"Shigaraki, look-"
"You need a fucking shower before you come in my room." He shot a glance at her. "I don't need you dripping Dabi sperm all over my bed."
She choked out a cough. "I could just not sit on your bed?" she ventured.
They had already stopped at a door and Shigaraki nudged it open, pulling her inside impatiently. It was a dingy bathroom, toilet in one corner, shower across from it, sink on the opposite wall. Shigaraki flipped down the toilet seat cover and sat. "Well?"
He was planning to stay and watch her. No. Oh, no, no, no.
Ayumu might be aware of the perverted ideas he and Dabi had for her, but she was not starting out this little adventure stripping down in front of him to take a shower. Not when her phone, and potential freedom, was right there.
"I, um." She hung her head, turned her feet inward, bit her lip. "I'll need clean clothes. Otherwise I'll just be wearing the same panties that have…"
He made a sound that no doubt accompanied a sneer, but then went still. "Take off your clothes, then I'll get you new ones," he said at last.
Ayumu rubbed her arm. "Could I please have some privacy?"
"Now you're shy?"
"I don't know you," she countered.
"And you know Dabi so well."
Ayumu took a deep breath and reminded herself that this man was most probably a psychopath. "I'm covered in marks from, um, you know."
The red eye rolled upward. "Fine." Before she could celebrate her victory, Shigaraki added, "I'll stand outside the door and yoy can pass your clothes to me."
She pursed her lips. "Okay."
His suspicious eye roved her again. "Purse first."
"I need-"
"What, got your mouthwash in there? Your birth control?" He scoffed. "Give me the damn purse."
There went that plan. Ayumu sighed, but slung it from her back and deposited it in his outstretched hand. "Look, my wallet's in there," she told him. "And while I don't have much, I'd like to at least keep my ID. And my tampons. They're in there, too."
The red eye rolled. "Yeah, yeah. Just hurry up and gimme your clothes." He stepped outside the door, leaving it open a crack while she shucked the sex-stained, slightly burned, alleyway-dusted outfit, bundling it up to pass through the opening with her body still hidden.
There was a plethora of bathing soaps and gels along the shelving, the floor of the shower, and under the sink (where she had to check, just in case). AXE, because of course at least one of the two douches who kidnapped her would use that, Old Spice, and even some that had her suspecting there was at least one woman among the League. She debated the ethics of using the pear blossom body wash and vaguely flowery shampoo and conditioner (all moisturizing and supposedly good for most hair types), before sighing just using the shit. The owner most likely would be complicit in her captivity, so why worry about it.
It was less than five minutes (so Ayumu suspected) before Shigaraki pounded on the door. "Oi! How long are you gonna take in there?"
She gritted her teeth and turned the water off. The water pressure wasn't great anyway, though the warmth had seeped into her tense muscles. She toweled herself in a rush before wrapping the cloth around her to cover breast to upper thigh, opening the door a sliver. "I'm done, just wanted to be thorough."
The grumpy young man thrust clothing at her, mumbling something she couldn't quite hear.
Boxer shorts and a large black t-shirt. "I don't suppose I could get something a little more covering?"
"Get dressed." He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and clearly waiting.
At least he gave her clothing. Which, considering the situation, was a positive.
While the delicate scent of flowers had perfumed the steam of the shower, Ayumu had thought through her situation. She knew Dabi, at least a bit from their texting and few in-person interactions. She would use every ounce of that information to her advantage. While Ayumu did not know Shigaraki, she would have to be blind and deaf not to have noticed the awkward air about him. Dabi had also implied a lack of experience with women, though that could have just been boys being boys (ugh).
If it was true, she would have more options.
Ayumu exited the bathroom with the towel around her neck for her dripping hair. The dark boxers sat low on her hips, but were not in danger of falling off. However, the shirt engulfed her and it almost seemed that was all she wore. It left her feeling somewhat vulnerable, all that bare skin, along which bruising and cuts and welts were peppered in memory of the time her day had not been shit.
Shigaraki wrapped four fingers around her wrist before tipping his head and thoughtfully lowering the last. "C'mon." His strides were longer than her own as he led her to a door and shoved her inside.
It was a mess, bed without a frame, empty cans and other detritus she would expect from a teenage boy littering the floor, game cases stacked haphazardly on some of the surfaces.
How old exactly was Shigaraki? She'd put him somewhere around Dabi's age, but this…
Ayumu was dealing with a true man child.
"Get on the bed and just… don't annoy me." The light flicked on. He dismissed her as the door swung shut, instead hunkering down in a computer chair, waking up the PC. She perched on the mattress after laying the towel over it. Better damp than covered in whatever might be on the unclean bedding.
Shigaraki slipped on headphones, fingers nearly a blur as they danced over the keyboard. He removed the hand from his face and she could now see his profile; he had vaguely pleasant features, the distribution of fat and the way his skin sat on his face indicative of someone highschool or college aged. However, his skin was horribly wrinkled and flaky.
