Archive of Our Own

The first time it happens is when Shigaraki Tomura is brought to him. Kurogiri had looked into eyes that lacked spark--lacked a light, even a shred of childish curiosity--and wondered why they looked so familiar.

He’d never seen Tomura before, but he’d seen that look. Something buried deep inside him told him so, and gave him a scrap of something that dragged something else bittersweet out. Dark hair and tears, and a name shouted in the distance, surrounded by rubble and rock. Blood as red as the eyes that bored through his mist and into his soul.

All for One had seen his first hesitation and made sure it was his last. A past life is a past life , he’d said. Forget everything stored in the recesses of his mind and focus on his mission and his mission only: protect Shigaraki Tomura. Guide him and mentor him when All for One couldn’t. 

That’s the reason you were brought back from the dead , he’d continued, And you have me to thank for it. 

Kurogiri believed him. 

So, when Tomura stared him down with eyes that looked like the dark side of a blood moon, Kurogiri bowed and promised himself to never think of it again.

It comes in snippets sometimes, like maelstroms of colour to the colourblind. Knowing something is there but being unable to see it, in flecks that he pretends aren’t memories.

It happens mostly when he’s by himself. On the rare days All For One takes Tomura out and trains him, Kurogiri has his own night off, and he never knows what to do. His whole world is set around the kid, and when he’s taken away, he’s purposeless. Aimless. 

So, he lets his feet take him wherever, and only when it’s dark enough that the shadows form as cover. Which, usually, is to the alley behind the small warehouse where he’s set up with Tomura, just by the docks. There’s some houses there, not enough for him to be unnoticeable, but not few enough to be noticed either; tucked along the waterfront like a hidden city. It’s peaceful there, enough for someone to think out loud and not be heard.

But Kurogiri doesn’t think. He never allows himself to because it always strays too far in the wrong direction. The quiet anger in All for One’s voice had deterred him the first time. He’s not supposed to be his own person, not supposed to feel happy, angry, or sad, but when there’s a splash behind him in one of the many puddles littered along the dark road, a spike flashes through him.

Fear. 

It’s shoved down quickly.

“Hello?” His voice is raspy as he calls out, a good portion of it from disuse. Silence answers, and another emotion threatens to bubble up. He steps forward, shoes clicking on the graphalt, and starts as a pair of bright yellow eyes blink back. 

A cat. It’s just a cat.

He wonders how he knows. Kurogiri hasn’t seen a cat before, and most of the time the luxury of nature is whatever fish are dotted along the waterfront, or the occasional chirp of a bird. All things he notices, and all things completely pointless to tell someone about, but here’s the first animal he’s seen that he can actually touch. Not that he should. 

The eyes blink again, and there’s the faint flick of a skinny tail in the shadows. It watches him in the same way Kurogiri is; curious, and a little scared. It’s been a while since Kurogiri had absolutely no idea what to do, and it’s more prominent than ever when the cat begins purring and strolls over in all its slinking grace.

He takes a step back as it brushes up against his leg, tail high and curved, expectant. It wants to be petted, obviously, and is getting impatient that Kurogiri isn’t doing just that, but he--

Can’t. He shouldn’t. If he’s seen--

But it’s his night off. All for One told him to memorise the layout of the surrounding town, which is what he’s doing. Stopping to pet a cat wouldn’t cause any harm. It’s what he convinces himself as he crouches and hesitantly reaches out. As always when he touches something, it sinks into the mist, and then comes into contact with something solid. It’s his hand; he feels all his fingers and his palm, but it’s also not. Like it’s just a shell, or a suit he’s wearing.

“You’re friendly,” he says quietly, and the cat purrs even louder, rubbing up against his hand and leg and everywhere else it can reach. When Kurogiri goes to pull away, it sits up on its haunches and grabs his hand with its paws, bringing it closer so that it can push with its head, and--

“Sushi!” Kitten, small, brown, white, blazer, black, purple, yellow, glasses, colour, a school uniform--grey? Blue? “Let’s call it Sushi.”

Kurogiri tears his hand away, and in his attempt to stand, falls backwards onto the ground. The cat startles and bolts, leaving him alone in the alleyway, encompassed by shadows and something in his head that he can’t get out. Who’s Sushi? Why is the name so familiar? Why is the noise, the picture, through tinted glass? 

Nothing except silence answers. When the wind blows, he realises that his eyes are sore and burning, but when he checks in one of the puddles, only yellow stares back.

The shouting stopped about ten minutes ago, and when it did, a deafening silence set over the warehouse. 

