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The bar was grimy in the way only late-night places could be. Sticky floors, dim lights, the faint smell of spilled alcohol that never quite went away. It was loud without being lively, crowded but lonely all the same.
Tomura Shigaraki sat at the far end of the counter, hood pulled low, one hand curled around a half-empty glass. His fingers twitched against it, nails tapping an uneven rhythm as irritation crawled under his skin.
He needed quiet.
He needed space.
And the League had given him neither. Dabi wouldn’t shut up earlier, lounging across furniture like he owned the place. Toga had been poking through his things again, asking questions he didn’t want to answer. Someone— Spinner, maybe, had brushed his shoulder without warning, and the urge to disintegrate something had flared hot and sharp in his chest.
So he’d left. Bars were good for that. Nobody asked questions. Nobody cared who you were, as long as you paid and kept your hands to yourself.
“Long night?”
The voice came from his right. Tomura stiffened, all but one finger tightening around his glass. He glanced sideways and found you perched on the neighboring stool, turned toward him with an easy smile. You looked… bright. Too bright for this place. Like you didn’t belong among flickering neon signs and cracked mirrors.
You continued, undeterred by his silence. “You look like someone who needs a distraction.”
He snorted softly, gaze dropping back to his drink. “Not interested.”
Most people would’ve backed off. You didn’t.
“Well, that’s a shame,” you said lightly. “Because you also look like you could use company.”
Tomura’s jaw clenched. He could already feel it— the itch crawling up his neck, the familiar irritation that came with being perceived too closely. He didn’t look at you again.
“Find someone else,” he muttered. “I’m not good company.”
You hummed, thoughtful, resting your chin in your palm. “Mysterious and self-aware. That’s kind of charming, you know.”
He scoffed. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“No,” you agreed easily. “But I could.”
That did it. He finally turned to face you, pale blue eyes sharp beneath the hood. For a split second, you faltered, but then you smiled again, softer this time.
Something twisted uncomfortably in his chest. “You should leave me alone,” he said, colder now. “I’m serious.”
There it was. The warning. The distance he always put between himself and anyone foolish enough to get close.
You studied him for a moment longer, then sighed. “Alright. Message received.”
You slid off the stool, grabbing your jacket. Before you turned away, you offered one last glance over your shoulder.
“For what it’s worth,” you said, “you’re not as scary as you think.”
Then you were gone, swallowed by the bar’s noise and shadows. Tomura stared at the empty seat beside him long after.
Idiot, he told himself. Better this way.
Still, when he finally drained his glass and stood to leave, that tight feeling in his chest hadn’t gone away.
The street outside was quiet, the city humming low with distant traffic. Tomura shoved his hands into his pockets and headed down the sidewalk, mind already elsewhere.
A sharp sound echoed from the alley beside him.
“Hey— let go.”
He stopped. The voice was unmistakable.
Tomura turned just in time to see a man backing you against the brick wall, one hand gripping your wrist too tightly, breath heavy with alcohol.
“C’mon,” the guy slurred. “Don’t be like that.” Something snapped.
Tomura didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate. He stepped into the alley, raised his hand. The man never even had time to scream.
The sound was soft. Almost gentle. Like sand pouring through fingers. Ash scattered across the pavement where a body had been seconds ago.
You stared, frozen, heart hammering in your ears.
Behind you, Tomura lowered his hand, irritation plain on his face as he brushed invisible dust from his fingers.
“Tch,” he muttered. “Annoying.”
Your body was jelly on your feet, breath shaky. “Y-you—” You stopped short when you saw his face clearly this time.
Your eyes widened— but not with fear. “Did you just… save me?”
He blinked, caught off guard by the way your voice softened around the word. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” he said flatly. “He was in my way.”
You swallowed, nodding quickly. “Still. Thank you.” You hesitated, then asked the question that seemed to burn on your tongue. “Are you… a hero?”
Tomura snorted, already turning away. “Hell no.” He started walking.
“Wait!” You hurried after him, feet echoing against the pavement. “So— what? Villain, then?”
He stopped again, shoulders tense. “Take a guess.”
Slowly, he looked back at you, eyes sharp and expectant, waiting for the fear. The disgust. The recoil. Instead, you shrugged.
“Huh,” you said. “That tracks.”
His brow furrowed. “You’re not scared.”
You smiled sheepishly. “I probably should be. But you didn’t let anything happen to me. That counts for something.”
“You should stay away from me,” he warned. “I’m not safe.”
You tilted your head. “Good thing I didn’t ask you to be.”
For a long moment, the two of you just stared at each other. Then, reluctantly, Tomura sighed. “You’re an idiot.”
“Maybe,” you said brightly. “But I’m an idiot who’d like your number.”
He hesitated. Then, against his better judgment, he gave it to you.
It started slowly.
Late-night texts. Meetings in out-of-the-way places. Conversations that never quite touched on names or affiliations. Weeks turned into months.
Tomura found himself at your apartment more often than he meant to be. Crashing on your couch after missions, lingering longer each time. You never asked him to explain the bruises or the blood. You just patched him up and handed him water.
He slept better there. He scratched less.
One night, he fell asleep with his head in your lap, your fingers combing gently through his hair. He woke up hours later, disoriented and strangely at peace.
Rain tapped softly against the window as you lay together in bed, the room lit only by the glow of the city outside. Tomura rested against you, head tucked beneath your chin, fingers loosely gripping your shirt like he was afraid you might disappear.
Your hand slid through his hair, slow and careful. He melted into the touch with a quiet hum.
“You’re thinking,” he muttered.
You smiled. “Am I that obvious?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You always get quiet.”
You hesitated, fingers pausing for just a moment before continuing.
“Tomura,” you said softly. “You know I always knew, right?”
He stiffened.
“What,” he said slowly, “are you talking about?”
“I knew you were a villain,” you admitted. “From the beginning.”
Silence fell heavy between you. He pushed himself up slightly, eyes wide, heart pounding. “You— what?”
“I recognized you at the bar,” you continued gently. “News footage. Rumors. The hands.”
He pulled away, sitting up, panic flashing across his face. “Then why— why did you—”
“Because I wanted you,” you said simply. “Not some version of you that made me feel safer.”
His hands trembled. “You should’ve left.”
“But I didn’t.”
He stared at you like you were something impossible.
“You weren’t waiting for me to change?” he asked quietly.
You shook your head. “Never.”
Something in him broke. He leaned forward, kissing you with a desperation that stole your breath, fingers gripping you tight like an anchor. You kissed him back just as fiercely, pouring everything unspoken into it.
When he finally pulled away, forehead resting against yours, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“I love you.”
Your heart swelled.
You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him back into your chest as he sighed, tension melting away.
“I love you too.”
Outside, the rain kept falling.
Inside, Tomura Shigaraki slept peacefully in your arms— for the first time in a long, long while.