The one scarlet eye she could see darted to meet hers. "What?"
She rubbed her palms over her thighs. "What am I doing here?
He snorted. "I thought that was obvious. Ya stupid or something?"
Ayumu rose to her feet and he turned his chair partially, facing her for the first time. Intelligence shone behind his bloody eyes, weighing her and analyzing her current actions.
She bit her lower lip, organizing the words in her mind. "I know you're a villain, but that doesn't necessitate things such as that."
"Would you rather die?" The words were flat, but chilling when said in that creepy rasp of his.
Ayumu didn't flinch, her eyes didn't waiver, her hands didn't tremble. "I have other uses."
"Really?" he scoffed. "Your stats say otherwise. Your strength is laughably low, and you're obviously not wisdom based. Your Quirk adds nothing to your base build, and you don't seem to have points in dex or AGI, or you would have put up a fight."
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, another piece falling into the puzzle that was her new captor. "Those aren't the only stats." She took the few steps to him, watching the way his shoulders stiffened despite not saying a word of warning. "And sex is not the only way to relieve stress." She licked across her dry lower lip as she laid one hand on his bicep and ran it up. He turned his head to watch, but still didn't respond.
Ayumu slipped behind him and her other hand mirrored the one already on him until her palms were firmly atop his trapezius muscles, thumbs kneading at the muscles at the nape of his neck.
This was a skill she'd developed with her mother, with the few people she'd dated over the years, one of the ways she could have contact with another person and provide something positive. Her hands were strong and sure over his neck and shoulder muscles, and a smile tugged at her lips when he loosened beneath her touch.
"Massages are nice and all, but if that's it, this is a pretty lame attempt at manipulation." His head tipped as one thumb slid to the base of his thumb. The pale blue of his hair tickled the delicate skin at the back of her hand; it was softer than she'd expected, though the ends were predictably split.
She hummed. "Don't underestimate the value of a person who is comfortable around you, willing to touch you, talk to you, listen, understand."
"You couldn't understand me."
"Oh?" She knew enough for a start. "Your life is shaped around your Quirk. All of your interactions with others revolve around your hands. You're conscious of every brush against them. It's second nature by now. I know what that's like."
His chapped lips twisted. "You know what it's like for everyone to fear you, huh?"
It was said in a sarcastic tone, but she answered honestly. "Yes." Shigaraki glanced over at her doubtfully over his shoulder. "I do. When they know what my Quirk is, people usually treat me like a- a freak. Like something to be avoided. Whether it's because they dislike the notion that a brush of my skin could deprive them of their powers, or if it's because that same touch can reveal to me something they keep hidden… well, it all comes down to the same thing: a very lonely existence."
"It's not the same. You're not dangerous," he hissed. His fingers twitched with the urge to scratch at his neck, to further peel away layers of skin.
"True. Not in the traditional sense, but people are terrified of another person knowing their worst moments. Sometimes it's because of legal reasons, and others it's because of the judgement, the humiliation." Her voice became distant as memories flitted through her; she blinked and her hands began moving again. Ayumu hadn't realized she'd stopped.
"Exactly. Why would I want you around if you can see those things?"
Ayumu was thoughtful as she pulled her next card. "True, I might see things you would rather I didn't." Her fingers slipped up the back of his head, threading through his hair. "But whatever I see, I don't judge. I've seen worse, more horrible, more disgusting, more humiliating. When I dream those memories, I don't control it. I don't pick and choose among the moments that person has lived. It's raw, blunt, and I feel it. I live in that moment." Her voice was low, her choice of words deliberate. "I see intimate moments, Tomura. Sex and pain and humiliation. First kisses and last memories colored with nostalgia and loss. And I was born with an active Quirk. I grew up with it. Like you, I molded my life to it."
"You were born with it?" Curiosity lilted the words
"Mhm. My earliest memories aren't even mine; I have many from my mother, though it's all jumbled from those early years."
"Did you see your parents having sex?" Why was that always a question when people found out?
"Those memories are all I knew of my father," she admitted, redirecting the conversation. "I learned at a young age not to judge. How to handle the build-up of other people's tragedies."
"How did you do it?" He hesitated over the words. "Deal with all the bad stuff?"
"I found an outlet." She saw the tilt of his chin. "My mother found me huddled up and crying, tearing my arms to shreds with my nails. Soon after that she bought me art supplies. There's something about it, about releasing my energy on a blank canvas, that helps me process it all. The memories start to fade to the distance and sit at the back of my skull rather than the forefront."
Shigaraki's fingers danced across the arm of his chair, careful to never have all five touch at once. "You're good at this. A pretty high charisma score."
Back to the gaming lingo; she sighed internally. "Not high enough to go over your head."
It was both truth and ego stroking, which she suspected he would like. "I don't think our party has room for a bard."
"Maybe I'm just a side character."