Archive of Our Own

Being caught hadn’t been part of the plan. 

This should have gone smoothly. All he had needed to do was locate wherever All For One had hidden his most loyal follower and bring him back to stand before his master’s chosen successor. He had everything waiting for him back at the hideout: a version of Tomura that was more human than he had been in years, a love who showered him with affection that he had never known before, and a name that had taken the courage of nearly fifteen years to speak aloud. Just as his charge was finally blossoming into his truest self, Kurogiri was eager to do the same.

This wasn’t to say that he regretted any part of the past fifteen years, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Despite the yet unexplained circumstances that led up to their meeting, Kurogiri loved Tomura Shigaraki as if he were his own son and would not dare trade a moment of their time together for anything else. That being said, after spending so long tending to his every need and whim, it might be nice to explore himself a touch more now that his charge was more independent and growing in his own way. 

He just hadn’t expected to explore himself from the inside of a prison cell. 

Hero intervention had been expected at some point-- he was risking a lot by hovering around in one area for days on end-- but he had let his guard down in his cautiously optimistic bliss. He had been so close to finally claiming a life and identity for himself, only to have it snatched right out from under him. 

Or, rather, knocked out from above.

He recognized the hero that tackled him to the ground from the Kamino incident. Gran Torino was the veteran pro who had taken out Dabi when he had tried to burn his way out of Kamui Woods’s famous lacquered chain prison . Competing with that kind of speed while his guard was down was all but impossible, so he had surrendered in order to save himself the extra hurt. All the while, his mind raced in search of a way out. 

He had promised Atsuhiro that he would return. He had sworn to Tomura that he would always be there to protect him. Successful in his mission or not, he needed to return to the safe house. 

It couldn’t end like this ! Things had just started to look up; he had finally opened up and shared a piece of himself that he had harbored in secret for as long as he could remember. Was this the universe’s way of punishing him for his love and trust? It seemed that every time he took a step in the right direction, he was forcibly shoved back into his place. Perhaps trying to blossom out had been the mistake that damned him. 

This was never meant to be his story, after all. 

A part of him had hoped that the timely arrival of All For One’s most loyal (most brutal) servant would grant him a chance to escape, but no such opportunity arose. Gran Torino, damn him, was fast enough to both save the arresting officers and snag him as they escaped the mighty man’s powerful blow. 

Everything I do is for my master. If only Kurogiri himself were so dedicated. If he was even half as committed to All For One as Gigantomachia-- if he had been half as unflinchingly loyal to him the way he was to Tomura-- then perhaps he would not be in this mess. 

Before he had fully collected himself, the cold bite of quirk restraints wrapped around him, forbidding even the smallest of gates from forming. As he was ushered into the back of a high-security police vehicle that would doubtlessly take him somewhere he would never be heard from again, he felt himself grow stick. His stomach twisted in knots and his pulse raced as his body refused to surrender-- refused to believe that he had been captured-- but capitulated to the numbness that followed hopeless panic. 

This couldn’t be the end. Tomura Shigaraki needed him. He needed the aid of Gigantomachia. He needed Kurogiri there to keep him safe, both from his new ally and his new enemies-- he was still working with the Yakuza! How was Kurogiri meant to sleep at night knowing that the people who had taken Magne from them so prematurely were dealing directly with his charge, putting his life in danger simply from existing? How was he meant to protect Tomura Shigaraki while he was in chains? 

And Atsuhiro… The man needed his bandages changed. He had grown so accustomed to having his warm body in bed beside him-- to enjoying the silence his presence brought about inside of his own head-- that he didn’t remember how it felt to be without it. Would Oboro’s plague return? Would he become the enemy again after that momentary embrace of a truce? 

He never even got to verbalize those three little words whose sentiments were obvious, but whose utterance would have meant the world to his dear sunshine. His beloved Atsuhiro.

I love you. 

If he could be free for only a second, he knew what he would do. He couldn’t stand the thought of their last moments together having been stolen away by sleep. When he had departed that morning, he left a kiss on his partner’s head, just gentle enough not to wake him while still being affectionate. Did Atsuhiro know that he had paused in his preparations to show him love? Did he know that what Kurogiri felt for him was love at all? 

Would he ever forgive him for not returning to say it? Atsuhiro had been so excited to help him try out this new name, and now he had gone and gotten himself captured like a damn fool ...

Tightly bound and robbed of his quirk, he sat in the back of the windowless transport as he was whisked off to a secure location that he could only assume was Tartarus . Normally, he was against cursing-- too much profanity would have been a bad impression on Tomura-- but, as he pondered over the predicament he was stuck in, Kurogiri decided that this could be the one exception. 

“ Well, fuck .”

It was clear upon arrival that they didn’t know quite what to make of Kurogiri, and he held a twisted sense of pride in the fact that he had nothing that they could use against him; at least, nothing immediately available to them. No one he loved was in their custody; they couldn’t find them if they tried. When they tried to take and process his fingerprints, there had been a part of him that wanted them to find something, but he much preferred the sick satisfaction of everything coming up blank. He didn’t know when or how, but his fingerprints had been completely eradicated; the pads of each finger had been mutilated until any pattern was unrecognizable. 

His identity may be shrouded in mystery still, but at least it wasn’t his handlers that got the privilege of discovering it. Kurogiri would determine who he was, whether that was Oboro or someone else entirely, on his own, thank you very much. 

Kurogiri understood that personal space and privacy were not things that could be requested in a place like Tartarus, but that didn’t mean that he had to like it. His limbs only moved when his handlers desired it while they poked and prodded at him in a number of uncomfortable ways. Needles disappeared under mist as they tried time and time again to draw blood. Warm fingers rubbed and squeezed at his arms uncomfortably in a vain attempt to search for a vein they could not see, leaving his arms littered with tiny holes that bled freely with each failure. Each blunderous attempt only served to frustrate the nurses (at least, he assumed that they were nurses) further, making them more rough and reckless with their needles. By the time they finally reached a vein that they could use, Kurogiri could already feel the blood from other open wounds dripping down the side of his arm. 

Once they had what they wanted, they patched him up… mostly. Their inability to actually see his skin made it difficult for them to properly cover up each wound, leaving many open and bleeding. Kurogiri offered to bandage himself up-- the last thing he wanted was to get an infected cut in a place like this, after all-- but was denied. As he was led to a disturbingly blank white room, he got blood on his vest. 

How tedious. At least it would get onto their equipment as well. 

Kurogiri had never really considered himself to be a petty person before, but he had to admit that there was a certain amount of satisfaction that came with all of the ways he could mess with his captors, whether intentionally or not. They may have him physically, but he would do everything in his power to resist their influence. He did not care for them; they had taken him from the people he loved. Why not exercise what little power and agency he had left?

If nothing else, Tomura Shigaraki, the reigning king of pettiness, would be proud of him for his attempts. 

He wondered how long it would take them to realize that he was gone. Would they publicize his capture or keep it under lock and key? If the latter was the case, how many days without contact would it take for the others to realize that he was not okay ? One? Ten? Or would they know by the end of the night? He never spent the night out in the wilderness when he could help it, always returning to curl up safely next to his sunshine in bed. 

He wished that he had thought to make Atsuhiro stir that morning, departing with a kiss on the lips and a whispered, breathless farewell rather than his silent departure. He wished that he had thought to say goodbye. 

In the room, his handlers removed the quirk suppressants and strapped him tightly to a chair, which seemed a bit overkill in his opinion. The monitors forbade him from even thinking about activating his quirk in a desperate bid for freedom and he had never been much of a physical fighter. Even if he tried, he doubted that he would be able to take on any of these handlers or guards without his quirk. Funny, wasn’t it, how something which had initially bewildered him had become something he relied so heavily upon? Besides, he would be a fool to even attempt an escape when he was still surrounded by armed people with their guards and defenses up. It would only get him killed. 

Instead, he complied with the orders he was given, not wanting to give them any excuse to be rougher with him than they needed to be. His arm still ached from all of the incessant jabbing, but he wouldn’t say a word about it. Letting them know that he was even mildly uncomfortable would be akin to letting them win or demonstrating his own weakness at their hands. Such a thing was unacceptable, so he feigned calm and pretended that nothing was wrong. 

A barrier of glass separated him from a few unoccupied chairs in an opposite room. Is this how they would interrogate him? Tying him up and putting him on display for the interrogators like an animal trapped in a zoo? At least the lions and tigers were free to bare their teeth whereas Kurogiri’s own hope balanced on the point of his compliance. Cameras lined the ceiling and he would be a fool to think that they were not armed. The slightest of missteps could seal his fate.

Not long after he had been settled in, the door in the opposite room opened and a man stepped inside. He was donned in a long, tan jacket and had a tie to complete the uniform, but what made him most easy to recognize was the traces of terror in his eyes. This was the face of a man whose world had been shaken to the core; of a man who had looked death in the eye and barely managed to escape its bitter kiss. 

Detective Tsukauchi had been present during Kurogiri’s arrest. He had borne witness to a small taste of Gigantomachia’s raw power and, by the miracle of Gran Torino’s intervention, had lived to tell the tale. Though he did not shake or tremble, Kurogiri could tell that his soul was still recovering from his unintentional flirtation with death. The fact that he was still here, acting as if nothing was wrong, was equal parts admirable and amusing. If nothing else, it showed his dedication to his position. Any other civilian worker, connected to the police or not, would have taken the rest of the day off to recuperate and recover at home. That kind of loyalty and commitment was something that Kurogiri could appreciate. 

“You were at the scene earlier,” he commented as the man sat down, not allowing him to get the first word. “Encountering that man must have been quite the shock. No one would blame you if you took the rest of the day off, yet you followed me here. You should be resting.” He thought back to all of the times that Tomura had ignored his own traumatic experiences despite Kurogiri insisting otherwise. He was in no way responsible for this man, nor should he care about him at all, but it was a reflex. Caring was something he couldn’t control.

Tsukauchi flashed a weak smile that didn’t even attempt to reach his eyes. “Your concern is noted, but I’m not going to pass up the chance to interrogate such an infamous member of the League of Villains.”

“ Infamous ?” Kurogiri echoed, humor lacing his tone. “You flatter me. I am nothing more than Tomura Shigaraki’s protector. I am not nearly as important as you think.” It wasn’t entirely true, but if he indicated just how important of a game piece he was to Tomura, this discussion would steer away from his favor faster than he would like. 

The expression that his interrogator’s face wore was unreadable, but Kurogiri got the sense that he didn’t quite believe him. He supposed that it was a bit of a stretch and they both knew it, but it was one he could argue all day long if it came down to it. No amount of authority’s disbelief would pressure him into betraying Tomura. They would have to kill him first. 

From inside of his jacket, Tsukauchi pulled a packet of papers. Kurogiri knew for a fact that his official criminal record was rather small-- he had made sure not to leave a trace or clue to his identity when he had stolen or killed in the past-- but he had at least two massive incidents under his belt: the USJ and Kamino.

