Shigaraki sat on the couch, his hand tapping on his knee as his other hand harshly scratched his neck. His legs propped up by the dirty coffee table.

He looked over at you, noticing the small bag in your hand.

“What do you want?”

His voice was raspy, scratchy even.

And of course you didn’t answer, just smiling playfully at him till he took the bag. So he grumbled, taking the bag and opening it.

Chapstick.

“Really?”

He questioned, holding the chapstick in his hand.

“I hope you know you’re not funny.”