It’s so quiet, Kurogiri can hear every shuddering breath Tomura takes as he pants and sniffles, face hidden behind the hand All for One attaches to him whenever they train. His palms are grazed, so are his knees, and that’s what Kurogiri is focusing on first, armed with gauzes and a wet cloth to clean him up. That’s how it works these days; All for One takes Tomura away, they train, he gives him back scratched and bruised, Kurogiri patches him up, and then it happens again. Every single day.

Tomura is a quiet kid. He doesn’t like to talk when it isn’t needed, and prefers hiding behind the hand on his face or his hair. Kurogiri doesn’t know much about him, but he’s pieced together enough to form a faint picture: he knows why his hair’s white, why he has a scar on his lip, why he has another on his forearm. Tomura doesn’t talk, but often it’s his silence that says more than words ever could.

“What would you like for dinner?” If there’s one thing he’s come to understand in their months together it's that it’s easy for Tomura to compartmentalise. Trauma, probably; if his mind is taken off of something, he can forget about it until it’s brought up again.

Like clockwork, Tomura swallows, and Kurogiri can feel his eyes on him, boring through the mist. “I don’t care.”

An answer he’s dealt with before, it doesn’t bother him. Tomura is a kid and he’s his caretaker. This is what he’s here to do. “I’m afraid I don’t have that.”

There’s a huff, which is the closest Tomura ever gets to laughing. He doesn’t reply, though, just keeps staring as Kurogiri unwraps the gauze and pats it down over the worst of the cuts, surrounded by a million others. The pant-leg goes back down, and then he sits on his heels, looking up at Tomura and making out the glint of red between the fingers. “Am I going to have to pick again?”

Another pause, the weight of Tomura’s stare growing heavier, and then, “Kakipi.” 

“That’s not a meal,” Kurogiri sighs, leaning up to gently take the hand away from his face. It’s too big against his skin, and holding a disembodied hand never gets easier, but he sets it down and instead focuses on Tomura’s uncovered face. He’s hiding behind his hair now, one red eye staring him down as he picks up the cloth again and cleans at the cut on Tomura’s cheek. 

“Then I won’t eat.”

Brat. Kurogiri smiles, but it only shows in his eyes. His mouth is hidden just like his hands, which Tomura is tracking like a hawk as he takes out another gauze. It goes on his cheek. “Can’t I make a deal?” That piques interest, shown only by the very, very slight widening of a red eye. “Kakipi and something else. There must be something.”

What it is is a mystery, though. All for One provides him with packs in which is a week’s worth of food he’s forced to ration. More often than not, Tomura gets the food, and Kurogiri goes hungry, but he’s used to it. He’s used to a lot of things. 

It’s considered, and he’s relieved when Tomura says, “Tofu.”

“Tofu it is.” He stands, patting him on the shoulder. “Come on, we’ll--”

Tofu, kushiyaki, laughter, black, purple, yellow, grey, blazer, school uniform, smile, mist, cloud--cloud? Voice, the hint of a word, the beginning of a name, “Shi--”

“Kurogiri?”

Tomura’s voice breaks through the white noise, and Kurogiri snaps back to his own head. He’s still standing but he’s leaning heavily on Tomura, who is looking up at him with a frown, maybe the mildest hint of concern. He realises he’s staring, and chuckles, patting him again before quickly turning away. “No matter. Let's get you something to eat.”

There’s hesitation before there’s rustling, and Tomura follows him, hand coming up to grab the hem of his waistcoat. Kurogiri gives him another smile, but--

It happened again. 

The last time it happens is during the ragtag plan to invade the USJ. Tomura’s first ever strategy, his real test after fifteen years of practise, and it ends with him absolutely furious.

Kurogiri’s silent, cleaning glasses as Tomura paces wildly in front of the bar stools, hidden behind all those hands like when he was a kid. He’s taller, his hair’s longer, his eyes are darker, but he’s still the same Tomura--the stubborn brat who won’t ever take advice for an answer.

“I had them,” he hisses, stomping louder, making the glasses on the bartop rattle. Kurogiri pauses to straighten them. “I fucking had them. I had them. What are-- you.” Tomura whirls around on him, hands gripped on the bartop, pinkies up. “You didn’t stop them. This is your fault.”

“They were underestimated.” He doesn’t bother to look up, just continues cleaning his glass with a dusty cloth. The bar is filthy, but it’s the only solitude for now. It would be pathetic if the warehouse hadn’t been on the edge of poverty. “It’s a mistake that won’t be made again.”

