A/N: I googled Giran's quirk – technically a spoiler because it's never been shown in the anime, but I don't think it's a huge spoiler given how he's a minor character.

Chapter 8: Reverie

Noun

A daydream; a state of being lost in one's thoughts

Over the next three days, Aizawa and Hizashi tried to conserve energy. They spent most of their time sleeping and trying to avoid breathing too deeply. Dabi had left Vlad's body in the bathroom, and the stench of rot and decay burned through every single olfactory nerve. It was a thick, blanketing smell that made adaptation impossible. Even breathing through their mouths, the scent clung to their taste buds and stuck in their lungs. They stuffed bed sheets under the crevice of the bathroom door, but the smell and the guilt still seeped through.

"Are you thirsty?" rasped Hizashi from the other bed.

Aizawa rubbed his sandpaper tongue against the roof of his mouth and a jolt of dry pain shot through his sinuses.

Aizawa shook his head no.

"Do you need another cool compress?" asked Hizashi through chapped lips.

Aizawa shook his head no again.

The raised blisters on his chest stung and made his ribs ache, but as much as he wanted relief, he despised the putrid wave of death that came forth like a tidal wave every time they opened the door for water. This made the bathroom trips increasingly infrequent, but at least they had the sink as a water source. Food was a different story all together. Aizawa wished he had rationed his bento box instead of eating the entire thing three days ago. Fortunately, humans could go weeks without food, but it made him weak and slow to heal. One of the blisters had already burst and turned a green-ish yellow as infection set in to the tender flesh.

"Was it like this before?" asked Hizashi softly.

Aizawa blinked once or twice as he tried to process the question in his dreary state.

"Did they leave you alone a lot the last time you were here?" asked Hizashi a little more clearly as he tried to clarify.

Aizawa stared at the ceiling and tried to think. He was in so much pain and so deprived of sustenance – did life exist before this? Memories of Giran's crocodile smile drifted through his vision like mild hallucinations.

A gentle hand brushed tears off his cheeks and tucked curls behind his ears – a soft kiss placed just so on his aching cheekbone, bruised only moments ago by the same hands that consoled him.

Aizawa exhaled and let the memory go.

"No," muttered Aizawa, "they never left me alone."

Hizashi's momentary silence sounded like the regret of prying too deeply.

"Why?" asked Aizawa, feeling the acute prickling of shame on his skin.

Hizashi tread carefully, sensing the rising tension in the room that came so easily since Dabi had forced them to be intimate three days ago.

"I don't know," confessed Hizashi as his stomach rumbled, "I just thought they might have forgotten about us…left us for dead."

"Wouldn't that be nice," murmured Aizawa.

He didn't want to talk about this.

Only seconds passed before Hizashi started talking again. Aizawa was almost in awe that the man had energy to speak, but at least something remained constant in this isolated world.

Hizashi started carefully and said, "Can I ask you something? I've been wondering – but it didn't seem right to ask after…"

Hizashi trailed off and Aizawa's heart skipped a beat. Nothing good could come after those two sentences.

"Yeah?" asked Aizawa softly.

"You escaped ten years ago…you said that old man thought you were dead, but…" said Hizashi slowly, not wanting to sound accusatory after the way Vlad had persecuted Aizawa in the shower, "How did you do it? Could we…do it again?"

Aizawa bit his lip, knowing that Hizashi was searching for some glimmer of hope in this darkness. He had no hope to offer.

"It was an accident – it's not like I planned to fake my own death," said Aizawa softly, "I gave up trying to escape after almost a year had passed."

Hizashi swallowed thickly when Aizawa paused.

"They took too much blood one day – I passed out, but I don't know what happened after that," muttered Aizawa, as he had long wondered this same exact thing, "Maybe my pulse was too faint or my body too cold…maybe they thought I was dead and tried to dispose of my body. Anyways, I woke up in the Aokigahara forests and…"

Aizawa's voice broke. The confused elation he had felt that day – the freedom and relief felt so impossible that it made the memories physically painful. Aizawa felt no hope now. He doubted they would make the same mistake twice.

