"I don't know when I'll be back, doll." He had her rolled over on top of him, stroking her hair post-coital. "You're good for a few days, yeah? There's enough food?"
She hummed, drawing inconsequential shapes along his side. "Should be fine. But could you have someone check on me if you're not back by Sunday? I might start running low on food by then."
"Can't have my girl wasting away." He fisted her hair to pull her in for a kiss. "I'll take care of it, doll face. Now up you get." He smacked her ass for good measure, a smirk alighting as he watched her fail to stand.
"Nooo. My legs are still jelly," she complained, falling back against his chest.
The villain laughed, flipping them over. "Are they? Then I guess it doesn't matter if I do this." He slid down her body to run his tongue over her slit, only to pull back and head for the shower when she moaned.
"Asshole," Ayumu cried after him, to his great amusement. Her stomach gurgled. "Your dad is a dick," she said, hand stroking— then freezing as she realized what she'd said.
Fuck. fuckfuckfuck. I need to get out of here.
She talked herself down from panicking as Dabi showered, pacing and eyeing the door to the cramped bedroom. If Dabi would be gone for a few days this might be an opportune moment for "rescue." Ayumu threw on a robe and took a deep breath, focusing. She didn't want to seem out of sorts before he left, lest she give anything away.
When he came out, her worry of that melted away.
His hair was white as snow, oddly soft looking despite still being wet. A familiar smirk lit his eyes as he watched her reaction. "See something you like, baby girl?" Towel still wrapped around his waist, he laid a hand on her side and drew her close. "Or are you just in awe of me with my natural looks?"
One hesitant hand stroked up his nape to find out if the white locks were as soft as they appeared; they were. Ayumiu had to admit there was something about him like this, snowy hair against the porcelain doll paleness of his healthy skin, the burning blue of his eyes, all contrasting his burns, that was striking, haunting. Like an angel fallen into Hell.
"You're beautiful."
The smirk fell, replaced by frown lines and a slight tinge of red over the healthy skin. "You got a strange definition of beauty, doll face."
She hummed and pulled her hand away, standing idly in his awkward embrace. Dabi shook his head at her and set back to getting ready for his mission. At one point he went to the bathroom and came out with jet hair again, though there was something a little different about it.
Ayumu trailed into the living area behind him, grabbing a fruit from the pantry and digging her nails into the skin. He paused after slinging on his jacket, admiring her form.
"You're gonna be good, right?" The phrasing was odd in its departure from his usual playfulness, but she nodded nonetheless.
"Of course."
He leaned over her, eyes boring into her own. "Fuck, I'm gonna miss you, baby."
What was she supposed to say to that?
Instead of speaking, she laid a gentle hand on his cheek, stroking against healthy skin, staples, and scars alike, and knelt up to press her lips softly to his own. "Stay safe, Touya."
His breath caught and he nodded, his own hand mirroring hers before he backed away. He looked over his shoulder at her as the door swung open, then he was gone.
A weight in Ayumu's chest loosened, though she kept still, listening for a few minutes just in case. Then she set about looking for a bag, anything she could pack up in. In went the necessities— clothes, prenatal vitamins, toothbrush, and so on— before she kicked it under the bed just in case, she told herself again.
Her hands hesitated in front of the canvas, watching the door from her peripheral as she removed it from the wall and the little red feather began fluttering downward. She plucked it from the air and set it on the flat lip of her easel.
"I don't know what you can hear, but he's gone on a mission for a while, three days, maybe more. I need to get out of here. Please, Hawks, Keigo, I can't stay here anymore or I'll— I don't know, but it's wearing me down. I don't know if I'll be strong enough to leave if I'm here much longer."
It hurt her pride to admit that, shame flooding her chest and blurring her sight. It wasn't Stockholm Syndrome, but she had liked the villain before all of this, and there were moments— he was irredeemable, and he was cruel, selfish, and had violated her in the most heinous way.
Ayumu sighed, then paced the breadth of the little flat. "I don't even know if you can hear me." Now she spoke more to herself, self-deprecation lacing her voice. "It's just— it's getting harder to separate everything out, you know? And being pregnant is not helping. I'm tired, Keigo." Maybe the use of his real name would get his attention; it would at least let him know she'd seen something else. "The dreams don't help."
She stopped and looked at the feather, then kept on with her word vomit. "He was a sweet kid. Maybe a little desperate, but… It's hard, you know, seeing how he became this. And seeing what he is in general. He's killed a lot of people, Keigo. A lot. He delights in his bad deeds. And then he comes back and plays like I'm his house wife, using those same hands to touch my stomach like a doting father-to-be. It is exhausting. Please. I don't think I've ever asked a hero for anything before, and I don't even know how much of one you still are, but I need help. I can't do this on my own."
She broke down, lowering to the floor and wrapping her arms around her knees. She had spent months locked up, pretending she was okay and she was managing things, letting herself believe she'd find an opportunity to get out. This was the closest she'd gotten, relying on a hero who was either spy or traitor, neither of which made Ayumu particularly want to trust him. But what else could she do when doors and windows were secured so she couldn't hope to go through them?
In moments like this, she missed her mother. She missed being wrapped in loving arms, soothed, told she was doing well all things considered, and that she wasn't alone. But now she was. She was completely alone, unless one counted the fetuses that were on the verge of the second trimester. They had yet to offer any sympathy, so Ayumu did not count them.
What would her mother say about this? Would she tell Ayumu to hang in there and keep watching for the right moment to slip away? Would she be proud of the way her daughter sympathized with even these self-proclaimed villains? That was inevitable with her ability, something she just had to accept; all human beings had moments of vulnerability.
Tickling at her cheek pulled her from her tears and she looked up from her knees to see the scarlet feather fallen to the floor. He must have moved it to touch her, which had caused the fall.
It swirled back upward until it fluttered to the rhythm of her breaths.
"Hey." It felt ridiculous, but this meant he was listening, right? "Thanks, I guess. I, ah, have a bag ready in case you're able to, you know, get me out of here. So whenever. I just— I'd appreciate it." She wiped away her tears and unfurled her arms from their tight embrace. It helped just to know that somewhere, someone was listening.