Play Nice (Tomura Shigaraki x Reader)

Chapter 10: Tomurau

弔う // tomurau

(verb, transitive)

      1. to condole, to hold memorial service for, to mourn

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When Tomura Shigaraki was nine years old, he found a dog.

It had been on the walk "home" from school. He hadn't quite shaken the habit of taking the back alley routes, despite his new Guardian telling him there was no need to avoid the main streets anymore. In fact, he had also told him that he didn't need to walk at all, that he could be driven to and from school, but Shigaraki didn't want that either.

Old survival habits died hard. So he walked.

There had been a thrash in one of the garbage cans he passed. Normally he didn't think twice about those sounds — they weren't enough to raise his guard for. Just feral cats or rubbish shifting under its own weight. But this sound had been different. It had been followed by a distinctive yelp.

He walked over to the trash can, curious. Whatever was in there couldn't have been very big. While the can had gone still, it hadn't gone silent. A song of whimpers and squeaks, percussed with echoing scratches. It almost sounded like—

Shigaraki pulled the lid off, revealing a scraggly little puppy sitting at the bottom of the can.

A stray dog wasn't an unexpected find by any means, but this one still caught him by surprise. Even through the clumped fur and grime, it was easy to make out that it was a Corgi — not exactly the type of puppy you'd find abandoned in a trash can. But it was quickly apparent by the cloudiness of its eyes and the show of its ribs why a backyard breeder had potentially dumped this one.

It was a runt. And it was blind.

The second it heard the sound of the lid, the puppy was up on its hind legs. Jumping and pawing excitedly at every side of the can, frantic and determined to get out.

Shigaraki moved his hands to grab each side of the rim. With a firm grip he kneeled, tilting the can down onto its side so that he could lay it down without jostling it too much. He wasn't going to pick the dog up by hand — didn't want to get bitten — but he also didn't see the point in leaving the poor thing to die in a trash can either.

It scampered out to the concrete eagerly, sniffing left, right, then back to Shigaraki again. Honestly, he'd expected it to run away almost immediately. To chase the squeak of a rat or a smell, to get lost or hit by a car somewhere else in the world where he didn't feel responsible for it.

But instead, it sniffed closer and closer to Shigaraki. The second it's wet little nose connected with his slacks, it broke out a big puppy smile and ran straight into him. His first instinct would've been to quickly shove it away — he could easily see the filth and insects jumping off of it with every movement. But the stubby little thing was faster than his ability to overcome surprise.

And soon the puppy was bouncing up his knees and licking excitedly at his face.

"H-Hey, stop it!" he growled, pushing the runt away, but this only made it want to bounce and play more.

He wasn't sure what did him in — whether it was the wiggling, the determination, the feel of that tiny, tenacious little tongue. But very quickly, Shigaraki was no longer pushing and pulling his head away. He was laughing and rubbing behind its ears, pulling it close to nuzzle into his chest.

And carrying the puppy he'd decided to call Mon-Chan, "home".

His Guardian hadn't been quite as accepting when Shigaraki walked resolutely into his home office with little Mon-Chan in his arms.