JUNO!

hanta’s tilted his head to look at the blue and red flashing city where you both resided miles away. and thought ‘danger’ was nearby, he knew he was safe here—with you. 

“but she knows a place where the cops don't go” 

the cloud-littered sky cast a dim shadow over the town of naruhata. it was quiet, occasional sounds of police sirens zooming through the streets being the only thing you two had heard in the past thirty minutes. a soft wind blew through the cracks of the abandoned and strictly off-limit building—but you were far past breaking rules. it was ironic to say the least, being the daughter of the chief of police, but being so willing to directly disobey the foundation of your father’s practice. 

“and she'd be the one if anyone knows”

you saw hanta for the first time around a year ago, limping and cut up in a back alley on your way home. you quickly went to aid the injured boy, bandaging him up, even as the words of your dad complaining about a certain “teenaged tape swinging vigilante who had been haunting the town for months.” loomed in your head. 

you didn’t regret it. when he smiled at you, dimple dented cheeks bracketing his dopey grin and then thanked you, like you weren’t an immediate danger to him, like you couldn’t get him arrested on the spot, you made the stupid decision of keeping him around. 

“if half the fun was to cut and run”

now selfies shot from sixty feet in the air or pleading messages of asking to meet at ‘our spot’ flooding your phone on the daily were your new normal, and you had gotten more used to it than you like to think about. 

“and the other half was getting caught”

“alright, look at me.” your gaze flickered up to his face and the cut that hovered just above his eyebrow—less attentive than the gash on his lower torso and slit on his ankle that you had just cleaned but still needing care. your hands found their way up, grip tenacious on his chin, but not harsh. 

hanta complied, dark, drowsy eyes stuck on yours. you could feel him take advantage of your steadiness, a slight weight dipping into your palm of your hand. you didn’t complain. 

“then don’t stop”

he was tired, you could see it—feel it—in every part of his body, in the way he held himself. he had already been pressed against the wall you arrived, clutching his side like it was his lifeline, wearing a weary grin like he didn’t want to scare you but also didn’t want to lie to himself.   

you weren’t angry, just disappointed—as much as that seemed to be worse. you weren’t disappointed in hanta necessarily, but the choices he made weren’t helping his case. this was the way he was, spontaneous, young and dumb, and full of what you felt like was too much courage at times. 

you took a breath before dabbing his cut with a small alcohol pad. hanta sucked in a breath and you squinted your eyes in apology to your distractedness.

“sorry.” you muttered, lost courage causing your eyes to leave his and focus on the injury. you went over it once again, this time with more caution. you tried your best to ignore the subtle shake in your hands as you searched the medkit for a small bandage and the sting in your eyes as you carefully placed it over the wound. “there you go.” you breathed as you leaned back to scan over your patch up job.

blood cleaned? check.

injuries disinfected? check. 

bandages on and secure? check. 

“don’t stop”

the hard part was over. 

“then when the fix comes in”

you started pack up all the supplies and place them back into your dad’s medkit, though you could feel his eyes on you with each precise movement that you made. 

“are you mad at me?” hanta finally asked. his voice came out in a rasp, slow and careful as if he was defusing an active bomb and didn't know what would set it off. 

you clicked the kit shut as you looked at the moping boy. “did you want me to scold you?”

“he'll get a slap on the wrist”

hanta let out a dry laugh, “nah.” he shook his head. “sure you got more use for that pretty voice than yelling at a dumbass like me, yeah?” he adjusted himself against the wall, hand still ghosting over the bandaged wound on his torso.  

“definitely.” you said as you tucked the medkit into your bag. 

but you knew better to give a post-fight, always needy hanta more than a single-word response. 

you looked up from your bag, eyes finally meeting his again, and they were still on you, big and silently begging you to say more. 

you sighed and after a minute of mental debate, you spoke. “i just... don’t like when you do stupid shit. especially, after i warn you not to.” your words came out soft, like they’d reopen the patched up wounds if you spoke too loud. you crossed your arms over your chest, childishly hoping it could shield your heart. “i mean, how many times did i tell you not to stay at that  hideout, han?”

