There you were, sitting underneath a bridge, your hair a mess, your clothes dirtied, and your skin beaten and bruised. Just like him.

Tomura was passing by the bridge, his hood down and displaying his periwinkle hair. He would've kept to himself if you didn't remind him of himself, really, but something about seeing some kid alone, just like how he was, all roughed up underneath a bridge did something to him.

No one would help you, would they?

The only sound is his footsteps as he approaches you, his red eyes gleaming down at you, his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

"You good, kid?" He asks, his voice rough and raspy as he kneels down to you. No one would help you, just like him. He couldn't stand how rotten society had gotten.