"And?" prompted Hizashi gently, his tone echoing a similar feeling of defeat.

Aizawa sighed.

"I wandered back into the city, hid in my apartment, and prayed to the gods that they would never find me again," finished Aizawa. He waited awkwardly, wondering if Hizashi believed him. Vlad surely hadn't.

There was a moment of silence before Hizashi replied.

"I wish I had been there for you," said Hizashi softly, and the kindness made Aizawa frown. That would have been nice. Maybe if he had told someone – anyone – he wouldn't have suffered so much over the past ten years. Maybe he wouldn't be suffering now. The what-ifs made him sad, and Aizawa never replied. He only coughed through the dryness in his throat and turned away so that Hizashi couldn't see his eyes start to water.

"Are you thirsty?" asked Hizashi again.

"Let's wait a little longer," said Aizawa. He wanted water desperately, but he'd rather keep that door closed. The smell of decay on the other side of that cold metal barrier was just an unwanted reminder of their inevitable fates.

"Okay," said Hizashi, because he would eagerly put up with his own thirst to give this one sliver of control back to Aizawa.

On the fourth day since Dabi's last visit, the door to their prison opened once more. Aizawa and Hizashi both startled at the grating sound of metal on metal. Their necks bent to see who was coming to torment them next, but the visitors remained outside.

"Are you fucking kidding me," wheezed Shigaraki's voice when the rancid air from the room poured into the hall, "what is that?"

"What?" asked Dabi from the hall. His voice made Aizawa's heart race.

"That god awful smell, Dabi, obviously," said Shigaraki's muffled voice.

"Dead body," answered Dabi nonchalantly, as if they were discussing the weather.

Upon hearing those words, Shigaraki rushed into the room with his nose and mouth buried in the fabric of his sweater. His frantic eyes darted through the room until he spotted Aizawa in the far bed in the corner.

"I told you not to kill any of them," hissed Shigaraki.

Dabi entered the room with his hands in his pockets.

"I didn't," said Dabi with a bemused smile, "the blonde one did it."

Shigaraki's narrowed eyes shifted quickly between Dabi and Hizashi. Hizashi and Aizawa both sat frozen like deer in headlights. The wait between Shigaraki's revelation and response felt like an eternity.

"It was an accident," whispered Hizashi, his gaze averted.

Shigaraki's brows twitched before he cursed under his breath, "I can't – I just fucking can't."

Shigaraki took a halting breath and sighed.

"Whatever, we have an extra, just burn the body," ordered Shigaraki before he gestured impatiently towards Aizawa, "Get up. Let's go."

Aizawa nodded and obeyed without protest. Slowly but surely, he pulled his torso upright and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Aizawa hardly registered the fact that he was naked as he stood before his impatient audience. He took one step forward, but without the support of the bed, he swayed and collapsed onto his knees. When his stomach rumbled loudly, he clutched his abdomen in pain and curled over to ease the discomfort. The rumbling stopped, and Aizawa tried to stand again.

"I'm coming," Aizawa promised weakly as his muscles faltered again – a false promise, perhaps – but the cracks on his hips and the burns on his chest offered motivation that made him try harder.

Shigaraki watched the fruitless attempts before exhaling a slow, exasperated sigh.

"Dabi," he started slowly, like the calm before the storm, "Pray tell me - when was the last time you fed him?"

Dabi sucked his teeth before muttering, "about four days or so…"

"Are you an idiot?" asked Shigaraki softly – a crazed smile blossoming on his chapped lips that hardly masked his boiling rage, "How can we draw blood if he hasn't eaten in four days?"

Dabi just shrugged and said, "I dropped out before bio."

Shigaraki's fingers twitched in anger and blood lust.

"I'll fucking kill you," said Shigaraki sweetly as he started to scratch at his neck in agitation. He then listed his orders slowly and plainly as if talking to a child, "Burn the body. Bring them food. Three square meals a day. Do you understand? Do I need to write that down?"

"Whatever," grunted Dabi – a hint of anger set between his brows.

