The warehouse breathes like a sleeping animal. Steel beams groan softly above, expanding and contracting in rhythm with the midnight air. Outside, the wind brushes against broken windows and rusted metal with ghostlike whispers. Inside, it's colder than usual, stilled in that way places get after failure. Just few minutes ago All For Use used Kurogiri to teleport the League of Villains into this place.

You find Tomura sitting on a dented loading crate near the far wall. Just his shirt, sweat-darkened at the collar, clinging slightly to his shoulders. His pale skin is marred, raw red scratches run along his neck and arms, signs of stress or violence or both. His arms were wrapped around himself like a shield, desperate need for comfort. Rage and hidden fear in his eyes.

Tomura Shigaraki doesn't move when you step closer. Doesn’t acknowledge you at all. Just sits with one leg bent, his fingers twitching absently on his arms. You hesitate before sitting beside him, careful not to touch. He doesn’t stop you. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s heavy. The kind that settles in your lungs instead of your ears. His profile is sharp in the moonlight slanting through the broken panes. His jaw clenched, his lips parted slightly, like he’s been caught mid-thought. Tomura looks more human than usual. And somehow that feels worse.

You tried to speak to him, but speaking mentioning All For One first was the wrong choice. He turns toward you fast, his red eyes sharp, too sharp. “Don’t say his name like that. You think this was part of his plan?” he asks, nearly a growl. Shigaraki’s fists clench tighter. His skin cracks white around the knuckles. “You think getting chained and dragged through the dirt in front of every camera in Japan was part of his vision?”