There was a knock at the door; Ayumu rose from the couch, hand on her lower back in what was slowly becoming a habit. She may not have been horribly far along yet, or that big, but the added weight in such a short time was wearing on her body.
She peeked through the peephole to see two men who were vaguely familiar, both dressed in suits, or near enough. She opened the door but kept the chain on. Though knowing neither their Quirks nor their strength, that might be moot. "Can I help you?"
A tired man somewhere around her own age asked flatly, "Ayumu Sato?"
"And you are?"
"Shouta Aizawa, pro hero Eraserhead, and this is—"
"Hizashi Yamada, or Present Mic to my listeners," piped up the blond, much louder than he needed to. Ayumu winced at the noise.
"And why are you here?"
Eraserhead looked about ready to turn around, but said, "We're here to discuss the League of Villains— or the Paranormal Liberation Front now, I suppose."
She sighed and opened the door, realizing that these two wouldn't leave without something. It was her own damn fault for telling Hawks to choose whoever she thought would annoy her least. She should be grateful he didn't send Endeavor her way again.
She gestured to the couch and settled herself in the chair Keigo often favored. "I'd offer something to drink, but I don't have the energy to be a proper host these days, so…"
The two men exchanged a look and Present Mic shot up. "How about I make some tea."
She frowned. "Okay."
Eraserhead watched as his friend pattered toward the kitchen, then lowered himself onto the sofa and refocused on her.
Ayumu was vaguely familiar with him, partially because of what she'd heard around the League (Shigaraki, surprisingly enough, seemed to be a fan); nearly everyone knew at least a little about Present Mic. Additionally, she'd learned a little about the erasure hero when he first hit the scene since cancellation Quirks were rare.
"I understand you were taken hostage by the League some months ago," he began, to which she nodded. "When was that exactly?"
"Around the sports festival; I don't remember the exact date." Hostage. That's one way to put it.
He had out a notebook and pen now, though kept his eyes mostly focused on her, and she wondered if that was his way of showing he was paying attention, or a habit from his work. "How did your interaction with the League begin?"
She leaned back, head lolling onto the cushioning of the chair. "Is this necessary?"
"I'm sorry, Miss Sato, but we need all the information we can get." He didn't sound sorry, but neither did he sound irritated, mostly tired.
"I met Dabi at a bar. It was a Friday— no, Saturday night. I went out for a drink." The man nodded for her to continue. "He drove off a kid who was hitting on me."
"A kid? Like a high school student, or?"
Ayumu chuckled. "He was maybe twenty, twenty-one. I'm going on twenty-nine here soon enough. And he was one of those clean-cut types, the kind who might like a romp, but not exactly into the same things I am."
"Did Dabi threaten him?"
Gods, how many questions was this guy gonna ask? "No, just implied we might be there together and called the guy a 'nilla wafer.'" Her laugh was more genuine, less bitter this time. It had been pretty cute, how he'd done it.
She read the next question in his frown. "Dabi is a sadomasochist and he recognized that I'm kinky as well. No way would a little Mormon office boy do it for me."
Pink dusted his cheeks. It was kinda cute. "Did you leave with him that night?"
Ayumu tipped her head, listening to the humming from the kitchen. She wondered how good Present Mic's ears were, or if he was just here as an accessory. "No. He gave me his number though. I texted him the next day."
"When did you meet after that?"
"The next week. Thursday, I think." She was starting to clench her jaw, facial muscles stiffening. Ayumu rubbed at her temple.
"Did you know he was a villain?"
"No." Wait. "I mean, I knew he was a criminal, but I thought it was low level, like dealing weed, or something. He looks like the type."
Whether he judged her or not she couldn't tell. He just went to the next question. "And how did that meeting go?"
"It was fine. He was actually a pretty good top."
He nodded thoughtfully. "He respected your limits?"
"Yeah. He even brought a blanket to wrap me in for aftercare, cuddling me through it since skin-to-skin was a limit of mine. And he paid for a cab for the way home, so I didn't have to take public transport."
"When did things change?"
She stared flatly at his dark eyes. "You mean, when did he decide to kidnap me?" Aizawa nodded again. "After our next meeting. It was unplanned."
"What happened?"
Ayumu sighed and scrubbed at her face. This was exhausting; the commission had questioned her already, and she wondered why they didn't just collaborate. How many times would she have to go over everything?
"How do you like your tea?" Mic's voice rang out as an almost welcome interruption.
She blinked. "Ah, cream and sugar. Is it decaf?"
"Mhm, an herbal blend. Is that alright?"
How thoughtful. "Yes, thank you."
She turned back to the other hero and decided to just get it all out there. "We met like a week or so later and renegotiated to have sex. You know how my Quirk works?" He nodded; that was something at least. "It probably would have been the end of our interactions, but we were going to get some food and he got playful, pulled me into an alleyway. A youngish hero, I have no idea who, saw it and thought something nefarious was going on. Dabi didn't even hesitate to start throwing fireballs at him. I grabbed him before he could kill the kid, and he got pissed. He only knew about the memory part of my Quirk, so he was surprised, to say the least, when he wasn't able to cremate the guy."
"And that's when it happened?"
A cup had appeared on the coffee table in front of her, Present Mic leaning on the couch and sipping from his own tea while Aizawa continued the interview.
"Yep." She took the warm porcelain in hand. "Had Kurogiri teleport us to the hideout and threatened to kill me until I spilled my guts."
"Why did they keep you prisoner?"
"Honestly?" Aizawa nodded solemnly. "Dabi pretty much told Shigaraki they'd keep me as a sex toy, but I think they were lonely more than anything. I mean, there's a reason Dabi didn't just keep me chained to a bed like the initial plan."
She felt as though she was exposing a part of herself with every word, despite the revelations being about the villains with whom she'd lived. "Seeing what they'd been through, I can't blame them. For being lonely, I mean. I sure as fuck can blame them for everything else."
It was quiet for a moment, the three taking sips of their tea to digest the conversation.
"Did you hear any of their plans?"
She shrugged. "A little? Nothing that really stands out. I mean, I wasn't there at the majority of their meetings. I know Tomura was devastated when his sensei was taken in. That is one creepy fucker, by the way." By their expressions, it seemed they agreed. "I was mostly in one or the other's bedroom."
"Wait." Present Mic hopped over the back of the couch. "You mean— whose bedrooms exactly?"
She glanced between the two, slightly nervous. "Dabi's and Shigaraki's." Did they not know? What exactly was the commission doing with information?
"So, you were the League's hostage," Aizawa clarified.
"No, just Dabi's. But he didn't mind sharing." Her cheeks flooded, stomach twisting with both nausea and remembered desire. Pregnancy hormones, she told herself.
"Did that happen often?"
"Often enough in the beginning, not so much recently, after…" Her hands gestured to her belly. "Tomura got busy, so I saw him less."
Aizawa cleared his throat, ran a hand over the pulled-back portion of his hair. "Did he share—" his voice croaked on the word "— you with other League members, or members of the Paranormal Liberation Front?"
"No. Well, kinda. Just Hawks." Oh, they hadn't known that either. This was the most awkward moment of her life by far. "From what I understand, the commission didn't give him many options there." Why was she defending the young hero? They knew he'd been a spy, they could judge him however they wanted.
"So," began the blond, his eyes lasered in on her belly.
"That's not our business, Hizashi."
Ayumu startled at the sentiment; finally someone was respecting something about her privacy. It was the most dignity she'd been granted in so long, a surge of gratefulness ran through her, flooding her eyes.
Panic spurred between their gazes as the two men realized her emotional state.
"I am so sorry, Miss Sato—"
"No," she cut in. "No, you're fine. It's these stupid hormones." She wiped at the errant tears, sniffling. "I appreciate it, really. I just haven't been treated like a person much lately. Not used to it anymore."
Concern replaced panic. "I'm sorry to hear that." Aizawa had a good sympathetic voice.
Yamada beside him was wringing his hands as though trying not to reach out. Green eyes twitched down to her arms, and Ayumu realized she was gripping herself tightly. She took a breath, forced her hands to relax. She would need a way to get this uneasiness out soon. Would the commission allow her to start seeing a therapist? Even art would only help so much. She needed to get seen.
"I guess it could have been worse. If Dabi hadn't liked me so much, I'd have wound up as ashes or dust."
Both men nodded along with her, and silence blanketed after her sardonic statement.
Yamada tapped his fingers on his thighs and stood to gather the teacups.
"Oh, I can—"
"It's fine, sweet thing, I got it," he assured her, a sunny smile once more across his face.
"Staying here must be stressful." The darker man was eyeing her body language, how her knees were now curled under her, arms still itching to hold herself. "The commission won't want you to stay on your own, and that makes sense given you're a target, but there are other options."
She was listening.
"UA has dorms now. It's not the most ideal situation, but—"
"Living with high school students?" Ayumu threw her head back. "No, thanks."
He blushed again. "I meant the teachers' dorms. They're more apartment style. Not as nice as this, but." He shrugged, fumbled in a pocket, and stretched out a hand, a card between fore-and-middle fingers. She took it.
"Thanks."
"Are you—" He rethought what he was going to say. "How are you doing?"
Ayumu wouldn't have expected this brooding, reticent man to ask, but she supposed that he taught teenagers. He had to have some kind of emotional intelligence. "About as well as you could expect. I'm tired and stressed and alone."
"Do you have any family?"
She shook her head, turning to face the window. "My mother died years ago, and she was the only person I had."
The sound of rushing water from the kitchen filled the momentary void. "It's not much, but if you ever need to talk to someone, someone outside of the situation, I wouldn't mind."
She turned back to him, the two just staring for a second. It was a genuine offer of human connection.
Ayumu ran a finger along the edge of the card and nodded.
His eyes skated behind her, and she looked over her shoulder to see Yamada wiping his hands. "Well, Miss Sato, we will get out of your hair for the time being. Thank you for speaking with us."
She walked the strange pair to the door, bidding them goodbye, then returning to sink into the still-warm couch. Within moments, she was drifting off to sleep.