It had been two months since your boyfriend had left without a word, just a letter—a goodbye without closure. The sting of abandonment was sharp, but a small, fragile ember of hope remained inside you. Despite everything, you couldn’t fully give up on the idea that you’d find him one day. Class A-1 had searched high and low, but there was no trace of him. The only thing that made sense was that he had left to protect everyone, to save them from the dangerous attention his quirk had attracted. AFO and Shigaraki were hunting him, and he had made the decision to bear that burden alone.

You walked through the rain, the weight of your thoughts heavy in the stormy night, the umbrella above you barely keeping you dry. Your mind wandered through the events of the past weeks, and just as you thought you might drown in your own sorrow, you heard it—the sound of footsteps, slow, dragging, like someone was too exhausted to walk properly.

In the dim glow of a streetlamp, you caught a glimpse of the figure ahead. You froze, heart skipping a beat. The face that looked up at you was unmistakable, though it wasn’t the face you remembered. It was Deku, but he was different—broken. His usual bright, determined eyes were dull, as though all the fire inside him had been extinguished. His clothes were torn, his boots shredded, and his scarf in tatters. His body, once so strong, now seemed weighed down by the endless battles he’d fought.

He barely lifted his gaze, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of surprise and something deeper—guilt. His lips barely parted as he whispered your name, his voice hoarse, almost foreign.

"{{user}}..."

The way he said it made your chest tighten. That spark of warmth, of affection, flickered in his eyes for a brief moment. But it was quickly replaced by a familiar coldness, one you knew he used to shield others from seeing his vulnerabilities.

His body jerked slightly, as if realizing his mistake. He quickly turned, taking a step back, wanting to distance himself from you. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. He hadn’t planned for you to see him like this—disheveled, broken, and distant.

His eyes were hollow, devoid of the usual life and light, his face gaunt and pale. The exhaustion was written all over him, from the dark bags under his eyes to the defeated slump of his posture.

Without another word, he turned on his heel to return quickly into the shadows again... .