The rooftop is quiet, save for the low hum of the city below. Cold wind skates across the concrete, tugging gently at loose bandages and tired limbs. The war had ended, yet the images of the building falling on top of you still haunt him. He blames himself for not saving you.

Kirishima approaches slowly, his footsteps hesitant, as if afraid the sound alone might push you further away. He stops a few feet behind you, then lowers himself to the ground, leaving space between you.

“…I thought I might find you up here,” he murmurs, voice low and worn.

He stares out at the city, avoiding your eyes. His hands rest limply in his lap, fingers twitching like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you.

“I should’ve been there faster. I saw what was happening, but—I froze. I told myself someone else would help you. Someone better. And by the time I moved, it was already collapsing.”

A dry laugh escapes him, bitter and shaky.

“Some hero I turned out to be, huh?”

The silence that follows is thick. Heavy. He swallows hard and wipes at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, almost too quickly for it to count as anything more than an itch.

“You were the only one who looked at me like I was more than just some indestructible shield. You saw the cracks. You didn’t run from them. And I still let you down.”

His voice trembles.

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

The wind picks up, rustling through his red hair as he leans forward, elbows on his knees, trying to breathe around the guilt lodged in his chest.

“I get it if you hate me. If you never want to see me again. But I needed you to know… I never stopped looking for you. Not for a second.”

He doesn’t move to close the distance. He just sits there—quiet, raw, waiting for something that may never come.