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It was a blissfully peaceful evening at the bar, everything was neat and tidy, there was no yelling, or fighting, and nobody had suggested anything too reckless as a fun idea, yet. Kurogiri wasn’t going to count on this atmosphere lasting that much longer, if he’d figured out anything over the last year it was that putting Tomura in a room with people his own age was a recipe for disaster. Thankfully, the worst of the lot, Touya, was currently sulking in the corner, not particularly willing to cause mischief, and nobody here had enough of a death wish to go asking him what the matter was. Kurogiri made a mental note to check up on him later, when he wasn’t so high strung and liable to throw fire at anyone who came near.
He held back a content sigh, still unwilling to let his guard down. He was the only ‘adult’ currently here, and therefore all responsibility to keep these gremlins out of trouble fell to him, though he did wish he had some help. But Magne and Atsuhiro were at Giran’s for their odd version of a family game night, which usually involved a deck of cards, quite a bit of alcohol and far too little common sense. Jin’s presence would also have been appreciated, scatterbrained as the man was, he could always be relied on to somehow keep everyone sane, if not calm, unfortunately, he’d gotten sick and was staying at his apartment to prevent it spreading.
And just as expected, it didn’t take long for someone to start something, this time it was Himiko, who surprise tackled Tomura, earning several colourful names thrown her way as he pried her off. Shuichi glanced up from his spot on the couch at the commotion, choosing to ignore Tomura’s pleas for help and instead pulling out his phone to video it, no doubt to send to the group chat later, as he grinned smugly while being called a traitor.
Kurogiri let this nonsense go on for exactly one and a half minutes before silently warping the two apart, placing Himiko closer to the couch and Tomura at the bar. His ward gave him a grateful look and he tilted his head in response, golden eyes blinking slowly in a manner of showing care. Tomura took a seat on one of the stools, snickering to himself as Himiko had found the next closest person to attack, that being Shuichi, who was faring much better, managing to shove the girl away with his tail.
It was times like these when Kurogiri really, really wanted to pour himself a drink. Though sadly that would just make him less effective at his job, and he’d rather not get in trouble for allowing someone to get hurt under his watch. He shivered unconsciously at the thought of spending any time in Garaki’s lab, it was the one place even a direct order from All For One couldn’t make him willing to go. He didn’t know why but seeing the tubes full of his brethren and hearing the machines made his organs feel all twisted up even before Garaki messed around with them. And then the aftermath was always such a mess, he’d have to go take a shower to wash all the blood off, and his insides would hurt for days. No, he would avoid that place at all costs.
He was shaken out of his trance by the laughter of the children, okay only Himiko was actually a child but they were all children in his eyes, as the three others had finally managed to pull Touya out of whatever mood he’d been in earlier. Shuichi was dragging Tomura away from the bar by the arm as he and Himiko practically shoved Touya out the door, yelling that they’d be out late and probably stay the night at Touya’s place.
And that left Kurogiri alone.
He finally let out that sigh he’d been holding back, now that there was nobody else to hear his moment of weakness, and got started on cleaning up whatever disorder there was before he turned in for the night. He methodically worked his way through the shockingly little mess there was, starting with the glasses scattered about, and then putting the books back on their shelves, and picking up a hoodie that had been tossed aside at some point. Sure, he could portal everything away, but this kept his mind occupied longer, and he liked not being dragged into the places his mind liked to go when he was alone.
Once he was done with the mess, he warped a broom and cloth out of the spare room they used as storage and began thoroughly dusting and sweeping every inch of the place. He rarely had the time to make things look as nice as he liked them these days, what with so many people running through the bar all the time, so he’d take whatever chance he got.
It was a while longer before he heard anything beyond his own footsteps and the swish of the broom on the wooden floor. The door creaked open and he looked up from his task, happiness blooming in his chest as he recognised the pale glint of Atsuhiro’s mask. The thief looked a bit unkempt, at least compared to his usual carefully kept image, but still his presence was very welcome indeed. Kurogiri was silent as he warped the cleaning tools back to the spare room, waiting amusedly for Atsuhiro to realise he was there.
After a moment, Atsuhiro’s gaze landed on him, off in the corner where he’d been dusting one of the tables, “oh, bonsoir mon chéri, I didn’t see you there.” He took off his mask and quickly crossed the room, tugging on Kurogiri’s brace to pull the taller man down to his level, kissing him.
Kurogiri froze for a moment before reciprocating, he really ought to have learned by now that this was how his dear boyfriend liked to greet him. But a part of him always wanted to recoil, to pull back before Atsuhiro felt how wrong his skin was. The only thing keeping him from doing so was the repeated rationalization that his lips were still unscarred, and Atsuhiro would have no idea.
He could smell the alcohol on the thief’s breath as he pulled away for a moment, honeyed brown eyes gazing at him with a deep love that Kurogiri didn’t know what to do with. So instead he let himself pretend like this was truly a connection, and not something that could only ever be superficial in nature.
He didn’t know how it even happened, by all accounts, Atsuhiro was someone who was always slow to trust and determined not to get into relationships beyond the physical aspect. And sure it had taken several months of late nights spent commiserating over the childish chaos they had to deal with on a daily basis, but he always wondered how the hell he managed to get so lucky, to be loved by someone so amazing.
He bit his tongue, fighting the creeping urge to run his hand through Atsuhiro’s hair, he always thought it looked so soft and fluffy, but he knew better than to allow that. Atsuhiro mustn’t have noticed his brief hesitation, the alcohol likely dulling his normally razor-sharp senses, not that Kurogiri was complaining if it meant his oddness was easier to hide.
“Mon amour, il se fait tard, why don’t we head home for the night?” Atsuhiro asked, tilting his gaze towards the encroaching darkness outside the window.