Tomura slams a fist down on the bar, and one of the glasses jumps, drops, rolls, and smashes on the floor. Neither of them react.

“I’m going to kill them. Next time, I will kill them.”

Tomura goes back to his frantic pacing, and Kurogiri finally sets the glass down and collects the broom instead. The TV in the corner of the room hisses with static, and he pauses, but nothing happens. Just a signal change. That’s what they’re here for, though; the reason they’re waiting instead of sleeping. All for One would be calling in on them soon, and they both know he’s already aware of the failure. Kurogiri doesn’t know if he wants to be there to see the outcome or the consequences.

“I need a drink,” Tomura demands suddenly, taking a seat at the bar and bouncing his leg at a speed that gives Kurogiri second-hand anxiety. “Give me one.”

“You can get drunk after your master’s called.” 

“Fuck off.”

Kurogiri clicks his tongue but doesn’t rise to the bait. It’s what Tomura’s itching for, he knows it, but he won’t retaliate. He never does, and it only annoys Tomura more. He feels him gearing up to snap again, but then the TV buzzes, and-- “Kurogiri.”

His stomach drops.

Tomura sits up immediately, and Kurogiri follows soon after, leaving the broom on the floor, abandoned. The signal is fuzzy, but it’s clear enough to show the outline of the person that sends fear running through him every time his name is mentioned. The silence doesn’t last long.

“Master, I--”

“I asked for Kurogiri.”  

Tomura goes quiet. Kurogiri can imagine the look on his face, but he can’t focus on him, not just yet. All for One’s attention is on him. “Yes, sir?”

“Leave, Tomura.”

Cold, disgusting fear runs through him again; the only emotion he’s allowed to feel. Tomura has never been asked to leave before and it shows through the way he slumps his shoulders and slouches his back, sliding off the barstool. The door slams hard enough that the wall rattles. Kurogiri watches after him, wishing he didn’t leave, because he knows what’s coming.

“Sit.”

Kurogiri sits. Even with the mist, he can’t quite keep the shake out of his hands, and he won’t be able to keep it out of his voice. The truth is that Tomura failed because of a mistake. A mistake that he made.

Silence.

He won’t be the first to speak. After all these years, he knows exactly what All for One expects, what he wants from him, and speaking first is yet another strike in a growing list.

“You failed me.”

It’s then that Kurogiri realises exactly who he’s furious at.

“It was my fault.” His voice is tight, dry . “I made a mistake.”

“Yes. You did.”

He’d hesitated. Kurogiri had the opportunity to kill one of the teachers, a handful of students, and he hadn’t taken it. He’d paused. Why? 

Because he’d seen one of the teacher’s faces and froze. Black, red, more black, a scarf; goggles. It was so familiar, one of those snippets, the maelstroms of colour to the colourblind. He’d known something was there and he’d paused because it was the first time he’d seen it, seen something --

A memory. A rooftop, stretching out in the sun, laughter. Happiness, feeling loved. 

And then it had all come crashing down, like the weight of a building had fallen on his shoulders. It was because of him that they’d failed.

“Kurogiri…” The way his name is said with fake disappointment makes his hand unconsciously clench. He refuses to look up. “Look at me.”

Begrudgingly, he does. A fresh wave of fear sweeps down him.

“Do you remember what I said to you all those years ago? The reason I brought you back from the dead?” A nod. “Then you’ll remember what I said after that.”

You have me to thank for it. But, if I sense disloyalty, I will put you back there.

He thinks of Tomura, of those scratches and the dull red in his eyes that light up just a little when he’s given edamame or warm food. The way he pretends he doesn’t seek out Kurogiri, the way he clings to him when he cries, the way Kurogiri picks up the pieces after every battle. At his heart, he’s still the little boy he’d been instructed to protect.

If he isn’t there to protect him, no one will. Tomura won’t have anyone to patch him up, or keep him on a path that won’t lead to utter insanity or a murderous rage. It’s something he can’t let that happen, and he won’t lose it all chasing dead memories.

Whoever he was is gone. He’s Kurogiri, not Shi-- “My deepest apologies. It won’t happen again.”

“You’re right.” All for One’s voice is laced with annoyance, a tone that isn’t an empty threat. To him, Kurogiri is just a Nomu. To Tomura, he’s his guardian, and he won’t let that go. He won’t let him go. “It won’t.”

So Kurogiri envisions locking the snippets and colours up inside a box: of a cat, of the rooftop, of blue and grey blazers, and throwing away the key.

The world fades to black and white, and he never questions it again.