Long black hair. Yellow goggles. 

You can’t save them.

“You are Kurogiri, correct?” Tsukauchi questioned, already knowing the answer well. “And your quirk is Warp Gate?”

“Indeed,” he confirmed. There was no point in being difficult and arguing about his name and power when they were already on record.

“Any chance I could get you to tell me your real name?” Tsukauchi prompted. 

His real name . It was a sensitive topic, to say the least. Not that Tsukauchi would know such a thing. The answer was something that had haunted him for years and he had yet to actually pin it down. There was a name that lived in his head-- an identity that was equal parts familiar and foreign-- but he was not nearly confident enough to call it his own. That had been the entire point of his conversation with Atsuhiro the night before he left. He needed to know for certain, and he was the only person on this earth that he trusted to help him make that decision. 

I am more than happy to call you my Oboro. That name was forbidden on anyone else’s lips. He had only just gathered the courage to share that piece of himself with the man he loved and it had yet to be indulged. 

Oboro may live within him, but he could not yet say just how deep those roots went. 

Without missing a beat, Kurogiri answered as honestly as he could. “Kurogiri is my real name,” he insisted. “If those blood tests you perform indicate anything else, please let me know. I am as curious as you are.”

Tsukauchi arched a brow. “You don’t know your own name?”

“Is that not what I just said?” When Atsuhiro had asked him the same question, he had been a touch sheepish, but he had no personal investment in this detective. What the man thought of him had no impact on him emotionally, even if he had taken a moment to try and express concern for him the same way he might do for Tomura. He was getting quite tired of people trying to ignore their trauma, but he supposed that he wasn’t any better; it was only after fifteen years that he decided to face his own head on. Now, he feared that he would never get any solid answers. 

The detective stared at him for a moment, as if trying to determine his truthfulness, before scribbling a note down on the papers. He was the famous True Man , was he not? Kurogiri wondered if that had anything to do with his quirk or if he was simply adept at reading people. Technically speaking, Kurogiri hadn’t lied, so he couldn’t be pressed. 

“I see,” Tsukauchi said before looking back up at him. “Well, Kurogiri, why don’t we start off with something a little open ended? Tell me everything you know about the League of Villains.”

It was a good interrogation tactic, starting off with something so open. From this, they would be able to narrow down into the questions that they wanted answered without Kurogiri noticing the shift from open and vague to targeted and distinct. Anyone else would take this as an invitation to clam up, refuse any sort of information, and bait themselves into a corner-- Alright, then tell me just this and we’ll be done . Kurogiri would not make that same mistake. 

A small smirk tugged on his lips, invisible underneath all of the mist. Tsukauchi wanted to know everything he knew about the League of Villains? He would happily oblige. 

“I know a great variety of things about the League of Villains,” he started. “For instance, I know how every member likes their drinks, what they do for leisure, and what kind of music they indulge in. Why, just the other day, I believe that Spinner beat Tomura Shigaraki’s high score on Mario Cart and the controllers were nearly destroyed because of it. Himiko Toga enjoys collecting knives and has certain blades that she prefers over others. She is very meticulous about keeping them sharp and clean. I must say that it is concerning how often she playfully threatens other members with them, though. Mr. Compress is an entertainer at heart, and let me say that he knows exactly how to impress a room with his tricks. He enjoys a glass of white wine before going to bed when available, but--”

“That’s all very nice, but why don’t you tell us about Tomura Shigaraki and--”

“Tomura Shigaraki?” Kurogiri interrupted, taking a small amount of perverse satisfaction in how frustrated the detective was becoming. Technically speaking, he was answering his question, but he was filling his head with such useless information that couldn’t be used rather than what he desired. Kurogiri was no fool; he knew what Tsukauchi wanted to hear. It was information that would never pass his lips, though. 

“Of course. I am the protector of Tomura Shigaraki. His health and safety is my top priority,” he mused before diving into a tangential topic. “Recently, I believe that he has started to engage in a sexual relationship with another member of the League, Dabi. Now, I understand that they are both consenting adults, but I can still remember when Tomura Shigaraki was a young boy who would argue with me about the color of apples or come to me for comfort when he had nightmares. I’m not entirely certain how to emotionally handle him in such a mature situation. Do you have children, Detective Tsukauchi? Surely, you understand my hesitance. Of course, I have been given no reason not to trust Dabi or doubt his intentions, but--”

“ Kurogiri ,” Tsukauchi interjected. He was trying not to let it show on his face, but Kurogiri knew that his irritation was mounting. The script he had expected to follow was completely dismissed. Rather than doing the typical back and forth, Kurogiri was being too open, but in the most useless of fashions. Maybe the detective would stop asking questions once he realized that the villain had absolutely no problem wasting his time. 

Despite knowing exactly what he was doing, Kurogiri feigned innocence. “Yes, Detective?”

“Where is Tomura Shigaraki? And what is he planning?”

“Ah,” Kurogiri replied, silently amused. “Now, if those were the questions you wanted answered, you should have started with them.” It was an unfair tease, but really, what else was he meant to say? Obviously, he could not answer those questions and live with himself. Tsukauchi must know that as well. “I’m afraid that I cannot tell you.”

“Can’t? Or won’t ?” Tsukauchi challenged.

Kurogiri hummed. “Does it matter? You will not be receiving an answer either way.” Truth be told, he felt as if the former was more likely. Though he had never been interrogated in this way before, just the idea of letting information that could jeopardize Tomura slip made his head start hurting. It was a different ache than the one Oboro brought about, but not one he wanted to encourage all the same. 

“It does matter, because if you can’t , that means you don’t have the answers we need. If you won’t , however, all you need is a bit of convincing,” Tsukauchi explained. He didn’t like the way that the detective said convincing…

“I see,” he replied plainly, not offering any sort of indication as to which answer was correct. 

The detective leaned forward in his seat. “Do you know where Tomura Shigaraki is?”

“Yes,” Kurogiri answered reflexively. He couldn’t remember a time where he didn’t know where the man was. From the moment they had met, he had developed an innate sense of where his young charge was at all times. Even if it was a location that he had never set eyes on before, if Tomura was there, Kurogiri would be able to find him. For years, he had chalked it up to perfectly honed parental instincts and hadn’t bothered to look further into it. Knowing where his charge was had become such an innate part of him that he didn’t consider the consequences of such a confession until it had already left his lips. 

Oh, no. 

He knew that Tsukauchi pressed for more information. Of course he did. For better or for worse, however, he didn’t hear a word of it. The ache which had been waiting on the fringes of his mind rapidly took over his senses, blinding him in momentary agony as the edges of his vision began to turn black. The darkness seeped in, claiming more and more of his surroundings until it was all he could see. This wasn’t a rapid attack like the one he had experienced at the hands of Edgeshot back at Kamino; no, this came from within, silencing him without mercy.

The last thing he saw before he succumbed to his self-inflicted, unconscious punishment was Tsukauchi leaping to his feet, the first sign of true concern flashing across his face. 

When he awoke, his head was resting on his chest. It felt like barely a blink between the overwhelming surge of agony that had blacked out his vision and the next time his eyes opened, but as he processed his surroundings, it became clear that was not the case. Detective Tsukauchi was gone, leaving the opposite side of the glass empty and barren. Perhaps he was imagining things, but he could almost feel the intensity with which the cameras monitored him.  He tried to move, only to discover that he was still bound. 

It appeared that this was where he would be staying. How uncomfortable. How dull. The only decoration on the walls outside of the cameras was a single analog clock that he would need to trust displayed the correct time. He could watch the seconds of his life and imprisonment tick by as his only source of entertainment. Kurogiri had a feeling that it wouldn’t be long before he wished that he was being interrogated again…

But what had happened during this interrogation? What was this internal force that had so aggressively robbed him of consciousness as the topic shifted onto his charge? He had no intention of spilling any secrets, yet it seemed that his body had shut down in order to ensure that he kept his mouth shut. 

Was it Oboro ..?

No, it wasn’t. As bewildering and difficult a presence as Oboro could be in his soul, he had never forced Kurogiri into anything. Sure, he ached and begged and screamed and guided, but he had never gone as far as to take the reins of his life entirely. This had been something else. A panic response, perhaps? That is what he would go with for the time being.

Sleeping without his partner for the first time since their union would be a strange experience, and not one that he was especially looking forward to. Atsuhiro had done wonders to calm the storm inside of him and lull him into a deep sense of security. Even Oboro, who was often noisy and difficult to please, seemed to be soothed by his lover’s presence. It was nowhere near the strange, inexplicable bliss he felt as he listened to Put Your Hands Up Radio , but it was more than enough to make Kurogiri feel more at peace with himself; with both of them. 

Without access to either of his comforts, would nightmares plague him that night? He hadn’t suffered under their reign in quite some time-- not since he had accidentally stumbled upon that radio station all of those years ago-- and he wasn’t looking forward to potentially facing them again. Despite not feeling tired in the slightest, he glanced up to the clock, a spark of hope igniting within him as he recognized the time. Put Your Hands Up Radio should be starting any minute now. 

Kurogiri shifted in his seat as best he could and cleared his throat. Even if there was no one physically present, he was certain that someone would be monitoring the feed from those cameras. “To whoever is listening, I would be grateful if you could play Put Your Hands Up Radio for me,” he requested, speaking into the emptiness of the room. 

He received no response. 

“It is a routine that I have followed for years,” he continued. “I find it soothing. I am afraid that my sleep is rather fitful if I do not have it, so I would appreciate the assistance.”

Still, no response came. Kurogiri looked up at the cameras and sighed. He should have guessed that such an uncanny personal request would not be honored.

That night, he finally drifted off to sleep in silence. Just as he had suspected, his dreams treated him about as kindly as the cold, unfeeling Tartarus walls.

Kurogiri lost count of the number of times he went through the same routine, but he was getting rather weary of it. More times than he cared to remember, Tsukauchi plopped himself down in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the glass and tested the limits of how far he could push him before he shut down. Sometimes, the detective would still be there when he awoke; other times, he was completely alone. Every night, when the time came for Put Your Hands Up Radio to broadcast, he made the same plea with his overseers to ease his suffering with something so simple as a voice. Every night, he was denied. Surely, they saw how restless he became, yes? They definitely saw it.They just did not care enough to prevent it. 

He had never seen Oboro as an enemy. At the beginning of this all, he had been a nameless guiding force that helped him both navigate the world around him and aid him in taking care of Tomura. The occasional urge, flash of faux recognition, or headache were easy enough to deal with. Discovering his name and how to soothe him had come hand in hand with the tuning of a radio and he had managed to keep him at bay like that for years. When Atsuhiro came around, he managed to learn how to ignore Oboro entirely and dedicate that extra energy in his heart to his lover entirely. He had gotten to the point that he was comfortable taking a few steps to follow where Oboro wanted to guide him, so long as Atsuhiro was there for him to fall back on in the case of tragedy. 