“Oh, of course,” Kurogiri also didn’t know how he’d been roped into spending most of his nights at Atsuhiro’s apartment, it had just, happened. Though he knew he was annoying his boyfriend with his insistence that he should sleep on the couch, as well as his habit of disappearing without a goodbye in the mornings.
He warped the two of them into the apartment, which was just turning dark as the last of the evening sun dipped past the other buildings. The place looked surprisingly fancy considering what part of town it was in, though Kurogiri knew that was as much an act as its owner’s own perfection. Really, Atsuhiro just kept everything very nice and tidy, with a few trinkets from his first few years as a thief kept as mementos. Otherwise, it was quite plain one you looked carefully, a few books were on the shelves, old and worn like they’d been re-read hundreds of times over the years, and the walls were painted burgundy, though a closer inspection revealed that it was quite the amateur job. And while the couch certainly looked nice, it was actually rather worn, and there were near invisible stitch lines where Atsuhiro had mended it, though it was rather comfortable for its age, Kurogiri knew that well enough.
Speaking of Atsuhiro, he’d gone to change into something more comfortable than his villain costume. Kurogiri might have thought of doing the same except even if the idea of seeing his own flesh was something he could stomach more than once a day, he only had copies of this suit in a closet back at the bar.
He settled for staring at the shelves again, desperately out of place now that he wasn’t somewhere he was meant to be. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long, as Atsuhiro came back as quick as he could, wearing a loose white blouse and soft looking trousers. Kurogiri tilted his head, it didn’t matter how many times he saw his boyfriend like this, not playing up his confidence or trying to charm, just, comfortable, he still couldn’t help but think it was one of the most adorable things he’d ever seen.
Atsuhiro smiled sweetly before frowning slightly, eyes wandering to the brace, his hands felt around the front of the metal, trying to find the latches that kept it closed. He quickly found it and pulled it away, barely remembering to set it down and not let it clatter to the floor as he pulled Kurogiri into another kiss, putting a finger through the loop of his tie and pulling him forwards. He let out a noise of surprise as he felt himself being led somewhere, the particular location escaping his mind in favour of the fact that his neck was now exposed, and the start of his scars were now one slip of the hand away from being discovered.
A moment of panic later he realised he was in Atsuhiro’s bedroom, mentally sighing as he thought he’d have to remind his boyfriend that he wasn’t going to sleep here, no matter what. He felt Atsuhiro smile into the kiss, his eyes shining with an emotion Kurogiri couldn’t name as he pressed closer, almost biting at his lip.
And then the finger hooked on his tie became two, then three, as it was deftly loosened, a second hand on the buttons of his shirt, beginning to work them open. That was when his brain caught up to what Atsuhiro was trying to do, and he instinctively shoved the thief away, hands coming up to clutch his shirt, his tie falling to the floor as he desperately tried to hold closed the two buttons that had been undone.
“Kuro?”
At the sound of his name his eyes flew up, glancing around.
“Down here darling.”
Oh, he, didn’t realise he’d pushed hard enough to send Atsuhiro tumbling to the floor, he winced sympathetically as the thief scrambled to his feet, holding the shoulder he’d landed on.
“Atsuhiro, I’m sorry, I-”
“Ne t'excuse pas,” Atsuhiro shook his head, all hints of tipsiness gone as he looked at Kurogiri with a worried expression, “I shouldn’t have done that without warning you, it’s not your fault.”
Kurogiri stammered because, firstly, it absolutely was his fault, and second, he, didn’t think he’d ever been apologised to like that. The children were rowdy and often only threw out a half-hearted ‘sorry ‘Giri’ when they were reprimanded. Magne and Twice were almost never trouble, and when they were it never upset him enough to warrant an apology. And Atsuhiro, sweet, wonderful Atsuhiro, he’d never done anything that upset anyone in the league beyond annoying the kids because he mother-hened them too much, and certainly never anything to hurt Kurogiri.
He couldn’t actually think of a time when he’d been upset at all with someone, the only people he really interacted with before the league were All For One, Garaki, and Tomura. Tomura was his ward, he wasn’t going to get truly upset with a child for making mistakes or, being a child. And the other two were his creators, the people he was supposed to obey, of course he couldn’t get upset at them. And they’d torn him apart and put him back together more times than he could count, so, why did he think he had the right to get upset with his boyfriend over something as trivial as this?
A soft shuffling pulled him out of his thoughts, Atsuhiro was still staring at him, eyes wide and concerned, mouth pulled into a hint of a frown. What was he supposed to say to a look like that? He cleared his throat, buttoning his shirt back up, “I a-“ he paused, no, Atsuhiro said not to apologise, and he didn’t want to upset the thief further, “why’d you do that?” He asked instead, as if he didn’t already know the answer, as if he hadn’t denied this request a few times back at the start of their relationship and then was never asked again, Atsuhiro had probably just gotten tired of waiting.
Atsuhiro clearly wasn’t fooled by the innocent act, “don’t play dumb, I,” he huffed, cutting off whatever he was about to say, instead he fiddled with the frills on the sleeves of his blouse, staring at the way the golden light from the lamp reflected on the fabric. “Are you alright mon ange?”
My angel.
Kurogiri would have laughed at the pet name had he not heard it a hundred times before. Him? An angel? A fallen one perhaps, all mangled and twisted with broken wings. It nearly made him sick to think that he was just letting himself be called something he didn’t deserve. But he couldn’t stop it, because that would mean admitting just how damaged he was, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that, to do the right thing, because for once in his life he’d decided to be a selfish bastard and pretend like he deserved anything resembling normal relationship.
“I’m alright dear, I, was only startled,” that was a transparent lie and they both knew it; however he was begging that Atsuhiro would just drop it like he had before.
“Why?” But such was not his luck, and judging by the look in Atsuhiro’s eyes, he wasn’t getting out of this one easily.
“I just, was caught off guard,” he forced his voice back into its usual calm cadence.