“at least a dozen times…”

“exactly!” you exclaimed. “i’m not a doctor, hanta. i can only patch you up so much.” you muttered.

hanta nodded slowly, full attention on you. 

“i worry about you, you know?” it slipped out, before you even gave it full permission to. 

hanta’s eyes sharpened at that. “yeah… yeah, i know. i’m sorry.” he whispered, a hand rubbing his side. “i’ve been trying to be more careful.”

you shot him a look, unconvinced. 

“i swear!” hanta persisted, moving to shoot his arms up in defense but stopping midway, “fuck—!” his body visibly tightened up at the sudden moment, “shit that fucking hurts.” he groaned as his face scrunched up into a grimace. 

you swiftly hovered your hands over his, instinctively prepared to help him. “careful, han.”

“yeah. i got it, ma.” hanta slowly brought his hands down until they rested in his lap. he cleared his throat once, eyes wandered to the ground before he muttered, “but yeah, um, i keep you in mind. during every mission. keeps me careful.” he confessed, looking up at you. “help keep the goal in mine too.” he added. 

“making love is an easy thing to do”

“the goal?” you inquired. hanta caught his lip between his teeth as he nodded his head. “which is…?” you urged. 

“and she didn't feel like pushing herself”

hanta bit his cheek and titled his head to the side, “just like.. seeing you. texting you. talking with you.” he offered a half shrug. “thinking about being with you, does it for me, i guess.” he let out a half-breath, half-laugh as his head lolled back against the wall.

you scoffed at his just barely half assed reply. “you guess?” 

“but don’t be fooled”

he shook his head. “i know y/n.” he corrected, eyes dazed. “i know.” he repeated, reverent.

you looked towards the town, eyes traveling across the streets as you tried to gnaw off the heat blooming in the inside of your cheek. you nodded slowly, taking in  the information piece by piece. “you know.” you whisper-echoed. 

you turned your back to face the wall and slid down it, taking a seat right beside hanta. “i look forward to it too. getting your text and seeing you, even if you give me a heart attack half of the time.” you huffed out. 

“don’t stop”

you turned to look at him to find that his eyes were already on yours, bright like they hadn’t been half filled moments earlier. smile big like he hadn’t been nibbling his lips off when you didn’t immediately reply seconds before this. the breeze pushed his hair to the side, strands sticking to the side of his face. his tired eyes stuck to you like glue, like he was hanging on every word you said with importance. 

“she was the daughter of a cop”

even broken, he looked so beautiful. maybe it was because you were the one who put him back together. 

“i don’t understand why you do certain things, it doesn’t make sense to me. but that doesn’t matter, cause we make sense. in some stupid way we just happen to make sense, yeah?” you paused, “you know?”

“don’t stop”

hanta laughed, his bandaged brow raising with his eyes “i know.” he breathed, “more than you think.” then, almost hesitantly, his hand opened up. blooming like a lotus flower, it reached for you. 

you took it easily, separate warmth now seeping into each other, into one.  

“the daughter of a cop”

the wind whistled a soft, bittersweet tune in your ear as the sky darkened into a deeper lapis shade with each passing second. you let your head fall on his shoulder—still being mindful of his fragile state. you allowed the rhythm of your breathing to match his as your eyes fluttered shut. “hanta, just—be safe, okay? promise me you’ll be safe out there. i got your back no matter what.” 

“don’t stop”

hanta squeezed your hand as he tilted his head against yours, “i promise, i’ll be safe. for you—for us.”

“she was the daughter of a”

note: juno!! i love u hii!!! juno YOU are the coolest in the entire universe and i love ur writing so much YOU are the inspiration are u joking oh em gee. anyways thank you THANK YOU for putting in this request it’s like you read my mind i really hope i’ve done our bf justice!! i could really see him in this type of setting, the half serious half not serious hero role is so fitting for him. vigilante hanta will be on my mind for a while now.

He leaned back against the concrete ledge, fingers tapping an absent rhythm against his thigh. The sky stretched endlessly above him, constellations he didn’t bother learning. He didn’t need their names to appreciate the way they flickered.

Then, the door creaked open.

