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Tomura Shigaraki was a yearner. Engineered to be a weapon of war, the weight of expectation heavy on his shoulders. Born to be a villain, and to die one. But he was still young. Young and afraid and overwhelmed with the pressure of it all. Heroes looked out for one another, took care of their own- but, as it turns out, Tomura’s hero wasn’t a hero at all.
You’d joined the League a few months before Toga and Dabi. You got along well enough with the other members, but you remained quiet and distant most days. Not out of shyness, nor any kind of social anxiety- you just didn’t have a lot to talk about. Begrudgingly, Tomura had taken a liking to you surprisingly quickly. You were a little older, a little stronger, a little better with your critical thinking. You were everything the young leader wished he was, and yet it wasn’t jealousy he felt. There was a strange kind of comfort that you offered, one that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. It wasn’t your typical kind of comfort, either; you weren’t all over him, didn’t mother him, never sucked up to him. It was the small things. Things like handing him a snack when he was in a mood, fetching him a new glass when he turned his to dust by accident, even laying a gentle hand on his shoulder during times of stress and discomfort. He liked it that way. There was no need for unnecessary conversation, no sappy talk about feelings, just a simple favour or a soft touch.
It drove him wild. He tried not to think about the way he felt about you, tried to shove it down into some dark and forgotten part of his brain. But he was drawn to you, and he found himself desperate for more- more kindness, more affection. You made everything okay in his upside-down world, even if it was just on a surface level.
Naturally, he’d taken to sneaking into your room at night. Never for anything sinister, not at all, simply for the comfort that only you could offer. He’d been struggling to sleep lately, mind plagued by the horrors of his past and the uncertainty of his future. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted you. Your door let out a quiet squeak as he turned the handle, tiptoeing over the threshold and into your space. He liked it in here. It was cleaner, more vibrant than his own room. His eyes sought you out on instinct, and found you in your usual spot- curled up under the covers, hair framing your face in a soft halo. In times like these, he wondered what it would be like if everything was different. No League, no All For One, just him and you and this room he’d come to love. He thought about being with you, really being with you. Being your boyfriend, maybe even your husband, coming home after a long day to your smiling face, to the love he craved so deeply. Reality was crushing, but he was happy to pretend.
With practiced movements, he crawled into bed beside you, shuffling a little closer and pressing his cheek to the warm skin of your upper back. As much as he wanted to wrap his arms around you and hold you, he didn’t dare- he always made sure to leave you some space. the last thing he wanted was for you to wake up, to find him here, to kick him out and deprive him of the first semi-healthy coping mechanism he’d ever had. He settled, fighting off the exhaustion for just a moment to really take you in. He’d always found you beautiful, he wasn’t above admitting that. Your hair was soft, your skin was smooth, your eyes were so striking that they stole the breath from his lungs every time you glanced at him. Right here, right now, it was easy to imagine you were his, and he was yours. His eyes slid shut and he settled down to sleep- and then you shifted.
“Tomura.”
He wished he could just die in that moment. Of course you’d woken up. Any second now, you were going to roll over and scold him and ban him from your room forever. He couldn’t muster up a single word, let alone an excuse.
“Tomu, are you okay?”
Your voice is quiet, thick with sleep, and so, so kind. His traitorous eyes begin to sting with tears.
“M’fine.” he mumbles. It’s the only thing he can force out, and he tenses when you turn over to face him.
“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask. His head jerks, something resembling a nod. You give him a sympathetic look. “Bad dream? Or just one of those nights?”
Tomura is a little confused by your calmness. Why aren’t you berating him, pushing him away? Why aren’t you disgusted?
“…You’re not mad?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
“Why would I be mad?”
“Because- I… you- I-“ he begins, and you laugh softly. Why are you laughing? Are you laughing at him, or what he said, or-
“It’s fine, sweet boy. I’m not mad. You can sleep in here if you want to.” you murmur.
‘Sweet boy’. That’s what you’d called him.
He can’t stop his body from betraying him. His face crumples, and he begins to cry.
The sight breaks your heart a little. You reach out and pull him close to your chest, fingers carding through his hair as your strong, brave, fearless leader breaks down in your arms. He chokes, sobs, fat tears rolling down his cheeks and wetting your skin. You don’t try to shush him or calm him down- you let him cry, holding and rocking him as he releases the emotion he’s been holding onto for god knows how long.
“You’re okay, sweet boy. Everything will be okay.” you soothe, and you don’t miss the way he grips you a little tighter.
He cries for another half an hour or so, and only begins to calm down when he’s too exhausted to keep his eyes open. He tucks himself under your chin and lets out a long, trembling sigh.
“I’m sorry.” he whispers, and you flick his forehead softly.
“Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry.” you mumble, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. He begins to relax, and a few minutes later, he’s asleep. There’s no more tension, no more tears, just your beautiful boy snoring peacefully in your arms.