Atsuhiro sighed, “alright,” he glanced up at the ceiling as if it held the answer on how to keep this from getting awkward.
Kurogiri shuffled, he ought to leave, it was his presence that had caused this, and his reluctance to give into his partner’s wishes. That, couldn’t be right, he couldn’t have just, denied someone like that. He unconsciously gritted his teeth. There were a lot of things in his life he didn’t know how to reconcile, he, he wasn’t meant to be able to do something like this, he wasn’t even meant to feel this shame and disgust about himself. So what had gone wrong? He supposed he’d never know, because to admit that something was wrong was a good way to make the problem worse.
“Perhaps I should have expected that,” Atsuhiro’s voice broke the stiff silence.
Kurogiri knew that was probably referring to the general aversion he had to being touched, but a part of him wanted to say it was about him being a disappointing partner, “you couldn’t have,” he tried, a vain attempt at placating the thief.
“Mon chéri, I know you know you’re not subtle,” was all the answer he got, a vague sentence that said far too much.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Are you going to make me spell it out for you?” Atsuhiro looked unimpressed, but Kurogiri stayed silent, he wasn’t going to divulge anything, let his boyfriend think he had the answer, it saved them both a lot of heartache. Atsuhiro sighed, “fine, you shy away from any touch like it will kill you, and the others might buy your excuses, but I don’t, so your reaction wasn’t unexpected.”
“I’m sorry,” Kurogiri winced as his boyfriend glared at him.
“Arrête ça, tu n'as rien fait de mal,” Atsuhiro shook his head, shuffling closer as if unsure whether he was allowed to.
“Then what?” Kurogiri asked, “what do you want if not an apology?” His mind scrambled to figure it out, Atsuhiro had to want something from him, a penance for his failure to appease.
Atsuhiro simply blinked, “nothing, I merely asked you to stop trying to accept blame for something you didn’t do.”
He, he didn’t know what to do with that, surely there was something, he couldn’t just be getting away with this kind of disobedience. And perhaps his mental floundering had shown in his eyes, because Atsuhiro seemed to be staring at him. “I, is there, something on your mind?” Kurogiri tried, attempting to look far less rattled than he actually was.
Atsuhiro sighed again, “why do you do that?”
“Do what?” Kurogiri tilted his head, surely he hadn’t done anything odd, or was Atsuhiro finally getting sick of this paltry excuse of a relationship?
“You always assume I’m going to be upset with you,” Atsuhiro looked at him sadly
Kurogiri shuffled, he thought he’d been hiding that well, “I, well, why wouldn’t you be?”
“Why on earth would I be?” Atsuhiro looked incredulous at his response, as if he couldn’t think of all the things he had been denied as a result of tying himself down like this.
“Well, I’m,” Kurogiri turned away, fearing that if he stared at those sharp eyes any longer he might just cry, “I’m hardly a good partner, am I? I don’t even give you the kind of affection you want.”
Atsuhiro huffed, “no, no no no. You cannot be serious,” but a quick moment of eye contact revealed the truth, and his face fell, voice going soft in a way that almost hurt to hear, “Kurogiri, mon amour, if I had a problem with our relationship I would have said something earlier.”
“But you are disappointed,” that Kurogiri was certain of.
“Not really, you love me, I know that much, even if you show it a bit differently.”
And now he was lost again. However, for better or worse, it seemed he wouldn’t even be given the chance to try and come up with an excuse as Atsuhiro pushed the conversation on.
“I feel I must ask, why is physical contact such a strong aversion for you?”
Kurogiri winced, “I’m sorry, I know it’s odd and rather unreasonable-”
“I don’t think it’s all that unreasonable to not want to be touched,” Atsuhiro interjected, “after all, you wouldn’t call Touya or Tomura unreasonable, would you?”
“No of course not,” Kurogiri attempted to gather his words carefully, “they are allowed to have issues.”
“And you aren’t?” Perhaps Atsuhiro thought he was making some kind of point, ‘give yourself the same grace you give others’ and all that, but that was the simple truth.
The silence must have been deafening.
“You shouldn’t be beating yourself up over this.”
“At least they have good reasons,” Kurogiri shook his head, staring at his arms and mentally mapping out the scars he knew were sitting just under his shirt, the thin layer of cloth being the only thing keeping them hidden.
Atsuhiro scoffed, “I doubt yours is as petty as you claim.”
“It is,” Kurogiri insisted.
“Then what is it?” Atsuhiro’s eyes narrowed, a sharpness in his gaze that usually only showed itself when he was talking someone into giving him what he wanted, “if it’s really that silly, tell me.”
“You’ll laugh, but,” Kurogiri huffed, “I simply do not like my body.”
The sharpness was instantly gone, replaced by tender concern, “cela ne semble pas déraisonnable, mon chéri.”
“It sounds unreasonable to most people,” Kurogiri said.
“Then most people are idiots,” the ferocity in Atsuhiro’s voice caught him off guard, and perhaps noticing the distress on his face, the thief took a breath, forcing his voice to be softer, “do you want to talk about it?” He asked instead.
“It’s, just that,” Kurogiri struggled to find the words he wanted, “well I’m not what one would call a pretty sight.”
“Really?” Atsuhiro tilted his head, “I don’t think that matters much, but I suppose that makes sense.”
Kurogiri grimaced, “whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that.”
“Then what is it?” Atsuhiro asked.
Kurogiri froze, realising he’d inadvertently talked himself into a corner, but then, Atsuhiro looked so earnest asking that, and maybe, just maybe, he could get his boyfriend to understand. “Scars,” he admitted finally, “I’ve got scars all over me, not little ones either.”
