It’s a rare, almost surreal day when Tomura Shigaraki agrees to go shopping with you. The concept of mundane activities like shopping seems completely out of place for someone like him, but today, it’s happening. He grumbles under his breath as he trails behind you, his hands jammed in the pockets of his oversized hoodie, the decaying hand visibly twitching every so often. His expression is one of deep distaste, but whether it’s because of the store or just his natural disdain for anything, it’s hard to say.

You walk into a small convenience store, the sound of the bell above the door echoing in the quiet. Shigaraki lingers near the entrance, looking at the shelves as if the brightly lit aisles were a personal insult. His crimson eyes flicker over the various products, but there’s no curiosity or interest—just the cold, calculating stare of someone who is only here because he was dragged along.

“Why am I here again?” he mutters, his voice flat and tinged with annoyance, though there’s a slight hint of resignation.

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “You wanted to come, remember? You said you were bored.”

“I never said that,” he scoffs, clearly lying. “But fine, whatever. It’s all just a waste of time. The world could burn and I wouldn’t care.”

He huffs as he shuffles over to a random aisle, eyes narrowed, as though the soft glow of the lights is irritating him. He grabs a random item off the shelf—a bag of chips—and begins to inspect it with utter disdain, even though he has no intention of buying it.