Before he'd left for whatever it was leaders of villainous organizations did, Shigaraki had turned those blood-scarlet eyes to Ayumu, considering her where she sat on the side of his bed perusing one of his manga volumes. He'd crossed to the bottom of the bed, glanced around, and wound a thick chain around his forearm.

Ayumu had frozen with her eyes still on the page, watching him from her peripheral vision. She'd swallowed, feeling his thoughts dwelling on her.

"Come down here." He'd gestured to the foot of the bed and she did as he bade, a long exhale her only complaint.

"Couldn't you just lock me in?"

His pale hair brushed her knee as he shook his head, knelt to clasp the manacle around her ankle. He'd tested both its strength and fit, seemingly satisfied since he'd looked up at her then. One hand had slid up her calf. "No."

Ayumu had frowned. "You could disconnect your internet and-"

"No," he had repeated. "Now be good. I'll be back later."

"Tomura-"

But he'd already walked out the door.

How long ago had that been? Two hours, maybe three? There was no clock and the computer screen was off so she couldn't even squint to check that way. The manga had been entertaining enough, but the rest were on the same wall as the computer, and she had already tested the length. Kurogiri had done as Shigaraki had said, keeping her away from his precious computer (and his gaming systems).

There was a pen; it had been hidden under old newspapers. She had started drawing on the newspaper first, but soon moved on to her own skin. Sharpie-black ink swirled in patterns across one calf. She made a little galaxy of the marks Dabi had left on her, incorporating them into the abstract design. She was going to need another shower after this, or at least a wet rag to scrub away the ink.

She started up one thigh, creating octopus arms covered in detailed suckers. Then a small ship, the bottle appearing around it. That was near the hip crease. Ayumu stretched her leg and looked it over; it was an interesting design overall. She wouldn't mind getting it permanently inked. Pops of white to shade it would help it stand out better. She knew some good artists, though, ones who could tattoo any skin. Tattoo artist always wore gloves, so never had to worry about an accidental touch. They also tended to be careful around the healing work.

She made a peony design on her other foot, blending it into something similar to the other leg as she skipped over the swath covered by the manacle.

"What are you doing?"

Her head snapped up; Shigaraki stood in the open doorway.

Ayumu shrugged and capped the pen. "I got bored."

He crossed the room, absently swinging the door shut, and stood over her to study the work across her skin. "Huh. Could've slept."

"I didn't want to."

"Afraid I'd molest you in your sleep?" He tugged the pen from her grasp and uncapped it, holding it in a delicate four-fingered grip.

"No." Her voice was hollow. "I don't want to dream."

Shigaraki snorted and sat beside her, pulling her un-tattooed forearm into his lap with her palm up. "Why?"

Strange. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy to initiate contact. Then again, I opened that floodgate earlier.

It felt different when he started dragging the tip over her sensitive skin.

"Because," she tried to elaborate without flatout saying it, "I'm not ready to see whatever it is I'll see."

The movement paused. "You're gonna see one of my memories."

"Or one of Dabi's. You both have touched me today; I can't imagine either of you will have many happy memories to dream."

"Hm." The pen began again. "You were willing to see his memories before though."

"I didn't think he would be this deep down the rabbit hole," she admitted. "But now I have two villainous pools to drink from, and that thought is terrifying."

One of his hands gripped her wrist, turning the angle of her forearm for his drawing. "You're gonna have to learn to deal with it. Especially since you want to understand me."

"I guess."

"You'll be here for a while." His fingers drew down her own and he set the pen aside.

"Any idea how long?" she quipped.

When she finally looked at him he was staring down at what he'd put on her skin. Dead trees and whirling clouds. He was tracing all over the scene with soft fingertips. "Indefinitely."

Ayumu rolled her eyes. "Am I always going to be locked up in here, Tomura?"

"No." He stood, toying with the pen again before setting it on his computer table. He grabbed the second volume of the manga and tossed it to her. "Get some rest. I have some interviews to conduct."

She wanted to hurl the book at the door when it shut. Or better yet the back of his head. Instead she propped his pillows against the wall and settled back with the damn thing. "Fuck." Now she didn't even have the pen.

The memories all jumbled together like some film student had tried splicing footage in the most jarring way possible. She was hungry, starving, small. She was invisible. At least, everyone treated her like she was invisible. She tried calling out for help at first, but no one looked at her, no one spoke to her, no one touched —

No, she shouldn't want anyone to touch her. In fact, she should try very, very hard not to let anyone reach out their hands for her own.

But she didn't want to be in the rain.

She didn't want to watch happy people buying from food trucks on sunny days.

She didn't want to hide in cardboard boxes at night.

She was burning up, she was on fire, she was going to die—

Ayumu was choking on smoke when she woke up, hands flying to her throat.

"Why are you thrashing around?"

The irritated, rasping voice pulled her back into the waking world. She was in bed. She was in Shigaraki's bed. Shigaraki was also in his bed. They had been sleeping together.

"S-sorry." She scooted to the edge of the mattress and turned her back toward him.

This was awkward.

She was sleeping in bed next to a villain, her ankle shackled, and possibly even his dreams had been her nightmares.

She took a few deep breaths and attempted to lower her heart rate to something less like a hummingbird's.

"Was it mine?"

"What?" She was still slightly disoriented; Ayumu was always dissociated when coming out of a memory dream, but the added surreality of her situation magnified it.

The mattress dipped as Shigaraki leaned over her, partially propped up on his elbow. "The dream. Was it mine?"

"Oh. I don't know." She pulled her hair off her neck, wiping at the lingering sweat. "It can be hard to tell sometimes."

"What was it about?"

Ayumu hated sharing the dreams, even with those to whom they originally belonged. Especially to them. It was like exposing a raw nerve that they both had. However, now was not the time. "Being small. Hopeless. Alone."

"That could be anyone," he chuckled darkly.

"You— or he— I was homeless, and no one was helping. It was so much all rolled together, blending into a rush of days and nights of the same, like a flip book almost. It was rainy, it was dry. It was hot and freezing cold. I was hungry. But somehow it was the loneliness that was the worst."

Shigaraki hummed and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. "That's not a happy memory."

"Not very fun either," she murmured, settling into his embrace. His hips were not aligned with hers, and his hands weren't roaming. It seemed he just wanted to hold her.

He nosed her hair as they settled. "Smells good." His voice was heavier and his breaths soon evened out.

Ayumu stared into a darkness lit only by the little light on the computer tower for a long while after that. She rarely had a second memory dream after waking from one, but it was still possible. She didn't want to see anymore. She had her own loneliness to endure; she didn't want to feel his as well.

Tears slid across the bridge of her nose down to the temple pressed against the thin pillow. It was hours before she fell asleep again.