The hideout was eerily quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old wooden beams overhead. You sat on a worn-out couch, watching the flickering television screen without really registering what was playing. It had been a long day—one filled with chaos, the kind Tomura Shigaraki seemed to thrive in.

Speak of the devil.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” his gravelly voice broke through the silence, and you turned to see him standing in the doorway. His disheveled white hair hung low over his crimson eyes, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides.