âsuddenly it wasnât only a personal thing to me. i could picture hundreds and hundreds of boys living on the wrong sides of cities, boys with black eyes who jumped at their own shadows. hundreds of boys who maybe watched sunsets and looked at stars and ached for something better. i could see boys going down under street lights because they were mean and tough and hated the world, and it was too late to tell them that there was still good in it, and they wouldnât believe you if you did. it was too vast a problem to be just a personal thing. there should be some help, someone should tell them before it was too late. someone should tell their side of the story, and maybe people would understand then and wouldnât be so quick to judge a boy by the amount of hair oil he wore. it was important to me.â
âsuddenly it wasnât only a personal thing to me. i could picture hundreds and hundreds of boys living on the wrong sides of cities, boys with black eyes who jumped at their own shadows. hundreds of boys who maybe watched sunsets and looked at stars and ached for something better. i could see boys going down under street lights because they were mean and tough and hated the world, and it was too late to tell them that there was still good in it, and they wouldnât believe you if you did. it was too vast a problem to be just a personal thing. there should be some help, someone should tell them before it was too late. someone should tell their side of the story, and maybe people would understand then and wouldnât be so quick to judge a boy by the amount of hair oil he wore. it was important to me.â
(Featuring: Tomura Shigaraki, Dabi, Toga Himiko, Spinner, Twice, and Mr Compress)
Tomura Shigaraki
Tomura didn't scream when you died.
Your chest stopped rising under his bloodied hands, your mouth parted as if you still had something left to say. His brain refused to accept it. His heart beat on like a cruel joke, each thud an insult against your stillness.
He just stared.
The world around him fell away, peeled back like skin. Sound drowned in static. Colors dimmed to ash.
He touched your faceâbare, recklessâand this time he wanted his quirk to activate. He wanted to rot the world into dust starting with himself. But nothing happened. Your skin, once so alive beneath him, was already too far gone for death to touch twice.
His hands shook as he cradled you, bones creaking under the weight of a grief too dense, too vicious to name.
"Look at me," he hissed, voice a cracked, ugly thing. "Wake up. Wake the fuck up."
But your eyes stayed closed. Peaceful. Distant. Like you had taken all the light with you.
Something feral, something ancient and monstrous, crawled out of him then. A choked, animalistic sound burst from his throat as he pulled you closer, pressing his face into your chest, into the hollow where your heartbeat should have been.
He stayed there, teeth gritted, jaw locked so tight it ached, trembling so violently it seemed like the earth itself shook with him. His nails scraped shallow gouges into his own arms without noticing.
"You stupid... liar," Tomura whispered against your skin, voice soaked in venom and sorrow. "You said you'd stay... you said... you said..."
He was supposed to die first. That was the deal. He was the monster, the ruined thing, the villain. Well you were a villain too but.. You didn't deserve- A sharp, ugly laugh tore from him. It echoed over the battlefield, eerie and broken, before dying into silence.
He buried you in his arms, cradling the corpse of the only thing he ever loved, as the world rotted inside him.
For the first time, Tomura Shigaraki wished his hands had worked.
He would have crumbled the whole fucking earth just to follow you into whatever cold, dark place you had gone.
And he would have done it smiling.
Dabi
Ash hung in the air like a funeral shroud, the fires crackling and popping in the hollow silence.
You were collapsed against the rubble, blood soaking into the cracked ground, skin too pale in the blue light of the flames.
Dabi stood over you, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
He stared down, swallowing hard against the knot in his throat.
"Figures," he said, voice rough and low. "You always were a goddamn idiot."
He dropped to his knees beside you, jacket brushing against the dirt. His hands hovered uselessly in the air â twitching forward, jerking back â like he couldn't decide whether to hold you or let you go.
Your eyes opened, barely, and you smiled when you saw him.
That same soft, stupid smile you always gave him.
Like he wasnât a monster. Like he was worth something.
"Iâm... sorry," you breathed.
Dabiâs jaw tightened.
He scoffed, looking away like he couldn't bear to see you like this.
"Donât," he muttered. "Donât say sorry. I shoulda known you'd pull some shit like this."
Your hand reached for him â slow, shaking â and he caught it halfway, his own hand hot and trembling as he gripped yours too tight, like he could anchor you here by force.
"I love you," you whispered, like it was the last secret you had left.
For a second, Dabi didnât move.
Didnât breathe.
His stitched-up face twisted, something ugly and desperate flickering through his blue eyes.
He laughed â sharp, broken â the sound punching through the smoke like a blade.
"You're such a fucking idiot," he said, voice cracking hard enough to shatter.
You smiled again â smaller now, fading â and then your hand slipped from his fingers, falling away into the dust.
Gone.
Dabi just sat there, staring down at you.
The fires guttered low around him.
The world felt cold, even with the flames licking at his heels.
He blinked slowly, and for a terrifying moment, he thought about setting the whole goddamn world on fire.
