Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE
The compactor groaned as it crushed another heap of garbage into a neat rectangular block. Kirishima grinned as he wiped sweat from his forehead. The machine rattled one last time before spitting the finished cube onto the pavement with a heavy thud.
Perfect.
He bent down, grabbed it with both hands, and carried it over to the growing pile beside the street.
One hundred ninety-eight. One hundred ninety-nine. Two hundred.
A victorious grin spread across his face.
“Yes!”
Not a new record. But close. If he hurried, he could probably hit two twenty before sunset. That would’ve made momma happy.
The thought slipped into his head before he could stop it. The smile faltered, only for a second. Then he pushed the feeling away. There was work to do. The city wasn’t going to clean itself.
Rows of garbage blocks lined the street behind him like oversized bricks. Custodians had always used compressed waste as construction material. It was cheap. Strong, durable, and easy to stack. Long before he was born, families had built entire neighborhoods out of them. Now he mostly used them to patch collapsing buildings and reinforce structures whenever sandstorms got bad.
It mattered. At least he thought it did. Maybe nobody would ever see it. Maybe nobody would ever know. But if the wall fell down and he could have fixed it? That felt wrong. So he fixed it. It was important. At least to him.
The afternoon wind swept down the street, carrying loose trash with it. Plastic wrappers skittered across the cracked pavement while a crumbled advertisement blew through the air like a dying bird. Kirishima reached out to snatch it but the wind picked it up and it fluttered out of his reach directly into an abandoned shopping mall.
Kirishima sighed and glanced up at the beating sun. It was about time he took a break. He stood up from where he was resting on his small compactor. He slung his compactor on his back like a pack and jogged after the runaway garbage.
The old mall was one of Kirishima’s favorite places. Not because it had useful stuff, but mostly because it felt… alive. Or at least like it had been alive before.
The front entrance had collapsed years ago. Sunlight streamed through holes in the roof. Abandoned storefronts stretched away into dusty darkness. Forgotten signs still hung above shop entrances advertising sales that ended decades ago.
Sometimes Kirishima wandered through the halls and imagined when there were crowds.
Families. Kids. People talking. Laughing, living.
He knew what those things were supposed to sound like. Movies had taught him. Books had too. But reality was considerably quieter.
The paper finally settled near a broken escalator. Upon closer inspection it was an advertisement for an old recycling program, started far to late and with far too little support. He sighed as he bent to pick it up. Then froze as a distant roar echoed through the building.
Kirishima straightened immediately.
The whole mall started to rattle. Dust drifted from the ceiling. The sound came again. Louder. Closer. Mechanical. Impossible. It was…
His heart nearly stopped as he realized it.
An engine. A real one.
For a long moment he simply stood there staring. Then he dropped the paper and ran.
Sunlight struck him full in the face as he burst from the mall. The roar intensified. Something descended from the sky. Blue fire blasted from engines mounted along its back. The figure landed in the middle of the street with a hiss of thrusters.
Kirishima stopped dead. His jaw dropped.
It was a person. An actual person. Not a face from a movie. Not a voice from an old recording. Not someone smiling out from a faded photograph.
A person.
For a terrifying second, he wondered if he’d finally gone crazy. Then the stranger started moving. Kirishima dove behind an overturned bus before he could be seen. His pulse was racing so hard he could hear it.
Real. Definitely real.
The stranger looked like something from the future. Sleek black armor. Advanced equipment. A reflective helmet hiding their face. Technology more sophisticated than anything Kirishima had ever seen. It was nothing like the patched together equipment and coveralls he relied on every day.
The stranger pulled out a handheld scanner, then a datapad. They moved through the street carefully, scanning buildings, debris, signs, and chunks of ruined pavement. Kirishima couldn’t look away.
A person. After all this time. A person. His stomach twisted.
He should say something. Right? Obviously. That was what normal people did. Probably. He couldn’t actually remember. When was the last time he’d talked to someone?
