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In all his 10 years or so of villainy, Tomura has been used to getting chased, kicked, punched, shot, and stabbed by all heroes alike. That’s just how it is, your typical villain-hero encounter. But never has he met a hero who chased him down in a dark dingy alleyway not to hurt or capture or kill him, but to talk – talk! as if heroes and villains aren’t water and sodium, dangerously reactive when put together; as if they weren’t merely strangers but allies, friends, all because he bears a semblance to some kid from a past long-gone from here.
“Tenko. Your name is Tenko. I’m sorry if I took so long, but now I’m here.”
Until Polaris, that is.
“Seriously, Tenko, what’s with your obsession with U.A.? First, you gatecrashed into the school and got your ass kicked – which, by the way, I had to watch on the news – and now, you’re stalking a student who now has called the cops on your stupid little stunt. Are these students that great?” Polaris chides, all white teeth and hooded eyes. A knee is pressed onto Tomura’s back as Tomura is laid on the ground, his wrists pinned and raised above his head. A powerful hand holds his neck in a way that’s both reverent and frustrated. “I was a student, too.”
“Get off me!” Tomura all but screams. He tries to jerk his legs in an attempt to kick the hero on the back, but the hero pushes his weight down on Tomura that a heel begins to uncomfortably grind against Tomura’s thigh. Tomura grunts in irritation. “Why are you even here? I thought you were out in Deika?”
If Tomura saw Polaris smile, then he didn’t. “Supposed to, but I bailed, because I felt something was off. And what do you know, my agency received a call that you were spotted at the mall harassing some students,” Polaris then sighs and leans closer to Tomura. The hero’s breath smells both like mint candies and the smoke that comes along with his quirk. “You should be lucky that I was in town. Else you might be in Tartarus, serving a nice long sentence for your crimes.”
Tomura scoffs. “I’d rather take my chances then.”
Polaris’ fingers press a little too tight on Tomura’s windpipe. “You won’t.”
To think that a hero named after a star would be so manic, Tomura hadn’t known – even with all research prior. The hero’s background is public but sparse, known to many people by many different things: a rising rookie from the younger generation; the underground hero with a flashy fire quirk; a punk with a foul mouth but a golden heart; the ‘next’ Endeavor. None of those had any mention of how volatile Polaris can be…or delusional.
Then, Polaris softens his grip. “You don’t mean that, do you? Tartarus isn’t a nice place, you know. They’ll eat you alive out there,” He says like a scolding, as if Tomura is just a child.
Tomura growls and thrashes to try and remove himself from the hero. Polaris doesn’t budge. “I know. And that’s why I’m never going to get caught. Now get off!”
“Hm, yeah, no. If you wanted a U.A. student to join your ranks so bad, you could’ve just told me. I may know someone – or I could just join you, if you’d just allow it. You know I’m a graduate.”
“Fuck no! This isn’t about recruitment, and you’re never joining my League.”
“Even if I could you some intel that you don’t have to pay your dear broker for? Come on, Tenko, you know I would make a great spy.”
“For the heroes, that is. I’m not letting you near the League within a 10-foot pole,” Tomura spits out. He doesn’t know why if it’s because of this position or this one-sided conversation that they’ve had at least a hundred times already, but Tomura’s head is starting to hurt. “You’re a fucking hero. I don’t trust the likes of you, student or no.”
“Even if this hero has rescued you from trouble several times before?” At those words, Tomura hears the tall tale sounds of sirens and rushed voices passing by in a flurry – Endeavor, Hawks, Best Jeanist, Aizawa – all a distance away from the alleyway that Polaris had pulled him into. Just like the day they first met. “From the heroes, the bullies, your father – ” A sharp ache fills Tomura’s head but only for a moment. “ – I know I failed in the past. I was too late. But that was one time. I’m stronger now, faster, more reliable. I don’t hurt myself anymore. I’ve changed.”
“You are literally making no sense right now,” God, this is why sometimes Tomura wished that Polaris finished him off when they first met – not because Tomura is suicidal or had given up on his ambitions. If repeated, Tomura would still fight tooth and nail against Polaris and his scorching embers.