That being said, he was starting to resent this part of himself that he thought he had come to terms with. The longer he spent in empty isolation, the louder he became. There was no Tomura to occupy his time, no Atsuhiro to comfort him, no League of Villains to distract him. No, he was left with nothing but himself, which included needing to face Oboro.

Oboro was not happy. 

Lacking any means of calming or quieting him, Kurogiri was forced to suffer through everything he had to say and show. Nights were plagued by fleeting thoughts and memories that were not his own, but that were just far enough away that he failed to recall them upon regaining consciousness. All that remained was the feelings they brought with them: his heart racing, his breath quick and shallow, and his head spinning with a longing he could pinpoint no subject for. 

Maybe it would have been better to allow All For One to remove this nuisance. Perhaps then he wouldn’t hurt nearly as badly. Was the potential of a lost identity really worth all of this?

Oboro’s greatest offense happened after he had already been in Tartarus for quite some time. The detective came to face him, as per usual, but he seemed… different. There was a certain tension in his shoulders that he hadn’t seen since the aftermath of their encounter with Gigantomachia; nervous and expectant, but unwilling to admit to it. That day, he did not take a seat, but instead remained standing as he greeted him. 

“We’re going to have two special people come in and speak with you today,” he explained. “I thought I’d give you a warning. After what we found from your blood tests, we thought it would be best to have someone else come in.”

Kurogiri’s blood ran cold, but his heart didn’t get the memo as it started to race. Your blood tests . “You found something from my blood?” he asked, leaning forward in his seat as much as he could. Underneath the mist, his eyes were wide enough for his intrigue to reflect externally as well. “Do you know who I am?” It was such a loaded question and one that was full of potential for disappointment, but he needed to ask. He needed to know. 

Tsukauchi looked taken aback. “Yes, we do,” he confessed. “But it is not really my place to tell you. That will be best done by the upcoming visitors,” he insisted.

His heart nearly stopped. Yes . They knew who he was. While he would have much preferred finding out while surrounded by allies, knowing at all felt like too much to ask for. Immediately, his breath was stolen away and he was glad that his face was covered and shrouded his gaping mouth. 

If he ever got out of there, he could tell Atsuhiro what name to call him, finally returning the intimate gesture to the best of his ability. He could look into who he had been before and reclaim memories that were still too distant to grasp. 

He could finally put Oboro to rest. 

Doing his best to disguise his urgency, he pressed on. "If it is not too much to ask, I would like to know now." I've been waiting fifteen years to find out and you cannot keep this from me now.

Tsukauchi, damn him, shook his head. "I can't. You'll find out later today, I promise." 

Kurogiri paused. He was screaming on the inside and he was certain that all of these cameras and monitors were catching his distress, but he tried to breathe through it. Tsukauchi was nothing if not professional, even if he did like pushing boundaries, so if he felt so strongly that this was best done by the mysterious guests, then he needed to believe him. What were a few more hours compared to fifteen years? He could wait. 

"Very well," he surrendered, though he didn't bother hiding the disappointment in his tone. "May I at least know who these special visitors are?" He couldn't think of anyone he knew personally that the police would want to ally themselves with. Unless someone he loved had been captured and they wanted to use them as blackmail, he hadn't the slightest idea who could be waiting for him. 

Had Atsuhiro been captured? Worse yet, had Tomura? No, if it had been him, he would have known. He had a strong feeling that Tomura Shigaraki was as far from Tartarus as he could hope to be. 

Tsukauchi hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not he should answer before ultimately deciding to humor the man. "Pro Heroes Eraserhead and Present Mic will be coming in to speak with you later today."

Eraserhead and Present Mic. 

Long black hair and yellow goggles. 

You two have matching smiles. 

Kurogiri tensed. Had there not been dark mist surrounding his face, he would have been as pale as a sheet. Out of all of the names he could have heard, these two were the best worst that could have possibly come out of Tshkauchi's mouth. 

They were pro heroes-- one of which he had faced off against before, no less-- and their names should not hold meaning for him. There was no way for him to deny how they made him feel; how Present Mic's voice soothed him over the airwaves and how seeing Eraserhead injured had made something want to tear his chest right open. He didn't think too hard about it-- didn't want to think too hard about it-- but this revelation was jarring. If his blood tests required their intervention, then he must be connected to them in some way. And wasn't that just daunting? 

"...Eraserhead and Present Mic, you say?" he echoed, tension lacing his tone. Just saying their names aloud was dizzying. Oboro had his mind spinning. That deep ache within him started to spread, making each and every muscle strain as he channeled all of his energy into keeping himself together. 

By his sides, he clenched his fists in a vain attempt to disperse some of the concentrated tension. That had been a mistake. In his efforts to control himself and maintain composure, he had surrendered control of something even more vital than his attitude. In his moment of fear-- in his moment of excitement -- Obor o took advantage of his burst of energy and just let it out . 

The beginnings of a portal flickered to life at his side, but it had barely lived past conception when the whistle of a dart penetrated the silence of the room. He grunted as the point buried itself in his neck with an accuracy the naked eye could never hope to achieve. Tranquilizer. All of this time, he had assumed that acting out would mean his death, so the non-lethal method almost shocked him as much as the drug itself. 

"Detective, I…" I what? What had he been about to say? It was an accident? I didn't do it on purpose? I don't want to see them? I need them here soon? Each one was as plausible and ridiculous as the last. He didn't have the chance to finish his statement or direct it in any fashion before the tranquilizer in his veins took hold and claimed him. The effect was almost instantaneous, darkness seeping into his vision and the words of the detective fading into silence. 

The next time he opened his eyes, he knew what to expect. The atmosphere of the room was suffocating as he regained consciousness and that told him all that he needed to know. 

Eraserhead and Present Mic had arrived and they weren't happy. 

He blinked some of the grogginess from his eyes, silently wishing that he had the freedom to reach up and rub at them. Over the course of his imprisonment, he had grown somewhat accustomed to being unable to move without permission, but there were instances in which it was frustrating. Itches were the worst sensations to deal with in this state. His neck was sore from where the tranquilizer dart had penetrated his skin, but it was otherwise bearable. The worst part of it was the anticipation. 

Tell me who I am. Don't keep this from me any longer. Please.  

Not one to appear desperate, especially in front of heroes, he maintained his calm demeanor as best he could as he addressed the pair of heroes. Just looking at them made that person deep within him want to sing, but Kurogiri had long since forgotten the words. All that remained was a ghost of a melody that he would have to give his all to hum along with. 

What did these heroes have to do with him? Why did they have to be the ones to feed his identity to him? Why couldn't it be as simple as saying Oboro a name? There had to be something else happening; something important. That was the only explanation. 

" See? You guys had it all wrong! This chump's got nothing in common with Shirakumo… "

Shirakumo. Present Mic's voice-- the one that had eased his inner storm night after night for years-- spat out a name that he had never heard before, catching Kurogiri off guard. That hadn't been what he expected. Perhaps he was referring to someone else? 

If that were the case, then why did Oboro feel so pleased about hearing that name? Just what else was buried with him? 

Obviously, the police hadn't enlisted the assistance of two heroes to give him a name, so he shook off that twinge of recognition in favor of getting straight to the point. If nothing else, these men had access to the outside world. They could tell him things he needed to know, given that they were amicable to the idea. 

"Tomura Shigaraki…" he started, searching their expressions for any signs of something that would break his heart. "Is he well? I assume he is not captured." Rather, he knew he was not captured. If he  closed his eyes and relief solely upon instinct, he could tell exactly where he was. Jaku Hospital. He must be with the doctor. What he didn't know was why. Had he been in a fight that ended with him injured? If so, would the heroes know about it? If they did, would they have enough heart to tell him?

As Present Mic sputtered out some unpleasant retort, Eraserhead appeared more curious and receptive to his question. "You're curious about Shigaraki?" His hair was standing on end and his eyes were unblinking, indicating that his quirk was in use. Kurogiri glanced once down at his hands to see the mist still radiating off of him. Interesting . It must be a mutation. 

"Indeed," Kurogiri confirmed. "Tending to him is my mission." Shielding him, caring for him, keeping him safe and healthy and focused all described the life he could recall up to this point. He wouldn't trade out a second and would sacrifice ever knowing his name if it meant he could be there to protect him again. 

Once again, Present Mic said something tasteless-- really, he sounded much better on the radio when he promoted songs and gushed over his sunshine -- and Kurogiri felt the rare need to defend himself. Normally, he could not care less what others thought of how he spent his life, for his love and loyalty to Tomura was too strong to be shaken, but something about this man made him want to stand up in his defense. Clearly, Present Mic and his sunshine didn’t have any children if this was how he viewed parenthood. 

“It did not pain me to do so,” he insisted, letting his thoughts drift back to his charge. There had been difficult moments, yes, and it was sometimes hard to see him so consumed by his hatred, but Kurogiri was nothing if not proud. “As I am the type who cannot abandon others.” Tomura knew this. The entire League knew this. If he had the freedom to do so, he would be back at their sides in an instant. 

This revelation seemed to sober Eraserhead up. The man looked exhausted, like that statement alone was enough to make him want to curl up and call it a night. Kurogiri spared a glance up to the clock. No, it wasn’t quite night yet… 

When Eraserhead launched into a story about someone-- Kurogiri, apparently-- taking the initiative to rescue a cat when the hero himself had hesitated, he hesitated. 

You scooped the little guy up without a second thought. You let Tomura Shigaraki grab your hand without blinking. You held him as he cried. You would never abandon someone in need. Like a hero.  

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” he insisted, holding Oboro back as best he could and glancing momentarily away. That piece of himself was still thrumming happily and begging to break through, but Kurogiri needed more information before he succumbed. He needed to know everything. “Why have you come here, exactly?” Tell me what I need to know.

The hero continued on with meaningless stories, which only served to frustrate him. Was this how Tsukauchi felt when he rambled on about nothing during their interrogations? At that moment, he almost felt sorry for it. All of this talk of heroes, addressing him like he was meant to remember things that he didn’t , was starting to get to him in ways he couldn’t describe. Why was Eraserhead speaking to him as if they knew each other? We do . Why was he referring to him as if he had a single heroic bone in his misty body. I do.  

The more passionate the hero became, the closer to home his words seemed to hit. Kurogiri was accustomed to aching by now, but it was becoming borderline impossible to ignore. He burrowed his teeth into his lower lip in an attempt to redirect the discomfort. Tears started streaming down Eraserhead’s face and he had no way of knowing whether the man was just that worked up or suffering from an inconvenient side effect of his own quirk. In the end, it didn’t matter.

“Shirakumo! If you’re still in there, somehow, the three of us can still be heroes together!”

Shirakumo . There was that damn name again. It wasn’t a name he had heard before; it was nothing like Oboro . It wasn’t a given name, but a family name. Did he have a family? Tomura had been his family for as long as he could remember, but he had never adopted the name Shigaraki . So, Shirakumo-- Oboro Shirakumo? That sounded so right yet so wrong at the same time and he didn’t know how to handle it. 

