32 | Answer

                                    

                                          
Shouto Todoroki


                          
"A cruel man you are, Shigaraki," I mutter, recalling the contents of the note I sent to Bakugou via Toga and her quirk. "My entire class? Although the bloodshed would be wonderful, do you truly expect me to force Katsuki Bakugou to witness such a grotesque play in which I am the puppeteer?" Pressing my head back against the wall I'm leaning against, I close my eyes and release a sigh.
                          
Shigaraki's lifeless ruby eyes rest on my neck as he swiftly drags his own nails along his neck a few times. "I gave you one task. You failed that task. This is your punishment. You sold yourself to us five years ago, S. Your fate was sealed then and there—that's the fate every 'villain' is branded with. You're forced to accept the fine print, regardless of whether or not you want to, because your signature is there in red ink. You get used to it. You never get completely used to it, but you get used to it." He attaches one of his various hands onto himself so the palm is clasping onto his face and covering his eyes. "If your heart is weak, you don't survive."
                          
I am alive only for you, Katsuki. "Nonetheless, you've not yet answered my question. Why was I saved that night? Why was Toga there? Considering that the single stipulation I presented to you to confirm my joining of the League was subjugated by your domineering command for me to perform an assassination, I would say I deserve to know." Tugging on the sleeve of my undershirt, I unconsciously begin to scratch at the scabs scarring my arm. 
                          
He stands from the couch he's seated at with his head tilted in favor of the floor. "I thought you were intelligent enough to pick up on the answer," he scoffs in a sigh. "How bothersome." His slender frame is visible despite the somewhat baggy clothing he's currently wearing.
                          
Do you honestly believe that that was my priority after waking up excruciatingly delusional? No. The nail of my index finger thrusts at the base of a long, rugged row of scabs. "Answer me," I spit tempestuously. 
                          
Shigaraki's fingers twitch as they begin to rapidly rake along his neck in short, swift bursts. "Who are you to oppose me?" he sibilates, his tone creeping down my spine like roots wriggling through the earth. "This isn't the proper order of things. No... No, no, no. No one knows their place anymore."
                          
Dabi enters the room with quite the amused mien. "Oh? What'd I miss? A cat fight?" 
                          
"No, Dabi," I mutter.
                          
"Then what did I miss?"
                          
"Confidential information," Shigaraki chimes in, conceding with me on matters that are incredibly trivial. "You're still uptight about your identity. Besides, I am the leader of this League. That is the correct order of things." Prying his hand off of his neck, he turns to face Dabi.
                          
Dabi smirks at me with an abhorrent, wry bend of his lips and slanting of his eyelids. "Confidential?" His eyes, sitting lazily open, seem to be fixated on one of my hands—I'm unable to accurately proclaim what exactly his eyes have caught with my impaired vision. "He and I are one and the same." A whirring echo of silence rings through our ears for a moment before he opens his mouth again. "He cut again before his little spar with Bakugou."
                          
My fingers are brought to a complete halt. "What of that?" 
                          
Why does it seem as if the answer I seek is perched on my shoulders and is playing a staring game with me? One and the same? In reference to me? Is that truly feasible?
                          
Still facing Dabi, Shigaraki stands seemingly without a hint of movement. "So we have another one guilty of this?" His voice, although an eerie rumble, is neither vexed nor irate. 
                          
"Is that really what I said?" Dabi insinuates something that evokes a cacophony of caws from the bird sitting on my shoulder whose voice is audible only to me; I glance over at the wretched creature, yet the instant I do, its beak is bolted shut and its body is unmoving. "Shouto Todoroki—" I reluctantly meet his gaze— "is that what I said?"