#atbi

When you gave Kurogiri cash to clear the League out of your apartment, you knew better than to hope telling him to get everyone out of there fast would translate to getting them out of there immediately. Even so, you can't help feeling the slightest bit put upon when, later that same afternoon, you're climbing the stairs back up to your apartment after spending yet more money on your unwanted guests. Three thousand yen for soba noodles and cigarettes is a drop in the bucket compared to what you'd forked over only hours earlier, but it does somehow feel like a less worthwhile investment.

Perhaps that's why, despite not expecting any real updates, you can't help asking Kurogiri if there's any news as you hand off your grocery bag so he can start dinner. It's both a surprise and a relief when he nods.

"I still need to discuss it with Shigaraki Tomura, but Giran believes he has found an option for us." There's a slight hesitation before he adds, "He is unable to meet with us until morning, however."

"I'll take it," you sigh. You should have known better than to get your hopes up anyway. Even if you had, for half a second, let yourself daydream about sleeping blissfully alone tonight.

You're not going to complain about the delay, though—not when it sounds like the end is finally in sight. So, you just turn your attention elsewhere, digging into your pocket for the couple packs of American Spirits you'd begrudgingly bought Jin. He hadn't actually asked for them, but he's currently on your couch, fingers tapping anxiously against his thigh and eyes flicking restlessly towards your balcony, all of which supports your concerns about nicotine withdrawals.

Sure enough, he jumps to his feet almost immediately when you toss the packs his way. "Hey, thanks!" It's followed by, "I didn't ask you for nothing!"

You wince at the unnecessary volume with which he shouts both those statements but don't otherwise respond, because Jin's cigarettes weren't the only thing burning a hole in your pocket. Playing the lottery this close to home is generally something you avoid, but you hadn't been able to talk yourself out of it today—not after sacrificing half your life's savings to the very necessary cause of getting Japan's most wanted villains out of your apartment. You hadn't won big, exactly, but you do feel a little better knowing you're a tenth of the way to recouping that cash.

The plan is to slip into your room and deposit that tidy sum into the shoebox in your closet, too, but you barely manage to ease the door open before freezing. Because as it turns out, Tomura is no longer passed out on your bed but is, in fact, awake.

Awake, and half-naked.

"Oh." You blink at the sight of him, bare-chested with his fingers hovering at the waistband of his jeans as he looks at you. It's a scene so uncannily familiar that it's almost disorienting: how many times had you fallen a few steps behind him after getting back to your place, only to enter your bedroom and find him impatiently undressing?

Between the distraction of the League and your focus on the substantive parts of your relationship, you've barely thought about those more carnal foundations over the last several days. Now, though, your stomach is fluttering, your body ready to fall into that familiar script even as you grasp for an alternate explanation for what you've walked in on.

After another second your brain catches up, your eyes finally taking in all the signs that he wasn't actually waiting for you. His hair is damp, rivulets of water threading over his collarbone as he watches you from behind mussed clumps of pale hair, expression uncertain. You've clearly caught him fresh out of the shower.

"Sorry," you mutter, hesitating before stepping inside and closing the door. "No one told me you were up."

This shouldn't feel so awkward—you've seen each other naked dozens of times, let alone merely shirtless—but at this point it would probably be easier to count the things that don't feel awkward. That's especially true after yesterday; you haven't forgotten how close you'd come to kissing him.

You must not be the only one feeling the weight of that, either. Tomura grunts in response and looks away, quickly finishing doing up his jeans and digging a v-neck from a duffel bag at the foot of your bed. You grimace when he tugs it hastily over his head; the movement reveals dark bruises along his exposed ribs that you can only assume are the aftermath of his fight with the heroes.

He quickly pulls down the hem of his shirt when he catches you eyeing those injuries.

"Where'd you go?" he asks, looking you over with a guarded expression. Then he frowns. "And what happened to your hand?"