But, no, this is about Polaris, his delusions. That, once upon a time, Polaris had single-handedly threatened the very survival of the Underground world, being a violent fighter who never showed any hesitancy to kill villains and vigilantes, almost like a machine. That, once upon a time, Tomura had the opportune moment to finally bring the hero down; thereby, bringing the Underworld to Tomura’s very feet. But the clash of flames and decay decisively ended with Tomura pinned against the ground, a hole on his shoulder and burns on his left arm; Polaris towering over him, sporting neither a scratch nor a bruise nor effects of decay. His face is devoid of emotions, cold eyes blazing with the same shade of blue of his destructive incinerating flames that were ready to burn Tomura from this world.
But, Polaris’ flames go out with a quick ‘pst.’ The darkness of the night descends upon them like a shroud, as if putting them in their world. Tomura, who has one bruised eye and a neck he can’t move, can still see the spark that lights up in those steel blue eyes; the white eyebrows furrowed in a look of disbelief, as the hero murmurs –
“Tenko?” “Tenko,” Polaris calls. “Are you listening?” “Is that really you? He said that – ”
Tomura sneers, his patience wearing thin. “For the last time, I am Shigaraki Tomura. Shigaraki. Tomura. I don’t know who the fuck Tenko is, or why you keep calling me like that, but you need to stop. Go and get your eyes checked – and your head, too, for that matter,” Then with a pause, he quietly adds. “You need it.”
All that gets is an elicit a happy gasp from the hero. “You’re worried about me?”
“I am not your dead friend!” Tomura snaps harshly.
“But you are, Tenko, here, you are. You always managed to find a way to get back to me. I know you always would. I’m your guiding star, you said it yourself,” Polaris says wistfully, pausing for a second to add in a gentle murmur, “Even though you don’t remember it.”
“Because I don’t even, what do you – you know what, believe what you will,” Tomura grunts, feeling both defeated and drained. He doesn’t even know why he bothers to argue against the hero when this is how it always plays out anyway – Polaris would annoy the living hell out of him by calling him Tenko and Tomura would put himself into a self-induced migraine from just trying to correct the poor whacko. See, his head is throbbing already. He just wants to go home and sleep this nightmare away. “You’re insane, Polaris.”
“Touya,” Polaris says, a smile dripping from his voice. “Call me Touya, like you used to.”
“No. If you can’t call me by my actual name, I don’t have to call you by yours, either.” That and if Tomura does call the hero by the other’s real name, he is just fanning the flames of this insanity.
Polaris huffs. “Tenko…”
“No. Now let me go or I’ll cut off my hands just to get away from you.”
Polaris doesn’t answer. Tomura thinks that he has finally pissed the hero off this time (for some reason, Polaris gets peeved when Tomura gets hurt) in which case, Tomura is ready to fight back. His quirk is not effective on Polaris for some reason, but he doesn’t need his quirk to kill a hero or three. Over-reliance on your quirk is in itself a weakness, after all.
But then Polaris suddenly flips him, laying Tomura on his back but wrists still pinned, knee digging into his thigh. From here, Tomura can see the haunting visage of the hero who’s changed so much after their first encounter: dead eyes turned to life, gazing at Tomura like a groveling bloodhound; eyebrows and lips scrunched up in a way that spells out hurt, irritating the piercings there. A strand of his white hair dangles from a burnt patch of his scalp, like a dandelion on barren land, and for some reason, a voice nags in Tomura’s head saying that that should be red.
“What do I have to do to earn your trust once again?” Polaris whispers like a plea, like a prayer, at the same time as a voice sizzles from the intercom on his ear, Shigaraki Tomura was seen headed your way. Can you confirm?
When has Tomura ever heard Polaris beg?
“Let me go,” Tomura tells him. He tries to focus on the matter at hand – at the heroes and at his getaway. “If you don’t let go of me, they’re going to find me and I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them and I’ll kill you and I’ll do it even if it kills me.”
“I won’t let that happen,” A short whisp of smoke starts emitting from the corner of the hero’s mouth. When has Tomura ever seen that happen? “I’ll let you go. But first tell me how I can make up to you.”
