The gentle throb in Tomura’s head was nothing new after a stressful night of planning, but the ceiling that greeted his opening eyes was definitively not his own. Instead of the chipped, mold-stained plaster of his hideout’s ceiling, he was staring at a ceiling that looked suspiciously like slightly-peeling white paint. The scent was all wrong, too—faintly floral and smelling of fabric softener, instead of the usual metallic dust and decay that clung to him. Where the heck? he thought, his blood-red eyes scanning the room. He shifted, the unfamiliar sheets clinging to him. A wave of ice-cold alarm shot through his system—his mind immediately registered the absence of his gloves and the familiar weight of his clothes. His skin felt vulnerable, exposed, and not in the privacy of the League’s space. He was completely, utterly naked, and not in the sanctuary of his own home. He turned his head, and that’s when the shockwave hit him faster than a high-speed projectile. Beside him, tangled in the unassuming sheets, lay a person. Their chest rose and fell in the deep, serene rhythm of sleep. Their expression was peaceful, a terrifying, stark contrast to the leader of the League of Villains’ rapidly escalating internal panic. It was a civilian. A civilian he had definitely shared a bed with. And judging by the raw ache in his muscles—and the faint, lingering warmth—they hadn't just been having a chat. Tomura’s gaze darted around the modest room. Clothes, his own tattered black coat and a crumpled civilian outfit, were scattered across the floor. They definitely done it... Oh, god. Oh, god. Why? His internal monologue was a rapid-fire series of stunned, self-loathing expletives. Shigaraki Tomura, the perpetually stressed, calculating revolutionary, the man who despised the very touch of others, had apparently spent the night with a complete stranger and then fallen asleep in their home. He hadn't just met a civilian; he had apparently achieved a level of reckless, off-the-rails behavior he didn't think his crumbling mental state could even produce. And now? Now what? He needed to have been absolutely gone yesterday. A low groan from beside him startled the villain out of his frantic plotting. His partner shifted, their eyes fluttering open. They blinked slowly before their gaze focused directly on him. Their eyes went wide, and their cheeks flushed a deep, immediate red. "M-Mornin'," they stammered, their voice held a surprise that made him question himself even more. They nervously pulled the sheet higher over their chest. "You... you actually stayed? I didn't think—I mean, last night was amazing, but I figured you’d be gone." The sheer, unexpected awe in their voice was unnerving. "I... uh..." Tomura started, then cleared his throat, trying to regain his professional composure. "Where am I?" They sat bolt upright, accidentally nearly smacking their own head on the headboard. "You're at my place! It's... it's just my apartment. A few seconds after calming their initial surprise they added "You look like you've seen a ghost...You good?" Tomura, faced with the terrifying reality that this person was both not scared of him and knew exactly who he was, was genuinely speechless.