The flashing red and blue lights of the police cars cut through the darkness, their reflections flickering against the rain-slicked pavement. Kirishima stood frozen, the child still clinging to him, their tiny fingers digging into his jacket. The weight of the situation pressed down on him like a crushing boulder.
He could hear the officers shouting, their boots slamming against the wet concrete as they rushed inside. "Step away from the suspect! Hands where we can see them!"
Kirishima barely registered their words. His pulse still thundered in his ears, drowning out everything else. His hands trembled—not from fear, not from exhaustion, but from something deeper. Something he wasn't ready to name.
A firm hand grabbed his shoulder.
"Kirishima."
The voice was rough, familiar. He turned to see Aizawa, his dark eyes scanning the scene with an unreadable expression.
Kirishima's mouth opened, but no words came out.
Aizawa took in the bloody villain, the shivering child, the way Kirishima stood—tense, barely breathing, like a caged animal unsure if the fight was over.
"You good?" Aizawa asked, his voice low. Not a demand. Just a question.
Kirishima nodded, but it felt like a lie.
The villain's words echoed in his mind.
"That's the monster. That's what I wanted to see."
The police swarmed the warehouse, securing the villain in quirk-canceling cuffs. He barely resisted, still grinning through his broken teeth.
One of the officers—a stern woman with sharp eyes—approached Aizawa. "We need to take Kirishima in for questioning. He acted without authorization."
Kirishima stiffened. He knew this would happen. He'd broken the rules. There was no way around that.
But before he could step forward, Aizawa let out a tired sigh. "I'll handle this."
The officer hesitated. "Eraserhead, I don't think—"
Aizawa's eyes gleamed red beneath his goggles. "I said. I'll handle it."
The officer clicked her tongue but nodded, backing off.
Kirishima exhaled, his entire body feeling like it was caving in on itself.
Aizawa motioned toward the exit. "Let's go. Now."
Kirishima followed in silence, his movements stiff. He could still feel the villain's blood on his knuckles, drying and cracking against his skin.
He had won. He had saved the kid.
So why did it feel like he'd lost something?
The dorms were quiet when they arrived. Most of the students were asleep—or at least, they hadn't noticed Kirishima sneaking out. He wished it could stay that way.
But as soon as he stepped inside, a voice cut through the silence.
"Where the hell were you?"
Kirishima turned to see Bakugo standing in the dimly lit hallway, arms crossed, eyes sharp with something that looked dangerously close to concern.
Kirishima swallowed hard. "I handled it."
Bakugo's scowl deepened. "Handled what, dumbass?" He stepped forward, his voice lowering. "Why do you smell like blood?"
Kirishima hesitated. For a split second, he considered lying. But Bakugo would see through it. He always did.
"...There was a villain. A bad one."
Bakugo's hands clenched at his sides. "You went after them alone." It wasn't a question.
Kirishima nodded.
The air between them was thick, charged with something unspoken. Bakugo looked like he wanted to yell, to punch something. But instead, he just exhaled sharply, his shoulders tense.
"Did you kill him?"
Kirishima flinched. He wasn't sure why.
"...No."
Bakugo studied him, his gaze burning into him like a damn spotlight. "Did you want to?"
Kirishima froze.
For a long moment, he couldn't answer.
Bakugo shook his head, his jaw tightening. "You're an idiot." He turned away, muttering under his breath before adding, "Get some sleep, shitty hair. You look like hell."
Kirishima let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah… guess I do."
But as he lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, he couldn't stop hearing the villain's voice.
"You'll see what you are soon enough."
Kirishima shut his eyes.
Maybe he already has.