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After the rush and bustle of the crowds and reporters outside, the halls of the hospital were miraculously calm. A few nurses and doctors nodded to Shouta and Yamada as they made their way through, and a kind woman with extra arms clutching a clipboard gave them directions when they found the multitude of hallways a little too confusing. People talked in hushed tones as they passed, some obviously recognizing them, but mostly keeping to themselves. The uneven gait that Shouta now possessed was in direct contrast to Yamada’s hurried, even pace as the two heroes did their best to not bump into anyone or cause too much commotion as they hurried through the building, coming to a halt in front of the room they were looking for.

To Shouta, the door was like the final barrier. He knew, logically, that he could just turn the handle and enter the room - the guards wandering the hallways were more for public image than anything else  - but the idea that someone he had not yet seen outside of the heat of battle for years, someone important to him, someone who might not even care to see him, was behind it? Somehow that was a wall higher than anything he’d ever climbed.

He didn’t realize that he was staring at the door, completely zoned out, until Yamada looped his pinky in Shouta’s and whispered, “You ready?”

Shouta swallowed, “Give me a minute?”

Yamada smiled that grim, anxious smile that he always had when he was trying to reassure someone and nodded. “Okay. Take your time.”

Shouta squeezed his pinky gratefully, only speaking after a few moments had passed. “What if he doesn’t want to see us?” 

“Then we leave.” Yamada shrugged, feigning a casual air, “But he saved our lives. And he seemed…well, confused, at least. He knows we have answers, if nothing else. Maybe he’ll want to talk, just for that.” He sighed, “And maybe he’ll be happy to see us. Maybe he’ll remember everything. Hey, maybe the best-case scenario will be true, and we'll have our friend back.”

In the back of his mind, Shouta wondered if that was really the best-case scenario. It certainly sounded like it, and he wasn’t going to hate it if it was, but he knew that the man on the other side of the door, whatever name he was going by now, had changed. He knew other people, had other experiences, had a life completely disconnected from what he had before. Bad or good, Shouta didn’t want to take that away from him. But with the knowledge that he would never really know unless he took the first step, he took a deep breath and gave Yamada a small nod.

Yamada let go of his hand, gave Shouta another smile, and pushed the door open, his mouth open wide in that heroic way it always was in public, ready to shout a greeting or announce their presence or something along those lines, when the words seemed to die on his tongue. Shouta immediately knew why, and he wasn’t sure what he felt in those next moments.

The boy that used to be Shirakumo Oboro was sitting on the hospital bed, the sheets made and crinkling only where his weight pulled at them. His face was clear of the mist that had shielded it for so long, and Shouta’s chest ached at the haunting familiarity that looked back at him. Because it wasn’t just familiar, it was wrong. His hair floated in soft waves above his head like it had always done, but instead of the sky blue clouds, it was that dark purple color that Shouta had come to feel so disgusted by. His eyes were blue again, but had a soft yellow ring and glow around the iris, like the nomu just wouldn’t let go of their childhood friend. His arms and legs were showing, coming out of a hospital gown that didn’t fit either persona, and his skin was still the same  brown that it had always been, but duller and hinting at grey. Scars and wounds from processes that made Shouta nauseous to think about decorated his exposed skin, deep ones along his eye, throat and chest and smaller, lighter ones crisscrossing over his arms and legs.  

The man’s appearance would have been conflicting enough on its own, but Shouta barely managed to get past the initial shock of it before another ran through his system at the boy in his lap. 

His former? friend just lifted his finger to his lips, hushing both of them as his other hand moved over Tomura Shigaraki’s head, gently running his fingers through the boy’s hair. Shigaraki was fast asleep, his head tucked against the nomu’s body, his hair strewn over the man’s lap, giving the impression that he’d been there a while. At the sight, the two heroes lingered by the door, unsure if they were interrupting something that they shouldn’t be, until those blue-yellow eyes softened a little, and that strange double-toned voice said, “You’re free to come in. I don’t believe he’ll wake any time soon, the doctor’s have been saying he won’t stay awake for more than a few hours in a day right now.”