The image of his parents flashed through his mind. The realization hit him hard enough to make him blink.
“Oh.”
That explained why this felt impossible.
Kirishima ducked lower behind the bus. Okay. He could do this. He just needed to think of something normal to say. Something casual. Something people said to each other every day.
“Hi.”
He immediately grimaced. No. Too boring.
“Hello.”
Worse somehow. What about…
“Haven’t seen you around these parts before-“
He frowned. He definitely got that from a movie. Why would he say that?
The stranger was already wandering farther down the street. Scanning. Typing. Working. Kirishima watched him for another minute. Then another. The stranger hadn’t noticed him. Not once. For a brief moment a terrible thought crossed his mind.
What if he left? What if this person got back in their ship and flew away again? What if Kirishima spent the rest of his life wondering what would’ve happened if he just walked over there and said hello?
His stomach dropped. Absolutely not. No way. He’d spent years talking to garbage. He was not missing this chance. The excitement finally overwhelmed the anxiety. Before he could think himself out of it, he stepped out from behind the bus. Raised a hand. And waved.
“Hey!”
The stranger spun. Something flashed. A deafening blast cracked through the air. Kirishima barely managed to throw himself sideways. The energy bolt exploded against the bus behind him. Metal erupted in every direction.
Silence followed.
Kirishima stared at the smoking crater. Bits of molten metal dripped from the ruined side of the bus. Smoke curled laxily into the air. Then he looked down at the weapon pointed directly at his chest.
His pulse finally caught up with what had just happened. The guy had shot at him. Actually shot at him.
“…What the hell, man?!” The words burst out before he could stop them. “That’s no way to greet someone!”
The gun didn’t lower.
“Who the fuck are you?”
His voice sounded distorted beneath the helmet. Deep. Sharp. Extremely angry.
Kirishima frowned.
“Well next time ask first before you start blasting!”
The stranger stared.
Kirishima pushed his goggles up on his head and jabbed a finger toward himself.
“My name is Eijiro Kirishima.”
There was no reaction. The blaster remained trained on him. Kirishima crossed his arms and glared back.
“And who are you?”
The stranger ignored the question. Instead he tilted his head, almost confused.
“How can you breathe?”
Kirishima’s shoulder’s dropped in disbelief.
“Huh?”
The stranger took an aggressive step forward. The weapon remained trained on him.
“How are you breathing Earth’s atmosphere without a helmet?”
For a second Kirishima genuinely thought he must have misheard him. He looked around, then back at the stranger.
“Uh… because it’s… air?”
Silence.
The stranger simply stared at him, looking seconds away from shooting him again as he pulled out his data pad.
“Earth’s oxygen levels aren’t sustain-“
He stopped as something flashed on the screen. Tap. Tap. Tap. He checked it again. Then a third time. A long silence followed. Long enough for Kirishima to start wondering if he should maybe apologize for somehow breathing incorrectly.
Finally, the stranger looked back up.
“Well,” he muttered. Another tap. “Shit.”
Kirishima had absolutely no idea what that meant.
A hiss echoed through the empty street. The helmet released from its seals, locks disengaged, panels shifted. The visor retracted upward as the helmet unfolded in a sequence of smooth mechanical movements until it disappeared behins his head. A shock of blond hair exploded free.
Kirishima’s eyes widened.
Sharp red eyes swept across the city. Confident. Alert. Intense. The kind of eyes that looked like they were constantly daring the world to try something. The stranger looked younger than Kirishima had expected. And somehow even cooler.
Kirishima’s mouth fell open. For a full second he forgot how rods worked. Then one escaped anyway.
“You’re so cool,” he found himself wheezing. The realization seemed to leave his body and come out through his mouth before he could stop it.
The blond man looked up from his datapad just long enough to scoff.
“Obviously.” A slight smirk tugged at his mouth. “I’m fucking awesome.”
Then he went right back to typing as if that settled the matter. Kirishima stared. Because honestly? Yeah. It kind of did.
