The city was quiet.

Not because it was safe—safety was always temporary. But because tonight, the villains had retreated, the sirens had stopped, and the sky was clear.

You found Izuku on the rooftop of the agency.

He stood alone, wind tugging at his cape, the glow of the skyline painting his silhouette in gold and green. His gloves were off. His mask was tucked into his belt. His hair was damp with sweat and rain.

You approached slowly.

He didn’t turn.

“You okay?” you asked.

He nodded. “Just… thinking.”

You stood beside him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin. One For All still pulsed faintly in his veins—quiet now, but alive.

“What about?” you asked.

He hesitated. “How many more times I’ll have to do this.”

You looked at him.

At the man who had saved thousands. Who had carried the weight of generations. Who still bore the scars of battles no one else remembered.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” you said.

He turned to you then.

And in his eyes, you saw it—the exhaustion, the hope, the quiet longing for something softer than duty.

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m glad you’re here.”

You reached for his hand.

He let you take it.

And for a moment, the city didn’t need saving.

Because its greatest hero was finally letting himself be held.