Chapter Text
Kirishima straightened his uniform, reminding himself to breathe all the while. He could do this.
Stillwater Hold was unsettling to say the least. The building was massive, making Kirishima queasy even just by lifting his gaze to look at the very top. It was quiet from the outside, nothing but the rippling waters he had just sailed across and wild animals hidden in the fog could be heard. The kinds of people kept inside didn’t help his nerves, either.
The amount of stairs he’d had to climb was terrifying in itself.
He looked back down them, the spotlight from above reflecting off the murky sea. It’s still not too late to head back, he thought offhandedly.
The doors to the prison opened, catching his attention. The metal groaned and an eery red light illuminated the way. Very welcoming, if you asked Kirishima. They opened just enough for him to step through.
Kirishima squared his shoulders, took one last deep breath, and began walking.
“I need to speak with one of the inmates,” he stated, trying to sound as authoritative as possible.
The man at the desk glanced down at him. He was a big guy, his skin grey and ears pointed. Quite frankly he looked rather bored. “Yeah, well, folks in here aren’t usually very talkative.”
“This one was hit by friendly fire, he’s got reason to talk,” Kirishima insisted. “Must have been sent in today?”
A look of recognition past over the man’s face. “Oh. Inmate 2135,” he murmured, shifting through papers next to him. “Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
Kirishima faltered. “Why not?”
The guard considered his next words. “Uh, well there’s been... an incident.”
“What kind of incident?” Kirishima pushed.
“The...” he winced, “not so pretty kind.”
Kirishima descended on the elevator, fiddling with the journal in his hands. He watched anxiously as the dial above him clicked, switching between levels.
“You don’t understand. I have to talk to him.”
“Ha, you’ll be able to. As soon as he can move his jaw again.”
“Who assaulted him?”
The elevator stopped and the doors opened, jostling Kirishima out of his thoughts. He cringed at the rusty metal as it squeaked. Surveying the dark corridor in front of him, Kirishima was definitely eager to get in and out of here as soon as possible.
Deciding to not waste another second, he stepped off the elevator and marched forward cautiously.
A thumping sound echoed off the walls. He swore he could hear yelling in the distance.
It was damp and cold, the lack of windows and the stone walls surrounding him made Kirishima feel claustrophobic. There were a few lights lining them, though they didn’t help too much being so dim. Some flickered as he past by. One was situated in front of a cell, and Kirishima quickly realised that was where the repetitive thumps reverberated from.
He rounded on the cell, still remaining quiet. From what he could make out with his vision obscured, both from the limited light source and gaps in the cell door, the male inside was fairly large, the black tank he wore leaving a lot of skin exposed and let Kirishima observe the muscles there flex as he heaved and threw another punch to the wall. Unruly blond hair shot out in all directions, almost appearing white even in the dark. Then the most noticeable feature—ink covered a majority of his back, Kirishima tried squinting to make out the designs, but was soon interrupted when a rough, low voice growled out,
“Who the fuck’re you?”
Kirishima had been wrong. Though the inked skin was undeniably memorable, it couldn’t even begin to compare to the eyes that peered back at him and seemed to pierce through his very being.
Red. Bright. Dangerous. Like an explosion.
“I took a look at your file,” Kirishima said, surprising himself. He couldn’t afford to get distracted. Not now. “There’s no record of you, or your crimes. What’re you here for?”
He stepped back as the man in front of him stalked closer, circling around the small space. Like a lion in a cage. “My sunny personality,” he seethed.
Kirishima clutched the journal tighter. “You attacked an inmate. Why?”
The blond scuffed his boot along the floor, keeping his head down. “Why not?”
“He was a witness in an ongoing investigation,” Kirishima explained.
“Hm, bummer.”
Kirishima prided himself on being a patient man, but even he could see this was going nowhere. He needed answers. Sighing, he took a step back towards the elevator. “This was a waste of time.”
