The Flap of a Butterfly's Wings

Exulansis

He holds the glass in his hand, carefully. His pinky finger is extended, far away from making contact with the glass. He raises it to his lips and takes a small sip, enjoying the burn the whisky gives off as he swallows. It's eerily quiet in the bar, as it always is. Kurogiri was usually in the bar keeping him company, but Master needed him for one reason or the other. Shigaraki Tomura couldn't give a flying fuck on what Master needed him for. He was happy to get drunk with no one but himself for his company.

He glares down at the nearly empty glass of whisky, fighting the urge to scratch at his neck. At times like this one, his mind starts to drift to the boy from The Arena; the only reason why he was still alive.

Hato.

He's repeated that name over and over again. It circled his mind when he couldn't sleep (which, to be honest, was most nights), and when he felt crushed by loneliness. He repeated it in order not to forget the one person in his life that seemed to care about him. Not who he could be, or what could be done with his quirk, but him as a person of the present. Hato's face had slipped away, only a blurry outline of his image remained in his mind. His voice was all but erased, not that it mattered anyway since it's definitely changed after all of these years.

Tomura finishes his drink and then pours himself another one. All For One had given him a place to stay, a purpose, something to direct all of his anger and pain towards, and he would do anything to make him proud. He wonders what Hato would think about where he was now. One thing he remembered so clearly about the kid was his utter devotion to help people- to damn what happened to him. Would he be disappointed? Pissed out of his mind? Or would he worry and try to help? Tomura laughed at the last thought. No one would be crazy enough to stand up against Master. Besides, he didn't need help. He had someone who believed in him, and that was more than he's ever had before. It's not like he could go anywhere else, anyway. Yes, he had to hurt people and do awful, awful things, but he told himself that it was okay, because those people weren't so good. At least that's what Master had told him.

It was too late for him. He was far too deep in this path toward villany. It was the sole reason why he never let himself think about if he actually wanted it.

He wonders if Hato thinks about him as well, or if he's completely forgotten about him. He drowns the sadness and hurt that comes with that thought by finishing his whisky in one swallow, mildly coughing at the rough burn.

It's not like they'll ever see each other again. He doesn't even know if Hato is still alive or not. He tells himself he doesn't care.

The ache in his chest tells him otherwise.

__________

It was dark out. He was walking outside, and he could see up ahead a city, but it wasn't Musutafu. In fact, it looked out of place, like a stage. There weren't any lights besides the street lamps, making it seem abandoned. A ghost town.

It was then that Katsuki realized that this was another one of those dreams that seemed just as real as reality.

He was beginning to think it might be.

He was overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotions whirling him. He felt anger so hot that he thought it would actually burn him. It was an anger he had never experienced before. It was twisted like a thorn bush, going in so many directions without a sole target. He realized he was the most angry at himself, but he didn't know why.

What was hidden under the fury was a pain that was unlike anything he's had to bear before. Guilt so piercing that it cut right down to his soul, leaving an unerasable scar. Katsuki thought he would choke on it- a part of him hoped he did.