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You’ve always found the most comfort when in a high place where no one can reach you. As a kid you loved climbing trees; it was like an escape from the world. You could sit on a high up branch and feel the wind carry away your worries like magic.
Now, you’ve upgraded to sitting on quiet rooftops of tall buildings in your city.
Some might be scared at the prospect of falling at such a height, but not you. The quiet atmosphere, where you know no one will find you, combined with the feeling of your legs dangling dangerously over the edge brings you a strange sense of peace.
It’s a much needed escape from the struggles of your life. Whenever you’re feeling particularly bad, you always come up here. You doubt your family will notice your absence anyways.
Sometimes you think about what would happen if you jumped. It would be easy to make it appear like you fell, but you can’t ever bring yourself to do it. You don’t enjoy living, yet you’re too afraid to do something about it.
You look forwards at the city lights shining beautifully through the night sky. You try to use the scenery to distract yourself, but it’s difficult for your mind to stop spiraling.
Carefully, you reach into the pocket of your torn hoodie. You always bring a small pocket knife with you wherever you go. You tell yourself it’s just for protection, but you know that’s a lie.
With a shaky hand, you flick the blade out and roll your sleeve up. Your hand yielding the knife feels clammy. You’re not confident that this is the right choice, but you don’t know what else will take the pain away.
With a careful slowness, you drag the blade across your wrist. You wince as it slices your skin, and you almost stop at just one cut. Despite the pain, you still crave more.
You watch the blood pool up in the cut before dripping down your arm. You repeat the process a few more times until you have to shut your eyes and clench your fist to ignore the pain.
You stare down at your bloodied wrist, a strange satisfaction filling you. In the back of your mind, you feel a small amount of regret, but the feeling is too addictive for you to let that emotion linger.
A small thud breaks you out of your thoughts. You’re used to the soft sounds of the city, but something like that is abnormal. You turn around and see a man standing behind you; he has messy, long hair and is wearing a full black outfit with a white scarf wrapped around his neck.
——————
Patrol has been relatively easy tonight for Aizawa, and it’s getting close to the end of his shift. Earlier in the night he helped stop a robbery, and he also found out more information on a case he’s currently working on. Overall, it’s been a productive night without being overwhelming.
He’s currently making his way across the rooftops, watching out for anything that seems abnormal. He pauses when he notices a figure sitting on the edge of a distant building. He knows that’s never a good sign and immediately starts running in that direction. There’s been situations like this where he didn’t make it in time, and he never wants to repeat that experience.
Once he gets close to the rooftop you’re sitting on, he slows down. He doesn’t want to scare you with a loud noise, but he also wants you to know he’s there. He decides on carefully jumping onto the rooftop, purposely making a small thud to signal someone’s arrival.
He watches from behind as you flinch at the noise. Despite his effort, you still appear frightened when you turn around to look at him. The darkness prevents him from fully seeing you, but he notices you move quickly to cover your arm. It’s obvious you’re hiding something, but he isn’t going to immediately pressure you with an interrogation.
Aizawa takes a few careful steps forward, gauging your reaction while doing so to make sure you’re still okay. Once he’s closer and can better make out your face, he realizes you’re definitely a teen. Your childlike face combined with your vulnerable expression makes him sure of it.
After a few moments of silent staring, he sits down on the edge a few feet away from you so you’re not uncomfortable. He chooses not to look at you and instead keep his gaze forward on the city as he speaks. He’s found it feels less like an interrogation this way.
“So, kid, why are you out here this late?” Aizawa asks, keeping his voice somewhat gentle.
You stay quiet for a few seconds before eventually answering.
“I just needed some air.” You mutter softly.
He doesn’t believe that for a second, but he reminds himself to take this slowly. He needs to build a bit of trust first. Before he can ask another question, you speak up.
“Who even are you?” You ask.
He honestly wasn’t expecting you to talk without being promoted to first, but he answers regardless.
“I’m Eraserhead. I’m a pro hero that patrols in this city. Care to tell me who you are?”
——————
Oh. You certainly weren’t expecting the homeless looking man to be a pro hero. You immediately feel embarrassed, how didn’t you recognize a local hero?
