Her Touch ~Tomura Shigaraki x OC AU~

Chapter 28: The Neon Hour

**Mature content ahead - reader discretion advised**

Illika

The light is low and dim.

Nothing but a gentle golden hue cast upon his walls, painting them a warm brass. Several wall lamps glow, throwing shadows across the floor as he walks to his windows, taking long strides.

Outside, thousands, if not millions, of lights - street posts, traffic signals, and neon signs - all shimmer through the darkness of night, outlining his tall frame. Moving with each step he takes. Following each flex and movement of his muscles.

He reaches up, closing the shades, though I don't understand why. It's not as if anyone could see us up here. No one without some kind of aviation quirk or night goggles, anyway. Still, he starts to roll a panel down, casting part of his room in deep shadows that are only penetrated by the gentle hum of his lamps.

And all the while, I stand here, watching. Already missing the warmth of his body against mine. Missing the way, it feels to be in his arms, feeling his heart beat in time with mine. Missing the fiery touch of his gloved hands cradling me and wondering if he'll once again embrace me like that.

And there are other things I miss. Things that, as I think about them, I can't help but squeeze my legs together and bite my bottom lip. Things that once were never off limits, leaving us in so many places. Things that I crave.

And I crave Tomura Shigaraki.

I take a step, my heart beating steadily in my chest. The last time we did anything remotely like the thing I'm thinking, I had spent the night in this very room. I had slept in that bed, next to him. I woke up and saw him. But that was so long ago now. It feels as if it's been ages.

And I can't help but wonder if maybe he's thinking about it too. He's given no indications that he is, but surely he misses it as much as I do. Misses the way we mended so perfectly together, falling into some kind of bliss. He has to miss that. At least has to think about it. Maybe even now.

He closes another blind and I take another step. My pulse is throbbing in my ears as I fidget with the hem of my dress. I'm not nervous, per se. This has been done many times, in many different places. I have seen him, and he has seen me. That isn't what has a lump in my throat. No, what really has me swirling in concern is the fear of him still being afraid.

Or the fear of rejection, in a way.

I walk slowly, moving stealthily as he goes to another blind, but as I draw near, he pauses. He sees me. I know he does. And I know he does because I can see the way he is looking at me through the reflection in the window, but he doesn't turn. Nor does he speak. Neither of us does.

Maybe it's because we don't know what to say. We don't know how to break this silence. Or maybe it's because there are no words that can be said that can match what we feel.

And I know he feels something. He has to. The weight of this atmosphere barreling down on us has to be something he is experiencing too. The heaviness. The way it grips my lungs. My heart is racing. Is he feeling this too? Is he swallowing the dryness in his own throat?

I say nothing. I say nothing and in one swoop, pull my dress up over my head, then toss it to the floor, freeing my bare chest. Cool air rushes up, gliding across my skin and sending shivers down my spine. All while he watches through the reflection, his expression content and calm, and his eyes are focused.

That fire is there. Even in the dull-lit reflection, I can see the want and lust in his eyes. It rages and burns, whipping and flashing at me. Lashing my skin, searing me. But God... I want him.