Exchanging a look, the two heroes hesitantly entered the room and closed the door. There were already a few chairs set up inside, like many of the rooms had, but there wasn’t much else besides the machine monitoring vitals at the former villain’s beside, and a window. There had been talk of putting iron bars on it, but it was quickly dismissed when considering the quirks they were working with. If he wanted to leave, he would, and no one could stop him. That at least gave Shouta a bit more confidence that maybe, just maybe, his friend wasn’t completely buried under the new identity. 

In either case, he seemed to be waiting for someone else to start the conversation, so Shouta would indulge. “What name would you like to use?”

The slightest of frowns creased the other man’s face, “Whatever you would like to use for me.”

“No, I want to know which name you prefer.” Shouta insisted, watching the former villain’s gaze to make sure he wasn’t pushing any buttons. Besides the slight pinch in expression, nothing seemed to have changed. “Oboro is who we knew, Kurogiri is who he-” Shouta nodded to Tomura, “-knows, but it’s up to you. You don’t have to be either, if you want something new we can use that too.”

Yamada stayed uncharacteristically silent as the nomu seemed to consider this. He looked down at the young man in his lap, still curled against him with his hands pressed to his chest like a child, then back up at the heroes watching him. “Kurogiri is fine for now.” 

Ignoring the twinge of disappointment that the name brought on, Shouta nodded, noting with slight exasperation that Yamada’s expression had shifted to mirror Shouta’s feelings. “Okay, Kurogiri.”

“I don’t want you to think I am ignoring the other name.” Kurogiri said, his eyes flicking to Yamada’s face. “And I truly do not mind either. But I am far less used to my birth name now, and it would take time getting used to it again.”

Yamada sighed, “No, it’s fine. I’m just…getting used to this.”

“As am I.” Kurogiri paused in his movements, “It is only you two, then?”

“Who else would come?” Yamada leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “Are you expecting the rest of them?” He nodded to Shigaraki. 

“I am not. At least, not yet. I have heard that they are not currently in peak physical or mental condition.” A small smile appeared on his lips, “Though I’ve also caught wind of a very tiresome teenager attempting to sneak into this room, but on the wrong level.”

Shouta had heard something about that, Toga’s insistence on finding the rest of the League only quelled when she was allowed to peek in Spinner’s room and promised updates on the conditions of everyone as they changed. “Legally, I don’t think I can comment.”

Kurogiri narrowed his eyes, “I’m sure. But I wasn’t talking about them.”

“Kayama’s dead.” Yamada said stiffly, tugging Shouta’s heart right out of it’s perilous place in his chest. 

Kurogiri was silent for a few moments, his head bowed. When he spoke again, there was a distinct tightness to his tone, “I see. I had guessed as much, but…”

“It's a bit different to hear it directly, yeah?” 

“Yamada.” Shouta put his hand on his friend’s arm, “Don’t-”

“Yeah, yeah.” Yamada brought his legs up slightly, “I’m done.”

Kurogiri resumed petting Shigaraki’s hair, his voice almost quiet enough to be a whisper as he said, “I hope she rests.”

Sensing the double meaning in his words, Shouta said, “They’ve dismantled every nomu facility that they could find. She’s not been in any of them, and we were careful when we checked all the bodies - she’s resting.”

Kurogiri nodded haltingly, “I am thankful for at least that.”

Yamada bounced his leg slightly, “Can I ask?”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you wish you were…”

“Resting?” Kurogiri looked up again. His eyes lacked the sheen of tears that Shouta had been expecting from his tone, but grief was heavy in them nonetheless. “Not now.”

“But you did?” Shouta pushed again. 

Kurogiri didn’t seem to mind the intrusive questions, and Shouta wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing, “I was never told what I was, but no one ever tried to hide it from me either. For a long time, I just…didn’t think about it. But there were days when I wondered who I used to be, and wondered if he would have preferred to stay dead. But I never wished to die, nor did I wish I hadn’t, because of him.” He brushed Shigaraki’s hair away from his face, exposing the new scars and rough skin that Shouta had only ever seen up close once. 