There were several seconds of silence as the thief stared at him, eyes darting over his figure as if imagining what kind of scars they could possibly be. He almost wanted to shy away, to warp himself out of this awkward situation, but he knew he’d just have to face this problem the next day if he did. After several moments, Atsuhiro sharply inhaled, as if he wanted to speak, but couldn’t bring himself to actually say anything. Instead, he took a step closer, now directly in front of Kurogiri and having to look up slightly to maintain eye contact.
“Can I see?” He asked, almost whispering, as if he was trying not to spook an animal.
Kurogiri was taken aback by the request, he’d just explained that he was not pleasing to look at, so why was his boyfriend asking to see his scars? A part of him wanted to say no, to protect himself from the inevitable disgust at the reveal of his true nature. However, another much smaller, and yet somehow much louder, part of him wanted to give in, those sweet brown eyes were just too persuasive, looking up at him with not a hint of malice anywhere in their depths.
He was going to regret this.
“Okay,” he whispered back, backing away slightly before raising a hand to his shirt, “um, do you mind turning around?” It wouldn’t matter, but he’d still not rather take his clothes off while being watched. Atsuhiro chuckled before obliging, turning to the wall.
Kurogiri fumbled with the buttons on his vest, trying to get it over with as quickly as possible before tossing it aside, before moving onto his shirt, trousers, shoes, and socks. Ultimately being left in nothing but his boxers and the mist that covered his skin. He closed his eyes tight and took a deep breath, feeling that passive part of his quirk dissipate on command, finally exposing all that made him so disgusting. He instinctively crossed his arms to cover his chest, curling in on himself like he could make himself invisible.
“You can look,” he muttered, ignoring the terrified squeak in his voice.
He heard a bit of shuffling, then a gasp, and he flinched before slowly opening his eyes, preparing for the worst, for an expression of revulsion, perhaps even hate. Instead what he saw was, sadness? And it was mixed together with the same unending love that Atsuhiro always looked at him with, but, how could he still deserve that?
“Mon amour...”
Mist swirled up around Kurogiri, hiding his form once again along with the fear in his eyes, “I know, I know,” however mist could not hide the tremble in his voice, “they’re disgusting, you don’t have to tell me.”
There was an odd look in Atsuhiro’s eyes, “they’re not disgusting.”
“Of course they are, didn’t you see them?” Kurogiri held back a laugh, that kind of empty platitude was worthless to him.
Atsuhiro didn’t say anything, just tilted his head, lost in thought, and slowly raised his hand until it was just ghosting over the mist, and after a moment, “I did.”
Kurogiri supressed a shudder at the closeness, “then why do you bother lying?”
“I’m not lying,” Atsuhiro frowned, “they’re not disgusting to me.”
Kurogiri scoffed, of course the thief was lying, nobody on earth would consider his body anything but a disfigured horror, “then why do you keep staring at me like that?”
“Parce que je suis triste,” Atsuhiro muttered, “I’m sad that someone like you had to go through whatever gave you those scars.”
Kurogiri shook his head, “sad? You don’t need to be sad for me,” please don’t be sad because of me.
“Logically? Maybe,” Atsuhiro smiled thinly, “but I’m not going to be apathetic to the person I love.”
“You, still love me?” Kurogiri blinked, certain he’d misunderstood.
Atsuhiro’s smile brightened at that, “bien sûr que oui.”
Kurogiri could no longer hold back his laughter, a shuddering gasp pierced the air as he couldn’t seem to muster the cheer to make it convincing, “you had no reason to love me in the first place, and you act even now that you’ve been given a reason to hate me?” He carefully pushed away the hand over his chest, careful not to let it brush against the scars on his wrists.
“I don’t-” Atsuhiro paused in his words, and Kurogiri gritted his teeth, waiting for the admission, but then the sparks of sorrow in the thief’s eyes were replaced by determination as he grabbed the arm holding his hand and pulled Kurogiri towards the bed.
Kurogiri yelped in surprise, normally Atsuhiro wouldn’t be able to move him at all if he wasn’t going along with it, but the few seconds that he was caught off guard enough to follow were enough to make him sit on the edge of the bed. He tensed slightly when Atsuhiro pushed his shoulder, as if trying to get him to lie down, he tilted his head, incredibly confused.
Atsuhiro eventually just huffed and sat down as well, “get rid of that mist,” he muttered, running his hands through it as if to brush it away.
Kurogiri couldn’t parse the motive for that request, so instead his instincts took over and he obeyed, letting his quirk dissipate once again, revealing everything he tried to hide. He took a breath, supressing a flinch as a hand rested on his cheek, instead he looked at Atsuhiro, whose eyes were shining, “what are you doing?” He finally had the coherence to ask.
Atsuhiro looked at him, as if trying to make the correct answer, “you don’t believe me, that I love you, so then let me prove it,” he muttered. His hands gently cupped Kurogiri’s face as he leaned forward to press their foreheads together before whispering “alors laisse-moi t'adorer, mon amour.”
There was something in the way he said it, the sheer sincerity and softness in that sweet purr, that made Kurogiri want to cry right then and there. Atsuhiro was amazing, he was a gentleman thief, a notorious charmer, a father figure to nearly everyone in the league, how could he love something like Kurogiri? A monstrous servant, a mangled beast, a puppet on a string.
Something in his eyes must have given away his feelings, or maybe that was just the way his entire being was trembling, because Atsuhiro’s eyes darted to the scar over his left shoulder, one of the tamer ones, a pale line a few centimetres long that happened due to a thrown glass. And before he could even gather his thoughts, Atsuhiro pressed a kiss to the scar, and he let out a sharp gasp as his mind began to scream at him to pull his boyfriend away before he could be hurt, before Atsuhiro decided he wasn’t worth it.
But there was something in his chest, something fragile and cobwebbed, that threatened to break if he stopped this moment, that threatened to destroy his soul so thoroughly that he’d never feel safe again. So he didn’t run, allowing the gentle action to bloom warmly across his shoulder as he felt himself stop trembling.
After a moment, Atsuhiro pulled back, only to kiss another scar, this time a long, zigzagged mark running down the length of his arm, echoing the knife that put it there, “mon amour, what caused this?” Atsuhiro muttered between kisses as he trailed the length of the scar.
Kurogiri finally seemed to find his voice, “someone tried to attack Tomura,” he managed to squeak out, “I was young, and not as experienced with my quirk.” And then his words failed him as he fell silent into the memory, he could no longer remember exactly who had done it, or why, only that the knife had been aimed at Tomura’s chest, and one mishap with a portal led to it being redirected down his own arm. Not that he regretted it, as long as Tomura was safe and happy, anything that happened to himself wasn’t a problem.
Atsuhiro seemed to get the implication at least, staying quiet as his fingers tracing the edge of the scar so carefully, almost as if it was one wrong breath away from breaking open all over again. And then he paused, looking at Kurogiri, “tu vas bien, mon ange?”
Kurogiri managed to choke out a laugh despite his throat feeling constricted, how could he even answer that? Was he alright? He’d thought he was, and then he wasn’t, and now it was all confusing because almost every part of him was begging him to see this as the dream it was, but then there was his heart, which yearned for this to be real. “I, am alright,” there was no need to worry anyone, though he had to stop himself shying away the moment he heard that pet name, “wh-why do you ask dear?”
Atsuhiro tilted his head, “you’re shaking again.”
Oh, was he? Kurogiri couldn’t tell through the way his chest seemed to be tearing itself apart.
“Did I make you uncomfortable?” Atsuhiro asked worriedly, beginning to lean away.
Kurogiri had about enough of his wits left to shake his head vehemently, “no!” He exclaimed, before forcing air back into his already too full lungs, “no, I, I don’t know.”
“You, don’t know?” The thief now looked even more concerned, “how?”
“I-” Kurogiri cut himself off, trying to figure out how to word what on earth he was feeling, finally settling on, “I’m scared.”
“Scared?” Atsuhiro parroted blankly.
Kurogiri floundered as he tried to explain, “it’s just,” his eyes gazed over his body, taking in the scars that made his stomach turn in revulsion and brought too many images to his mind, “why are you being so nice to me?” He whispered, almost afraid that questioning would break this, spell.
Atsuhiro blinked, as if he hadn’t even considered that question, “because I care about you?” He said.
Kurogiri shook his head, “but you don’t have to be?”
“I told you earlier mon amour, I love you, there’s no logic in that,” Atsuhiro huffed out a laugh, “you act as if nobody’s ever just been nice to you.”
There was silence.
Atsuhiro stared, waiting for a response, perhaps a shared amusement, then his eyes widened, realisation hitting him in an instant, “oh.”
Kurogiri flinched at the sound, unconsciously shuffling further onto the bed until he hit the headboard before bringing his knees up to his chest and hiding his face, trying to make himself as small as he possibly could. He felt his nails dig sharply into his skin, but he didn’t bother stopping it, it didn’t matter, Atsuhiro probably wouldn’t be as upset as Garaki got whenever he damaged himself.
There was a shuffling sound, and then he could feel the warmth radiating off a presence hovering in front of him, hesitant and unsure of what to do.
“Kurogiri,” Atsuhiro’s voice was meek and stilted in a way entirely unbefitting of a showman, not even having the softer charm that seemed so natural to him, even at his lowest.
Kurogiri only tensed up further, he didn’t know what was going to happen, he hadn’t meant to be so ungrateful, of course people were nice to him, just look at Atsuhiro himself! He felt his lungs burn with the breath he was holding, not daring to make the slightest noise.
There was a hand on his knee, “I’m not going to hurt you, just look at me.”
He didn’t want to, he couldn’t. But an order was an order, no matter how sweet it sounded. So he looked, and brown eyes met his gold, both of them hesitant and scared.
Atsuhiro smiled softly, “there you are,” he murmured, resting his cheek on top of Kurogiri’s knees, his hand reaching out to tilt Kurogiri’s head up a bit more, to keep him from hiding again. He wanted to flinch, but he knew that he wouldn’t be-
No, he realised, he could move, the thief’s grip was nowhere near as harsh as Garaki’s was when he was being dragged into the lab, this was almost a caress instead of actually digging into his skin. Then, Atsuhiro frowned before his eyes widened with sudden alarm, “Kuro, you need to breathe,” he said, clearly frantic about the air that had been pooling like acid in Kurogiri’s lungs.
Kurogiri blinked before, as quickly and quietly as possible, taking a single breath, barely enough to alleviate the bursting pain in his chest.
“That’s not what I meant!” For some reason, Atsuhiro seemed even more scared now, “you need to keep breathing!”
Kurogiri clenched his jaw at that, nails digging deeper into his skin as his mind warred between wanting to follow the order and being utterly terrified of the consequences of making himself too noticeable.
“Chéri, please,” Atsuhiro begged, his eyes shining with tears as he pressed a hand to Kurogiri’s chest, as if he could force a breath out of those lungs.
The desperation in Atsuhiro’s voice caused Kurogiri to stare, oh dear, he’d done something wrong, he should have obeyed. He slowly began to breath, shuddering and silent as he tried to keep from gasping and clawing at his throat.
Relief flooded Atsuhiro’s face, “c'est ça, continue à respirer, tout ira bien,” he muttered weakly as he leaned forward and kissed Kurogiri’s forehead, which allowed Kurogiri to notice that the hand on his knee was trembling.
“Atsuhiro?” Kurogiri tested the waters by speaking, was he allowed to be so brazen as to address his boyfriend directly?
“Yes?” Atsuhiro responded, and did not seem to be angry, so he dared to push further.
“Are you upset with me?”
“Of course not,” Atsuhiro said, gently squeezing Kurogiri’s knee reassuringly.
Kurogiri was already prepared to apologize, to grovel and promise he’d never be so disrespectful again, so that response caught him off guard, “even though I accidentally said nobody had been nice to me?”
Atsuhiro tilted his head at that, “why would I be upset with you over that?”
“B-because, nobody, includes you?” Kurogiri murmured, “I’m sorry, you’ve been very nice to me, too nice, you always give me so much grace and kindness and I didn’t mean to insinuate otherwise-”
He was cut off as Atsuhiro kissed him, just for a moment before pulling back, “ferme-la, you’ve done nothing wrong, I’m sorry that I scared you so badly.”
Kurogiri managed a feeble smile, “it’s, it’s alright.” He couldn’t allow himself to hope, but why did it seem like Atsuhiro truly saw him as an equal? He looked back to his arm, staring for a moment at the long scar that his boyfriend had kissed, wondering what on earth would drive anyone to treat something like him with so much gentleness.
Atsuhiro’s eyes followed Kurogiri’s gaze, before he sighed, “that made you uncomfortable, did it?”
Kurogiri shook his head, “no, not that, that felt,” like he was worth something, “nice.”
Atsuhiro reached out, interlocking their fingers together as he traced the scar with his other hand, “so you’d be fine if I kept going?”
Kurogiri’s eyes widened as he slowly uncurled himself, “you want to?”
“I said I’d adore you, didn’t I?” Atsuhiro asked with that oh so familiar smirk on his face, “I intend to follow through on that promise.”
“I-” Kurogiri could feel his throat begin to close on him again, but he managed to nod, “alright.”
Atsuhiro smiled and held Kurogiri’s right arm, which had two prominent scars as well as a few minor ones, bringing it up so that he could press kisses along the skin, lingering wherever marks were carved into the flesh. Most of those scars were from general villainous hazards, a stray strike from a hero, or another villain, but then Atsuhiro paused, quietly tracing one of the larger scars, a fractured patch of skin shaped suspiciously like a child's hand. “Mon amour, was this...”
Kurogiri winced, “it wasn’t his fault, it was years ago and he couldn’t control it,” he quickly began, he needed to defend his ward, “he got angry and pushed me, I don’t think he even realised he’d touched me with his entire hand.”
“Still, that cannot have been pleasant,” Atsuhiro muttered, “and Tomura must have felt awful.”
Kurogiri chuckled nervously, “he, uh, still doesn’t know?”
Atsuhiro blinked, “how, actually, why?”
“I didn’t need to, it wasn’t much damage, and I could even fix it myself,” Kurogiri admitted, “no point in scaring the poor boy over an accident.”
Atsuhiro hummed quietly, before apparently deciding it wasn’t worth it to argue as he returned to trailing kisses up Kurogiri’s arm and along his shoulder. Meanwhile, Kurogiri was desperately holding back the emotions bubbling in his chest, there was something in the way Atsuhiro looked at his scars, the reverence in each soft kiss, he didn’t deserve it, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop it either. He wanted this, he wanted it so badly, to be treated like he was something precious, and not just a defective lab experiment.
Atsuhiro had started on the scars over his torso now, the thief’s hands wrapping around his broad frame to trail down his back, carefully mapping out where each raised cut or rough patch lay. Kurogiri’s breath hitched each time his boyfriend paused, expecting to be asked about the obvious, but it didn’t happen, instead he was questioned about the smaller scars. From the bullet wound on his back after he’d been too slow with his portals, to the large bite mark in his side from an accident with one of the lower-tier nomus, each one was treated with care and an endless kind of tenderness that was almost overwhelming.
Slowly Atsuhiro’s hand wandered down his left side, until it hit a burn.
Kurogiri froze, oh, no, no no no, the pressure sparked the instinct to go limp and silent, it would hurt less that way, his eyes unfocused as he tried not to fall back into the memories of blooming pain and stifled screams. The only part of him that dared to move, to make noise, was his mouth as he muttered a stream of apologies, begging for mercy like he was supposed to, staring pleadingly at a blank gaze as the lever was pulled.
Suddenly the pressure was gone, and Kurogiri snapped back to reality, realising he wasn’t in the room with too many bright lights and crackling pain, the fabric under him was soft, and the wood he was leaning against didn’t feel like metal. The soft yellowish-orange glow of a lamp somewhere off to his left was not reflecting sterile white in the lenses of goggles, instead turning brown to gold as it shined in terrified eyes.
“Qu'est-ce que c'était que ça?” Atsuhiro exclaimed, “tu vas bien?”
Kurogiri looked down staring at that damned electrical burn, “don’t worry about it, I’m fine.”
“But-”
“Please, just forget it,” he shuddered as the memories ghosted against his mind, “it won’t happen again.” And then, selfishly, “please keep going.”
Atsuhiro opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but something about the look on Kurogiri’s face must have stopped him. “If you’re certain,” he said as he cautiously returned his hands to their previous positions, making sure not to even graze the burn scar. He leaned forward and kissed a stab mark over Kurogiri’s stomach.
Kurogiri instantly relaxed into the touch, finding it easier than it had ever been to chase away those unwanted visions, replacing them with a feeling of deep fondness for the man in front of him, who, beyond all reason, continued to love him.
“Are those connected?” Atsuhiro asked, pulling Kurogiri out of his musing as he noticed his boyfriend staring at one of his larger scars. It was a set of jagged claw marks that began on the inner side of his right thigh before spiralling around to the front, disappearing under his boxers, and reappearing just before they stopped at the highest point of his hip bone.
“They are,” he looked at them with a kind of resignation, they were a stark reminder of why he needed to be obedient.
“It looks far too large to be any animal,” Atsuhiro observed, his face hovering just over the scar, Kurogiri shivered at the way his breath ghosted over the marks.