Shigaraki raised his middle finger. His crazed smile never waivered, and then Shigaraki left with a slam of the door on his way out.

Dabi sighed and raked his fingers through his shock of black hair.

"Fucking asshole…" he muttered.

Hizashi and Aizawa kept their eyes carefully fixated on the floor. The tension in the air was still palpable and both feared a sudden outburst of redirected anger.

"Well, I guess we'll be seeing more of each other, Shouta," said Dabi as he made his way to the bathroom door.

Aizawa's stomach flipped at the thought. He would rather starve.

When Dabi opened the bathroom door, a wave of putrid air made Hizashi and Aizawa gag. Dabi lifted one hand and shot forth a roaring blast of blue inferno. The sound was deafening and the heat made Aizawa sweat out the little water he had left. When the fire finally stopped, ash blew back into the bedroom like a sandstorm. The temperature difference had created a back draft that carried Vlad's cremated ashes through the air. Hizashi and Aizawa coughed and covered their airways to avoid breathing in the remains of their late acquaintance. The ash settled over every surface, and Aizawa thought he might be sick, but his stomach had nothing to churn but painfully acidic bile.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Dabi brushed the ash out of his eyes and spit a few times to clear the ash from his mouth. Aizawa got the feeling that he had done this before.

"Wait here, darling," said Dabi before leaving to follow Shigaraki's remaining orders.

Dabi returned quickly with the same Kabukicho convenience store junk food, electrolyte replenishing drinks, and protein bars high in iron. He ordered Aizawa to eat and drink until he could no longer do either, and then sat in Vlad's empty bed to keep watch. Perhaps Dabi had been warned of Aizawa's old hunger strikes ten years ago, but Aizawa had gotten over that rebellious streak. This time, Aizawa just ate as slowly as possible, fearing what was to come once he finished eating.

Aizawa sat curled up back in bed as he took small bites of a flavorless Soy Joy protein bar in between small swigs of his Pocari Sweat sports drink. Aizawa's rising blood sugar made him a little light headed. He stared at his half eaten protein bar and felt sick, but he knew that if he stopped eating – Dabi would pounce. Every time Aizawa looked up, he could see Dabi's piercing, patient gaze. Aizawa forced himself to take another bite. He was determined to draw this out before he was forced to endure another round of whatever hell Dabi had planned. Just thinking about it made his blisters sting. And so he took another bite.

And another.

What else could Dabi do to him?

Another sip.

How much more could his body withstand?

Another bite.

Maybe death would greet him mercifully.

And then his bar was finished.

Aizawa reached with a shaky hand to open a packet of iron rich dried seaweed, but Dabi was already standing and adjusting his collar. Aizawa swallowed thickly as his heart started to race. His body tensed. In the corner of his periphery he could see Hizashi withdrawing into himself as well.

Dabi laughed at their reactions before sitting at the edge of Aizawa's bed. The frame creaked under his weight and the tension on the fabric made Aizawa's covers slip off his torso – exposing the red burns that littered Aizawa's pale white skin. Dabi extended one slender finger to trace the outlines of the burns on Aizawa's skin. The touch was so gentle that it made Aizawa shiver involuntarily.

Dabi traced his fingers up Aizawa's neck and jawline. He gently pulled Aizawa's chin to the side to get a better look. Aizawa's eyelids fluttered under the pressure of maintaining eye contact despite his fear. Dabi pressed his rough lips against the nearest corner of Aizawa's mouth. He stayed there for a moment and Aizawa felt hot, ashen breath cascade over his skin.

Keeping his lips hovering over Aizawa's skin, Dabi whispered, "Don't be scared, kitten, I won't hurt you – not right now."

Aizawa's heart skipped a beat. Dabi always hurt him.

"I have a surprise for you," whispered Dabi as he nuzzled his nose against Aizawa's cheek, "It pained me to be away from you for so many days, but I hope you'll forgive me when you see what I've done."

Aizawa's mouth was dry. He didn't know what to say – or if Dabi wanted him to say anything at all. Every ominous statement made it harder and harder to think clearly.

