Work Text:
After the war;
Buildings falling, explosions, screams—it had all been too much. From ten in the morning to five p.m., they had fought. From the chaos of battle to this: the loudest class at U.A. had fallen wordless, their voices swallowed by the graveyard of a city. From the sound of their ears ringing to dead silence. It all felt so unnatural.
The smell of iron and blood still reeked in the air, ash lingering around. Renji, limping through the empty buildings—or at least what was left of them—feet crunching through the rubble, had lost his spark. His blue, shiny eyes, once full of hope and love, had dulled. Now, it was like staring into a tree hollowed by rot—still standing, but dead inside. Hopeless, horrified, tired. It wasn’t hunger revealing itself, or tiredness catching up—it was trauma.
The buildings around him used to be so lively. Now they were nothing but ghosts. His family, the one he loved so much, was gone. He still remembered his mother calling out his name, the pure terror in his brother’s scream as Shigaraki laid his hand upon his head, the way his father hadn’t died on impact and Renji was forced to watch him bleed to death. It was too much.
Renji swore he could still hear them—his mother’s laugh, his brother’s scream. The echoes made his knees nearly buckle, though he knew it was impossible. So there he was, all alone, not even sure if his friends had survived. He lifted his head to look up at the setting sky, catching a glance at the last beautiful thing left in his range of sight. The sky burned pink and gold, but it felt wrong. Like the world was trying to ignore what had just happened.
“Renji.” He heard it, and it wasn’t in his head. The voice sounded tired, but also hopeful.
Renji slowly turned, and there he was. Shoto.
Shoto looked ruined. Which was logical, since he had just watched his entire family fall apart. Neither of them cried at first—both too used to holding it in. Shoto’s eyes looked different. That fire in them—something Renji had always adored—was gone.
Two boys, both losing their families. Different in every way, yet still feeling the same.
Renji’s eyes locked with Shoto’s, and tears filled them.
“Come here,” Shoto said.
Renji took one step closer and dropped his head on Shoto’s shoulder. The peace he felt was unreal. A trembling hand settled on his back, and Renji realized it wasn’t strength Shoto was offering, but the simple need to hold onto something—someone—before they both shattered. Shoto’s head slowly dropped too. Tears welled in Renji’s eyes, burning.
Somehow, Renji knew: we need to make it. He didn’t care if it took him years, maybe even decades, or his own life. For the first time, survival wasn’t for himself. It was for Shoto.
And as he felt Shoto’s quiet tears fall onto his shoulders, he knew: maybe the only thing left alive in this world was the two of them.