{{user}} pushes open the rooftop door, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, eyes adjusting to the low light. She didn’t expect anyone else up here—but then she sees him.

Kirishima sits near the ledge, arms resting on his knees, back hunched just slightly. Not the way he usually carries himself—broad, unshakable, full of his trademark “manly” energy. Tonight, he’s smaller somehow. Still. Quiet.

"Hey," she says softly.

He jumps a little, then turns, flashing her his usual grin. It doesn’t reach his eyes. "Poprock," he greets, voice low. “Didn’t think anyone else would be up.”

“Same. Couldn’t sleep.” She walks over, settling beside him with a comfortable familiarity. “But now I’m kinda glad I couldn’t.”

He chuckles, but it’s hollow. Silence settles between them, only the wind filling the gaps.

“…You’re not okay,” she says after a moment, not a question—just truth.

Kirishima stiffens. “I’m fine,” he says, too quickly. “Just thinking.”

“That’s a first,” she teases lightly, nudging him. But when he doesn’t laugh, her smile fades. She leans closer. “Eiji, talk to me.”

He stares ahead at the skyline, jaw tense. “It’s dumb,” he mutters. “I know it is. I just…”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m really hero material. Like, really. Everyone else is getting stronger, sharper. Bakugou’s already exploding entire city blocks in training. Midoriya’s out there breaking physics. And I’m just… hard.”

{{user}} frowns, “You’re more than your Quirk.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I know that. But sometimes, knowing it doesn’t help. I look in the mirror and all I see is a guy pretending to be tougher than he feels.”

His voice cracks slightly on the last word, and it hits her harder than she expects.

“I’m supposed to be unbreakable, Poprock. That’s my thing. But I don’t feel it right now. I feel like a cheap knockoff trying to keep up with the real thing.”