Her fingers trembled.
The paper unfolded slowly, like it was made of glass.
Darkcreasa stared at the name.
Her lips parted.
Her breath hitched.
Flushed.
Toga leaned in, eyes wide, practically vibrating.
"WHO?!"
Dabi smirked, already leaning back with smug confidence.
He tilted his head, voice low.
"It's me, isn't it?"
Darkcreasa didn't answer.
Not yet.
She looked at Dabi.
Then at Shigaraki.
Then back at the paper.
Her throat tightened.
She opened her mouth—
Paused.
Toga gasped. "You're dragging this out like a drama queen and I love it!"
Shigaraki's fingers twitched.
His eyes locked on hers.
No pressure.
Just quiet hope.
Dabi raised an eyebrow. "You're blushing. That's a ME reaction."
Darkcreasa inhaled sharply.
Then—
She whispered.
"Shigaraki."
Silence.
Like the wind itself stopped to listen.
Shigaraki blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Like he hadn't heard right.
Dabi's smirk faltered.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
Toga exploded.
"I KNEW ITTTTT! I knew it was you, Shiggy-kun!"
Darkcreasa groaned, burying her face in her sleeve.
"I hate everything."
Shigaraki, cheeks pink, voice barely above a whisper:
"I don't."
(Shigariki POV)
He didn't know what he was expecting.
Maybe a shrug.
Maybe a laugh.
Maybe Dabi's name.
But when Darkcreasa whispered his, something inside Shigaraki short-circuited.
'She picked me.'
And that meant something.
It meant dancing.
It meant touching.
It meant holding her.
And that?
That was a problem.
His mind spiraled.
'I hate touching people I don't want to kill.'
His quirk wasn't just dangerous—it was automatic.
Instinctual.
A twitch of his fingers and everything crumbled.
He could wear gloves, sure.
But the only ones that could handle his decay safely were thick, reinforced, heat-resistant monstrosities that looked like they belonged in a demolition zone—not a party.
'They won't match anything. I'll look like a walking hazard sign.'
And then—
'How do I even hold her?
One hand on her waist?
Two hands?
Do people spin?
What if he stepped on her foot?
What if she flinched?'
His chest tightened.
He didn't even realize he was spiraling until—
Dabi burst out laughing.
Loud.
Unfiltered.
The kind of laugh that echoed through the branches like a villainous cackle.
"Bro, you're panicking. You look like you just got assigned to babysit a unicorn."
Shigaraki blinked. "I'm not panicking."
"You're calculating glove-to-romance ratios in your head."
Shigaraki scowled. "Shut up."
Toga squealed, spinning in place like a glitter tornado.
"This is the cutest thing I've ever seen! Shiggy-kun is nervous! And Creasa's face is redder than Dabi's flames!"
Dabi blinked. "My flames are blue."
Toga waved him off. "Still!"
Darkcreasa, still flushed, looked like she was about to combust.
Her hands were clenched.
Her eyes darted everywhere but toward Shigaraki.
To escape the spotlight, she turned sharply.
"Hey! That means you're with Dabi."
Toga froze.
Dabi stopped laughing.
Slowly, Toga turned, eyes gleaming with chaotic delight.
Her smile curled upward like a villainous prophecy.
"Ohhh, Dabi-kun~"
Dabi's face dropped.*
His voice cracked.
"Oh the fuck no."
Shigaraki blinked.
And for the first time in the last five minutes?
He smiled.
Just a little.
Dabi looked like someone had just told him he was the face of a glitter-themed dating sim.
Eyes wide.
Posture stiff.
Soul leaving his body.
"I'll wear a trash bag."
Dabi's voice was flat.
Deadpan.
Desperate.
Like a man clinging to the last shred of dignity in a world made of sequins and doom.
Toga gasped.
Her eyes flared wide—not with sparkle, but with pure, unfiltered rage.
Her ribbon whipped in the wind like a cursed banner.
Her aura?
Demonic.
She stepped forward, voice dropping into a guttural growl that could've summoned thunder.
"NO! IF YOU SHOW UP IN A TRASH BAG, I SWEAR ON EVERY DROP OF BLOOD I'VE EVER SPILLED—I WILL MAKE YOUR LIFE WORSE THAN A LIVING HELL!!!
I WILL SEW GLITTER INTO YOUR PILLOW!
I WILL REPLACE YOUR SHAMPOO WITH CONFETTI GLUE!
I WILL MAKE YOU WEAR A TUTU TO EVERY VILLAIN MEETING FOR THE REST OF YOUR CURSED EXISTENCE!!!"
Dabi blinked.
Stunned.
Speechless.
Possibly traumatized.
"That's… dramatic."
Toga grinned.
Suddenly.
Instantly.
Like a switch flipped and the demon was gone.
Her voice turned sweet.
Soft.
Innocent.
She tilted her head, eyes wide and glowing like a cherub.
"I am dramatic."
Then—without warning—she clung to his arm, wrapping herself around him like they were already married in a chaotic romcom with zero budget and infinite chaos.
Her voice?
Pure angel.
"Let's go practice~"
Dabi's face twisted into pure horror.
His soul visibly tried to escape through his eyes.