Then Dabi stood suddenly, grabbed Aizawa's wrist, and pulled him off the bed in one fluid motion. Aizawa nearly topped over, but Dabi swung Aizawa into his arms like a newly wed bride. He carried Aizawa to the door before looking over his shoulder and saying, "I'll have him back by midnight – don't wait up."

"Hizashi," called Aizawa as his words started working the moment he realized he was being taken away from his only source of comfort. Aizawa craned his neck to see Hizashi, but he couldn't see past Dabi's broad shoulders.

"Aizawa!" called Hizashi – a panicked plea.

Aizawa arched in Dabi's arms, trying desperately to fill his senses with one last good image before enduring the horrors that awaited him – but the door shut behind them and Dabi was already whisking him down the hall. Aizawa shut his eyes tight. He knew that it wasn't time to draw blood. It was too soon after eating and his body couldn't handle the blood loss right now.

Dabi approached the elevator and hit the up button. It didn't take long for the elevator to arrive, and Aizawa tried to steady his breath as the elevator doors shut. He didn't like change. Change meant new methods of torture. When the elevator doors opened, Aizawa's inhaled sharply.

He knew this hallway.

"What is this?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Feeling nostalgic?" asked Dabi with a hint of amusement.

Aizawa stared down the length of the hall. He would have recognized that gaudy carpet for the rest of his life. He had spent months staring down at those dizzying octahedral patterns while he was dragged back and forth between his living quarters and the sterile room designated for blood withdrawal. Dabi meandered down the hall and stopped at the seventh door on the right – the door that held him prisoner ten years ago.

Aizawa's heart sank.

"Not here," protested Aizawa softly, resisting the urge to squirm out of Dabi's arms and run away. As if he could run right now on these wobbly legs, "Why are we here? Please take me back."

Aizawa couldn't help the requests that tumbled out of his mouth, pulled forth by the event horizon of the darkness behind that door.

"I told you – it's a surprise," said Dabi as he opened the door.

They stepped inside and Aizawa felt as if he had been catapulted back through time. This godforsaken windowless room hadn't changed at all in the past decade – the olive green walls were still cracked and peeling. The too small and too lumpy futon was still covered in matching olive green sheets. Aizawa had despised that color for the last ten years. Worse yet were the tally marks carved into the walls that only accounted for about a sixth of Aizawa's captivity before he finally stopped keeping track.

Aizawa closed his eyes.

He remembered the day he stopped counting – the day that broke him in this very room.

"I found old pictures of what this room used to look like," said Dabi cheerfully, "do you like my renovations? I thought you might feel more at home in a more familiar setting."

Dabi nuzzled Aizawa's cheek with his nose again, and Aizawa turned his head away.

He grit his teeth against painful memories threatening to resurface. He didn't want to give Dabi the satisfaction – but visions of the past filtered through his consciousness anyways and brought him back to that fateful day.

"Don't look at me like that," bit Aizawa – a scowl cutting across his youthful visage – a fighting spirit still left in his heart.

"Like what?" asked Giran – his hair less grey and his skin less worn – almost handsome as he lit a new cigarette across the room. He leaned against the far wall while Aizawa struggled to change the bandages on his arms, having already rejected Giran's help more than once.

Aizawa grumbled when he met Giran's smiling eyes – eyes that watched his every move and made him feel vulnerable and small.

"Like that," snarled Aizawa, "it's gross."

Giran chuckled and kept staring.

Aizawa fumbled with the bandages and tried to use his teeth to help tie the loose ends, but the bandages snapped and unraveled. Aizawa cursed under his breath and Giran sighed before tucking the cigarette behind his ear.

"Let me help you," muttered Giran as he held the cigarette in his lips and walked forward to take Aizawa's arms in his hands. Aizawa moved to jerk his arms out of Giran's grasp, but Giran had a strong, firm grip. Giran worked quickly, and then used his own teeth to pull the bandage taut. All the while, his intense, soul-probing eye contact hardly wavered. His lips brushed Aizawa's sore wrists, and Aizawa yanked his arms back sharply to free himself from the older man.

