Edited by Dudabuck93 and LEMorgan. Many thanks to them.

Posted February 2, 2023.

Silverfish. That was what Himiko's family had always called her. Being on the biology track at Nikkitoki Junior High, a school for gifted children, she had learned what that word meant at thirteen. It referred to, according to the textbooks, "a species of small, primitive, wingless insect in the order Zygentoma (formerly Thysanura); only a pest when they get into homes, and can destroy wallpaper, clothing, and other goods."

Before then, Himiko had always assumed that silverfish was a compliment, referring to her agile movements and the way her martial arts class had taught her to dissolve in the darkness, keeping her breath and her thoughts still so as not to disturb her opponent.

But when she'd started smiling at being called that by her mother, Rise, she'd gotten a yell from Shiki, her father. "Why can't you just be normal?" he would scream, smacking her across the face and hurling her to the other side of the room. "You look like a damn deviant!"

And a deviant I am, she thought, balancing a knife ever-so-precariously on her pointer finger. In her other hand was a red rose. She'd eaten most of its petals already – they were the color of fresh blood, after all – but a few remained on the withered bulb as she skipped up the stairs to the roof of her new home.

Her eye had healed quickly from the battle of Deika City, a battle her leader had fought for her and the rest of the former League of Villains. It was a sorrowful affair to say goodbye to the tacky, nerdy name Tomura had come up with for their ragtag group of societal revolutionaries, but it couldn't be helped. Overnight, he'd garnered 116,000 friends for her. He had made sure she was never lonely again. Indeed, in exchange, he could change the name of his own organization as he saw fit.

And yet...she would be lonely, she realized as she stared at his back, which was draped with a long mantle – also the color of blood, which made Himiko salivate. The red contrasted his pure white hair so well she almost couldn't bear it. All that was left to give him this rose on the last day before he went to be changed. Soon, he would become a different person after being in agony for four straight months.

She stood a few paces back, erasing her breath and walking carefully toward him. She intended to wrap her arms around him from behind, giving him the rose to hold between his teeth as she stroked the hard muscle on his chest and stomach. Himiko had seduced many men before, but Tomura was a unique challenge. And that made him even more desirable than all the rest of her options in the Paranormal Liberation Front.

But before she could step forward again, he whipped around, his mantle flying to match his gait. In one hand was an enormous apple, and his cheeks bulged as he swallowed the fruit. His other hand, uncovered, was inches from her face, and Himiko could practically feel the cold dryness that seemed to suck all the moisture out of her skin from here. He could kill her right now if he wanted, and she couldn't do anything about it.

His hand relaxed. Tomura pointed to the rose hesitantly, tossing the apple over the ledge. "Why are you carrying that weed around? Been seeing you with it all day."

Himiko suddenly felt very silly. She was here, presenting a withered rose to one of the men of her dreams, but he seemed to see it as a threat. Face burning, she looked at the ground. She had envisioned seducing him, being the one in control, but that was never how it worked with her leader.

He was always ahead of her. It made her deeply uncomfortable. But perhaps that was why Himiko wanted him more than anyone else – except that hero boy. Soon, however, he would be gone. And then there was only sweet, lovely, passionate Tomura.

Well...there would be. Assuming Tomura was still the same after the horrific experiments. "You're...you'll be in pain. Great pain," Himiko added, her voice thickening.

Normally, she would have reveled in seeing that – Tomura, leader of the League of Villains, writhing naked on the floor and screaming for mercy at the top of his lungs. Yet... for some reason, that idea made her nauseous. Especially if it was that fat, old clown Darima Ujiko doing it.

"How are your father and the others?"

Tomura had frozen. "They're fine," he'd muttered as if it were an uncomfortable subject.

Yet his family was dead – he'd said so. He was an orphan, just like Spinner, Twice, and Toga herself, functionally speaking. That was not an expression of genuine concern. It had been an intentional goading.

