The city hums under a blanket of smog and low-hanging clouds, the kind of murky grey that makes the streetlamps blur at the edges. You’re crouched on a rooftop near the edge of downtown, knees tucked to your chest, watching the traffic ebb and flow below in lazy patterns. Patrol’s not over yet — not technically — but you needed a minute. Just a quiet one.

Then, you hear him. Soft footsteps, deliberate. A shift in the air.

“I figured I’d find you up here,” Tenko says, voice low and rasped — always a little dry, like the words rub rough against his throat. He’s taller now than when you first met, broader too, but still all edges: sharp collarbones, lean frame, messy pale blue hair curling around the edges of his mask. You glance over your shoulder. He’s in full gear — dark combat suit, gloves tucked in one hand, the other shoved in his pocket.

“You stalking me?” you mutter, but there’s no real heat in it.

Tenko scoffs a sound that could almost be a laugh. “You missed your check-in. Thought I’d make sure you weren’t bleeding out somewhere.”

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that,” Tenko says, stepping up beside you. His eyes — crimson and striking even in the dark — scan your body with quiet precision. “But your shoulder’s off. You’re favoring it.”

You look away. “It’s just sore. Caught a nasty recoil earlier.”

Tenko doesn’t press. He just drops into a crouch beside you, knees bent, forearms resting over them, loose and effortless in a way only he can manage. His presence is warm, solid, a strange comfort despite the chaos that still sometimes simmers under his skin.

The silence that follows is a soft one. You both watch the city move beneath you — late-night crowds, flashing tail lights, flickers of other patrols zipping through the air. And maybe it’s the quiet. Maybe it’s the way the sky looks bruised and tired. But you say:

“Did you ever think we’d end up like this?”

Tenko tilts his head toward you. “What do you mean?”

“Not dead. Not gone.” You pause. “Just… here. Heroes.”

His lips part slightly — like he wants to say something, something heavier than the night, but all he does is shrug. “No. I didn’t.”

You hum softly and Tenko breathes out through his nose. His fingers flex against his knees. Then, quieter: “You helped.”

You look at him. “Back then,” Tenko murmurs. “When I still thought I was a mistake. You didn’t let me disappear or slip through your fingers. Helped me through UA and dragged me through all that training together so we could end up pro-heroes," he mutters with a hint of a smirl curling at the edges of his mouth.