His missing eye throbbed with phantom pain.

“I never would have met him, had I not died that day.” Kurogiri’s hair swirled around his ears, curling like the wind was tugging at it slightly. Only there was no wind, and Shouta recognized it from years ago, from when Oboro would be nervous during a test or think too hard about asking Kayama out. 

“But you wouldn’t have lost us, either.” Yamada said.

“Have I lost you?” Kurogiri matched Yamada’s gaze steadily.

Yamada didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so Shouta took over for him, “I don’t know. How much do you remember?”

“All of it, now.” Kurogiri reached up to fidget with the hem of his hospital gown, “I remember school, and you all, and my - his family.” He blinked a few times, “Do they know about me?”

“They don’t.”

“Why not?” Kurogiri looked surprised, “Surely someone would have said something to them by now?”

“We didn’t want to give them false hope.” 

“False hope.” Kurogiri echoed. “Is that what I am?”

“You don’t have to be.” Yamada shrugged, “You said you remembered? You saved our lives. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind a purple-er version of their kid.”

Kurogiri glanced at the floating bits of his hair that he could see, “I’m afraid it’s not just my appearance that has changed, Present Mic.”

“Yeah, no shit.” 

Kurogiri hummed, “I don’t know what you expect me to do about it, unless you truly want your seventeen-year-old friend back. I could attempt to block my memories of being Kurogiri.”

“No.” Shouta said immediately. “We would never ask you to do that.”

“Good. Because I don’t believe it would be possible, and if it was, I wouldn't.” Kurogiri sighed, shifting slightly so that his charge wasn’t burying his face in his stomach, “If you would be willing, please let them know. I would hate to take a choice away from them by ignorance.”

“You want them to know you’re alive?” Shouta clarified.

“I would like them to know that a fragment of their child may remain. But please, do not give them false hope, as you have said. Simply explain the situation, and do not leave anything out. They deserve to know, even if they don’t like what they see.”

“Why don’t you tell them?” 

Kurogiri frowned, “I had assumed I would not be allowed to leave here, or prison once I am admitted.”

“You’re not-” Yamada dragged his hands down his face, glancing at Shouta. When Shouta nodded, he continued, “There’s a big chance that no one in your group is going to go to prison. Rehabilitation, sure, and a shit ton of therapy on top of that, but not prison. It’s something we’re still figuring out, though.”

Kurogiri looked like he wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he lapsed into silence with a nod. Shouta watched as he twisted Shigaraki’s hair around in his fingers, tangling and de-tangling it in a gentle manner. “Kurogiri.” He finally said, gaining his old friend’s attention again, “How are you feeling?”

Kurogiri stilled, “What?”

“How are you feeling?”

“About what?”

“In general.” Shouta leaned forward, “As difficult as all of this has been for everyone else, I can’t imagine being in the center of the storm.”

“The center of the storm is the calmest point.” Kurogiri said, his gaze flicking between the two of them again. “Perhaps later I will have a revelation or perhaps a breakdown, but right now, I am content to just no longer be a puppet. To control my own strings, if you will.”

Yamada rubbed his hands together, his voice halting and stiff as he said, “But you’re still Kurogiri. So you’re still listening to the person who made you…this.” 

Shouta inhaled sharply, glancing at his friend. Yamada had a stone-cold look on his face, a strange sort of anger brewing behind his glasses. Kurogiri didn’t react beyond a slight widening of his eyes, and a response that came only a moment later. “I am not. Just because I am not obeying you does not mean that I am obeying him . On the battlefield, Eraserhead said that I could choose, and I am choosing to be me . Not Oboro, and despite my choice of name, not Kurogiri. Just me. If you have a problem with that, I would respect your decision to no longer associate with me.”

Yamada’s mouth fell open, “I-you-” He stood up, and Shouta noted the minute flinch in Kurogiri’s expression, quickly smoothed over into the same passive look he’d had for most of the visit. “You really aren’t him, are you?”

“I am him. And I am me. Take both sides of me, or don’t, but do not make my identity your problem.” 