"What's that gotta do with anything?" Tomura shrugged, his white curls blowing around his badly scarred face as he furrowed his brow. "It's not like it's any different than before. And anyway –" his face flushed – "don't you get off on that or something?"

Toga held the rose, with its three petals, close to her heart as she shook her head. "You're... different," she whispered. "You always were."

"Different, how?"

"I've never wanted your blood," she said. "I mean...it smells wonderful. But there's no urge to seize it."

"I sure hope not," Tomura replied darkly. "Toga, what is this about? Spill it, or go to bed. It's..." he checked his watch, the gold flashing in the night. "It's eleven at night. Damn it, why am I even out here?"

His face was unreadable, but his eyes, the color of fresh cherries, stared out at the stars. His crooked shoulders sank.

He's afraid.

Himiko, trembling, stepped forward and offered him the rose. Tomura looked at her for a long moment in confusion, as if he wasn't quite sure what to make of her or the gift.

He held out his mangled hand, the one with only two fingers and three prosthetic limbs. Himiko pressed it into his hand, feeling his fingertips brush against hers. A cool, brisk touch, though nothing like the ice-cold Decay that lingered on the other hand.

"Do you..." Tomura looked at the rose, stroking its three petals with his robotic thumb. "Have feelings for me?"

Himiko's breath caught in her throat. His somber eyes, as he gently touched the rose and ensured that none of his flesh fingers were near it, had conflict swimming within them.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Do you have..." he tucked the rose into the breast pocket of his suit. "Strong feelings for me?"

Himiko leaned against the balcony. "Yes. I don't want you to..." she swallowed. "To go with that man."

"It'll be fine. I'm getting this power to protect you." His voice was firm. "Would you deny me the chance to pay back those heroic bastards for what they've done to you? To me? Hell, to the others?"

She stepped closer to him, keeping a watchful eye on his good hand. He was so close to her that she could see every line, every scar, every dry spot on his face.

Himiko dared to nuzzle his nose with her own as they looked out over the forest past the villa. "I'm a silverfish," she said softly. "A pest."

"Toga –"

"So I can't let you go until you show me you're not afraid."

His eyes glistened with primal force as he moved in close to her. Was it fear? Frustration? Or...

Yes.

Desire.

He smelled like fresh apples as he leaned awkwardly, eyes shut and lips touching hers, no movement involved.

Himiko's heart raced. Understanding what he was trying to do, she kissed his mouth tenderly, holding his face in her hands as he tilted his head against her nose. His lips were rough with scarring and devoid of moisture, but the sensation was divine, sweet, and warm. She didn't feel the need to drain him dry as she touched his soft hair, as he grew fervent in his advances and gave a soft, sad sigh against her skin.

It wasn't just his toned, muscular body she was after anymore. She was after his very heart. Not to devour but to hold. His wounded hand met her head, and he cradled her in his arms, pressing her against the warm fur of his mantle and keeping his good hand tightly fisted to protect her. Himiko felt him shake as he did so, feeling his terror at the fear that he would grow too passionate and turn her to dust instantly.

Face close, Tomura gazed at her with the most severe expression she'd ever seen, still speaking with the scent of apples on his breath. "Please," he whispered – the first time she'd heard that word on his tongue as his arms fell away from the embrace. "Don't ever ask something like this of me again."

Tomura rose, keeping the flower tucked in his pocket as he left her alone on the balcony. Perhaps he was going to attend a meeting with the other members, Himiko thought. Maybe he was going to pack for his trip to be experimented on by All For One's doctor, molded into a warrior, a machine of death to the current system.

Silverfish, his voice taunted in her ear. And Himiko realized she had donned his skin after he'd left. Perhaps she'd lapped up some of the blood from his dry, chapped lips during their kiss, but Himiko couldn't even remember tasting it.

No, she thought as the illusion melted away, leaving her in nothing but a body suit, mounds of gray putty plodding to the ground all around her. She wasn't a silverfish.

To Tomura, she was nothing but a dream.