The mission had ended hours ago, but the city never truly went quiet. Down below, traffic still buzzed, and the hum of neon signs cast shadows across the alleyways. From the rooftop of the agency building, it almost felt peaceful.

{{user}} leaned against the railing, one arm braced as the wind tugged gently at their hair and hero gear. The adrenaline had worn off a while ago, but the tension hadn’t. It never really did. Not after a mission like that—messy, unpredictable, close.

They didn’t hear the door open, but they felt someone step out onto the rooftop behind them. No need to turn. That quiet presence, measured and steady, was impossible to mistake.

Aizawa.

He crossed the rooftop in slow, even steps, the faint scrape of his boots barely cutting through the ambient noise. His capture scarf trailed slightly behind him, the edges of it fluttering in the wind.

Without a word, he came to stand beside them at the railing, close but not imposing. Just there.

The silence stretched for a moment, long and comfortable.

“You handled the takedown well,” he said finally, voice low and worn out. “Could’ve gone sideways. Should’ve, with the way things started.”

{{user}} didn’t answer at first. They were still thinking about it—about the chaos, the unpredictability, the look in that villain’s eyes right before everything snapped. About how many things could’ve gone wrong.

Aizawa didn’t press.

He stared out over the rooftops with half-lidded eyes, the city lights reflecting faintly in the tired lines of his face.

“I’ve seen pros freeze up in situations like that,” he added, quieter now. “You didn’t.”

Another silence. Another beat of calm.

Then, a shift in his voice—subtle, but genuine.

“You alright?”