Leveling every street, every building, every face that ever existed.
Instead, he leaned down, forehead pressing against your cold one, breathing you in one last time.
"Youâre such a pain in my ass," he whispered, so quietly even he barely heard it.
He stayed like that for a long, long time, until the fires around him finally died, and the night swallowed the ruins whole.
When he stood, he didnât look back.
Couldnât.
His hands were steady now.
Steady and burning.
And even though he didnât cry, even though he didn't scream your name to the heavens, Dabi knew â
somewhere deep in the hollow, scorched thing that used to be his heart â
that he would never forgive the world for letting you die.
And he would never forgive himself for letting you love him first.
Toga Himiko
The first thing Himiko Toga saw was the blood.
So much of it, soaking your clothes, staining the ground beneath you.
Her heart fluttered in her chest.
"You look so cute like that!" she chirped as she skipped toward you, knife twirling lazily in her hand. "All messy and red and â"
She stopped.
Something in her stomach twisted, sharp and wrong.
The way your body was slumped. The way your chest barely moved.
Her smile faltered.
"...Hey?" she said, voice smaller now, unsure.
She took a few slow steps closer, the knife slipping from her fingers and clattering to the ground unnoticed.
You turned your head toward her, sluggish and weak, blood dripping from your mouth.
"Himiko..." you rasped.
The last of the warmth drained from her excitement, leaving something heavy and cold behind.
She dropped to her knees, scrambling to reach you.
"No, no, no," she whispered, hands flying over you, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to fix it, but it was too much â too deep â too late.
"Youâre not supposed to look like this," she said, voice cracking. "I like blood, but not when it means... not when it means this!"
Tears welled in her wide golden eyes.
"Youâre supposed to be okay," she whispered fiercely, like if she said it enough, it would be true. "You're supposed to stay with me!"
You managed a faint smile.
Even now, you still tried to make her feel better.
"I'm sorry," you breathed.
Toga shook her head wildly, blonde hair whipping across her tear-streaked face.
"No! Donât say sorry! I love you!" she sobbed, grabbing your hand and pressing it to her cheek. "I love you, okay? Just stay! Just stay and love me back!"
You tried to squeeze her fingers.
Tried.
But your hand was already slipping away from hers.
"No, no, no," she chanted under her breath, rocking you back and forth. "You promised me! You said we'd find someplace quiet! You said we could just be together! You canât leave! You can't!"
You blinked slowly at her, your body trembling with the last shreds of strength.
"I love you too," you whispered.
And then you were gone.
The world tilted sideways around her.
The night pressed in, thick and suffocating.
She stayed there long after your body had gone cold,
clutching the memory of your touch like a bruise she didnât want to heal.
The stars above blinked, uncaring,
and the night swallowed her soft, broken promises.
You had been warmth.
You had been laughter.
You had been the only thing in a world of sharp edges that hadnât tried to cut her.
And now you were just a silence she couldnât stop screaming into.
Toga closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to where your heart used to beat.
"If love means hurting," she whispered,
"then Iâll hurt forever, if it means I can keep you with me."
The blood dried.
The world moved on.
But Himiko Toga stayed kneeling in the ruins,
loving a ghost who had never once made her feel like she was a monster.
Spinner
Spinner found you lying there, broken under the cracked glow of a streetlamp.
The blood around you had already begun to dry, black and sticky against the concrete.
Your hand was curled toward your chest, like you had been trying to hold yourself together.
He stumbled forward, dropping to his knees so hard it rattled through his bones.
For a second â one terrible second â he thought you might still be breathing.
That maybe if he just touched you, youâd blink awake and smile that small, tired smile you always saved for him.
âHey,â he rasped, reaching for your face with shaking hands.
Your skin was still warm.
Still you.
But your chest didnât rise.
Your lips didnât move.
The world blurred at the edges, spinning out into something weightless and cruel.
He pressed his forehead to yours, feeling the cold creep in between them.
âWake up,â he begged, voice hoarse, breaking apart.
âCome on. Please. Wake up. You promised.â
But you didnât move.
You never would again.
He stayed there, curled around your body as the smoke thickened and the sirens wailed.
When the others finally found him, they had to pry him off you, piece by piece.
Spinner didnât even fight.
He just sat there, empty hands in his lap, watching the world move on without you.
And in the hollow where his heart used to be, something cracked and bled and didnât stop.
Not for a long, long time.
Twice
Twice sprinted through the smoke, his coat flapping behind him,
panic clawing up his throat.
He found you lying there â broken, bleeding â your body half-crushed under the rubble.
Your hand twitched once, weakly, reaching for nothing.
âNo, no, no â no way, this isnât happening!â he gasped, falling to his knees beside you.
He fumbled at the rocks, scraping his hands bloody trying to pull you free.
âYouâre fine! Youâre gonna be fine!â he said.
Then, in the same breath,
âYouâre dead. Youâre dead and itâs my fault.â
The words tangled over each other, panic and denial fighting for space in his mouth.
