Work Text:
The seedy bar was full of noise.
The music was too loud, glasses clinking, conversations blending together. The neon lights flickered from time to time, casting the room in red and violet for brief moments.
Tomura Shigaraki sat at a table against the wall. His elbows rested on the sticky surface as he observed the place with clear irritation.
His hand went up to his neck, scratching the skin insistently. He didn’t like places like this—too many people, too much noise, too many things moving at the same time.
Then his gaze landed on you.
You were in the middle of the small makeshift dance floor. Not with a group, not trying to draw attention. You were just dancing.
Sometimes you spun too fast and let out a small laugh when you had to correct your balance. Sometimes you raised your arms to the music as if you were in your own world.
It was clear you had been drinking a little, but there was something else too. You were genuinely having fun.
Tomura furrowed his brow slightly.
He had noticed something strange lately whenever you were around. A weird sensation in his chest. Something he couldn’t name.
It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t hatred.
And that irritated him.
He scratched his neck again.
He looked at you again almost unwillingly, and at that moment you lifted your gaze. Your eyes met his.
Tomura expected you to look away. Most people did. But you didn’t have to.
You smiled simply, as if acknowledging him was the most natural thing in the world.
You gave a small nod, inviting him. Tomura didn’t move.
You continued dancing for a few more seconds under the villain’s gaze, but finally, you sighed and walked toward his table.
When you reached it, you leaned lightly on the surface in front of him.
“You’ve been staring for a while,” you said with a calm smile. “Analyzing my moves or something?”
Tomura looked up at you.
“No.”
“Then come dance.”
“No.”
Your smile turned a little more playful as you sat down across from him for a moment.
“You never dance?”
“No.”
“Not even when no one’s watching?”
“No.”
You let out a small dramatic sigh.
“Don’t you like music, or you just don’t like dancing?”
Tomura narrowed his eyes slightly, a little irritated, thinking the question was obvious.
“Both.”
“How dramatic,” you said softly, laughing. “Just one song.”
The music shifted to a faster beat. You glanced at the floor, then back at him.
“Come on. Just for a bit.”
Tomura didn’t move.
“No.”
You stared at him for a few seconds, assessing him. He didn’t seem intimidated or annoyed. Just stubborn.
You sighed and stood.
“Fine.”
He prepared for you to just go back to dancing and leave him alone—but instead, you took his hand.
Tomura tensed immediately. Your grip was warm and soft. You weren’t pulling hard, just trying to get him up.
“Come on,” you said casually. “If you hate it, you can sit back down and keep judging everyone from your table.”
He scratched his neck with his free hand. Tomura looked at you, at your hand holding his, at the carefree way you had said it.
Normally, people avoided touching him. Normally, people were afraid of him.
But you didn’t seem to think much about it.
“This is a waste of time.”
“Probably.”
You smiled a little.
“But sometimes, useless things can be fun too.”
He wasn’t sure why, but that answer left him without an immediate reply.
He ended up standing before he realized it. The music vibrated through the floor.
He let go of your hand almost immediately, as if remembering he wasn’t supposed to be doing that.
“I don’t know how to dance,” he muttered irritably.
“It doesn’t matter.”
You positioned yourself in front of him and began moving to the rhythm again.
“No one here knows how to dance.”
Tomura looked around. True enough. No one seemed to pay attention to anyone else.
He looked back at you.
You spun clumsily and nearly bumped into someone behind you. You let out a small laugh before regaining your rhythm.
Tomura let out a quiet sound through his nose. Barely audible, even without music.
A low “hnh.”
Your eyes widened in surprise.
“Ah!”
Tomura frowned.
“What?”
Your smile grew bigger, as if you had won something.
“I made you laugh.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“I heard it clearly.”
He crossed his arms, clearly irritated. You, on the other hand, looked so happy about this small victory.
“You’re imagining things.”
“Tomura, it was a laugh.”
“It wasn’t.”
“A tiny attempt at a laugh.”
“No.”
“A really small laugh.”
“No.”
You looked at him for a few seconds, clearly amused.
Then you raised your hands in surrender.
“Fine.” You shrugged. “But I was close.”
You went back to dancing as if nothing had happened. Watching you like that gave him that strange sensation in his chest—something he couldn’t explain, something he couldn’t destroy or ignore.
Tomura looked away in irritation, scratching his neck again.
But he stayed there. Watching you move between the neon lights and the pounding music.
As you danced in front of him, still smiling, he thought something he didn’t like admitting:
Maybe, just maybe,
he didn’t mind being here with you so much.