The blaster was still pointed vaguely in his direction but Kirishima found it surprisingly difficult to care.
There was another person there. Another person. A real one. Someone who could answer questions, argue back, who existed. His chest felt strangely tight as the questions piled up faster than he could sort through them.
Where did he come from? Was there a ship? Were there more people? What was he doing here? What was his name? What as he scanning for? What—
The blond continued tapping away furiously. His gaze moved constantly between the information that scrolled on datapad and the city around them.
Kirishima leaned forward.
“What are you doing?”
No answer.
“Is that a map?”
Still nothing.
“Can I see it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
The blond’s shoulders slumped. Slowly. Like a man experiencing genuine suffering. He groaned.
“Will you shut up?”
“Aww,” Kirishima whined.
The blond lowered his pad just enough to look at him.
“How did you get here?”
“Oh, I walked.” Kirishima pointed out towards the far edge of the city. “Down Broad Street. I live over there near the park. It isn’t too far. You can cut through the mall if you don’t mind the collapsed roof.”
The stranger’s eyes followed his gesture. Kirishima continued anyway. Words spilled out of him before he could stop them.
“Sometimes I use a bicycle if I’m carrying stuff. Well… did… but the back wheel broke last week.” He scratched his cheek. “Been trying to find a replacement. Figured there had to be at least one spare wheel left on the planet.”
A thoughtful pause.
“Still haven’t found it, but if you see one let me know. I haven’t had a lot of time since I’m trying to rebuild that wall over there.”
Silence.
The stranger blinked.
“What.”
Kirishima pointed toward the horizon.
“I live… there?”
The blond looked back toward the distant cluster of buildings. The city stretched for miles around them. Empty streets, crumbling towers, endless waste fields. Red eyes returned to him, narrowing.
“No,” he said slowly, “you don’t.”
Kirishima frowned. What a weird thing to say. He pointed again.
“Yeah, I do? You can see my house if you squint.”
The stranger stared at him. Then he looked. Actually looked. Beyond the blocks of ruined storefronts, beyond the collapsed overpass, there was a recognizable shape of an old shuttle with solar panels propped up against the support beams. It was modified and reinforced until it resembled a home more than a vehicle. Kirishima smiled proudly.
“My dad helped build the first part.” The words slipped out automatically. A familiar memory. A familiar ache. “I added most of the repairs, though. The roof kept leaking and there was this one wall that kept collapsing every sandstorm season, so I reinforced it.”
“You live on Earth,” the stranger said again, “…in that.”
“Yeah.”
“By yourself.”
“Yeah.”
The stranger stared. Kirishima smiled helpfully. The silence stretched on. Eventually the man rubbed a hand down his face.
“What the actual fuck.”
Kirishima shrugged.
“What about you?”
The stranger groaned.
“What about me?”
“Who are you?”
The question hung between them. The blond looked like he was debating whether answering was worth the effort. Eventually, he sighed.
“Katsuki Bakugo. I’m a researcher.” His attention returned to the datapad. “Surface observations. Environmental surveys. Data collection.”
Kirishima nodded enthusiastically despite understanding maybe half of that.
“Oh, cool. So you’re here to study stuff.”
“Obviously.”
Kirishima brightened immediately.
“I can help!”
Bakugo snorted. A short, incredulous sound.
“No.”
“Come on!”
“No.”
“I’ve been cleaning these streets forever. Come’on. I know where everything is.”
Bakugo turned and started walking. The conversation was apparently over. Despite that, Kirishima followed.
“Why are you following me, shitty hair?” Bakugo growled when he noticed.
“My names Kirishima!” he defended. “And I’m helping.”
“You are not!”
“Too bad!”
Kirishima grinned and Bakugo groaned. Then kept walking. And despite all his complaints, he never once told Kirishima to leave. So Kirishima happily followed him into the city.
He was the first real person he’d seen in years and he wasn’t getting away that easily.