He finally uncovered you, dragging you into his lap.
Your eyes fluttered open, just for a second â just long enough to find his.
You smiled, small and broken and soft,
the kind of smile that gutted him worse than any wound.
âJin...â you whispered.
And then you went still.
Twice stared down at you, his whole body trembling.
âNoâ no, no, no, come on! Wake up! Wake UP!â
He shook you gently at first, then harder, desperate to undo it.
He would have ripped the world in half if it meant getting you back.
âYou said youâd come home! You promised!â
His voice cracked, high and wild and full of too many people â
the broken man he used to be, the fighter he tried to become â
all crumbling in his arms.
He held you close, rocking you back and forth like a child,
muttering nonsense under his breath.
âItâs okay, youâre just sleeping.
Youâll wake up and yell at me for being dramatic.
Youâll laugh and hit me and tell me Iâm an idiot.â
A wet, broken laugh bubbled from his lips.
âI'm an idiot. I'm such an idiot.â
But you didnât move.
You didnât even breathe.
Twice curled himself around you, hiding you from the world,
shielding you the only way he knew how â
even though it was too late.
When the others found him, he didnât let go.
Didnât speak.
Didnât even blink.
He just clung to you like you were still his,
like if he held on tight enough,
maybe you wouldnât slip away too.
Mr Compress
Mr. Compress wasnât fast enough.
He found you collapsed in the wreckage of a shattered street,
the night choking on smoke and ash around you.
You lay sprawled on the concrete, blood spilling out from under you in a slow, terrible bloom.
He knelt beside you in silence, his coat brushing against the dust and broken glass.
His gloved hands hovered over your body â careful, desperate â
as if afraid he might hurt you more just by touching you.
You were still warm.
Still soft.
Still the person he had allowed himself to care for, against every instinct to stay detached.
âA performance cut far too short,â he murmured, voice cracking despite the way he tried to steady it.
He reached to lift your mask, brushing his fingers gently over your cheek.
Your eyes, half-open, stared past him â glassy and far away.
Your chest didnât rise.
The stage had already gone dark.
Compress bowed his head, his hands trembling where they gripped yours.
âI should have been here sooner,â he whispered.
The words tasted like failure in his mouth,
like ashes and broken promises.
He stayed there with you, even as the battle raged on around him â
the sirens, the shouting, the chaos.
None of it mattered.
The world could end tonight, and all he would remember was this:
the way you looked in the final act,
the way he hadnât saved you.
When the others came, they tried to pull him away.
Gently, at first.
Then firmer.
But Compress didnât resist.
He only pressed one gloved hand over your heart â
where it should have been beating
â
and murmured a final, broken line, half prayer, half goodbye.
âA magicianâs greatest tragedy is losing what he cannot bring back.â
And when they led him away, he didnât look back.
The day was quiet, save for the whisper of the wind moving through the ancient plum trees. In a hidden corner of the estate, away from the footsteps of nobles and retainers, you swept fallen petals into neat little piles, the broom light in your hands.
Spring had come early this year. The branches were heavy with blooms, white and blushing pink against the gray sky. You let yourself glance up once â and there, standing beneath the oldest tree, was Uraume.
You bowed instinctively. Though you were both servants of the same master, Uraume was... different. Chosen. Closer to Sukuna-sama in ways you could barely understand. Yet for reasons you could not explain, whenever Uraume found you, their pale eyes softened, as if the weight they carried grew lighter in your presence.
"You work diligently," Uraume said, voice like distant snowmelt â quiet, almost gentle.
You kept your gaze lowered. "It is a small thing, Uraume-sama."
A silence fell, not uncomfortable but fragile, as though even breath might break it. Then, without warning, Uraume knelt beside you. Their robes brushed the dirt, uncaring of the stain. Carefully, they picked up a fallen blossom and turned it over between slender fingers.
"The first to bloom," they said, almost to themselves, "and the first to fall."
You looked up, startled by the sadness in their voice. Before you could stop yourself, you spoke.
"It is because they are strong," you said. "They face the cold before the others dare."
Uraumeâs hand stilled. Their eyes met yours, searching, as if they were reading a secret you hadn't meant to reveal. Slowly, almost reverently, they tucked the blossom into your sleeve, a gesture so intimate it made your heart pound in your chest.
"You understand," they said, their voice a thread of something rare â something close to wonder.
The sound of distant bells signaled the hour. Somewhere deep within the estate, Sukuna-sama would be waiting. You both knew duty would pull you apart once again, as it always did.
Still, for a moment longer, you remained kneeling together beneath the plum trees, breathing the same cool air, your sleeves brushing, a single flower binding you closer than any words ever could.
When Uraume rose to leave, they hesitated â just for a heartbeat. Enough to let you see it: the quiet promise in their gaze.
As long as the plum blossoms bloomed, they would find their way back to you.