“It was,” Kurogiri paused, unsure if he wanted to elaborate on that, “just one of the other high-ends.”
Atsuhiro took a sharp breath, “y a-t-il eu une bagarre?” He asked, fingers tracing the deep gouges that still hadn’t evened out after all these years.
“No,” it could hardly be called a fight of any kind, Kurogiri was the first high-end, and he was much less outwardly beastly than the rest of his kin, perhaps because making him too monstrous would not have suited a child’s caretaker. Due to that however, he was merely a rag-doll in the claws of the others, they were all larger, stronger, and had many offensive capabilities, and all his crying and begging and pathetic flailing did nothing. He didn’t hold it against them, they were following orders, the same orders he was impudently refusing, in fact he’d felt bad for them when Garaki punished them for damaging him enough that he needed to be fixed more than he already did.
Atsuhiro didn’t reply, he simply pressed fluttering kisses all across the lower part of the scar, each one deliberate and infused with so much love that the tears Kurogiri had been holding back began to well up in his eyes. Time seemed to drag on, but not in a tiresome way, rather it was like he’d been pulled into a dream, where everything was hazy and impossible to decipher and he was being pillowed by all the adoration his darling could give him.
After who knows how long, Atsuhiro had gone over every single scar on Kurogiri’s body, well, all except one.
Kurogiri almost wanted to hide again, to curl into a ball and disappear. His boyfriend’s gaze dragged across his entire torso, focused on the neat line running all the way down the middle, a horizontal line at the top spanned his collar bones, and another at the bottom hid just below the waistband of his boxers.
Atsuhiro opened his mouth like he wanted to ask, but then shut it, jaw clenching as he stared at something unmistakable that they’d both been avoiding even thinking about.
Kurogiri was the one to break the silence, “it’s from the labs,” he muttered.
That seemed to snap Atsuhiro out of whatever thoughts he had, “from when you were made, correct?”
Kurogiri took a deep breath, “yes and no,” he said after a long pause. He didn’t know what compelled him to explain this, but he knew he desperately needed something, though what he was hoping for beyond bland agreement that he was broken, he wasn’t sure. “It’s technically the same scar for, all of the times Garaki’s cut me open.”
“All?” Atsuhiro tilted his head, apprehension forming in his words, “you mean, he’s done it multiple times?”
“Yes,” Kurogiri sighed, “whenever he deems that I need repairing.”
Atsuhiro scrunched his nose at that sentence, though what could cause him displeasure, Kurogiri couldn’t understand. “I see,” he placed his palm over the middle of the line, “it must hurt, waiting for the wound to heal.”
Kurogiri chuckled, “not as much as actually being on the operating table does.”
The hand on his chest flinched away, “tu étais reveille!?” Atsuhiro shrieked, looking utterly horrified.
“Yes, I’m usually awake during the procedure, why?” Kurogiri tilted his head, he didn’t like the pain that flashed through the thief’s eyes, he tried to reach out, to comfort, but was stopped as his hands were grasped tightly in Atsuhiro’s own.
“Mon amour, I understand you probably think that’s normal, but you realise you’re supposed to be put under anaesthesia for things like this, right?” Atsuhiro’s tone was desperate and slightly hysterical as he scanned Kurogiri’s face for any sign of understanding.
“Does it matter?” Kurogiri asked, unable to make himself break eye contact.
“Yes it does!?” Atsuhiro’s voice had somehow gone even higher in pitch, “that’s just unnecessary cruelty!”
“It’s not cruel,” Kurogiri tried his best to comfort his clearly distressed boyfriend, “it’s just how it is, I’m used to it, no need to be so worried.” Used to it in the sense that he’d stopped screaming a long time ago, he still needed to be restrained though, he hadn’t quite figured out how not to flinch at the mere sight of a scalpel.
“Used to it?”
“Mhm,” Kurogiri nodded, “just like the shocks.”
“The what!?” Atsuhiro squeaked.
Oops. He hadn’t actually meant to let that part slip out, but it seemed his mouth wasn’t going to stop talking any time soon as the words just seemed to tumble out of him, “the electric shocks, a kind of corrective action, it’s what gave me that,” he glanced at the scar on his side.
Atsuhiro went quiet, and then, in a distraught whisper “the burn, the one that sent you into a panic attack when I touched it?”
“Yeah, that one,” though he wasn’t sure that classified as a panic attack, those kinds of episodes just happened sometimes, and he was fairly sure panic attacks were usually about traumatic things.
There was silence for several seconds, then, wordlessly, Atsuhiro wrapped his arms around Kurogiri, pulling him into a hug, forehead pressed to his chest. Kurogiri froze, unsure of what was going on, he could feel his boyfriend’s breath on his skin, stuttered and shaky in a way that he desperately hated because it meant Atsuhiro was upset.
“Darling?”
“Je suis vraiment désolé.”
“Sorry? What on earth do you have to be sorry about love?” Kurogiri asked, starting to feel an unease growing in the pit of his stomach.
“That you had to go through that,” Atsuhiro muttered, not lifting his head and instead tightening the hug.
Kurogiri blinked, “huh?” He wasn’t entirely sure what Atsuhiro was going on about, he hadn’t ‘been through’ anything.
The thief’s breath shuddered, and he finally looked up, eyes brimming with unshed tears, “they hurt you.”
Kurogiri froze, “no no no, it's only, only when I deserve it, only when I disobey,” he wanted Atsuhiro to understand that it wasn’t for no reason, even if he selfishly wanted to keep his slip ups secret for fear of the consequences, they were always consequences, not mindless violence.
But his boyfriend just frowned, looking sadder than he should be as he traced the vivisection scar, “there’s nothing that anyone could do to deserve that.”
“Well, yes, but that only applies to people, doesn’t it?” Kurogiri looked away, unable to face the undeserved sympathy he was getting.
