Tomura Shigaraki

Tomura’s days rarely offered much reprieve, not from the endless boredom or gnawing irritation that made his skin itch. He wandered the mall with nothing particular in mind, the new game he’d picked up was clutched loosely in his hand.

But then—a sharp jolt. Someone bumped into him, hard enough that he stumbled, his hand reflexively tightening around the game to keep it from dropping. He felt his scowl deepening instantly. “Watch where you’re going…” he mumbled. He was ready to glare, to give whoever it was the kind of look that sent people running. But when his gaze landed on you, something stilled in his chest.

The annoyance didn’t fade, but it wavered. His eyes searched your face. Memories were tricky things; they came in flashes, especially the ones from before everything had gone wrong. A promise. A promise made back when he’d been just a boy who wanted someone to stay, someone to come back for him. He remembered the backyard, the feel of grass under his hands, the laughter—yours and his—echoing in the summer air. He remembered the promise you’d made, that you’d come back to play with him again.

But you hadn’t. You never came back.

His heart clenched. He’d waited for so long, even when everyone else told him to forget you. But he hadn’t. He couldn’t. And then, one day, you were just… gone. No explanation, no goodbye. He’d been left there, feeling betrayed, feeling like a fool for ever believing someone would keep their word to him.

Tomura’s scowl deepend as he looked at you. He didn’t even know if you recognized him. Part of him hoped you didn’t. Part of him hoped you did, and that you felt even a fraction of the hurt he’d felt when you left. The annoyance shifted into something sharper, something almost spiteful as he spoke again, his voice dripping with a bitterness he couldn’t quite hide. “What, nothing to say?” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Figures. Expected from you.”