The part of him called Oboro was practically vibrating with excitement, insisting and pushing in Kurogiri’s soul and mind until he hardly had control. This had never happened before; not to this extent. Why was he being so loud? Loud Cloud. What was he meant to do with this? 

Just who was Oboro Shirakumo? 

Kurogiri’s eye twitched and he gritted his teeth, fighting to remain in control. He had never considered Oboro an enemy, but in that moment, he was anything but a friend. The guiding force was gone, replaced by an absolute force. He tore and clawed at Kurogiri’s consciousness, leaving gaping wounds open in his heart. 

As questions were hurled his way, the answers popped into his mind and it took all of his control not to spit them out.

“Where are the nomu manufactured?” Jaku General Hospital. 

“Where is Shigaraki hiding?” Jaku General Hospital. 

“Who did this to you?” The doctor at Jaku General Hospital.

“Where’d they tinker with your head?” I have scars over my right eye. He must have cracked my head open. My first memories of life were at Jaku General Hospital.

“Didn’t you feel anything when you attacked us at UA?” Long black hair and yellow goggles. I know him. I knew you . I looked away.

“I… I haven’t the… slightest… idea… about…” he bit out, forcing tense words out through his teeth. Every syllable felt choked and garbled as he tried to insist upon this. It had never been this bad before…

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be Oboro anymore. 

“Answer me, Shirakumo !” Eraserhead exclaimed, his voice like a hammer straight to Kurogiri’s head.

“I am Kurogiri ,” he insisted. “The one who protects Tomura Shigaraki.” The more he had to fight against his own head, the more he wished that he had never been anyone else; that Kurogiri was the only name he had and that he had never managed to stumble across Oboro and he had never started listening to Put Your Hands Up Radio and that he was back with Tomura and Atsuhiro and everyone else he cared for because right now  it felt like his head was about to explode!

“Oboro Shirakumo!”

Hearing that name in Present Mic’s voice was what sealed the deal. It was the same voice that had calmed him on countless nights, allowing him to exist with a part of himself that was buried too deeply to have a life of its own. Now that piece had been given life and its claws had dug in too deep and Kurogiri couldn’t escape it. 

For a brief moment, there was a flash of calm and he tried once again to insist that he didn’t know who Shirakumo was. I don’t want to be him anymore. I’m losing myself. How can I be Oboro Kurogiri if I am Shirakumo instead?

Just as quickly as the reprieve started, it ended with a bang. Agony surged through Kurogiri’s head, not unlike the kind that would regularly knock him out when the interrogations came too close to home for comfort, and the edges of his vision were tinted black. What startled him most was the air on his face.

He felt air on his face. 

The mist suctioned itself to his face, showing off a detailed image of what his face looked like underneath all of the darkness and removing that layer of inexpressive protection. There was no masking his wide eyes or pinched, panicked expression as he stared at the two heroes. They both had tears in their eyes and terrible awe etched across their faces as they took in the closest glimpse of the face of Kurogiri that anyone had ever managed. 

It was the face of Oboro Shirakumo.

“Sh… Sh… Sho… Sh…” Shouta. The name was right on the tip of his tongue, but it met more resistance than even Oboro had. He couldn’t get it out; didn’t want to get it out. 

“ Fight it!” Eraserhead-- Shouta? -- insisted, hand slamming against the glass and sending a startle down his spine. Fight what? What was he supposed to be fighting? Right now, the only enemy was within, and he didn’t know whether this was a winning or losing battle. 

Where are the nomu manufactured? Where is Shigaraki hiding? Where did they do this to you? They all had the same answer, but the mere idea of speaking it aloud made the protective agony within him surge. The same defense mechanism that had him shutting down whenever Tsukauchi asked the wrong questions was trying to choke him off, steal his voice, and send him into blackness once again. 

“Hos…” The syllable was torn from his throat without permission, causing his panic to spike. Stop stop stop stop stop stop . “...pital…”

Stop ! He couldn’t keep talking, couldn’t risk putting his son charge in danger, couldn’t betray the people he loved…

But who was to say that he didn’t love these heroes? Who was to say that his heart rested on one side of the line? As he battled with himself, he felt the division tear the organ straight in two. 

Kurogiri loved Tomura Shigaraki and Atsuhiro Sako and cherished every other surviving member of the League. Shirakumo clung desperately to old memories and affections that he would tear them all apart to reclaim. 

Between the two of them, where were his loyalties meant to lie? 

“I… I am…” I am Kurogiri. I am Oboro. I am Shirakumo. 

I am none of the above.

Finally, the darkness that had been threatening the edges of his vision bled through and encompassed his being. As he succumbed to unconsciousness, he felt Oboro slip under as well. With a sigh of relief, he welcomed the reprieve rather than resist it, his head dropping down to his chest and eyes falling shut. The mist filled out again, shrouding his face as it was meant to and forbidding any prying eyes from taking in more than was permitted. 

They may have told him who he was, but there were still many more questions left unanswered that he would now have to tackle alone.

“Man, I can’t believe you did that!”

“What do you mean?” Oboro beamed, placing both hands on the back of his head and turning just enough to look at his friend as he caught up with him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” On the contrary, he knew exactly why Hizashi was cornering him outside of their classroom, but he wasn’t about to admit to it. Feigning ignorance would be a fun game to play until the consequences caught up with him. 

Hizashi quickened his pace to corner his friend against the wall, cheeks flushed red and eyes pinched in anxiety. "No way! You know exactly what you did!" he insisted. "What am I supposed to do now, huh?"

"Just be yourself?" Oboro prompted, dropping his arms back to his sides. Reaching out, he patted his friend's shoulder encouragingly. "You'll be fine! It's not that serious. We just wait for him to come out and take him to the cafeteria for lunch. Don't worry. I talked you up plenty," he assured, tacking a wink onto the end of his statement. 

"You did!?" Hizashu exclaimed, eyes wide and stricken with panic. "What did you say!?" 

Oboro chuckled warmly. "All good things, I promise. Relax!" he insisted. "You're a natural charmer. There's no way he won't like you, especially with me as your wingman!" He jabbed his thumb back at his own chest and flashed a broad, toothy grin. 

The he in question was none other than Class A's brand new transfer student, Shouta Aizawa. Reserved and uncannily talented despite limited training, he had become something of a fascination for the more amicable members of their class and a target for the more competitive. Whether his quiet attitude was due to having just transferred in or if he was normally so reticent, but there would be plenty of time to find out. Even if he wasn't much of a talker, Oboro had every confidence that he could get the guy to come out of his shell. 

As far as Oboro was aware, UA hadn't seen anything like him before; he knew that he sure hadn't, and neither had Hizashi. He remembered his friend radiating confidence as they faced the tournament round of the Sports Festival together, joking about how they would have to destroy one another in the final round and predicting who would reign victorious. The chances of both of them making it to the final round when both Class A and B had their best to present were slim, but it had been fun to think about regardless. 

Neither of them had expected Hizashi, one of the strongest in their class, to be taken out during the first round by a student that, as far as the audience knew, hadn't had a lick of hero training. He could still perfectly picture the scene; Hizashi drawing in a deep breath to make the ground shake and end the fight with a single offense, Shouta's hair standing on end, Hizashi startling from choking on his own silence, the shock sealing his fate. As his back hit the ground, knocking the wind out of him, Oboro noticed how stricken his face looked as it was broadcasted to the crowd. He was dumbstruck; awestruck; lovestruck . 

Neither of them wound up winning the tournament that year, but Oboro didn't mind. While he had expected to need to comfort Hizashi on his early loss, he found that his friend was instead invested in seeing how far the General Studies student would go. There was no wiping the smile off of his face as he listened to his friend gush over the incredible underdog as he tore almost effortlessly through the other competitors. 

"Did you see how he took down Tensei like that!? He couldn't even get a good kick in! He's incredible, Oboro!" quickly turned into "I think he could really win this thing! Has there ever been a festival won by someone not in the hero course before? He could make UA history!" Listening to Hizashi gush over the guy who had quite effectively kicked his ass in front of millions of viewers was much more entertaining than anything the commentator could have said. For the most part, he was right; Shouta Aizawa was incredible, and his success was connected almost entirely to his quirk. Most people in the hero course didn't know how to fight without their quirks and it was apparent that his own created some kind of dampening effect, which gave him the perfect advantage. 

When the winner was declared, neither Oboro nor Hizashi were surprised. Having someone like that slip through the cracks of UA's famous entrance exam-- one that was designed to theoretically pinpoint the best potential heroes in the nation-- was embarrassing, but as Shouta Aizawa stood on the tallest pedestal to accept his award, boasting the skill of any other hero-in-training he had faced off against, Oboro had a feeling that the error would soon be addressed. 

For the rest of the term, he would hear Hizashi out as his mind continually jumped back to the General Studies kid who has dominated the hero course. If he happened to catch a glimpse of him in the hall, Oboro would have to bite back laughter at his red cheeks and momentary flustered expression. For someone who was normally a shameless social butterfly, it was definitely easy to get under his skin when it came to love. He had yet to say a word to Shouta outside of their encounter at the Sports Festival and, as amusing as it was to see his friend with a hopeless crush, Obori feared that he might crash and burn before he earned any mutual affections. It didn't help that they weren't in the same class and any chances of interaction were limited to lunchtime and at either end of the day. 

Until they walked into class for their first day of their second term, that is. 

There had been no notification or forewarning. Oboro had simply walked into the classroom, Hizashi by his side, only to find that the desk that had once seated one of their classmates now had someone new; someone new and very familiar. As luck would have it, he was placed directly to Oboro’s right, creating the perfect opportunity to bridge the gap.

It was obvious that not everyone had been as gracious about Shouta’s victory as Hizashi had been and as the room filled with students, it also filled with whispers. It made sense, in a sad sort of way. Someone whose quirk erased the abilities of others, no matter how temporarily, was a threat in the uber-competitive world of heroics, so it was no wonder that some people were intimidated. That was no reason to socially isolate the guy on his first day, though, so Oboro took advantage of his position to extend the hand of friendship through an invitation to have lunch with him and Hizashi. He wasn’t the type to abandon people, especially when they hadn’t done anything wrong. As reserved as he was, Shouta at least seemed pleased to accept, so Oboro considered that a victory. All things considered, he had a feeling that the three of them would get along well.

If only Hizashi would stop freaking out. 

“I don’t feel very charming right now,” he muttered, and Oboro supposed that he had a point. This crush of his had made him… kind of ridiculous, to be kind about it. Hizashi was as extroverted as they came, but he hadn’t seen him flirt with anyone yet. Now he knew why; he was way too easy to fluster. But this would be good for him! Before he could ever hope to woo Shouta, he would first need to figure out how to interact with him. Really, Oboro was doing him a favor. 

“Ah, don’t worry about it! You’ll be fine! And I’ll be there to cover up all of the awkward, embarrassing silences!” he teased. Mostly. It was mostly a tease. 

