Chapter Text
Prologue 1:
Shigaraki Tomura shifted on the leather couch, still feeling slightly awkward to be here, even after all this time. The woman sitting across from him sat in a plush, high-backed chair, legs crossed, a clipboard in her lap which she periodically made notes in. She was probably in her early 50‘s, attractive for her age, neatly dressed with her dark hair pulled into fashionably loose bun.
The woman tapped her pen on the edge of the clipboard as she looked at him. “So what happened after that?” she asked.
Shigaraki shrugged. “Nothing. The guy let go of my shirt and walked away. I think he flipped me off, but I wasn’t sure. I went the other direction.”
“And you weren’t even tempted to decay him?”
“Nah. I’m not going back to prison over that asshole,” he said.
The woman smiled. “Excellent. You’ve come a long way, Tomura. Two years ago you told me you were struggling to keep from using your quirk on people who provoked you. Now you can shrug it off. That’s progress!”
Shigaraki bit back the urge to roll his eyes. “If that’s all two years of therapy can accomplish, I’m not sure it’s going so well.”
“You also said you’re getting along with your coworkers at your new job. And you’re still doing video game streaming on the side, correct?”
“Yeah,” Shigaraki answered.
The woman leaned forward and patted his knee. “Good for you. You said you really enjoy this streaming thing, and one of the fastest ways to recovery is focusing on doing things you enjoy.”
Shigaraki glanced at her face. She was a nice lady, his therapist. He didn’t hate her. In fact, in some ways, she reminded him a little of his mom. Not really in the way she looked, but the way she talked gently to him. But because he didn’t hate her, he felt like he couldn’t be completely honest with her. What would she think if he told her he “enjoyed” destroying things? And decaying trash and plastics that can’t be recycled at the factory he worked at just wasn’t cutting it. His thirst had never been quenched. But a year in prison and two years of therapy had at least given him a desire to try to control his urges.
“I do enjoy streaming,” he said, “but I have to keep my face hidden. If people found out who I am, I’d probably lose every follower I have. Trying to destroy society isn’t exactly something I could make an apology video for.”
His therapist chuckled lightly. “Yes, I’m sure. But as long as you’re still having fun, that’s all that matters. And didn’t you say you did a joint stream with your friend the other day?”
“Spinner? Yeah. But he’s a much bigger streamer than me. He’s got three million followers. The joint stream gave me a boost but he gets nothing out of it.” Shigaraki was quiet for a moment, then said, “I thought you said it was a bad idea to have much contact with the other members of the League?”
Her face softened. “Yes, and I still feel that way overall. Having too much contact with them could take you back to a destructive mindset, and we don’t want any of you to regress. But I think cutting off contact completely is an equally bad idea. The five of you can support each other’s rehabilitation, in moderation. Just try to keep it down to online interactions or occasional one-on-one meetings.”
“Yeah, no problem there,” he said, and it was the truest thing he’d said to her all week. Spinner was the only former League member that Shigaraki was in regular contact with. Even that wasn’t all that often, with Spinner being so busy with his streaming career. The others rarely initiated contact with him, if at all. But if he texted them, all of them always replied, even Dabi (who was usually at least two days late and responded with as few words as possible). It gave him the sense that they were still there for him if he really needed them, and made him feel a warmth toward them that he frankly didn’t feel for anyone else. But beyond that, he had little contact with them.
He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t miss their company from time to time. The months they’d spent together, often homeless, often crammed into whatever space they could find to keep their heads dry, had made them feel comfortable with each other in a way people who aren’t family rarely do. He wasn’t delusional. The League wasn’t a big happy family that all loved each other, but they understood each other, to a certain degree, and that was enough. On some nights when he couldn’t sleep, he’d be struck by memories of curling up on a stained mattress on the floor of some abandoned shack, Spinner’s scaly arm draped over Shigaraki’s chest, Toga’s hair fanning out and getting in his mouth, Mr. Compress’s foot jabbing his leg. He’d thought it miserable at the time, but now… on those uncommon nights when sleep wouldn’t come, he would trade his spacious apartment with the queen-sized bed for that cramped shack in a heartbeat.
His therapist was talking again, asking him if he’d been forming any meaningful relationships at work. He got along well enough with the people he worked with. No one bothered him, and no one ignored him either. But he wouldn’t call any of them friends. “They’re just co-workers,” he said.
“Aside from Spinner, do you have anyone else you’d call a friend? That you actually spend time with?”
“Does my dog count?”
She smiled but shook her head.
Shigaraki thought for a moment, then arrived at an answer he wasn’t sure he liked. “I guess… Midoriya.”
Her face lit up. “Oh, the hero you have to check in with every week?”
“Yeah,” he replied, a hint of annoyance in his voice. As part of his probation, he had to “check in” with Midoriya once a week. It could have been any hero, but Midoriya had volunteered, and Shigaraki had accepted. It wasn’t a huge deal. Sometimes they just met for coffee and the “check in” was done in ten minutes. Midoriya usually asked him the standard questions: How is work? Are you still going to therapy? How’s Mon-chan doing? Nothing too invasive, and Shigaraki appreciated that. But sometimes the hero stayed longer and talked to Shigaraki about his own life. At first, this had made Shigaraki feel uncomfortable, even awkward, but over time he’d come to enjoy the longer talks. He’d never say that to Midoriya though.
After a few more questions, the therapist laid her pen and clipboard on a nearby table and stood up. “Alright, I think we’re done for today,” she said.
Shigaraki stood up then too and pulled on his jacket. It was January, so the air was crisp and cold even though this winter had so far been mild.
“Have a great weekend!” the woman called as Shigaraki gave her a casual wave and left her office. He didn’t have to stop to schedule another appointment. He came in twice a week, like clockwork. This was another stipulation for his release from prison after only one year. If he ever refused to come in for therapy, or to check in with Midoriya, he’d be locked up again.
Shigaraki walked down the street, tightening his jacket around himself. It was late afternoon, and he thought he saw a snowflake fly past. He idly wondered if the trench coat in the back of his closet would be warm enough for snowy weather as he walked by small stores, ramen shops, bars, and the odd apartment building.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, so he pulled it out. It was probably a text from Spinner, or maybe his boss letting him know he had to come in tomorrow for some stupid reason. As he tapped his phone to look at the notifications, he was surprised that the text was from Mr. Compress (who didn’t go by that name anymore, but Shigaraki had as much trouble not calling him that as he had adjusting to calling Dabi Touya). He opened the text and stopped walking to read it.
“We’re having a little League reunion tonight at Chisa’s Bar. 7pm. Hope you can make it!”
Shigaraki looked at the clock on his phone. It was 5pm. He had plenty of time to go home, feed Mon-chan, rest for a little while, get his coat, and make it to Chisa’s. He quickly tapped out a response to the message.
“I’ll be there.”
He shoved his phone back into his pocket and headed for his apartment.