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There was someone standing over him.
Shouta's hand jerked forward and grabbed an arm. With his target locked in place, he opened his eyes and activated erasure.
It was dark, but he could just see the light of his quirk reflecting off a set of eyes, could hear heavy breathing within a foot of his face. The arm he had grabbed was small. He was lying down, covered in a blanket, head on a pillow. The clock said 5:02 am.
He blinked, and his quirk dropped. Eri pulled away, and he let her. Her feet pattered away, around the bed and toward the door.
Shouta rolled onto his back, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. He had been sleeping.
The light flicked on, and he rushed to cover his eyes.
"This is your room," Eri announced.
He sat up, eyes screwed shut. By the time they adjusted to the light, Eri had left and he had forgotten his dream. There had been a fight—he had been in a fight, but the details were gone. His palm throbbed in a steady line where the knife had gone through. It was a strange sensation, since he knew what a stab wound felt like, and this was not it.
There was nothing to think about. Sure, he felt uncanny, but it was the same sort of feeling that haunted back alleys and parks and vending machines when he patrolled after dark. Any other night he would have checked the time and gone back to bed. But Eri had been startled. First he had to make her understand.
Just as he slipped his legs over the side of the bed, ready to stand up and search the house, Eri pattered back into the room. She was holding the plastic cup they kept toothbrushes in, but the toothbrushes were gone and her pajamas were wet. Coming around the bed, she stopped in front of Shouta, held the cup out to him. The water in it sloshed out and onto the floor.
"It's for you," she said, deadpan.
Shouta took it. The water was murky. He set it on the side table next to the clock.
Taking a few steps back, Eri stared very hard at the side of the bed. Then she ran and jumped, hands outstretched to haul herself up. She got a good grip on the comforter, but it slid with her as she slipped back to the floor.
Shouta grabbed her under the arms and set her on the bed.
"Want to talk about it." Eri stated.
"About what?"
Eri turned and looked at him, the same way she had when he had asked what color of slippers she wanted him to get her. "You were screaming."
There was a feeling he got sometimes when teaching, like watching someone walk up the stairs you had just come down. Sometimes his students repeated the outward motions which had once been familiar to him. When the bell rang and they all stood up, or when they slouched in the corner of their desk chair, rolling a pencil around their fingers, he would wonder if all children acted like this, or if he had done something that they were imitating.
This moment was the same way, like looking into a mirror, foggy after a hot shower had run. When Eri woke in the night, he would come and turn the light on, remind her that she was in a safe place, and fetch her water in a glass from the kitchen cabinet she could not reach.
"I'm okay," Shouta said. It was true. He did not even remember why he felt strange. "I'm sorry for waking you."
"No!" Eri blurted, strangely vehement.
"Did something else wake you up?"
Grabbing a strand of her hair, Eri twirled it around a finger, still staring at the floor. "You said—don't say sorry. For being afraid."
"Okay," Shouta said.
That was it. He had zero insight left to use on this interaction.
Eri jumped down off the bed and went away again. Maybe she was going back to sleep.
Shouta glanced back at the cup of water on the side table. He was thirsty, but there was definitely still toothpaste in there.
The cat meowed plaintively from somewhere in the foyer. He should probably investigate that.
Standing up, Shouta walked out into the hallway. Eri was at the other end, holding a disgruntled cat in one arm and his sleeping bag in the other.
"Do you want to come sleep in my room?" she said.
Shouta yawned. Nodded. "I'll get my pillow."