“Your identity became my problem when I found out my best friend was turned into a zombie.” Yamada had tears pricking the corners of his eyes, and Shouta opened his mouth to intervene before it turned ugly. 

“Yamada-”

Kurogiri beat him to it, his voice still measured despite the words that came out of his mouth, “I don’t remember you being so harsh.”

“And I don’t remember Oboro ever saying he would willingly let a villain sleep on his lap.” 

Kurogiri’s expression darkened, and Shouta stood up just in case. “Don’t you dare bring him into this.” Finally, a sharp sound entered his tone, one that Shouta had never heard from him as he shifted enough to lay Shigaraki on the bed. “Once again I say, this is not a confessional, and I am not a priest, and you may exit the room now. Leave.” He stood up, a dark cloud beginning to form at his fingertips. But instead of pushing the warp gate at Yamada like Shouta had thought he was going to, it appeared underneath his charge, making Shigaraki disappear in the blink of an eye. 

“I’m not-”

Shouta interrupted Yamada’s next words, “ Hizashi, we’re leaving.”

Yamada looked at the other men in the room, a tear making its way down his cheek. “Fine. I - fuck this.”

“Eraserhead may stay, if he wishes.” Kurogiri said, taking them both by surprise. 

Yamada shrugged, “Fine. Yeah, cool, okay. If you lay a finger on him-”

“I assure you, I have no intention to get violent today.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” Yamada pushed past Shouta’s hand as he reached out for him, swiping at his eyes before exiting the room, slamming the door shut. The silence in the moments following was loud, and Shouta wasn’t entirely certain what to do.

Kurogiri sighed, sitting back down and placing his hands in his lap, the bed creaking slightly underneath him. After a few seconds, Shouta followed suit, easing himself back into his chair. “He’s having a hard time.” He finally said, the words sounding hollow even to him.

“He’s not the only one.” Kurogiri snapped, his eyes flashing dangerously.

“I know. It’s not an excuse.” Shouta held his hands up. Kurogiri didn’t respond, bringing a leg up to his chest and hugging it against him in a surprisingly childlike way. "Where did you send Shigaraki?”

“Back to his room. I didn’t want him to wake violently.”

“He won’t freak out if he wakes up without you?”

“We spoke about it beforehand. I knew something like this was likely to happen.” Kurogiri rested his chin on his knee, “He’ll be fine.”

“Alright.” Shouta felt his phone buzz against his leg, and guessed that Yamada had texted him. Kurogiri glanced at his pocket, but said nothing as Shouta continued, “Do you want me to stay?”

“If you would like.” 

Shouta waited for him to continue speaking, but Kurogiri simply stared at him, his fog moving languidly around his ears. After a while, Shouta sighed, “Why did you save us?”

Kurogiri sucked in his bottom lip, and when he went to speak again, a thin red line was carved into it. “I did care about you, once. Quite a lot. And I cannot say, truthfully, that those feelings have completely gone away. I loved all of you. That part of me wouldn’t have let you die.”

“What about during the USJ incident?” Shouta pushed some of his hair behind his ears, trying to ignore how the confession made him feel. “You assisted Shigaraki in harming me and my students, and didn’t seem to care at all. Oboro never would have hurt children.”

“Perhaps I wouldn’t have, before I died.” Kurogiri swiped at the blood beading on his lip, looking at the small stain on his finger. He sighed, letting his leg down again. “Truthfully, I did not recognize you at the time, and I did not register anything but my orders. Orders which, while I know it does not excuse what I did, I could not ignore.” He paused, his gaze wandering around the room, “Though some part of me did do a little bit to help.”

“You did?”

“My quirk is dangerous, when used the right way. I could have cut any one of you in half in the blink of an eye, and though the thought occurred to me, I didn't do it. I told myself that it was Tomura's first test, that I was not to do anything he did not tell me to do. I managed to find loopholes in the orders I was given, sending each child to the place that their quirks would be best suited, from what I could tell from a brief look at them all.”

That had been noted and then quickly dismissed in the reports of the incident as a fluke, though the possibility of it was brought up again when they found out whose body Kurogiri inhabited. “So you did care.”