A part of Tomura wants to say Die! and another part wishes to say Kill! But a quieter, weaker part of him says, Stay. “Stay out of my life.”
Polaris scoffs. In the corner of his eye, Tomura spots the familiar swirls of Kurogiri’s portal pouring from the gaps of a brick wall, a pair of yellow eyes spring into nothing and stare into Tomura. “Yeah, no, anything but that.”
The intercom buzzes again: Polaris, do you copy? Have you seen Shigaraki Tomura in your area? “Let me go, so I can get home,”
“I am going to let you go, but remember that that place isn’t your home, never your family. It’s me,” Polaris says, and Tomura is stricken by the way Polaris sounds like a petulant child. Looks like a petulant child. “Let me help you recruit, if you’re not going to let me join, then,” Before Tomura can protest, he adds, “Muscular, Moonfish, you want them, right? Yes, I heard, and I can get them out from their penitentiaries before they get transferred to Tartarus. Just let me see you after.”
Tomura grits his teeth, “I can’t!” Kurogiri’s misty tendrils are now expanding; a voice bursts out from the intercom yelling anotherTouya! Tomura is torn between telling Kurogiri to stop and whoever is in that intercom to take a hike. “Okay, fine! Just get off me!”
Polaris smiles, the first time Tomura has ever seen today. And just as swift footsteps round the corner and Kurogiri rises from the shadows, Pola – Touya kisses Tomura on the cheek. “I’ll be seeing you later, okay? I’ll make sure of it.”
Touya finally lets him go, and Tomura is engulfed in the nether.
Tomura doesn’t know how long he’s been laid down on Kurogiri’s floorboards, only that Polaris’ knee on his back has turned to an annoying bruise.
Kurogiri comes by his side. His Concern is only expressed when he asks, “Shigaraki Tomura, are you hurt?”
Besides his pride, “I’m fine,” Tomura answers. He slowly sits up and flexes his strained wrists. He feels Father in his jacket pocket, a bit bent but completely unharmed from their adventure, before putting him on his face. He lets those familiar fingers bring him calm.
“That hero…” Kurogiri begins, but Tomura cuts him off.
“He isn’t worth talking about,” Tomura says. “He’s messed up in the head.”
“But he mentioned helping us in our cause. He promised to bring us two recruits of your choosing, is he not?” Kurogiri says keenly.
Tomura furrows his eyebrows. “He is sick to the head.”
“He seems normal,” Kurogiri says.
Tomura kicks a barstool. “Well, he isn’t, alright! He is fucking crazy and I don’t want to talk about him right now!” His headache is now back in full force, reminding him of the fatigue that comes with seeing Polaris. This time, though, Tomura feels some kind of apprehension. A foreboding.
Tomura ignores it for a nap on the couch.
“The sofa is not a suitable bed, Shigaraki Tomura,” Kurogiri says, harping over him like a mother, one who is always worried and tired, unable to do anything about his charge.
“Brings me a blanket,” Tomura says as he curls on his side, Father still on his face. Father is not doing anything to calm him down for once; all he feels is cold and compunction and scared and alone.
A weak whoosh sounds from above. A blanket drops from the air and drapes over Tomura, who is having a hard time staying awake. The fabric is heavy and familiar; someone is going to tuck him in, surely. He is so tired.
Yet he musters all his strength to murmur a reminder. “Wake me up when Giran returns my calls,” So they can play with Mon-chan in the yard.
A chime plays in the background, but it stops right after Kurogiri says, “And if it’s the hero?”
“The hero?”
“Polaris.”
Tomura grumbles. “You talk to him. I don’t want to deal with him right now.”
“Understood.” Then the room turns silent, just Tomura and his breathing and the quiet hush of a boy who is so hesitant to leave, but he must. His blue eyes are soft as clouds, his red hair is bright even under the dark.
“I’ll be seeing you later, okay?” The boy says, stroking his hair before kissing him on the cheek. It’s warm. “I’ll be sure of it.”
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And Tenko, who wants to cry, makes a brave face and says, “I’ll be waiting for you right here.”