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Your eyes found his across the room. For a moment, Tomura froze when the distance between him and you suddenly became nonexistent. You looked confused, as if you hadn't realized he was in the room with you. Tomura wanted to look away, break the contact, and return to the ongoing game.
The music and sound effects were screaming at him to look back, warning him of his impending death. His throat dried up, and his neck was becoming itchy. His hands, frozen over the worn-out buttons, were twitching to reach around and scratch. It wasn't fear. This was different than the times he'd been close to death.
You were entirely out of place here. You were young, but your clothes said something else. They looked expensive, worth more than the building and everything in it. Your shoes were polished and shone under the lights reflecting off them. Your coat was dark, not black, though. It looked more like a charcoal grey. A white collared shirt peeked out from underneath a black jacket. Your whole ensemble screamed business, but not the sleezy, underground kind. There was a hint of green from a handkerchief tucked into the front of your jacket.
The arcade was old, with machines that needed maintenance every other week. The owner was too attached to them to get rid of them. Tomura liked that; he liked these more than the new machines anyway. And this arcade was the only one in the area open past midnight. The area was too rich with crime for most shops to consider staying open two hours after sunset.
His game shouted “YOU LOSE!” as soon as you and he broke eye contact. He turned his attention back to the game, blinking a few times. The pinging of a nearby claw game drew you away. It was just across from where he was. You were still in his line of sight, inserting the tokens into the machine slowly.
As he did the same, he noted your inexperienced hands clumsily messing with the joystick and push button. You continued to do this several times, failing miserably each time. He played in the meantime, his index and middle finger subconsciously pressing the buttons while he stole more glances at you.
Your shoulders slumped, an aggravated sigh leaving your lips. The claw kept dropping the owl plush, yet you kept dropping tokens into the machine. Tomura won his game, with more points than he did the last time. His name was still at the number one spot. He paused, glancing over to the employee at the counter. It was some college student who spent more time on their phone than paying attention to what was going on. Maybe that was for the best.
He walked over to where you stood, still attempting to capture the owl plush. He opened his mouth, but stopped because, what exactly was he supposed to say? Damnit, just say something, you dumbass.
He cleared his throat, stepping forward when your hands paused, and your head tilted slightly towards him. Your eyes met his again, curious this time.
“It’s you.” You began, turning to give him your attention. “Did you want to play?”
Tomura was tall, even if he was hunched over. He wasn’t physically built to last too long in a fight, but his quirk gave him an advantage. He shouldn’t be intimidated or nervous at all. He was made for more, meant for more than just scraps. Nothing should make him shake. Yet just your casual, yet commanding presence was something else—your voice, clear, confident, and strong, unlike his raspy, whiny pitch.
You didn’t belong in this area, not like he did. You must’ve spent your time in an office on the top floor, in and out of meetings, discussing whatever business people discussed. You probably ate in five-star restaurants where the menu had no prices. Hell, you even smelled like you didn’t belong here.
“The game is rigged,” He pointed out. “So are the rest of them.”
You made a noncommittal noise underneath your breath, a frown on your lips as your eyes glanced at all the machines.
“So they are.” You said, turning your attention back to him. “How does anyone win at these kinds of games, anyway?”
Tomura scratched at the side of his neck, overcome by a sense of anxiety. He could just blow you off now and go back to playing his usual rounds of games until closing time, before going back to the bar and Kurogiri. His Sensei wouldn’t scold him for staying out late, unlike Kurogiri, but something about this whole situation made him nervous. Would his Sensei think it was okay for him to do this? Nothing was wrong with talking to someone, even in passing, though not many spoke to Tomura. Then, why did this feel wrong?
Tomura’s careful fingers inserted the coins into the machine; the upbeat music changed, and the lights flashed brightly before resuming their usual sequence. He grabbed the joystick with two fingers and pressed the drop button with his opposite index finger. He usually didn’t play games like these, preferring the fighter or shooter games. Just this once , he told himself.