"Stop doing things like that," growled Aizawa as he turned away and tried not to let his fear show. He had been safe for two months, aside from the forced blood donations, but Giran grew more daring each and every Giran placed a large hand on Aizawa's shoulder, Aizawa nearly jumped out of his skin.

"You should get some sleep," said Giran.

"I will," said Aizawa curtly. He didn't want to lie down with Giran in the room.

"Unless you're not tired," said Giran before he spun Aizawa around and caught Aizawa's forearm. Giran held Aizawa's arm up against the wall over Aizawa's head and waited for Aizawa to stop struggling.

"Let go of me, pervert," Aizawa demanded as he tried to wrench his arm free.

Giran towered over him with an unassuming smile that danced on his lips. Giran looked like he was enjoying himself too much, and it made Aizawa's stomach flip.

Then, Giran leaned forward and caught Aizawa's lips in a chaste kiss. Aizawa snarled and bit Giran's lower lip, drawing blood. The metallic taste flooded Aizawa's taste buds and Giran pulled away with a break in his ever-present smile. A string of bloody red spit connected their mouths.

"If that's how you feel," grumbled Giran as he wiped his mouth with the pocket square from his suit.

"I'd rather die," spat Aizawa as he wiped his own mouth on his fresh bandages.

"You can't die a virgin," chastised Giran, "That would be a waste of a pretty face."

"Shut up," growled Aizawa. His cheeks stung with embarrassment.

"You are though, aren't you, Shouta?" asked Giran playfully.

"Don't ask people such inappropriate questions," barked Aizawa a little too loudly, his voice echoing awkwardly in the small space. He didn't like this obsession with his virginity. Aizawa had encountered guys like this before and avoided them like the plague. He was just waiting for the right moment with the right person – and this definitely wasn't it.

"You're a little old to be a virgin," murmured Giran, leaning in to whisper in Aizawa's ear, "Let's change that."

Aizawa sputtered and blushed a furious red.

Without another word, Giran's free hand hooked through Aizawa's belt loop. He yanked Aizawa forward until their bodies were flush against each other. Aizawa panicked and spit in disgust. Saliva shot across Giran's jaw and shoulder. Aizawa barely had time to regret his decision before Giran backhanded him across the temple and sent Aizawa reeling into the futon. Aizawa landed with a soft thud. He groaned in pain and held the side of his aching skull.

Giran followed Aizawa down to the futon. He pried open Aizawa's legs and settled between Aizawa's thighs. Aizawa snarled like a wild animal and crunched forward in an attempt to head butt Giran. Giran just palmed Aizawa's forehead and slammed him back into the futon.

"Relax," breathed Giran as his muscles strained to keep Aizawa pinned, but Aizawa would do no such thing. He used all of his energy to try and throw Giran off of him, but it was no use. Aizawa started to panic and changed tactics.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't do this," clamored Aizawa as his kicks became more futile. Months of constant blood loss had made him weak, and Giran was much bigger than him. Aizawa's lithe and flexible body was built for evasive maneuvers and speed. He was no match against a body honed by decades of heavy lifting at the gym – Aizawa tried desperately, but there was just no way he could wrestle against the brute strength holding him in place.

Giran ripped away Aizawa's pants easily, and Aizawa's last spurt of adrenaline surged through his muscles.

"Fuck you!" he cursed.

Aizawa flailed, spat, bit, kicked, and shouted obscenities, but it was no use. Finally, with a few quick movements, Giran's knees and ankles had immobilized Aizawa's legs. Giran held both of Aizawa's wrists tightly in one hand.

"It'll hurt more if you struggle," advised Giran as he kissed down Aizawa's bucking torso.

"Get off of me you sick bastard!" shouted Aizawa.

Giran chuckled into Aizawa abdomen as he tore open the center seam of Aizawa's boxer briefs. Then, Giran used his free hand to retrieve a half empty bottle of lube from his pockets and lathered his fingers in the viscous substance.