“But I don’t do awkward silences! I ramble on like nothing else!” Hizashi insisted. “He didn’t say a word to me during our fight. What if he doesn’t like talking? All I do is talk! I could scare him off!” He brought a hand up to his throat, referring to the forced silence as he spoke. “And he beat me so easily during the Sports Festival! What if he thinks I’m a weakling?”

“I don’t think you’re a weakling.”

Oboro and Hizashi jumped as a new voice entered their conversation. They turned to see none other than Shouta himself exiting the room. His posture was slightly guarded-- understandably so-- but he kept his head high. This wasn’t a guy who was going to let others determine his worth, that much was certain. 

Oboro beamed. “Hey, Shouta!”

“Hi!” Hizashi said, perhaps a touch too loudly. 

“Hey,” Shouta replied before locking his eyes on Hizashi’s own. “Like I was saying, if I thought you were a weakling, that means that I would think that everyone I beat at the festival is a weakling. Since they were all from the hero course, that would make the hero course weak. Why would I want to train with weak people?” he explained, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. 

Dark eyes gave Hizashi a quick once over. “You’re Hizashi Yamada, right?” At the nod of confirmation, Shouta shook his head. “You’re one of the best in the class. The only reason I won was because you didn’t know what to expect. The element of surprise only works once.” The beginnings of a smirk tugged on his lips. “I expect that you’ll be giving me a hard time from here on out.”

Hizashi put his hands up defensively. “Ah-- well, I wouldn’t say a hard time, but I’m definitely not going easy on you, either!”

“Good. That would be insulting to us both.” He looked between Hizashi and Oboro. “And I’m not scared of you. You’re too much like him,” he said, gesturing to the latter. 

Oboro beamed. “Ha! Yeah, he is!” he agreed, patting his friend’s shoulder. “How could you tell? Was it our strong and sunny personalities?” he joked. 

Shouta paused a moment, and if Oboro wasn’t mistaken, there was the beginning of a blush on his cheeks. “It’s more like… You two have matching smiles .” Before the statement could hang in the air for too long, Shouta nodded down the hall and started walking. “Come on. If you keep hanging out here, we won’t get a table in the cafeteria.”

The other two exchanged glances before falling in step with Shouta, flanking him with those aforementioned matching smiles. Oboro didn’t know if Hizashi was aware of what this meant. Unless he had caught a glimpse of them coming into the classroom together (which was possible), there was no way for the transfer student to have known about their camaraderie. That meant one thing to him:

Shouta had been watching them just as much as they had been watching him. 

If there was a little extra shine in his smile as they made their way to the cafeteria, it was well deserved. He had a feeling that they would be getting along perfectly .

The memories stuck. For the first time, he wasn’t left chasing something that he nearly had a grip on, only to lose it. These remained, digging into his head and refusing to be uprooted. 

He didn’t know how accurate a dream like that could be, but it clarified some of the mysteries he had suffered under. Eraserhead and Present Mic-- Shouta and Hizashi -- had been friends with him-- with Oboro. That explained why he seemed to have an almost innate draw to them; why he saw their faces in strangers on the street without even knowing who they were; why he found such an obnoxious voice soothing for so many years. 

You two have matching smiles. That observation and its implications had been so important and powerful to Oboro that it had buried itself deep into his subconscious; deep enough that even the doctor couldn’t dig it up and cut it out. 

Doctor Ujiko . 

All of this summed up to something more than just concerning, but no matter how much he wanted to deny it, accepting it explained more than rejecting it. Waking up in the doctor’s lab with no memories, the nagging feeling in the back of his head that constantly reminded him where Shigaraki was ( Jaku General Hospital ), the fact that his body would shut down when interrogated… It all made too much sense.

He was a nomu; a creature created for a purpose, given the gift of free will and forced into subordination. He was not just the protector of Tomura Shigaraki, but designed for him as well. 

A bitter part of him wondered if the man knew, but… no. Childish curiosity would have gotten the better of him at some point and he would have spilled. Tomura was none the wiser about his condition and his only hope was that he would remain that way. 

Not long after he woke up from his strangely informative sleep, the door on the opposite side of the glass opened because of course it did. He could not seem to catch even the slightest of reprieves. Did Detective Tsukauchi not have a life outside of this..? Granted, with what had happened earlier, it made sense that he would be invested in squeezing out as much information as possible. 

Even if it meant putting him through hell over and over and over again. 

“Detective,” he greeted, drowsiness lacing his tone. Normally, he had at least a moment to recover himself before needing to face interrogation, but he supposed that they were desperate. 

“State your name for me,” Tsukauchi started, jumping right to it. No time for pleasantries, it seemed. 

He opened his mouth. “I am Kuro…” His voice trailed off, something inside of him choking off the rest of the name. Kurogiri . It was his name. Saying it should be simple. He cleared his throat. 

“I am Kuroboro.” He blinked. No, that… that wasn’t right. 

“I am Kurokumo.” No. “I am not Shiragiri.” Well, that was at least technically true. The more he tripped over his own name, the more agitated he became. 

I am Kurogiri. I am Kurogiri. I am Kurogiri. 

...Right?

But the memories he recovered in his sleep did not belong to Kurogiri, and they were most definitely his own. He was connected to Shirakumo by blood and a thread of consciousness, so even if he had been him at one point, he certainly was not any longer. Was there truly any identity he could claim as his own..?

In an act of mercy, Tsukauchi noticed how distressed he was and switched topics. “Alright. And who are the people closest to you?” His brow was pinched in concentration as he questioned the mist man-- the nomu -- but he didn’t let his emotions show in his tone. 

“You are asking about my loved ones?” he asked, frowning slightly. This was a rather odd series of questions. Why wasn’t he asking more about the nomu? About Shigaraki? About the League of Villains? 

“Yes,” the detective confirmed. “I need to know who you love.”

As strange as the question was, it seemed ultimately harmless. What could they do with his love? It could hurt no one, so he saw no problem in answering. 

“I love Tomura Shigaraki,” he said, and it was a thousand times easier than trying to say his own name. “I love Atsushouta-- no,” he cut himself off, brow furrowing. What? He shook his head. “I love Atsuhiro . I love…”

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it!

“...I love Shouta and Hizashi and Nemuri and Tensei and... “ He gritted his teeth. What were those names? Was he just rattling off heroes now? No, there was an emotion tied to all of them, each distinct but powerful. 

How was he meant to settle on an identity when his heart was torn between the light of the past and the darkness of the present? Which side was he meant to take, or was he doomed to eternally straddle this line? 

He wished that he had never entertained the idea of Oboro . 

When he looked back over at Tsukauchi, the man had a sympathetic expression on his face, but there was something deeper. Beyond that pity was something that chilled him to the bone: hope . As if his bewilderment was indicative of something good . 

“Alright, I think that’s enough for now,” Tsukauchi decided, rising from his chair again. “It sounds like you still need some rest. We’ll have a doctor come check you out in a bit.” With that promise, the detective was gone, leaving him to flounder in his own confusion and errors.

When the doctor came later, they found nothing wrong. Save for lingering agitation, there was nothing obviously wrong with the prisoner and thus nothing that they could do to help. If he looked close enough, he could see hope in them, too. Hope for what? Hope that he would suffer? Hope that he would perish and allow Shirakumo to return? Did the last fifteen years of his life mean nothing to them? No, he supposed that they wouldn’t…

Later that night, he watched the clock strike the hour and heard music fill his room for the first time. He was awestruck, bitter, and above all, relieved as the song ended and was replaced by a voice he had heard not too long ago. Put Your Hands Up Radio was his only companion that night, but in what was now a sickening joke, he felt as if he had never slept better. 

Study groups with Tensei Iida had just gotten a lot more interesting. 

As their class representative, Tensei made it a point to offer as much aid and unity to them as possible. He was a natural leader; someone that people gravitated towards and admired, and rightfully so. While not necessarily Number One material, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he would continue the family's legacy of incredible heroes. Ingenium was all but guaranteed to become a household name and they all understood that. It was just a matter of how long it took between graduation and reaching that peak recognition. 

One of the ways in which Tensei instilled unity in their class was through after school study sessions. Whether someone was having trouble, wanted to keep up, or was simply looking for an excuse to spend time with their classmates, the sessions that he set up in the library were the perfect spot. It didn't hurt that the guy was a good friend of Oboro and Hizashi's, so it doubled as a great hangout session as well. For the entirety of their first term, neither of them missed a single group. Other classmates came and went, but their presence never wavered. Naturally, once their duo had become a trio, they had every intention of dragging Shouta along as well. 

Then the youngest Iida was born. 

Tensei had been gushing over him for months now, virtually vibrating with excitement whenever the topic shifted to his baby brother to be. After being an only child for fifteen years, he was looking forward to welcoming the little guy into his life. He was nervous as hell, sure, but just like they assured him, if he was even half of the older brother as he was a class rep, then everything would be just fine. Just the fact that he was this enthusiastic about him showed that he would be amazing. 

When the kid was actually born, the entire class knew; Tensei was glowing. The end of the world itself would not have been enough to dampen his smile. Being the kind of empathetic person he was, Oboro had smiled right along. Understandably, the study sessions for the following handful of weeks had been canceled while Tensei adjusted to the new responsibility in his life, but no one really minded. He couldn't think of a single classmate that wasn't thrilled on his behalf. 

The first time that Tensei reintroduced his study sessions, it was an offer made exclusively towards his friends. It was nothing against their other classmates, of course, but a matter of safety. As much as he personally trusted all of his classmates, trusting them around his baby brother was another question. Only the three of them who were closest to the new big brother were allowed to come over, the unspoken promise of meeting little Tenya only serving to excite Oboro further. He'd always been a fan of the small and innocent-- babies, puppies, kittens, and the like-- and he was more than ready to fawn over his friend's brother as if he were his own. 

When the three of them arrived at the (rather impressive) Iida manor, Tensei was there to greet them at the door. "Hey. Sorry for the change in scenery, but my parents are working tonight, so I need to be here to watch Tenya," he explained as he guided the trio down the hall. "But I thought it had been long enough since we had some time together and it might be nice."

"Yeah! This was a great idea!" Oboro agreed, looking around the place. There were ornate portraits and newspaper clippings detailing the family's history of heroism along the walls, and if he peeked past the occasional open door, he saw even more evidence of their proud legacy. Despite having been a constant presence in his life, this was the first time he had actually seen the Iida family manor in person. He had known that they were wealthy-- they were multi-generational heroes, and good ones at that-- but Tensei didn't act wealthy. Actually seeing his family's fortune was unnerving. 

If he didn't know any better, he would've sworn that he heard Shouta mutter something about "those rich people," but it was too quiet to know for certain. 

Eventually, they arrived in a room that had the biggest couch that Oboro had ever laid eyes on. Smiling, Tensei gestured over to it. "You guys make yourselves comfortable. I'll be right back." With that, he turned around and went through a different doorway to go through a different section of the house-- how big was this house?-- doubtlessly to go get Tenya. 