The timer gave him about 30 seconds to get into position and drop the claw. He aimed for the owl you’d been vying for the whole time, carefully timing it correctly before pressing the drop button. The seconds it took for the claw to drop felt like an eternity. He glanced over to you through his long bangs, freezing when he saw your eyes staring back. You weren’t even looking at the claw machine, seemingly unbothered if the claw managed to capture its intended target.
His breath caught in his throat, his skin crawling at how you looked at him. Most people who looked at him usually looked disgusted or suspicious. Other than that, people didn’t look at him. And they didn’t look at him the same way you looked at him.
You were close enough for him to see every detail on your face, to smell the perfumed smell of your equally pleasant and intoxicating scent. He noticed your long eyelashes, curled and perfect. Even the shape of your eyebrows suited your face shape and bone structure. Fuck, even that was hard not to notice.
Tomura felt a sting of envy and anger, maybe even insecurity. Here you were, the perfect specimen that looked straight out of a TV drama. Your skin was free of any horrible, itchy dryness, his skin was cursed with. With clothes that were worth more than anything on this street, no sign of wear or tear like the hoodie he wore everywhere to shield himself from the eyes of others.
Clenching his jaw and tearing his eyes away from yours, he looked back at the machine and saw the claw dropping the owl plush into the chute. He bent down to grab it, shoving it into your chest. Your hands grabbed it, and you slightly bowed your head when you took it from his hand.
“Here,” Tomura finally said. “That’s how you do it.”
You looked contemplative, biting down on your lip. Tomura was about to slink away when you spoke, stopping him from escaping.
“Right. Let me try again.” You announced, a look of determination on your face.
You inserted the coins into the machine again, tucking the owl plush under your arm. The machine changed music, and the light flashed vibrantly as the game began once more. Your hands worked the stick better this time, and your movements were confident and sure. You hovered the claw over the back end of the machine, pausing a few moments before pressing the drop button. Tomura watched you while you watched the claw, examining the shift in expression—the furrow of your eyebrows and the downturn of your eyes as you focused on the machine.
The machine let out a sound sequence of success as the claw dropped a plush into the chute. Your expression smoothed out into a smile, satisfied and relieved. You knelt and grabbed the plush before returning to him, directing your proud smile to him. His stomach did flips, and his heart nearly popped out of his chest at the sight.
“Ta-da.” You said, holding out the plush to him. “For you.”
“Me?” Tomura muttered, stupefied at the exchange.
You nodded, “Of course, think of it as a thank you for showing me how to play.”
“Oh.” He continued to stare at the plush in silence.
His hands twitched at his sides, unsure of what to do. It was a deer, with two beady black eyes staring at him. He stared back, half-expecting it to jump right out at him and choke him to death. Not that he would let it. He’d decay it before it could wrap its plush hooves around his neck. Damn, he was starting to get itchy again.
Something resembling a laugh left your lips, though it did its job in interrupting Tomura’s plush-homicide fantasy. You pushed the plush into his chest, albeit much gentler than he did with the owl plush. His hand, excluding his pinky finger, grabbed the plush, avoiding touching your hand. It was soft, much softer than he imagined it would be. A warm, blooming sensation grew in his chest, the feeling he wanted nothing more than to crush and never feel again.
“Damn, I have to go.” You cursed, flicking your wrist to reveal a silver watch. “Will you be here again?”
Tomura narrowed his eyes at the question before he hesitantly answered, “Y…Yes.”
You smiled once more before waving at him on your way out. His free hand mimicked your action, slow and unpracticed.
“Good, I’ll see you Thursday night.” Is what you left him with before leaving the darkened arcade.
Disappointment swirled in his stomach at your departure. Tomura dropped his raised hand, turning his attention to the deer. It stared back at him as if to say, “ What do you want me to do about it? ” He sighed, biting the inside of his cheek.
Looking back at the empty arcade, aside from the front desk employee still flicking their finger across their phone screen, he was left alone again. It was Monday, meaning he had to return here in three days. Would you come like you said you would? He usually didn’t come here on days closer to the weekend, especially when the kids and less-than-savory characters in the area flooded the area during the last few hours before closing.
He glanced back at the deer plush and then to the door. He wouldn’t know if you would come unless he returned, right?