"Hmm?" You follow his gaze to your bandaged palm. You'd almost forgotten about it in your surprise, but now that you're not distracted by the unexpected cut of Tomura's form, you can once again feel that souvenir from Dabi throbbing.

You're hesitant to explain what actually happened. Tomura might not be as tightly wound as he was when the League first arrived, but you haven't forgotten how badly he took it when Dabi did nothing but insult you. The last thing you need is more in-fighting; between your ceiling and your front door, your place already has enough new scorch marks. You'd really like to get everyone out of here without any more hassle.

So, you just move to stash the cash you'd won. "Don't worry about it. And I went to the store—Kurogiri needed some things for dinner, and Jin needed cigarettes."

Tomura scoffs at that last part. "You didn't have to do that."

"I definitely did," you scoff right back. "You haven't been out there with them all day—they're all already restless. The last thing I need is one more reason for anyone to be on edge."

"Right." You don't miss the way his gaze drops back to your hand as he says it. "Add it to what we owe you, then—we'll have to find a way to bring in some cash soon anyway. Won't get very far towards our goals without it." He pauses. Rubs at his neck and grumbles, "We just need to figure out a safe house first."

"Kurogiri wanted to talk to you about that, actually."

It's almost impressive how quickly his demeanor shifts—his fingers go still at his throat and his eyes narrow, expression flattening into something decidedly more business-like. That intent look sparks a twist in your stomach as he moves to shoulder past you, because you find it all too easy to picture how the rest of the evening will go now—Tomura learning about the safe house and turning his attention back to planning whatever comes next, spending the next many hours hunched over his laptop the way he has every other night. That singular focus hasn't been particularly noteworthy until now, but you're all too aware of what it means in this case: that this might actually be the last time the two of you are alone together before he leaves.

"Tomura, wait," you start, reaching to grab his arm, but you're a half-second too late. He's already ducking back out into into the main room of your apartment

After letting out a resigned sigh, you follow.

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By the third day in your apartment, the League is getting restless.

It's not a slow creep, either. You wake to a noticeably different mood than the night before, barely managing to pour yourself the last two inches of stale coffee before being cornered by Mister Compress, who apparently 'cannot live in sullied garments any longer.' He proceeds to interrogate you about the options on your washing machine, but you only catch snippets of his concerns about delicate cycles and expensive broadcloth over the sound of Jin and Dabi bickering on the other side of the room. Dabi is looking surlier than usual, complaining about being up all night listening to Jin snoring when he should be out recruiting. Jin only snaps irritably, "I don't snore! So what if I do! Try sleeping next to someone who's a thousand degrees!"

If you hadn't spent all night once again huddled at the edge of your bed with an unconscious and stiflingly warm Toga trying to curl up against you, you might have some sympathy for the close quarters. As it stands, you mostly feel like you are the only one who has any right to complain.

Not that you do. You only move to start another pot of coffee and then sigh when you find nothing but a sad smattering of grounds left in the canister.

Tomura is, predictably, no help with the mood. After your conversation about his macabre 'family'—a revelation that still leaves you shuddering and sympathetic in equal measure—he'd passed out in your bed, and then barely said a word to anyone after finally rising late last night. You have, however, noticed a definite shift in the way he's looking at you now. Or rather, you've noticed that he's no longer avoiding looking at you. The pointed evasion that had marked the first couple days of his stay has been replaced by repeated sideways glances and subtle, thoughtful frowns, like you're a problem he's trying to solve.

And maybe you are. Things had been murky between the two of you before, but after finally reaching out to touch him yesterday, it feels even more complicated—like there's a dozen questions to think through now instead of just the straightforward one of whether this is the end for you two.

As you sip your burnt coffee, you can't help but think that Tomura has the right strategy for dealing with the combined stress of your uncertain relationship and the League's pent-up energy: the moment everyone else has risen and your room is empty, he slinks off back to bed. 

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