#abti

In spite of all that, you're uniquely regretful when you wake exactly where you'd ended the night before, sitting propped against your balcony rail with Tomura beside you. The fact that you're the only person responsible for the painful crick in your neck—and that your very comfortable bed is all of twenty feet away—probably has something to do with it.

"Fuck," you mumble, blinking disorientedly against the bright morning sun. Even realizing where you are, it's hard at first to remember why you're camped outside instead of tucked comfortably in your bed.

When you shift to sit up and feel lingering stickiness between your thighs, however, it all comes rushing back: Tomura dragging you out of bed in the middle of the night, and the frantic coupling that followed. Your ill-advised acknowledgment that, despite trying so hard to avoid this exact situation, you couldn't bring yourself not to care about him, or to end things. You'd done the opposite of end things, in fact, and while you regret that far less than your choice of sleeping arrangements, you still find yourself saying, again:

"Fuck."

There's a snort, and you feel shifting beside you. "You're finally up."

"Barely." You rub at your face, finally turning to look at Tomura. The dark circles under his eyes are more prominent than usual, but his gaze is alert. You wonder, briefly, if he got any sleep, but it's a trace thought that doesn't linger—you're too preoccupied with the intensity of his stare, and your sudden awareness of the mere inches between you. It has your stomach twisting and fluttering in tandem, the odd combination of relief and resignation you'd felt last night resurfacing in a way it hadn't before you were literally face-to-face with your questionable choices.

You smile in spite of yourself as you lean in to kiss him.

For a moment, those half-spun anxieties fade away, nothing in your awareness except his lips against your own. The kiss is soft and restrained—abnormally so, though you're late to register that. It's only when you pull away that you realize just how tight his expression is, his face pinched and pensive enough to dampen your own budding enthusiasm at waking up beside him. You hadn't expected him to be in a good mood, exactly—given his current circumstances that seems like far too much hope for—but it's still a stark departure from the satisfaction he'd displayed mere hours ago.

"You good?" you ask. Your first worry is that he's having regrets, and what a twist of irony that would be—him getting cold feet as soon as you decide there's no point avoiding commitment. Commitment, he'd been the one pushing for, even, though you're painfully aware that doesn't always make a difference. God knows he wouldn't be the first man who wanted to stake his claim only to feel immediately suffocated by it.

That doubt vanishes before Tomura can even answer you, however. The door to your balcony slides open to reveal Kurogiri, and the way Tomura immediately bristles at the sight of him suggests this isn't the first time the other villain has attempted to disturb the two of you.

"Shigaraki Tomura—" Kurogiri starts, but he doesn't get a chance to finish.

"I know," Tomura growls impatiently, and you have to fight back a laugh. You can see the League beyond Kurogiri, clearly in the process of collecting their things, and that's enough for you to piece together what has Tomura so irritated.

"Time to go already, huh?"

Tomura's glower deepens, but Kurogiri nods. "We should depart shortly. As I have already told Shigaraki Tomura"—there's an artful balance of delicacy and impatience in his voice—"our broker will be waiting."

There's clear subtext there—not just that they need to hurry, but also that despite Kurogiri's best efforts, Tomura was reluctant to disturb you while you were sleeping. Or, was reluctant to separate himself from you, at least. Last night made it abundantly clear that he's not above interrupting your rest for more self-serving reasons.

As much as you would also like to linger, the seven villains in your apartment are a fairly compelling reason to send Tomura on his way. And, more than that, you imagine that leaping into the newfound uncertainty of your relationship will be a lot easier if you simply get it over with, like ripping a bandage off.

You reach over and carefully interlace your fingers with Tomura's. "C'mon then," you say, tugging him along with you as you rise to your feet.

The inside of your apartment is a jarring contrast to the relative peace of your balcony. Jin shoves past almost the moment you've stepped inside—"About time a guy can go out for a smoke. I've been dying in here," he barks as he passes—and the others are a whirl of motion. Compress is in the middle of your living room, diligently ironing his vest, and in your bedroom beyond you can see Magne folding up the blankets she'd been using as a makeshift bedroll. Meanwhile, Toga and Spinner are piling everyone's things onto your coffee table; for a group that arrived with so few belongings, they'd managed to spread their possessions around rather impressively.

When you look back to Tomura, he's eyeing his own collection of notebooks and duffels, still strewn across your kitchen table.

"You need help packing up?" you ask.

He shakes his head. "I can handle it." He doesn't move, though, and he still hasn't let go of your hand.

You share that reluctance to separate, and you'd be tempted to indulge in a private moment with him if you thought you could manage it. Given the state of things, however, you're not optimistic on that front. Tomura must understand that well enough, too, because when you finally wrest your hand from his, he casts his own glowering look around and then skulks off to deal with his things. Less than ten minutes later, the League is crowded around a swirling warp gate, and your stomach is twisting as you watch Tomura carefully zip up the last of his bags—the duffel he'd dragged into your bedroom the other day, the one that contains his too-literal-for-comfort family.

He slings it over his shoulder and then casts an unenthused look around. The League is clearly waiting for him to go through the warp gate first, and though he doesn't protest, he does look less than thrilled about it as he steps towards you.

"I don't know when you'll see me again," he mumbles, making an obvious effort to keep his voice low.

"That's okay. Just come by when you can." You force a smile that you hope is more carefree than you feel—his imminent departure makes it hard to ignore that you have no idea where things will go from here, and that you can't even be fully confident you will see him again. You're not foolish enough to think that the League will be any safer at their new hideout than they were at your apartment.

He nods, and casts an agitated look around, obviously still unhappy about the audience. A second later, though, he leans in to cover your mouth with his own, albeit far more perfunctorily than you suspect he'd prefer.

Chaste though the kiss is, it's apparently not chaste enough; Toga lets out a giggle, and from the corner of your eye, you see her and Jin elbowing each other like excited middle schoolers. Beside them, Spinner is rubbing at the back of his neck and awkwardly averting his gaze.

Tomura doesn't comment on any of that when he finally straightens up; he only fixes them with an unimpressed scowl and then, hitching his bag more firmly over his shoulder, marches through the warp gate without another word.

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