The obscene squirting sounds made Aizawa's eyes widen in fear and his bravado cracked.

"No, no, no, please don't," whined Aizawa at an embarrassingly high pitch as fear constricted his vocal chords, "Giran, please stop."

"It's cute how nervous you are for your first time, Shouta," said Giran as his slippery fingers trailed up Aizawa's thighs. He slid his fingers along Aizawa's crack and perineum. Aizawa's muscles twitched involuntarily and Giran smiled, "just try to relax."

Aizawa clenched his teeth and shut his eyes, completely unable to relax as Giran kissed his ribcage and left hickies trailing his torso. Suddenly, Giran sank two fingers into Aizawa's entrance with ease.

"No, ahh, don't do that," gasped Aizawa as the fingers stretched him open. No one had ever touched him there before. Giran's fingers twisted and sank a bit deeper.

"Are you sure?" asked Giran, wiggling his fingers and making Aizawa gasp.

"Yes," spat Aizawa, and Giran smirked.

"If you're that eager to move on, I won't complain," chuckled Giran, and Aizawa's eyes blew wide.

Giran withdrew his fingers and immediately shifted his hips forward to wedge his cock between Aizawa's cheeks.

"I'll kill you," threatened Aizawa. This couldn't be his first time. Not with this piece of shit, "I swear to god I'll kill you."

"I'm not a god fearing man, Shouta," breathed Giran as he swirled his hips to massage Aizawa's entrance with the tip of his cock. Every so often, the tip pressed a little too hard and nearly slipped past Aizawa's defenses. Each time, Aizawa yelped in discomfort and tried to shift away from Giran's ministrations. Eventually, Giran pressed a little harder and his cock popped through the tight ring of muscle.

"That hurts," gasped Aizawa. The girth stung as his membranes stretched and the humiliation made his eyes water.

Giran ignored him and sank deeper.

Aizawa whined in pain. "Stop," he begged, weaker this time.

Giran paused for a moment before drawing back to the tip, only to thrust back in a moment later. He set a slow and steady pace meant to ease Aizawa into the act, but the odd sensation was impossible to get used to.

"Just – just slow down," whimpered Aizawa, and Giran's focused gaze softened slightly.

The older man obliged and changed his angle. Aizawa gasped when Giran hit something sensitive and good inside of him. Every thrust his that magic little spot, and Aizawa started to blush despite himself. He scrunched his eyes shut and bit his lower lip against the warmth that bubbled up in his groin. He didn't want to give Giran the satisfaction. But when Giran thrust harder against that something sensitive deep inside of him, Aizawa couldn't stop his hips from flexing down in search of that bright hint of pleasure. He almost didn't mind the pain – and he hated himself for that, but if only for a moment Aizawa forgot that self-loathing.

"Giran," gasped Aizawa involuntarily as shocks of arousal raced through his abdomen.

A part of him was horrified by the sounds that had escaped his lips and the blood rushing to his manhood. He looked up to see Giran's wide, satisfied grin beneath piercing eyes. Giran grabbed Aizawa's half hard cock and Aizawa's breath hitched unevenly.

"At least your body remembers me," murmured Giran, "it's almost a shame to make you forget – but it's worth it to experience your innocence anew each time."

"What are you saying?" breathed Aizawa as his body arched and submitted to the unyielding pleasure.

"Until next time, Shouta," whispered Giran as he started to pump his hips a little faster – making Aizawa squirm with unease around his hardening girth. Giran brought his fingers up to Aizawa's bruised temple and brushed his fingertips gently over the discolored skin.

Something was changing. Something felt different.

Aizawa felt woozy, and his mind started to cloud over.

"Something's wrong," he mumbled, but he had already forgotten what he was talking about. Aizawa shook his head and tried to clear the fog that was settling over his memories. What was that fullness in his abdomen? Was someone fucking him? Aizawa's vision swam and forgot the face hovering over him every time he blinked. Every thought that drifted through his mind left just as quickly, until Aizawa's sense of self began to fade away into a haze of forgetfulness and compliance.