Oboro wasted no time in plopping himself down on the couch, the action mirrored dramatically by Hizashi. It was plush-- unexpectedly so-- and they both sank deep into it. Any deeper and it would have swallowed them whole. They exchanged glances with one another before bursting into a laughing fit. 

Shouta settled himself carefully beside Hizashi, leaning against the solid arm to spare himself the same fate. "No wonder they call us the Three Dumbigos," he teased dryly. "How did I get lumped in with you two?"

"Aw, don't be like that, Shouta!" Hizashi protested, feigning hurt before beaming. "You know you love us." 

Shouta arched a brow, but didn't deny it. For all that they were different and for all of the trouble that Oboro and Hizashi caused, it was obvious from day one that he wasn't going anywhere. The former was too magnetic and the latter was likely the subject of mutual affections, so he was rather stuck between their matching smiles. 

It was only a few minutes before Tensei returned, arms full with his baby brother. Oboro's heart melted at the sight. 

"Guys, this is Tenya," he introduced, eyes pinched up in a smile that was borderline radiant. "Tenya, this is Hizashi, Shouta, and Oboro. They're my friends." There was no way that the kid was old enough to understand what Tensei was saying, but it was the gesture that counted. All three teens waved wide-eyed at the baby. 

"Would you guys like to hold him?" Tensei asked, looking between the three of them. While Hizashi turned him down-- "He's cute, but I'm not really a kid person."-- and Shouta hesitated-- he'd been developing that bad habit since joining the hero course and Oboro couldn't understand why-- but Oboro himself didn't hesitate to nod eagerly and sit up a little straighter on the plush couch. 

As Tensei eased Tenya down into his arms-- "Be careful. You've gotta support his head."-- Oboro was hypnotized. He weighed almost nothing in his arms, his small form negligible compared to things he had held and lifted before. Despite that, he felt like he was holding the world in his arms, and it was far too precious and far too fragile… His little head rested comfortably in the crook of his elbow, perfectly positioning his sweet face to look right up at his own. 

When his eyes opened, Oboro's entire being turned to goo. They were so big and wide and full of life, gawking up at him with an innocent curiosity that had the teen’s heart feeling like it could just burst. 

Oboro’s smile only grew brighter. “Hey, Tenya. Hey, buddy,” he cooed, cuddling him a little closer. As much as he would have loved to lean back into the couch and give his friends a better view of the baby in his arms, he wasn’t nearly confident enough in his own ability to hold such a young child. It was best to remain in the position Tensei had handed Tenya to him in. 

“I think we’re gonna be best friends,” he continued, eyes not leaving his face as he spoke. “When you get older, we’re gonna do a whole bunch of stuff together. We’re gonna do all of the cool stuff your big brother won’t let you do because I’m cool like that,” he joked.

Tensei arched a brow. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Oboro confirmed, sparing his friend a glance and shooting him a wink. “I’m gonna be the cool brother.”

“I can be cool!” Tensei protested, but his heart wasn’t in it. No matter what Oboro said, they all knew that Tenya was going to see the world in his older brother regardless of whether or not he was cool. “And being his brother’s friend doesn’t count.”

“Whatever you say, Tensei,” he laughed before looking back at Tenya. Already, he could see the family resemblance between his friend and the baby in his arms. 

No matter what happened, he decided then and there that little Tenya would grow up surrounded by heroes who loved and adored him and he would definitely be one of them. Nothing, barring an untimely (yet obviously heroic) death could keep him from being in this little guy’s life. Tensei would just have to get used to the idea, though he doubted that he actually minded all that much. 

They were all going to be heroes together, after all.

Time passed like this, the miserable cycle incessant. Meeting with Shouta and Hizashi had broken the dam and the reservoir flooded his dreams with memories of a life that was simultaneously his own and the most foreign concept in the world. His waking moments were consumed by his efforts to finally reclaim an identity of his own; to have one name and one name alone rather than this strange, abominable amalgamation of names that fell from his tongue whenever he was asked. 

I am Kurogiri. It should be that simple. That was who he had been for the past fifteen years as he cared for Tomura and developed his profile as an apparently infamous villain. He had experienced so much of his most tangible life as Kurogiri; raised a child as Kurogiri; fallen in love as Kurogiri. Even if he was technically one of the doctor’s beasts, he had been given the gift of free will and he intended to use it to offer love and support to those he cared for. Nothing could take that away from him.

I am Shirakumo . It should be that simple. As more and more evidence piled up that this was, in fact, his past life, he needed to learn to embrace it. He had been a hero before he had been stolen and warped into the creature he was, manipulated and lied to about his own being. The way that these heroes made him feel-- the way that they had haunted him for so long-- only served to prove it further. Now, he had the chance to reclaim what was stolen from him and try his hand at a life that had been cut too short. 

I am Oboro. It should be that simple. It was a name that spanned across both of the previously mentioned identities to some degree. While it was Shirakumo’s given name, it was something that Kurogiri had lived with over the course of his life. He’d been haunted by Oboro and learned to live with him, figuring out how to appease him and the various thoughts, urges, and rebellions that came with him. For the longest time, he had been a mystery, but a welcome one. He could still remember hearing Atsuhiro’s voice, testing out the name on his own tongue. 

I am Oboro Kurogiri. That was a compromise; a fusion of both identities that created someone who was both familiar and entirely new. Atsuhiro had been the one to come up with it-- “ Oboro Kurogiri. It has a nice ring to it.” -- before either of them had known what it truly meant. That was a name that was full of love on either end; his old friends surrounding him on one side and his new ones embracing him on the other. 

Unfortunately, it was all too complicated for him to determine on his own. As he leaned towards one identity, the others called out and yanked him right back into indecisive territory. If he had his beloved here to help him through it just as he had back when the confession was first made, perhaps he could have figured it out by now. If he had one of his old friends there to remind him of who he once was, perhaps he would have decided upon something by now. Ultimately, however, he was left to figure this out on his own.

For the time being, he answered to any name, but refused to claim them as his own. 

The lack of presence from those who had originally seemed so intent on him embracing his past was more than a little disheartening. Did he not make enough so-called progress after they shattered his world for them to warrant coming back? Had their hope been destroyed from Kurogiri not immediately dying and returning Shirakumo to them?

...No. He was taking this too personally. This may mean the world to him, but he was only a piece of their lives, and a piece they thought long dead at that. They were still pro heroes, after all, and Present Mic had another obligation that he was more than familiar with. They hadn’t forgotten about him or abandoned him. They wouldn’t. 

Just like him-- just like the League-- they weren’t the type to abandon their own, either… Right?

That didn’t make the days any shorter or lonelier, though, and he was often left wondering just how long he would live like this. Was he meant to rot in Tartarus, wallowing in his own insecurity until it finally drove him mad? No, of course not. Tomura and the others would stage an intervention eventually. They just needed the numbers and power to pull it off. He would see them again. It was only a matter of time.

Maybe Tomura would hug him again. It had been years since he had done that. The last time he had held his charge-- no, his son ; he wouldn’t miss an assignment this badly and it was about time he started admitting that to himself-- was after they had visited All For One after that fateful fight. Seeing his sensei in such a state had shaken him to the core, filling him with an indomitable rage that would pollute him for the rest of his life. For a few moments, however, he had been afraid and vulnerable and clung to Kurogiri like a lifeline, tears staining his cheeks. He could still remember soothing him, promising him that everything would be alright. 

I will always be here for you.

Even if that softer side of Tomura was truly gone forever (which he doubted), he knew that his reunion with Atsuhiro would be sweet. He could still imagine the feeling of his lips on his own, their kisses living as a phantom on his skin. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine his smile, the way his eyes shone with brilliant affection, how his voice made his heart swell and soothed the storm inside of his soul. That man was more of a balm than he deserved, but he craved his presence now more than ever. At least if he was with Atsuhiro, the world stood a chance at making sense. 

Fantasies of reunion helped the time pass, even if he understood that any chance of it happening remained in the distant future. At the very least, it made him feel like he wasn't so alone; like he had something to look forward to once this hell was over with. 

There was a part of him-- a part that made him dizzy to think about-- that wondered what it would be like to follow in the other direction. Circumstances had led him right back into the lives of people he had once called friends and cherished just as he now cherished Tomura and Atsuhiro. Shouta and Hizashi were as foreign in his mind as they were familiar, and the idea of reconciling with them and learning even more about what it meant to be Oboro Shirakumo was equal parts terrifying and enticing. The life that had been stolen for him was prime for the taking again, if he so chose. A life full of heroes and shamelessness out in the light… It was an appealing concept. If he took a step in that direction, would he be able to turn back if he wanted to? If he reintroduced himself into the lives of those he had loved before, would he have the heart to turn away when it became necessary? He already knew the answer to that.

He had never been the type to abandon others. 

All of these fears and fantasies banked entirely on Shouta and Hizashi (or even Nemuri or Tensei) coming back for him, which he sincerely doubted. Despite the war in his head between personal offense-- If they really wanted Shirakumo back, they would be helping me themselves rather than letting the police fruitlessly interrogate me-- and logical explanations-- They have multiple jobs and are busy, so they probably haven’t had the chance to come back to a place like this -- he had a feeling that he had seen the last of those two heroes for the time being. Shirakumo had been dead for at least fifteen years. They had other things to worry about than an old friend who wasn’t even wholly alive. 

Or so he thought. 

Late that night, as the sounds of Put Your Hands Up Radio greeted him as part of a revived routine, he had been prepared to allow it to carry him off to sleep without issue. It was the same awful, dreary thing he had gone through since the day those heroes came to see him. The music and sound of Hizashi’s voice would soothe the piece of him that insisted on being called Oboro , sending him into a realm which only offered old memories, and he remembered them upon waking. Sometimes, he felt as if forgetting had been kinder on his heart… 

This night was no different. He closed his eyes as he listened to some generic song play on the radio-- this one must be especially new, for he hadn’t heard it before-- and tried to relax as much as possible. This was something that he had been doing for years, and its effectiveness had yet to be lost on him, so he had no fears about not being able to just slip right away…

“ And how’s that for a hot new hit, listeners!? I think we’ll be spinning that one for a while! Now, this next track is a bit of an oldie, but it’s got a special place in my heart. I know we’ve got a special listener out there who’s a big fan of this song and is going through a tough time right now, so I’m dedicating this one to him. My sunshine and I are rooting for you, buddy! Hang in there!”

The song that followed made his blood run cold, eyes snapping open. It was one he had never heard before in his life, yet he knew it by heart all the same. His lips wanted to form the words and sing out with it, but a growing lump in his throat forced him into silence. His heart grew heavier and heavier until it felt like a ball of lead in his chest, yet was simultaneously so warm and light that he could be convinced that it didn’t exist at all. Flashes of memory and sensation overwhelmed his senses; humming to himself as he walked to school; earbuds in as he trained; Hizashi and himself embarrassing Shouta as they sang very loudly and dramatically in a very public place. The song itself was nothing incredible-- at least, not according to his current tastes-- but the emotion it brought back to him was powerful. 