As if he can sense your embarrassment, he speaks.
“Most people don’t know who I am. It’s a part of being an underground hero.” He says.
That makes you feel slightly less bad, but you still feel like an idiot. You just stay silent after that. There really isn’t any reason for you to speak anyways.
“So, are you going to tell me the real reason that you're out here?” Eraserhead questions, getting straight to the point.
You knew he could tell your dumb “getting fresh air” excuse was bullshit, but you didn’t think he would call you out on it. In a moment of panic, you end up telling the truth.
“I didn’t want to be at home right now.” You explain.
He hums, seeming to accept the answer. You can see his hesitation before he responds.
“Alright. I’m going to stay here for a bit, just to make sure you’re okay.”
For the first time while talking to you, he looks over and makes eye contact. Solely based on his expression, you know there’s no way to convince him out of doing so. You just shrug and accept it.
The wind gently tosses your hair around. You raise your arm to fix it, forgetting about the cuts hidden underneath your sleeve. You winced slightly, but you doubt Eraserhead noticed; however, when you look over at him, you notice him staring down at your wrist.
You follow his gaze and see that the blood has begun seeping through your grey hoodie. You thought the fabric was dark enough to hide it, but the crimson color is obvious in the moonlight. There’s also a slight trail of red dripping down your hand. You quickly turn your arm over, but the movement makes what you did even more obvious.
When Eraserhead speaks, his tone is clearly more gruff than before.
“Can I see your wrist?” He asks, but from the look on his face it’s more like a demand.
You just shake your head in refusal. You’re not willing to show him, or anyone. You lower your head as if you’re trying to hide from this. No one was ever meant to know, but you let your guard down and allowed for this to happen.
You can hear Eraserhead take a breath before speaking. He doesn’t immediately yell when you refuse, and he’s being patient with you.
“I’m not going to get mad. I just need to make sure they’re properly treated.” He explains gently.
There’s a few seconds of silence while you consider his request. Despite all of your past beliefs, you believe him.
You’re not confident in this decision, but you still roll up your sleeve and move your wrist closer to him so he can see.
He holds your wrist softly and inspects the cuts, lightly turning your arm to properly see. You normally despise all kinds of physical touch, but you honestly find a small amount of comfort in his gentle hold on your arm.
After a moment, he lets go and reaches into a compartment on his belt for a small first aid kit.
“Can I bandage these?” He asks.
Eraserhead waits for you to nod in confirmation before getting to work. He grabs a gauze pad and applies a bit of pressure to stop the bleeding. He warns you that it might sting a bit before he uses an antiseptic wipe to clean the cuts. He finishes by wrapping a bandage around your wrist and making sure it’s secure.
The process was quicker and less painful than you had expected it to be. You slowly move your arm back and let it rest in your lap.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.
Normally, you would’ve refused immediately, but something about him makes you feel like you can trust him.
You don’t tell him everything, but you explain a bit about your situation. You tell him the hopelessness that you feel and that the only way you know how to cope is by hurting yourself. Nothing else has ever worked for you, and that cutting is the only thing keeping you alive.
He lets you speak. He listens. It isn’t a lot, but it still means a lot to you. Mostly everyone in your life ignores you. They don’t care enough to waste time worrying about you, but a random hero you just listens as you voice your struggles.
He even gives you genuine advice. Genuine advice, not the shit people always say about how “it gets better eventually.”
Eraserhead writes down his number on a small piece of paper and gives it to you, while telling you to feel free to contact him if you need anything.
He cares and wants to help you.
All of this is new to you: having someone care, being helped, them doing it willingly. You feel wanted and appreciated for the first time in so long.
You take the paper and place it into your pocket. You don’t know how often you’ll be asking for help, but you’re glad he gave you the option.
Despite the night sky fading out into the soft blue of dawn, he stays on that rooftop for hours, making sure you’re alright. He’s clearly exhausted, but he sits there with you until you feel ready to leave.
Even now, while you’re back in your apartment with your careless family, you still feel the hope he left lingering and bringing you a bit of warmth.
You may be physically alone right now, but as you take the piece of paper out of your pocket, you don’t feel alone. You have proof that someone out there cares, and for right now, that’s all you need.