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“All deaths are sudden, no matter how gradual the dying may be.”
― Michael McDowell
He does not die at the hands of heroes. Maybe if he had, everything would be easier to deal with. If there had been a name and face to hold accountable for the person Shigaraki is mourning. It certainly helped with grieving Magne's death...then again, Shigaraki had not been as close to Magne as he was to…
Well, what does it matter now, anyway? He doesn't have a name to hold accountable this time, so there's no point in thinking about what would happen if there was. He just has a dead comrade, a dead friend, a dead…
Shigaraki stills his fingers when they start to feel wet. Part of him imagines a gentle grip pulling his hands away by the wrist. He knows better. He knows that it's impossible but he still imagines it. Imagines…
He sighs pushing himself off his gaming couch. He hasn't really been gaming but it's easier to lock himself up and say he is than going out to the common areas and dealing with the others' emotions given he's barely able to acknowledge his own at the moment.
Why the fuck did he have to leave them? Why the fuck did he have to die? Why didn't….
Those were the things Tomura Shigaraki was faced with lately whenever he tried to leave his room. People asking a million questions that he doesn't have the answers to. So he stays in his room and pretends he's planning or gaming. Stays in and pretends he isn't hiding from the morbid truth that everyone outside wants him to confront...that everyone outside wants to shove down his throat.
Why does everyone always….
Maybe it's him. Maybe there is something deeply embedded into Shigaraki Tomura's DNA that tells the world to take away those he holds the most value to. Maybe if he hadn't bothered to care about… hadn't bothered to… maybe if Shigaraki had more self-restraint there would be one more villain in the world still.
Shigaraki stands before his closet and stares.
Why should he get dressed? He's not going to leave his room. Doing so would mean facing reality. Would mean scanning a room for a face that isn't there. Would mean pausing to hear input from a voice that cannot speak...that will never speak again.
No.
It's better to stay hidden away. In here he doesn't have to acknowledge what he misses. Does not have to acknowledge the loss of his…
Anyway it's better here. Out there someone is dead and everyone else expects him to know how or why or what to do now. In here he can deny anything has changed at all.
He sighs, grabbing some sweatpants and heading towards the ensuite. He's been awake for maybe an hour and he's already exhausted. Still he should shower at least. Get himself a little cleaned up. Make him self look like he's at least trying…
Trying to do what, though, not even he is certain of.
The water runs. Cold. Too cold. He has the heat up as high as it can go but it still isn't warm enough. The water heater isn't broken. He's just used to the warmth from…
Well anyway, he's just used to more warmth than this...even in the shower, alone, he is forced to confront what he desperately wants to avoid. Dabi had always been so warm pressed against his back. Like a personal heater with a pretty face and a bad personality. It's hard to believe he'll never…
The water drips down Tomura's skin warm but not warm enough to make him forget he's showering alone for the first time in months.
The water cascading down his body before swirling its way down the drain is rusty-looking. If Dabi were here right now, he'd be sighing. He'd get out, towel wrapped around his waist and grab the disinfectant spray that Tomura always hated. If Dabi was here, Tomura would be sat on the edge of the clawfoot tub and pout as his mangled neck was bandaged by careful, steady hands with far too much practice in applying bandages. Dabi is not here. Tomura will not bother with bandages or disinfectant on his own.
Tomuras mind wanders... careful movements and calculated answers from the past now make so much sense. Its regrettable it took being parted from his second-in-command for him to see… Well to see a lot of things.
He wishes there was someone he could blame for Dabi's… well for what happened to Dabi, but there isn't, unless you count the burns that slowly built up over his lifetime shocking his body over and over again from heat exposure. Unless you count Dabi constantly hiding his own pain and suffering from people who trusted him but he clearly didn't trust back to nearly the same degree. Unless you count…
Well actually, no, suddenly some other things make sense now too…
Watch out Endeavor… karma is a bitch and right now it's a grieving one.