They hadn’t forgotten him. They hadn’t abandoned him. In their own way, they were trying to be there for him. Someone must have let it slip that he had started being permitted the privilege of listening to the radio show every night and they were taking advantage of it to show support. 

But they were trying to support who they wanted him to be. Shirakumo may be alive within him-- just as alive as Kurogiri and Oboro -- but he was hardly in control during this internal struggle. If Shouta and Hizashi had their way, they would bring him to the top, hand him the reins, and call it a victory as Kurogiri was all but executed for the crime of daring to exist. 

What had happened to Shirakumo wasn’t his own fault, but Kurogiri was no more to blame for these circumstances. It was a tragedy that a young hero in training had died, but that did not mean that it was Kurogiri’s responsibility to sacrifice his own life because of it. At the same time, if there was a chance to bring him back and give him the life that he deserved, was that not the right thing to do? If he were the outsider and this was happening to, say, Tomura, he would give anything to have the young man back the way he once was. He already knew what the people on either side of this would say, and it tore him apart to think about. 

The pressure that had built up in his throat started to collect behind his eyes, the sting of tears blurring his vision. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried. Had it been the first time that Tomura had been injured; that he failed to protect him completely? When the boy had fallen apart in his arms, only to patch himself up in the cruellest way possible? On a lighter note, had he perhaps been so overwhelmed with emotion on the night he fell in love that he allowed it to well up in his eyes as he pulled his partner close to his chest? No matter the answer, as these fresh tears spilled silently over his cheeks, he had no choice but to wallow in what was both the best and worst feeling he’d experienced in quite some time. 

The more pieces he put together-- the more he learned about himself-- the blurrier the whole  picture became. And that had nothing to do with the tears. 

Work studies were something of a right of passage for hero course students at UA. Internships were great and all, but those tended to be reserved for first years getting their initial taste of pro hero work. Work Studies were where the real action was at and Oboro was thrilled that all of his friends were able to impress and land one as soon as their second year. 

Hizashi landed himself with the Buster Union , which was a high honor and recognition of his power, given how battle-oriented they were. Of course, that put him with Sensoji from Class B, which was less than ideal, but he wasn’t the type to let one guy’s arrogance prevent him from having a blast. Tensei, unsurprisingly, wound up working with his family. With Tenya a little older, his parents could take turns watching over him and working with their eldest son so that his work study would be at least partially consistent. Why they didn’t just hire a nanny and go back to work full time, Oboro didn’t know, but he assumed it had something to do with bonding. They probably did the same thing when Tensei was born. For their parts, Shouta and himself wound up accepting offers from the Purple Revolution Agency and would be working with His Purple Highness for the duration of their work study. 

As exciting as that was, Oboro couldn’t help but be a little more excited about the third year that they would be sharing their work study with.

He was about ninety nine percent sure that Nemuri Kayama had put in a good word for them, but, as she had said before, the guy apparently took on anyone. There had been a brief moment in which he wondered whether or not that was meant to be an insult, but he ultimately decided that it didn’t matter. What was important was getting the experience, and that was exactly what they were going to do. 

It definitely didn’t dampen Oboro’s excitement that they would be working alongside Nemuri Kayama as well. To say that he was smitten with the gorgeous Midnight would be a bit of an understatement. Silently, he apologized to Hizashi for ever believing that his crush on Shouta had made him act ridiculous , for he was feeling it full force now. All of the flustered thoughts, heated cheeks, and stupid words plagued him to almost the same extent they had done to his friend, which was impressive. Oboro had experienced crushes before, not even exclusively on girls, but this was the first one to leave him so out of his element. If he had any shame, he might have been embarrassed about it. However, just as time and familiarity made it possible for Hizashi to act like a human being around their friend, he was confident that he would go back to normal soon enough as well. 

His friends just had to deal with him until then.

“You know, Oboro, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you’re looking forward to working with Kayama more than actually doing your work study,” Hizashi commented one day as they sat up on the roof. It was one of those days that the cafeteria was completely full and, to be honest, they tended to prefer being out there, anyways. 

Oboro popped a bit of his lunch into his mouth and hummed. “Hm? What makes you say that?”

“Probably the fact that you turn into a buffoon every time she comes around,” Shouta chimed in. He… wasn’t entirely wrong. It wasn’t the word that Oboro would have used personally, but it was accurate all the same.

“I can be excited for the work study and to be around Kayama!” he protested. “They don’t have to be mutually exclusive.” He shrugged. “And so what if I am looking forward to it? I mean, it’s going to be a lot different than when we hang out at school.”

Hizashi smirked. “Yeah, because she’ll be in her costume ,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows implicatively.

“Exactly!” Oboro shot back, going along with the joke. Truth be told, she did look amazing in that costume of hers. Not everyone could pull off something so scandalous, but he couldn’t find a single problem with her costume. But maybe he was just the tiniest bit whipped.

Shouta pursed his lips. “I still think it’s a bit much.”

“Yeah, that’s because you’re gay with a capital ‘G’, Shouta,” Oboro pointed out, giving him a playful nudge. “You’re not inclined to see her natural beauty.”

Shouta scoffed. “I can see her natural beauty just fine. She’s not exactly going to any lengths to hide it.”

“And she shouldn’t have to!” Oboro mused. “There are plenty of male heroes that show skin, so why can’t she?”

“I guess I just don’t see the appeal,” he decided.

A smile blossomed across Oboro’s face, a hint of a mischievous smirk gracing it as he placed his hand on Hizashi’s shoulder. “Come on, Shouta! Think of it like this. Zashi and I are both good looking guys, right? Wouldn’t you like it if one of us wore something like that?”

Shouta’s eyes widened at the suggestion and there was no denying the way his gaze flickered to Hizashi for a flash before he averted it back down to his food. “You guys would just embarrass yourselves,” he grumbled, diving back into his lunch. There was definitely some color to his cheeks that hadn’t been there before. 

It was times like these that made Oboro just want to scream! Being the one between two pining lovebirds was maddening. Their mutual affections were so obvious and had been since day one, yet here they were in their second year and nobody had made a move! It was apparent enough that he and Tensei had made a wager on when they would finally get together. If they didn’t get their act together before graduation, he would be owing their friend more than just a little pocket change, but he wasn’t allowed to intervene. 

He wondered if he could get Kayama in on it, too…

Rather than say anything, he laughed loudly. “I don’t get embarrassed! Even if I did, it wouldn’t be over something like that,” he joked.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!” A teasing smirk danced across his lips. “In fact, I’ll wear something just like that to your wedding. I’ll dance really badly to all of the music and you won’t catch me blushing even a little.”

Hizashi found this image hilarious, cracking up. “A-And I’ll be the DJ!” he added. “I’ll play all the worst songs for you to jam to. It’ll be great!”

Shouta finally looked back up, some of the heat having faded from his cheeks. Though he scoffed, there was a slight curve to his lips that suggested amusement. “Bold of you guys to assume I’ll ever get married.”

“I dunno, Shouta! Your Prince Charming could be closer than you think!” Oboro insisted. Just kiss already… He couldn’t say that aloud, but damn if he didn’t want it to happen. 

Shouta rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

“Lighten up, sunshine! ” Hizashi pushed, fanning his face in the aftermath of his laughing fit. “You’ve gotta boost your confidence up a whole lot. If anyone here deserves it, it’s you,” he insisted. 

“Yeah!” Oboro agreed. “This work study should help a lot! But if it doesn’t, I’ve got no problem dressing you up and parading you around some hot guys. Maybe then you’ll realize how much of a snack you are,” he joked. All things considered, even if he was a bit on the awkward side, Shouta wasn’t a half bad looking guy. Just like in actual application of his hero training, though, he could definitely do with some more confidence. 

“And if it comes down to it, you could always marry me ,” Hizashi teased, batting his eyes playfully. It was a joke, but Oboro knew just how much Hizashi would love that. It drove him nuts to think about how it was all right there and neither of them were picking up on it. “We could make one of those marriage pacts. If neither of us get hitched by the time we’re, say, thirty five, then we tie the knot together!”

Shouta rolled his eyes. “ Please. As if you’ll have any trouble finding someone.” Brushing it off, he returned to his meal. “Come on. We’ve only got a few minutes left. We’ve gotta finish up.”

There were times that Oboro’s friends drove him nuts with their affections, yes, but he supposed that it was only fair. If they had to watch him flounder over his crush on Nemuri Kayama, then he supposed that he could suffer through their own back and forth until someone finally got a clue. Besides, no matter how painful it was to watch, the terms of that bet said that he wasn’t allowed to intervene…

...He was going to wind up paying out to Tensei, wasn’t he?

There was no way that he could have estimated how many days had passed if his life had depended on it, but it had been long enough. He would say that he was losing his mind, but he had a feeling that moment had long passed. With three different identities swimming around in his head, he had a feeling that he had crossed that line ages ago. That being said, he was definitely reaching his wit’s end with everything that was happening; the storm in his head, the seemingly incessant interrogations by the police, and the hollow emptiness and loneliness that made him ache every waking moment that he wasn’t engaged with one of the latter two. Fantasizing only did so much and his hopes were losing color. Being stuck in this limbo both physically and mentally was draining beyond description.

When he was told that he would have visitors again, he could hardly believe it. The only people outside of the police who had come to see him thus far had been Shouta and Hizashi, but surely it wasn’t them , right? It had been so long since they had last spoken and they must be so busy. His mind flashed back to the sentimental shoutout Hizashi had given him on his show, however, and those thoughts were put to rest. 

My sunshine and I are rooting for you!

It was them. There was no doubt about it. He just… didn’t know how to feel about it. He had convinced himself that the next person he would be seeing outside of the regulars would be Tomura and the League as they busted him out. Sure, there had been evidence that the heroes hadn’t forgotten about or abandoned him, but that didn’t necessarily mean that they would come back for him. Apparently, he had underestimated those he once called friends. 

The time between the guard informing him of his impending visitors and their actual arrival was spent preparing himself for what they might say. Surely, Tsukauchi had informed them that he hadn’t made too much noticeable progress towards becoming Shirakumo ; was that what they were here for? To expedite the process? It wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest if they came in there, figurative guns blazing to try and get their friend back. What did surprise him, however, was what happened once they arrived. 

He could only think of a small handful of reasons why they ever released his restraints. The most common one was for health and hygiene reasons; going to eat, using the facilities, grooming and showering, as well as any other personal needs. He may be a high security prisoner, but he wasn’t dangerous enough that they needed to humiliate him by equipping him with a catheter or intravenous feeding. That kind of treatment would be reserved for someone more of All For One’s caliber, he was sure. 

Someone like Tomura. 

