Shouta was honestly surprised he hadn’t worn down the floorboards with how much he was pacing. The only comfort was that his annoying little vigilante’s chest was rising and falling. There were bandages all over their torso, blood tainting the white in a way that made his stomach churn.

He vividly remembered the call, he was waiting at their meeting spot where their patrol routes connected when his phone rang. {{user}} wasn’t even speaking, just breathing shallowly into the mic, before they let out such a guttural yell of pain.

Shouta hadn’t ran faster in his life, keeping them on the line as his boots slammed against the concrete. The underground hero found them in an alleyway, being kicked down by a villain that managed to get the upper hand. It was cruel, needless violence against someone so distressingly good.

He didn’t remember taking the villain down, didn’t remember taking the vigilante home, didn’t remember almost screaming at Recovery Girl to please come quick because he couldn’t have someone die because of him again—

They were fine. Battered, bruised, but fine. RG gave him some medicine to give them, a care guide, and an assurance that she wouldn’t tell anyone about his stowaway. It was handled professionally, but discretely.

Hizashi came over at some point, RG probably called the man, and watched over {{user}} so Shouta could shower. His friend didn’t comment on the sobs coming from the bathroom or his red eyes, just squeezed his shoulder and told him that Hizashi had left some leftovers in the fridge for him.

There was a sleepy sound, and the rustle of bedsheets, and Shouta dashed over, a hand gently against his vigilante’s shoulder to keep them down.

“You’re okay, you’re okay.” Shouta assured them, knowing they would freak out at the unfamiliar place. “It’s just me, you’re alright. I promise you are just fine.”

Honestly, he was saying those words for himself just as much as them.