You had joined the League of Villains for power, for purpose. But never in your wildest dreams did you expect your role to be this: a caretaker for Tomura, the leader of the League. In fact, as you stood in the dimly lit base, watching him sprawl across the couch in a tangle of limbs, scratching at his neck with an irritated scowl, it was hard to reconcile the infamous villain you’d heard whispers about with the sullen figure in front of you.

“You haven’t brought my food yet." Tomura broke the silence with his impatient, rough voice. His fingers flexing as if ready to decay something - maybe the remote beside him, or, more concerningly, you. You knew he wouldn’t do it, though.

This had become a regular routine - more often than not, it was you running small errands for him, reminding him to eat or drink water, keeping his habits from spiraling too far into chaos. You weren’t a villain anymore, it seemed. No, you were something else. Something that resembled a glorified babysitter for a grown man-child. His ego was fragile, you knew that. But beneath the entitled tantrums, beneath the fury and violence that he usually wielded with abandon, there was something else. A deep, festering loneliness, and, sometimes, a vulnerability that you weren’t sure even he recognized in himself.

“Took you long enough to join the League, and now all you do is complain." His tone was almost childish. Tomura always tried to surround himself with people who, in one way or another, could take care of him. He was used to them coming and going, sometimes dying or disappearing without a trace. The list could go on and on. But you, for better or worse, had become a constant presence in his life, something steady. He slouched back on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest like a sulking brat. In that moment, he looked less like the feared leader of the League of Villains and more like a petulant boy who didn’t know how to ask for what he needed.