The city was burning again. And this time, it wasn’t a villain’s fault. It was him.

You stood just outside the crumbling perimeter, smoke and cinders licking the air around you, the sky choked to an ugly, hellish orange. In the middle of it all — like a monument to his own failures — Endeavor stood alone.

Chest heaving. Gloved fists clenched so hard you swore you heard the leather creak. His fire cracked around him like a living thing — wild, out of control — no longer the perfect, weaponized furnace he tried so damn hard to pretend it was.

You didn’t move closer. You weren’t an idiot. You weren’t sure if he even knew you were there.

But after a long, heavy silence, his voice rasped out — low, broken, almost hard to recognize.

“…You gonna say it?”

You swallowed the taste of ash in your mouth, eyes stinging from more than just the smoke.

“Say what?” you said roughly, trying to keep your voice steady. That he screwed up? That he lost control again? That no matter how much power he had, it’d never be enough to drown out everything he already destroyed?

Endeavor didn’t turn. Didn’t look at you. Just stared into the ruin like he could set the whole world on fire and still never burn away the parts that needed it most.

“You’re thinkin’ it,” he said, voice heavy enough to drag you down with him. “You always do.”

You wanted to throw something at him — scream, punch, anything. Anything to crack through that goddamn iron wall he built around himself.

Instead, you took a slow breath, smoke clawing at your lungs. “You think you’re the only one angry?” you said quietly. “You think you’re the only one who wishes things could be different?”

The wind howled through the wreckage like the world itself was mourning. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Just stood there — two battered silhouettes against a backdrop of fire and regret — both too damn stubborn to walk away. Both too damn broken to know how to fix it.

Finally, Endeavor’s flames lowered, flickering uncertainly like even his quirk was exhausted.

“…I don’t expect forgiveness,” he muttered.

You laughed once — short, bitter, raw. “Good,” you said. “‘Cause you’re sure as hell not gettin’ it.”

And still… You didn’t leave.

Neither did he.