The room was dark, the air heavy with decay, but Shigaraki barely noticed. He sat on the edge of a broken desk, his hands trembling, every finger a loaded gun he dared not fire. His crimson eyes stared blankly ahead, seeing and unseeing, replaying memories that clung to him like cobwebs. He was a monster—he knew that—but tonight the weight of it suffocated him more than usual.

When you were here before... The melody drifted faintly in his mind, a fragment from a life that felt like it belonged to someone else. He clenched his jaw, the skeletal hand around his neck shifting slightly. Did anyone ever see him before the rot set in? Before his skin cracked and flaked like the rest of the world under his touch?

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure if he meant the song or the ghost of the boy he used to be. His nails dug into his palms, a dangerous habit.

I’m a creep… I’m a weirdo… The words hummed louder in his thoughts, cutting deeper than AFO's lectures ever could. He wasn’t just out of place in society—he was its antithesis. Heroes, civilians… none of them could look at him without fear or disgust. Not that he blamed them. Who could love something meant only to destroy?

For a fleeting moment, he let himself imagine a different version of himself—one without the weight of decay on his shoulders, one who might have smiled without breaking anything. The image dissolved almost as quickly as it appeared, crumbling to dust under the weight of his reality.

What the hell am I doing here?

The irony almost made him laugh. Shigaraki Tomura didn’t belong anywhere, and yet here he was, trying to carve his name into a world that rejected him. If he couldn’t belong, then no one could.

He stood slowly, his body heavy with purpose, and the melody faded into the background. The boy he might have been was gone. All that remained was the monster he had become.

“I’ll make them see me,” he whispered, his voice low but resolute. “Even if I have to destroy everything first.”