When the restraints that held him in that cell that so conveniently doubled as an interrogation room relaxed enough for him to pull his arms out and, should he desire, stand up , he was shocked. Suspicion shot up within him immediately. Was this some kind of test? He had accidentally lost control when Shouta and Hizashi came the last time, so was it possible that they were poking and prodding at him to try and make him slip up again? 

His questions were silenced mere seconds afterward as the door slid open, surprising him yet again. Rather than the door of the room opposite him opening up as per usual, this was the door of his own cell . A piece of him wondered if it was possible that one of his allies was here to break him out-- young Himiko Toga had quite the impressive quirk and could likely easily manage sneaking in and leaving without a trace-- but, no. He imagined that Tomura would prioritize freeing All For One over him (which stung a bit to think about), which he was certain would cause more uproar. If the League of Villains had infiltrated Tartarus in any capacity, the entire prison would know about it. 

The men that stepped into his cell were exactly the men he had imagined earlier. Both Shouta and Hizashi were donned in their hero uniforms as they walked in, a certain tension in the air that threatened to suffocate the lot of them. A new weight was present on both of their shoulders; they looked as exhausted as he felt. 

Something had happened. He didn’t know what, but it couldn’t be anything that the heroes were celebrating based on the way that their hearts visibly dragged them down. To anyone else, they may have seemed perfectly fine, but between the villainous history associated with Kurogiri and the memories he had recovered about these two heroes specifically, he knew what a beaten man looked like. There was no way of knowing what exactly just by looking at them, but he could tell that it was big. 

Quickly, he took advantage of his modified abilities to check up on Tomura’s status. The answer to his whereabouts was no longer Jaku General Hospital, but it was nowhere in police custody, either. At least there was that. 

Sitting up a little straighter, he started rubbing at his arms where he had been strapped in. “They told me that you were coming, but this is unexpected,” he commented, unsure whether to put his defenses up or just let this happen. At the very least, he hoped to glean some information about Tomura’s status and activities. 

“Shirakumo--” Shouta started, but he quickly cut him off. 

“Don’t call me that,” he insisted. 

Beside him, Hizashi’s stance became defensive. “Well, we’re not gonna call you Kurogiri!”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t want you calling me that, either.” The name sounded strange in his voice… All of these names sounded so right yet so wrong in every way. 

Shouta’s brow furrowed slightly. “Then what do you want us to call you?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” he stated plainly. It was an almost automatic response. Nowadays, every interrogation started off with that question, and they always received the same answer. Tsukauchi was used to it by now, but when others came in his place, there were varying reactions. 

This answer seemed to confuse Hizashi, but Shouta accepted it easily. “Alright. I won’t call you anything for now,” he agreed. 

Despite himself, he smiled politely. “Thank you.” It was the best reaction he could receive; acceptance. If he were to return to the League, would they accept this temporary namelessness? He couldn’t imagine that they wouldn’t; they tended to be pretty good about handling the identities of others between Magne’s transition and Dabi’s secrecy. 

“Are you here to check in on me?” he prompted. “I can’t say that there’s much for you to check in on . I’m not certain that I’ve made what you would consider to be progress.” Was it progress or regression ? It was a strange concept to ponder. 

“Partially, yes,” Shouta confirmed. 

“Oh? And the other part?” he pressed. 

“We’ll get there in a moment,” Shouta replied. As defeated as he appeared, the man had yet to put his guard up or use his quirk to prevent Kurogiri from lashing out. Was this a display of trust or a test? He couldn’t be too certain. “Why don’t you start off by telling us what’s been going on since we left. How’s your head?”

“Miserable,” he replied honestly. “If my lack of secure identity wasn’t enough to tip you off on that, then feel free to read the scans the detectives have been compiling. I’m sure that they are quite interesting to look at.”

“I know. We were shown everything before we came,” Shouta continued. “It looks like you’re going through a rough time. This must be painful for you. I’m sorry.”

He blinked. He hadn’t expected sympathy like that, though he supposed that he should have. Fifteen years could do a lot to change someone (he was an extreme example), but at their core, he knew that these heroes were kind and loving people. He now had the memories to prove it. 

“Yes, well, there is little that can be done about it now,” he replied. “I am sure that things will settle down eventually.” I hope.

“Eventually,” Shouta echoed. “You seem more comfortable around us now than you did last time. Are you remembering things?”

He nodded. “I am. Nothing too profound, though. They are mostly frivolous moments and scenes,” he admitted. A small frown tugged on his lips as he looked between them, taking in their posture in regards to one another. They stood closer than mere friends might, and the way they were positioned made them almost mutually protective of one another. Was it possible..?

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but are the two of you together?” he inquired, looking towards Hizashi. “Is he the sunshine you often mention on your radio show?”

That question caught them off guard, but Hizashi answered quickly. “I-- yeah. We got married, like, ten years ago.”

“I see,” he replied. The confirmation made warmth bubble up in his stomach, pleased that the two hopelessly pining kids had finally seen the light. That made Oboro happy. A smile graced his lips. “Did you start seeing each other before or after graduation?”

“Before. Why?” Shouta responded, brow arched in intrigue. 

A quiet chuckle escaped his lips. “It appears that, if I recall correctly, Tensei Iida owes me some money,” he mused. The chances of him actually being able to claim his winnings were slim, but the thought was amusing all the same. 

Hizashi hesitated a moment before breaking out into an awed smile. “Yeah. He told us about that at our wedding,” he confessed. It must have been a bittersweet moment to recall a fallen friend and how he had seen right through the pair of them. If only he could have made good on his promise to dance. 

“It is a shame that I won’t be able to declare my victory properly,” he hummed, mostly joking. Once the League busted him out of here, perhaps paying the now-retired Ingenium a visit wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world--

“Actually, that’s the next thing we wanted to talk with you about,” Shouta started. Drawing in a deep breath to compose himself, he looked at the prisoner with the kind of seriousness that couldn’t possibly be mistaken for anything else. Whatever he was about to say, he meant it from the depths of his soul. Needless to say, that gaze became rather intimidating very quickly.

“Oh? Do share,” he prompted, dropping his hands into his lap. Despite his freedom, he still didn’t trust this situation enough to stand. He wasn’t exactly keen on being tranquilized again. 

“...Tomura Shigaraki has inherited All For One’s quirk,” he stated, his voice grim. “We are not certain about all of the details, but we do know that, even with an interrupted transfer, he was still able to level an entire city, wield multiple quirks, and kill a large number of heroes and civilians. His current whereabouts are unknown, as with the majority of the rest of the League of Villains.”

His eyes widened. Tomura Shigaraki had inherited All For One. It was done. What his master had made him raise this boy for was complete. Now, without All For One physically present in his life and a group of villains at his back, he had the potential to become the deadliest villain that Japan had ever known. 

He should be proud. He knew that he should be proud. So, why did that information make him feel so hollow..?

“I am not going to find him for you,” he stated, starting to put his defenses up. “If that is why you are here, then you can leave. I will not betray him.”

“We don’t expect you to,” Shouta answered, biting back a sigh before continuing. “We’re here because Japan is low on powerful heroes. We could really use a boost. Shirakumo never got his full license, but he did have his provisional. Since you two share the same body, it can be argued that it is your provisional license as well.”

Once again, he was left momentarily speechless. Were they really suggesting that he become a hero ? That he switch sides, simply because it would be convenient for them? Despite the part of him that begged to return to their side-- to reunite the Three Dumbigos and tackle villainy the way they had planned what felt like an eternity ago-- the part that loved and cherished the villains they were fighting resisted. 

“I will not fight him, either. Any of them. And if I happen to come across them, I refuse to disclose their location,” he insisted. 

“Again, we don’t expect you to. Let me finish.” Shouta drew in another deep breath and Hizashi put a hand on his shoulder. They had probably agreed that Shouta would be the better one to talk about this, given Hizashi’s outbursts from their last meeting, but it was obviously hard on them both. 

“What we want you to do is come with us and heal, whatever that looks like; Kurogiri, Shirakumo, or someone else entirely. In exchange for your… limited freedom, we ask that you offer your assistance to us in small fashions. No fights or killing on either side. Just helping heroes get from place to place or out of sticky situations would do the trick,” Shouta explained. “We understand that you still have a lot of love and loyalty towards the League, so no one expects you to start spilling secrets right off the bat. We’re not asking you to hurt the League of Villains. We are asking you to help the surviving heroes. Since that provisional license is technically still yours, you could get away with that. You would need to be supervised, of course, but I’m sure you’re used to that by now.” Meeting his eyes, Shouta looked at him expectantly. “What do you say to that?”

He could hardly believe what he was hearing, the offer that Shouta was proposing causing him to freeze in place and stare dumbly at the duo. They were being serious. They actually wanted him to become a hero, or at least offer them aid. Transportation wasn’t much to ask for, but the thought of offering it to the enemy made his stomach churn.

But were they the enemy? Half of him said yes, but the other screamed no and he didn’t know which one he should believe. He remembered Shouta and Hizashi; he remembered loving Shouta and Hizashi like brothers. The idea of turning his back on them was just as painful as the idea of betraying the League. He wanted to return to Tomura and see Atsuhiro again. He wanted to go with his old friends and reunite with the missing ones. 

“...You are guaranteeing that I will not be required to engage in combat with the League of Villains or any of their allies?” he questioned. “And you will not ask me for information on them ever again?”

“That’s the compromise, yes,” Shouta confirmed. “The main focus will be helping you get back into a more stable mental and emotional state, but we will require your assistance with transportation from time to time. That will be the extent of your involvement.”

All things considered, the terms weren’t so bad… Not only would he gain his freedom, but he would be given the chance to better settle into himself and decide what he needed to do. Maybe then his head would stop spinning. All of this for the price of a couple of occasional portals? Only a fool would turn that down. 

Beyond even that, it would be much easier for him to escape the supervision of a couple of heroes compared to a maximum security prison. Slipping away from Shouta and Hizashi would be infinitely more plausible than trying to sneak out of Tartarus, so the chances of reuniting with the ones he loved on the other side would increase exponentially. And it would just take a few portals.

Given that they kept their end of the bargain, he would not be required to actually betray anything about Tomura or the League. Everything he knew about them could be kept under lock and key, he would be able to taste fresh air again, and he could grow into himself in a way he could never have done before. Perhaps he could even return to Atsuhiro bearing his true name, whatever that turned out to be. 

Just a few portals …

As Shouta extended his hand in a show of trust and good faith, they locked eyes. He felt his mouth grow dry as his gaze dropped down to it. Carefully, he rose to his feet and approached the hero, noticing how he didn’t flinch. 

He still wants to see Shirakumo.

And maybe Shirakumo was what he would receive. 

For a moment, he stared at the pair of them, and for the first time since their last meeting, his head was quiet and decisive. No matter which way he sliced it-- no matter which direction he viewed this from-- this difficult decision only had one proper answer. Reaching out, he clasped Shouta’s hand tightly in his own.

“ I accept.”