“Couldn’t have put it better,” the other man’s voice rung out. “Hey, give Shigaraki a kiss on that winning eye of his, will you?”
That made Kirishima pause. He hesitated, but wandered over to the cell again. “Shigaraki? The industrialist?” he questioned.
The man scoffed. “Okay, this is getting fuckin’ old. Can you just send in whoever’s gonna kick the shit outta me so I can get on with my night?”
Kirishima stayed silent. He looked from the other to the floor, the red line clearly painted along it to indicate that you shouldn’t get any closer.
He stepped over it.
Opening the journal, he presented it to the blond. “Does this mean anything to you?”
It took a moment, but the man’s eyes slid to the pages, scanning their contents.
Kirishima wasn’t prepared for him to practically lunge at the cell door, bandaged hands gripping it tightly. He stumbled back, the book snapping closed.
The blond’s gaze flicked to meet his, then back to the journal. “Where did you get this?”
This close, Kirishima could see the small X high upon his left cheekbone, along with a grenade tattooed on his neck. Scars littered his face, the most prominent being on his eyebrow and another along his upper lip. Piercings adorned his ears and nostril.
Kirishima straightened, bringing the journal over to his side. “My question first. He worked for Shigaraki?”
The other looked at him as if that was the dumbest question he’d ever heard. “Uh, they all do,” he said, again, like it was obvious. He shook his head. “How can anyone not know that—? Fuck—where did you find this?” he repeated, gesturing to the journal.
“There was an attack,” Kirishima provided, “this is evidence.” He brought it back up in front of himself, glancing between it and the blond. “I need proof if I’m going to believe what you’re saying about Shigaraki.”
The blond let out a harsh sigh, letting his head drop forward onto the cell door. “I could get it for you,” he sneered and jut a thumb towards the exit, “just—not from in here.”
Kirishima huffed, amused. “And what exactly makes you think I’m just going to trust someone like you?”
Those hands tightened on the bars, Kirishima almost thought he heard a crack. “Someone like me?” he whispered, venom dripping from every word. “You enforcers are all the fuckin’ same, just asshole criminals in shitty, fancy uniforms.”
Kirishima felt his face burn.
The other didn’t give him time to reply. “Y’know what? Find that shithead yourself,” he said with finality.
Kirishima felt like he’d just been punched in the gut, but recovered enough to say a quick, “I will, thank you,” and turned back down the corridor.
He heard a chuckle behind him. “Undercity’s gonna eat you alive, pretty boy.”
Kirishima stopped, but didn’t turn back. He looked down at the journal.
...Fuck.
“I’ve got orders from Councillor Iida, concerning Inmate 420.”
The guard laughed. “Not cooperative, huh?” Kirishima watched as he pulled out some sort of baton, letting the end of it clang against the ground. “You, uh, want us to have a chat with him?” he grinned.
Kirishima stared at it, stunned. “Wha—no!”
“Oh.” The guard’s smile dropped. He sounded... disappointed?
“It’s for his release,” Kirishima went on, pushing the paper he’d placed on the desk further. The guard took it, reading over it.
“Huh, since when’s he a Councillor?” he mused.
“Since... today?” Kirishima winced, it was meant to sound like a statement.
The other man regarded him for a second, but didn’t say anything more and continued looking over the paper.
Kirishima couldn’t help but think about what he had said mere moments ago. “Um... how many chats have you had with him?”
The guard pursed his lips and looked off to the side. “Y’know, I never even thought to count.”
Kirishima’s stomach churned.
He walked with a new determination when the elevator stopped on that level. When he made it to the cell, the blond was once again facing away from him, this time rolling his shoulders, no snide comments coming out of him.
The door slid open, and when the man’s eyes finally landed on him, they widened. Not by much, but it was clear Kirishima wasn’t the one he was expecting to see standing in that doorway.
Nothing was said between them. Whatever expression Kirishima wore, he hoped it conveyed everything he was feeling.
When he turned around, beginning to make his way back, quiet footsteps followed.