“Not intentionally. Not at the time.”

“But you did.”

“On some level, yes. Enough to prevent me from outright killing you or anyone else.”

“Did you ever have any hints to your identity before the USJ?” 

Kurogiri tapped his fingers on his leg, considering. “A few. Like I said, it wasn’t something that was kept particularly hidden from me. Most hints were just emotions I could not place, often when Present Mic’s radio show would be on. I listened to it often, though I don’t believe I ever understood the importance of it.” Shouta let a small smile appear on his face as he considered the image, and Kurogiri’s lips twitched in response. “And I had a positive view of you before our first incident as well.”

“Why was that? I was hardly ever in the limelight.”

“You were Tomura’s favorite hero.”

Shouta blinked, “What?”

“From the few videos and news articles he could find about you, you seemed the  antithesis of everything he knew heroes were. Arrogance, pride, money. You never seemed too affected by the things that other heroes were. I suppose he found it, if nothing else, comforting. It was only natural that I should grow a soft spot for you as well.”

“I’m not special, there are plenty of underground heroes.” 

“None quite as pretty as you, though.”

Shouta almost never blushed. Compliments and flirting remarks were always met with sharp scorn or ignorance, and he rarely cared about what people thought of him. But for some reason, Kurogiri’s words made blood rush to his cheeks and ears, and he felt them burn. Even so, he kept his face mostly neutral as Kurogiri cracked his first real smile. 

Oboro had always had wide, radiant grins that could put All Might himself to shame. He had had slightly crooked teeth that gave it a bit more character than the number one hero had, and it made everything around him feel lighter. Kurogiri had the same slightly crooked teeth, but they were mostly hidden behind his dry lips, which quirked upward in a gentle, almost soft manner. It was crooked and hesitant, but it still shouted Oboro. 

Shouta cleared his throat. “I’m not pretty.”

“You can tell yourself that.” Kurogiri folded his hands in his lap again, “I know Yamada agrees with me.”

“Shut up.” Shouta resisted the childish urge to hide himself behind his hair, if only to stop his grin from being so obvious. Kurogiri had called his friend Yamada. That was…something, at least. 

“I apologize.” Kurogiri didn’t look very apologetic, his expression still stuck in that crooked smile. “I don’t mean to offend.”

“Right, because you were the one doing the offending today.” Shouta murmured, running his hands through his hair as the weight of the day settled over him once again.

“Present Mic isn’t wrong. I am not the boy you both knew. Not completely. I did not push him away because of his comments about me.”

“Shigaraki.”

Kurogiri nodded, “He is my boy. If Present Mic cannot accept that, then I am afraid I will not attempt to rekindle our relationship.”

 “You would want that?”

“I would, if it is something you would like to pursue as well.” Kurogiri’s smile dropped, but he didn’t look unfriendly. “I am Oboro Shirakumo. I knew you, I knew Yamada, and I knew-I knew Kayama. I still love you.”

Shouta couldn’t prevent his breathing from hitching this time, nor the tears that began to well in his eyes. He blinked them back, but he knew from Kurogiri’s expression that he’d been caught. “I…” He pressed his lips together, avoiding eye contact as Kurogiri waited patiently for him to speak. “I’m not sure if I love you yet.”

“Understandable.” 

“But I’d like to try and get to know you again.”

“I would like that.” Kurogiri nodded, “If I am allowed, we should go to that cat cafe you enjoyed so much.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.” Shouta looked at the window, “I’m sure Yamada will come around, too.”

“Perhaps. It is his prerogative, and I understand that my presence may be painful for him. But if he is willing, I hold nothing against him.”

“I’ll work on him.” Shouta promised.

Kurogiri chuckled softly, “I’m sure.”

The two of them lapsed into silence once again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Shouta checked his phone, the text from Yamada saying he’d gone to patrol around the building to cool off, and that he’d meet Shouta outside when he was ready. Kurogiri leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, a small yawn leaving him. After a few minutes he said, “When I get out, we should eat lunch on that roof.”

Shouta smiled as he looked up from his phone, not needing to ask which roof. “I’d like that.”