Chapter Text
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The city at night always pretended to sleep. From up here, sprawled across a rooftop ledge, I could see the lie for what it was. Neon bled across slick pavement, sirens hummed in the distance, and some drunk idiot was leaning on his horn because apparently patience died in this city years ago.
The air was thick with humidity, heavy enough to taste. It clung to me like cling wrap, soaking into my skin until I felt more like soup than person. Thunder rolled faintly somewhere out on the horizon, a promise waiting to break.
Still, rooftops had their perks. From above, everything looked smaller - buildings, cars, the endless parade of ant-sized people hustling their way through lives that would never brush against mine. Each carrying their own tragedies, dreams, and lives.
But the best perk? People-watching.
Case in point: Janine. Down on the fourth floor, she was currently in the middle of a relationship apocalypse, throwing a vase at her boyfriend - Ryan? Bryan? Names were irrelevant when infidelity was involved. He dodged with impressive reflexes. Possibly ex-baseball player. Definitely not ex-cheater.
Next window over was less charming: a leathery old man bending over in front of a mirror with a mimosa in hand. Wrinkled skin, far too much of it. That one was on me; nobody told me to look. At least he seemed content with the heat. Good for you, dude.
Me? I was melting. Sweat slid down the back of my neck, pulling my hair into damp ropes. I gave up, twisted it into a knot with the tie from my wrist, and wondered - again - why I ever left it down in the first place. Masochism, maybe.
Which brings me to the present: crouched on a fire escape, spying on a grown man sobbing through Finding Nemo. He’d just screamed “JUST REMEMBER” at Dory like she personally wronged him. I’d bet money he hadn’t spoken that many words to his own kids who are currently under CPS care. Real father-of-the-year material.
I wanted to believe I looked cool: shadowed, sharp, vigilante-esque. Real Spiderman energy.
Realistically? If anyone saw me, the cops would get a call about a "freak perched outside my window.” Fine line, really.
Another sigh escapes me as he starts sobbing at a cartoon fish. Child abuse doesn’t faze him, but Ellen DeGeneres does. Fascinating. Honestly, pulling my hair out strand by strand is starting to feel like the less painful option here.
A buzz in my pocket saves me. I answer on the second ring, already bracing.
“Anything yet?” rasped a voice.
“Does a grown man dehydrating himself over a fish with memory loss count?”
Silence. Two long minutes of it. It seems disappointment travels just fine over 5G.
A reluctant sigh. “Wrap up the mission. File your report before you get back.”
Damn, not even a quick welfare check on me. Tragic.
“Dabi, just so you know, I’m flipping you off right now.”
“Stop talking.”
“Twice would've returned the flipping off like a real one.”
Click. Line dead. Crispy bastard. Since when were villains this sassy?
I rolled my eyes. Twice would’ve made me laugh and asked if I wanted a snack. I blame Endeavour for the daddy issues.
With a muttered curse, I stood, tugged my hood over damp hair, and slid my mask into place. Parkouring down the fire escape while swearing about unpaid overtime should count as transferable skills on a résumé. Excellent multitasking abilities, including but not limited to cardio and profanity.
The landing rattled through my knees like a bad omen. Apparently, my knees were already middle-aged.
Ahead, a massive billboard lit the street, screaming out the latest headline: UA Students Take Down Criminal Syndicate. Again. Heroes-in-training, handling jobs meant for adults. Police nowhere in sight. And people called me unhinged for hating the system.
Sometimes I craved it though. The fight. The cause. My friends. The ache sharpened when two faces lit up the screen - Dynamight and Deku. My childhood ghosts carved into the skyline. Memories that didn’t fade no matter how many years I buried them under.
Then came the other ghosts. My family’s faces, etched in grief. The ones the so-called heroes failed. The guilt still clung like smoke, creeping in uninvited. Why I am still alive and they are not playing on a never-ending loop in my mind.
A car horn snapped me back. I shook it off, muttering live, love, laugh under my breath like a curse.
I took my phone back out of my pocket and started trudging back to file the stupid report. Which, by the way, had nothing to report other than Subject watched Pixar. Subject cried. Riveting stuff.
I was halfway through doom-scrolling TikTok - purely innocent behaviour, thank you very much - when it got interrupted.
The interruption came in the form of an egg.
A literal egg.
I hadn’t noticed the shouting at first - typical late-night city noise - but then there was a sharp crack ahead, followed by a string of curse words I’d know anywhere.
Only one man I knew could have a vocabulary that foul and somehow look that good.
Bakugo Katsuki.