Deep down, Aizawa recalled some old memory – like a dream beneath the fog, he thought he could remember – a voice far away that screamed at him, begging him to fight Giran's quirk.

With his last string of conscious thought and will power – he activated his own quirk in a desperate attempt to stay in touch with reality.

Aizawa's eyes smoldered a soft, barely there red, but the effect was enough to gain back some element of control over his own mind. He remembered the danger he was in as the cock in his ass continued to split him open. Aizawa's eye flared brighter as he twisted his head away from Giran's touch.

"You asshole," accused Aizawa drearily, anger and fear lacing through his still clouded mind. He had thought that Giran was quirkless. There were more pressing matters at hand. What did Giran mean when he said that Aizawa's body remembered him? That he made him forget? He couldn't think clearly enough to figure it all out.

"You broke through my amnesia?" mused Giran, his eyebrows raised in surprise, "That's a first."

Giran moved to touch Aizawa's temples again, but Aizawa's eyes flashed brightly and remained that stunning red until Giran's hand receded.

"What did you do to me?" demanded Aizawa. His head was throbbing like he had a nasty hangover. His legs ached as the joints were spread at odd angles. Why was he laying like this again?

The ceiling kept moving above him, making it hard to think through the nausea.

"What did you – " he repeated before a particularly painful thrust made him cringe.

The fast pace was starting to hurt as the lubricant dried out and the friction made his skin hot.

"You haven't figured it out yet?" breathed Giran through jolting thrusts, "When I activate my quirk, I can make you forget the past five minutes, and then the following five minutes as well. I call it Muddiness – from what you're feeling now, I'm sure you understand."

Aizawa frowned – that was a dangerous quirk for a villain to have.

Just as Aizawa felt like he was piecing the puzzle together, Giran shifted the angle of entry. Those dizzying stabs of pleasure stopped, and now there was only pain.

"Slow down," whined Aizawa again.

"You get so tight when you're upset, not that I mind, but you know that makes it worse for you," murmured Giran in Aizawa's ear. His breath was hot and humid, "I guess you don't remember those times."

"Those times?" breathed Aizawa softly. Something stung in Aizawa's soul – a confusing, unreasonable worry.

"Do I need to spell it out for you?" whispered Giran after catching his breath, "you haven't been a virgin for months – but it's so fun to pretend each and every time."

Aizawa's heart stopped.

"That's not – " he started, "it's not possible –"

A stray tear trailed down his temple and Giran kissed the salt water away.

"You don't usually cry," murmured Giran between grunts. His hips pistoned deeper and made Aizawa call out, "but you look beautiful when you do, Shouta."

"How many times," cried Aizawa.

Giran just chuckled, taking pleasure in Aizawa's mounting distress.

"Answer me," begged Shouta as the tears flowed faster with Giran's increasingly brutal assault.

"A dozen times, maybe more? I couldn't keep track after the first few, but I fucked you a week after you got here," grunted Giran, seemingly intent on making Aizawa cry harder, because the answer ripped through Aizawa like a knife and made him start sobbing uncontrollably.

The cold reality was that Aizawa didn't matter – his first time didn't matter and this time didn't matter either – his body and mind didn't matter in the slightest unless it could provide Giran pleasure or wealth. The smallness overwhelmed Aizawa and he stopped trying to fight back. He went limp beneath Giran and didn't even notice when Giran let his legs and arms go free. There was no point in fighting – no dignity to protect. It had already been taken and soiled and discarded like trash. All he could do was cry and wait for it to be over.

He didn't notice when Giran finally came deep inside of him. He hardly noticed when Giran pulled out and muttered sweet nothings in his ear. Aizawa kept crying long after Giran left. He cried and cried until he finally fell asleep, and then cried again when he woke up in the morning.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Shouta," said Dabi, and Aizawa blinked a few times to clear his thoughts. For a moment, he could have sworn that he had heard Giran's voice instead of Dabi's.

"It's nothing," muttered Aizawa – the past didn't matter anymore, "thank you for the room."