He turned toward the tree, mouthing silently:
"SAVE ME."
---
Up in the branches, Darkcreasa and Shigaraki remained.
The chaos below faded into background noise—Toga dragging Dabi toward the training mats, threatening to dip him into glitter if he didn't learn the waltz.
But up here?
It was quiet.
Still.
Shigaraki shifted, fingers brushing the bark, hoodie pulled low.
He glanced sideways at Darkcreasa, voice low.
"What color are you wearing?"
He tried to sound casual.
Detached.
But his heart was thudding like a villain with a crush and no emotional training.
He braced himself.
'Please not pink. Please not sparkle. Please not anything that makes me look like a confused shadow next to a disco ball.'
Darkcreasa didn't hesitate.
"Black."
Shigaraki blinked.
Paused.
Then—
"Good."
His voice cracked slightly.
Darkcreasa smirked. "Why? You were scared I'd say pink?"
Shigaraki muttered, "I don't do pastel."
She chuckled softly, brushing a leaf off her sleeve.
"Don't worry. I don't do glitter."
They sat in silence for a moment longer.
And for the first time in a long time?
Shigaraki felt calm.
Not because the world was quiet.
But because she was.
(Later…)
It was late.
The dorms had settled into their usual nighttime rhythm—soft chatter, showers running, Denki zapping his blanket again, and Jiro humming through her earbuds.
Shigaraki stood in the hallway, hoodie pulled low, hands buried deep in his pockets like he was trying to disappear into himself.
He wasn't good at this.
Not the social part.
Not the asking-for-help part.
Definitely not the fashion and dancing part.
But he'd made a decision.
And now?
He was standing outside Mina Ashido's door.
He'd heard things.
That she was good at dancing.
That she knew style.
That she didn't judge—at least not out loud.
He raised a hand.
Knocked.
Softly.
The door creaked open.
Mina blinked.
Hair wrapped in a towel.
Face mask on.
Slippers shaped like frogs.
"Shigaraki?!"
He cleared his throat. "I need help."
She stared.
Then—
She screamed.
Loud.
Shrill.
The kind of scream that made birds outside the dorm scatter and probably woke half of Class A.
Shigaraki flinched, arms raised like he was dodging an explosion. "Wait—stop! I'm not here to fight!"
But Mina was already in full panic mode, eyes wide, voice cracking.
"KIRISHIMA! HELP! HE'S AT MY DOOR!"
Footsteps thundered down the hall.
Kirishima appeared in a blur, shirt half-on, hair wild, quirk already activated and hardening across his arms.
He stepped in front of Mina like a human shield.
"Stay back, Mina! I've got this!"
Shigaraki groaned. "Oh my gosh..." he mutters under his breath, "I'm not attacking anyone," he said quickly, voice low and strained. "I just… I need help."
Kirishima blinked. "Help?"
Shigaraki shifted awkwardly, suddenly wishing he'd just Googled how to not look like a disaster at a party.
"The party," he muttered. "I don't know what to wear. Or how to dance."
Silence.
Mina's jaw dropped.
Kirishima's quirk deactivated with a soft crack.
Mina blinked rapidly, like she was trying to process the fact that Tomura Shigaraki, the guy who could disintegrate a building with five fingers, was asking her for fashion advice.
She almost cried.
"You… want help with clothes and dancing?"
Shigaraki nodded, eyes down. "I don't want to look stupid."
Kirishima stepped forward, voice softer now. "Dude… you came to the right people."
Mina sniffled, wiping under her eye. "This is the most emotionally confusing thing that's ever happened to me."
Shigaraki sighed. "Please don't make this worse."
Mina clapped her hands. "We're gonna make you look so good."
And for the first time in a long time—
Shigaraki felt like maybe asking for help wasn't the worst thing he'd ever done.
Mina nodded slowly, still blinking like she'd just seen a ghost ask for fashion tips.
"Come inside."
She stepped aside, letting Shigaraki enter like she definitely hadn't been screaming for backup thirty seconds ago.
Kirishima followed protectively, still half-hardened, eyes scanning the room like Shigaraki might suddenly turn into a villain again.
But Mina?
She was already in full-blown makeover mode.
She spun toward Shigaraki, eyes gleaming.
"Okay—first question. Who are you going with?"
Shigaraki hesitated.
His fingers twitched.
His hoodie suddenly felt too warm.
"…Darkcreasa."
Mina squealed so loud Kirishima flinched.
"OH MY GOSH! I KNEW IT. I KNEW IT. I KNEW IT!"
She grabbed a sketchpad from her desk, flipping through pages like she was summoning a prophecy.
"I had bonding time with her and Toga at the sleepover yesterday. I know exactly what she likes."
Shigaraki blinked. "You… do?"
Mina nodded, eyes wild with excitement.
"She's into sleek. Minimalist. Black-on-black with subtle edge. No glitter. No frills. But if you show up in something sharp and mysterious? You win."
Kirishima finally relaxed, sitting down on the edge of her bed, watching the chaos unfold.
"You're in good hands, man."
Shigaraki muttered, "I feel like I'm being drafted into a fashion war."
Mina grinned. "You are. And you're going to slay."