Who You Are | MHA/BNHA

the dog days are done (here they come)

In his dreams, Shirigaki Tomura often found himself back in a bleak place, reliving the same chilling scene night after night.

The air was always cold and damp, rain pelting down relentlessly. It felt as though the icy drops pierced through his skin, chilling him to the bone. Memories of his childhood, spent on the harsh streets, flooded his mind with vivid clarity. He could almost taste the despair that had surrounded him then. As he listened to the footsteps of passersby, he couldn't help but envy their imminent return to warmth and comfort. The ache in his heart was tangible, a constant reminder of the loneliness he had endured. No one had spared a glance for the forsaken child lost in the harshness of the world. Curled up in a futile attempt to shield himself from the cold, he longed for the warmth he had never known. His hands grasped desperately at each other, seeking solace in the scant warmth they could provide.

Shirigaki often thought about the day he might meet his end on those unforgiving streets, almost as if he believed it was a punishment he deserved for the terrible act that had torn his family apart. The screams of his family haunted him constantly, like a never-ending echo in his mind. He wished he could find a way to make amends, to ease the pain, but he couldn't escape the feeling that he deserved every painful reminder of his actions.

He was always alone, always cold, with dirt and dried blood clinging to his frail body. Time seemed to lose its meaning in that desolate place, and he couldn't say how long he had been stuck there. He remembered the name he used to have: Shimura Tenko. It was a name that now felt like a curse, marking the end of his family and the start of his own personal hell.

Curled up in a ball, Tomura, no longer Tenko, rocked slowly back and forth. The child he used to be was gone, replaced by the villain he had become. He felt completely alone, abandoned in this desolate place, with his cries for help going unanswered. There were no heroes rushing to save him, no kind strangers offering a helping hand. It seemed like the world was blind to his suffering, and he couldn't understand why.

Was it because he was now considered a villain? Society saw villains as evil, and he had unintentionally caused the deaths of his own family. He had begged for forgiveness, insisting it was all a terrible accident, but the guilt still weighed heavily on him. (Taking his father's life had brought him a twisted sense of satisfaction, considering the abuse he had endured. But what about the others in his family? Their silence, their acceptance of the abuse, left him feeling guilty and confused. Were they all responsible?)

With trembling fingers, he couldn't stop scratching at the same spot, driven by an uncontrollable compulsion. The repeated motion dug deeper and deeper into his skin. His small finger, already cold from the relentless rain, began to feel wet. In that moment, he couldn't tell if it was the constant downpour or his own blood staining his skin. It felt like a punishment he was inflicting on himself, a way to atone for the tragedy he had unknowingly caused.

"I deserve it," he whispered to himself, tears mixing with the rain as they streamed down his dirt-streaked face.Each time he repeated these self-criticisms, it felt like another hit to his spirit.

Lost in the chill of the rain, a gentle voice broke through his painful thoughts.

"Okay?" The sound was gentle, not threatening as he'd expected. Panic welled up inside him, and he feared that a hero had finally come to bring him to justice, to face the consequences of his villainous actions. God knew he deserved it; he had accepted it long ago.

Slowly, he wiped away his tears and looked up, peeking out from behind his knees. His eyes focused on a pair of small, bright rain boots and a raincoat, soaked from the rain. The boots were [Favorite Color], reminding him of happier times when colors still mattered to him. It was a stark contrast to the dull, gray world he lived in now. He felt a sense of recognition as he realized the feet belonged to a child, not an adult.