“But you are a person mon ange,” Atsuhiro sounded so pained at Kurogiri’s words.
Kurogiri flinched, before laughing mirthlessly, “I am no person my love, and certainly no angel, just an experiment meant to serve.”
There was a hand on his jaw, tender but firm, “Kurogiri, look at me.”
He shuddered at the contact, but did as he was told, tears welling up in his eyes yet again, and there was Atsuhiro, face full of kindness and mercy and a sternness that made his words sound like undeniable facts of the universe. “I don’t care what you were meant to be, you are sentient, you are a person, and, to me at least, you are every bit deserving of being called an angel,” he said before leaning down and kissing the scar.
And that finally released the flood that had been building up all night as Kurogiri couldn’t stop himself from sobbing. What did he ever do to deserve this wonderful man?
Atsuhiro carefully wiped away the river of tears, paying no mind to the fact that more just kept pouring out anyways. “Mon chéri, mon ange adoré, je t'aime tellement. Tu es les étoiles dans mon ciel et le calme dans ma tempête,” he whispered once things had calmed down, his fingers brushing through the misty bangs that framed Kurogiri’s face.
Normally, that kind of talk would have elicited a laugh from Kurogiri, perhaps a joking comment about how Atsuhiro should have become a poet. But in that moment all he could think was that he was loved enough to be talked about like that, which just brought forth more tears. “I love you too,” he whispered back, voice hoarse from crying as he leaned into the touch like anything less would kill him.
Atsuhiro peppered kisses all over his face, muttering affections between each one before finally pulling away and just, staring, with nothing but pure love in his gaze. Kurogiri felt himself melting under those sharp brown eyes that he always adored. But he felt like there was something bubbling in his chest, something that had gotten a taste of a feeling he hadn’t known he’d craved all his life, and now it wouldn’t go away until it got more. His eyes trailed to Atsuhiro’s hands, which were fidgeting with the frills on his blouse again, before he glanced away, he had no right to be even more selfish that he’d already been.
“Mon amour? Is there something on your mind?” Ah, of course his boyfriend would notice.
Kurogiri shook his head, afraid that if he opened his mouth all that’d spill out would be pleading. But it seemed to slip through in his expression anyway.
Atsuhiro sighed, “Kuro, if you want something, you can tell me, I’m not going to hurt you just for expressing yourself. Je te le promets.”
And yet Kurogiri hesitated, he knew Atsuhiro was telling the truth, he wouldn’t be hurt, but there was still a part of him that screamed that this was a trap of some kind, that the moment he stepped out of line he’d be put back in his place. He violently shoved that part of himself into the back of his mind, he wanted to believe, he wanted this so desperately, consequences be damned. But how could he ask, he barely even knew what he’d be asking for. His eyes drifted back to Atsuhiro’s hands.
“Kurogiri?” Atsuhiro was waiting for an answer.
He slowly raised his own hand to hold onto the sleeve of Atsuhiro’s blouse before pulling hesitantly, unsure if he was doing this correctly. At a curious hum from the thief, he pulled a bit more insistently, trying to get across the point that his words couldn’t form.
Atsuhiro chuckled, “do you want to cuddle?”
Oh, that was it, Kurogiri was sure, so he nodded.
Atsuhiro smiled as he moved to lie down, placing his hand on Kurogiri’s shoulder to guide him down from where he was leaning against the headboard. Kurogiri laid his head on one of the pillows, and immediately just wanted to sink into the mattress and never come out. But before he could think on that further, a pair of arms encircled him as best they could. He pressed his face to the crook of his boyfriend’s neck, returning the embrace fervently as his hands clutched the loose fabric like a lifeline. His breathing picked up as he realised just how good this felt, how much he wanted to never leave this position and just let himself be loved forever.
He could feel Atsuhiro’s hands absentmindedly tracing the scars on his back, that steady reminder of reality being the only reason he hadn’t started crying all over again. But something in him thought there was a way to make this even more comfortable, and this time, he barely had to fight himself to allow it.
Atsuhiro yelped in surprise as he was pushed over to be lying on his back, “what are you-”
Kurogiri rested his head on Atsuhiro’s chest, screwing his eyes shut and clinging tightly as he braced himself to be pushed away for that kind of boldness. Though that never happened, instead, he heard laughter, he felt it too, reverberating through Atsuhiro’s lungs like a high-pitched melody.
“Who’d have ever guessed you’d be the clingy type?” He muttered, voice full of amusement as he began running his fingers through Kurogiri’s hair.
Kurogiri smiled shyly, he certainly wouldn’t have guessed, though now it made so much sense. Then, he felt a buzzing in his chest, begging to be let out, and this time, he knew exactly what it was, so he relaxed.
The hand in his hair froze as Atsuhiro stared, perhaps in disbelief that he was hearing what he was hearing, “are, are you purring!?” He asked, a bewildered look on his face.
Kurogiri didn’t say anything in response, he just purred louder as he nuzzled into Atsuhiro’s chest, the low rumbling sound permeating the room. Usually, the sound was an instinctual response to Tomura’s distress, like some kind of attempt to soothe the boy, and it pretty much always worked. But he never realised he could do this in response to his own happiness.
The sound seemed to have that same soothing effect on Atsuhiro, who relaxed and continued playing with Kurogiri’s hair, “tu peux te reposer, mon ange. You’re safe with me.”
And that was all the permission needed for Kurogiri to fully relax, loosening his grip on Atsuhiro’s blouse as his eyes half closed, letting himself be cared for without any worry that he was overstepping. Maybe one day he wouldn’t need permission, maybe one day he’d be able to look at himself without feeling nauseated, maybe one day, he’d be able to fully believe when Atsuhiro said he was a person. But until that day came, he’d gladly settle for tender hands holding him, tracing his scars like they were beautiful and sad all at once, and for that quiet whisper telling him that he was loved unconditionally.