and twice I’ve had to stop you. Pretty sure I do.”

Tomura denied playing more of that grating racing game, and began searching for something to solo play, pondering the tired looking kid beside him.

A good amount of time passed, all three of them absorbed in their own activities.

Kyou was obsessively adjusting the drone’s position – the grainy video feed having flickered to life across the screens above the office windows, that familiar dark alley staring down at him until Kyou re-joined them – but aside from the gathering police presence down in the dingy street, there wasn’t much to observe. Shinsou was tap-tapping at his handheld, muttering under his breath, and Tomura had made decent progress into the story mode of another game he strongly suspected was Kyou’s before a ticker appeared at the bottom of the screens, and Silicon’s AI voice echoed “THE BROADCAST IS STARTING.”

Tomura tilted his head enough to peer upward, swallowing the bile beginning to rise in his throat.

A team of heroes had joined the police blockade now, Endeavor’s obnoxious flames casting light on All Might’s hulking frame as well as what looked like Kamui Woods, Edgeshot, and some old geezer in a yellow cape.

Then the feed on several of the screens blanked out and were replaced immediately with the bright, clean image of a large room where camera flashes blinking from every angle cast fractured shadows on the wall behind the three people who stood behind the focal table.

“And now please tune in for a clip of UA’s apology broadcast...”

“Whoa,” Kyou said, finally setting down her phone.

“What?”

“Jiji,” she nodded at the screen, her eyes zeroed in on Eraser. “I forget... how young he still is.”

Tomura looked back at the broadcast – the cartoon-ish principal and both teachers were each dressed in formal suits, their arms held stiff at their sides as they stood at proper attention – and understood what Kyou meant.

Eraser’s hair had been slicked back, and combined with the absence of his binder cloth, his full face, which appeared clean shaven, was actually visible. He looked transformed.

Tomura’s attention wavered as Eraser gave the diplomatic, obligatory apology speech, but the drone footage wasn’t any more placative.

          - SCRITCH -

He wondered what The League was up to at the moment.

Were they all milling around waiting for his return? Tripping over themselves, arguing about what to do with no one to take charge?

If he had been there, he would likely be scouring the news, looking for signs of the heroes’ movements, but would any of them think to do so?

Did they have any idea of what was about to occur?

Did he even care?

“... mean by worst possible outcome? Do you not call 26 victims and one abducted the worst –”

“Ugh, this guy sucks,” Shinsou grumbled. “He’s purposefully trying to rile Aizawa up.”

Was that skin quilt still sitting around with his legs up, complaining about everything? Had Bunhead talked everyone’s ears off?

What about Kurogiri? Was he wiping and wiping and wiping at unused glassware, awaiting further orders?

          - SCRITCH -

Was he worried about him?

“We are not simply sitting around idly. We are currently investigating along with the police...”

“Looks like they’re moving,” Kyou mumbled.

Tomura stared at the drone footage, “Mnn,” trying to keep his face neutral, and watched as the heroes and police appeared to divide into teams.

He could feel Kyou’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t look at her. He didn’t want to have to explain the mix of thoughts swirling around his head, the surges of panic making his fists clench and his stomach churn.

This wasn’t going to work.

          - SCRITCH SCRITCH -

Was it?

What would it mean for him if it didn’t?

          - SCRITCH -

But what if it did?

If the raid succeeded, the UA brat was rescued, and The League fell.

What then?

“Look, there he goes!” Shinsou shouted. 

A second later, the video footage showed a plume of dust in the middle of the building as All Might disappeared from view. Hot on his heels, Spiderman-ing his way up several floors and inside the hole made by Japan’s #1, was Kamui Woods.

“Hayai ¹⁰,” Shinsou’s running commentary continued as a blur of grey hair and yellow cape shot directly into the air, stopped on a dime, and then shot foot first into the building.

Then all was still.

“Is... Is that it?”

          - SCRITCH -

Kamui Woods remained suspended in the wall’s makeshift opening. There was no sign of struggle within.

          - SCRITCH SCRITCH -

He could feel Kyou’s eyes on him again.

          - SCRITCH -

Was that seriously all it took?

All his efforts. His days and weeks and months and years of work.

Undone in seconds?

He heard Shinsou asking Kyou to adjust the drone’s position again, to better see inside the building, when the feed went black.

“What happened? Did the camera die?”

Kyou was fiddling with her phone. “No, it’s definitely still recording – see?” she answered, turning her screen around and pointing to the recording’s time clock which continued continued to climb. “I don’t know, though, maybe...? Silicon-sensei,” she called toward the office, “how’s the connection?”

The scrolling text appeared as the AI voice chimed, “ALL SYSTEMS, STILL GO. WHAT’S SHOWING IS –”

But the grainy image was beginning to clear. Like oil suspended in water, the inky blackness rippled in front of the camera, swelling and shrinking strangely.

“Back it up,” Tomura breathed. His eyes were wide, staring unblinkingly at the scene unfolding on the screen above him.

“H-huh?” 

“The drone! Pull back – hurry!”

The feed zoomed backward, showing ten – no, twenty – Nomu emerging from thin air.

“No!” Shinsou jumped to his feet, his chair clattering behind him. “How?”

Tomura had just clocked the accusatory tone when he felt himself lifted out of his chair.

“Shins!”

“How are they here, bastard? You told us they were all in a single location!”

          - DZZZT -

A shockwave surged from his slippered feet to the top of his hair as a tile crackled to life beneath their feet, and Shinsou dropped him automatically as they both stumbled backward.

“PLEASE REFRAIN FROM PHYSICAL –”

“Were you holding out on us, bastard?” Shinsou shouted, easily drowning out the gentle AI voice and wringing his hands. “Thought you’d keep a nice little ace up your sleeve to help your villain buddies escape, huh? Huh, Shigaraki?”

“Shins! Enough!” Kyou called, sounding angry herself now.

Shinsou stepped sideways so that he could round on her while still keeping Tomura in view. “That Warp Guy just brought over enough Nomu to take out the city. How are you going to defend him now?”

“That’s not Kurogiri!” Tomura’s voice was raised, too, but whether it was in anger or excitement, he wasn’t sure. “Even on this shitty quality footage I can tell that’s not Warp Gate.”

“Tomura.”

Her voice wasn’t raised but it sounded like a gunshot amongst the chaos, the impact of her sudden renewal of his name ringing around the room.

“Is it... him?”

She dropped her gaze to her hands when he looked at her, holding one within the other, the fingers flexed, and rubbing at her palm.

He nodded, then turned back to the screens where pandemonium was raging in the street below. An unsettling mixture of pride and fear was creeping steadily up his throat, and he swallowed to keep from choking, then uttered, “Sensei.”

—

Footnotes: 

¹ グルグル:  ‘guru guru,’ onomatopoeia conveying dizziness or something spinning around

² faux-touto:  similarly to Kyouyuu’s nickname for Aizawa, this is a play on otouto, which means brother.

³ yosh:  clipped pronunciation of yoshi, essentially meaning alright. In this context it’s like ‘alright, then.’

⁴ baka:  idiot

⁵ タン:  ‘tan,’ onomatopoeia for feet stomping or putting something down hard