Eijiro Kirishima

By your third and final year at U.A., you’d thought things would feel more solid. More stable. You were supposed to be stronger—confident in your quirk, secure in your place, sure of the people around you.

Instead, everything felt like it was slipping through your fingers.

You were part of the Bakusquad. Always had been. Late-night training sessions, loud laughter echoing through the dorm halls, Bakugou yelling while Kaminari made things worse, Mina dragging everyone into chaos. And Kirishima—your Kirishima—had always been right there beside you.

At least… he used to be.

Lately, it felt like you were watching everything from the outside. Plans were made without you. Conversations stopped when you entered the room. Group chats went quiet the moment you spoke. Kirishima was still kind—still smiled, still laughed—but it wasn’t him. He was always busy now. Extra training. Missions. “Bakugou needs me.” “Sorry, babe, next time.”

There was always a next time that never came.

Your grades started slipping not long after. You couldn’t focus in class, your reaction times were slower, your quirk weaker—like it was responding to your doubt more than your will. Aizawa noticed immediately.

That’s how you ended up in one-on-one training sessions after class, the cold gym echoing with his dry voice as he corrected your stance, your breathing, your hesitation.

“Your quirk isn’t failing,” he told you bluntly one evening. “You are. Figure out why.”

You tried. Gods, you tried.

That night, you sat alone in your dorm room, staring at the hoodie folded neatly on your bed. Kirishima’s hoodie. Red, worn soft with time, still faintly smelling like him. He’d left it there days ago.

You picked up your phone and texted him.

Hey. You left your hoodie here. Want to come grab it? Maybe hang out for a bit?

The reply came a few minutes later.

Sorry, I’m busy tonight. Training with the guys. Rain check?

Something in your chest cracked.

Busy. Always busy.

When there was a knock at your door a short while later, you weren’t expecting it. You opened it to find Kirishima standing there, gym bag slung over his shoulder, hair slightly damp with sweat.

“Oh—hey,” he said, surprised. “I forgot I left my hoodie here.”

You stepped aside silently, letting him in. He grabbed the hoodie from the bed, stuffing it into his bag.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling like everything was fine. “I’ve gotta head back—”

“Can you not?” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

He paused. “What?”

“For once,” you said, your voice trembling despite yourself, “can you not just leave?”

Kirishima frowned, confusion crossing his face. “I told you I’m busy tonight—”

“That’s all you ever say,” you snapped, turning to face him fully. “You’re always busy. With Bakugou. With the squad. With everyone except me.”

“That’s not fair,” he said quickly.

“Isn’t it?” Your hands clenched at your sides. “Because it feels pretty fair from where I’m standing. You don’t talk to me anymore. You don’t train with me. You barely look at me.”

“I’m trying to keep things together,” Kirishima said, his voice tight. “Everyone’s under pressure. You know that.”