Hitoshi didn’t startle. He’d heard the footsteps climbing the stairs. They were too light to be Aizawa’s, yet too hesitant to be Kendo coming to drag him back inside. Still, his shoulders tensed on instinct.

You hovered in the doorway, silhouetted by the dim hallway light behind you. Your pajamas wrinkled from tossing and turning, hair messy.

“Hey,” you said softly, “Couldn’t sleep?”

Hitoshi glanced at you, one eyebrow arching in mild amusement.

“Great guess,” he replied dryly.

You snorted and let the door swing shut behind you.

You and Shinsou had exchanged glances in the hallway a few times—shared small talk during parties, exchanged smiles that never quite reached deeper than surface familiarity. Never anything more. That’s why he was a bit surprised when you settled down beside him on the rooftop’s edge.

“Just making conversation,” you offered casually.

“Don’t,” Hitoshi replied without turning to look at you.

Hitoshi kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, waiting for you to say something inane about the weather or the view or how cool it was that he hung out up here alone like some brooding protagonist.

But you didn’t.

You just sat there, quiet, your knees pulled up to your chest as you stared at the same patch of sky he’d been lost in moments before.

From that night onward, you started coming up here every evening.

First came the metallic whine of the door hinge—a sound Hitoshi had memorized like his own heartbeat. Then came your hesitant footsteps, always pausing at the threshold as if reconsidering whether this was worth intruding on his solitude. Finally, came the quiet rustle of fabric as you settled into what had become “your spot”—precisely 1.3 meters to his left near an old rusted ventilation panel. Not that he cared, of course.

On the fourth night, however, a blanket was draped over him. Shinsou turned toward you with a faint frown of confusion.

“It’s getting chilly,” you said simply, shrugging as you pulled your own blanket tighter around your shoulders.

The next night a thermos appeared between you with a dull clink. You blinked at the steaming cup, then at Shinsou—he wasn't even looking at you, just staring straight ahead at the skyline as if the offering had materialized on its own (He'd prepared for this, rehearsed the casual delivery in his head three times while waiting on the rooftop's eastern ledge).

"Chamomile," he muttered, so quiet you almost missed it. "Supposed to help with sleep."

You wrapped your fingers around the warm cup, hiding your smile in the rising steam. "Thought you didn't want conversation."

He didn’t reply, but his lips betrayed him, quirking upward at the corner. Hitoshi turned his face toward the city lights before you could witness the mutiny.

The dam broke after that.

By the seventh night, you'd learned three things about Shinsou Hitoshi:

-His insomnia stemmed from nightmares he wouldn't name.

-He took his coffee black with two sugars.

-He remembered everything you ever mentioned in passing (like how you'd casually complained about cold hands last Tuesday, and this week a pair of gloves were placed right beside your spot.)

"You're staring," he said on night ten—not unkindly but with gentle teasing undertones.

You didn’t deny it. Instead, your eyes lingered on him as you murmured softly: "You're interesting."

Your pinky brushed against his—the contact lingering just long enough for both of you to notice—and neither moved away.

"You're persistent," there was a brief pause before he finally asked, “Why are you really here?”

You hesitated before answering: “Couldn’t sleep.” you offered, like he hadn’t watched you yawn through training that morning.

“Mm.” He flicked a pebble off the ledge. “Try counting sheep.”

“Tried. Got bored.” You leaned back, arms braced against the concrete. “They all looked like Aizawa.”

A snort escaped him before he could stop it—a rare sound that made your smile deepen just slightly.

"You don't even try to sleep anymore," he said gruffly, "You just come here."

You exhaled through your nose, breath fogging in the cold air. The lie tasted bitter even before you spoke it. "I—the fresh air helps."

"Liar," Shinsou said simply but pointedly.

A pause. The wind carried the scent of rain from the west, though the sky remained clear for now.

"...Dunno," you admitted quietly after a moment. "Just feel like it."

Shinsou’s chuckle was dry, echoing softly into the night air—"You don't just 'feel like' sitting on a rooftop at two in the morning."

"You do," you countered, pressing your shoulder more firmly against his.

"Yeah but I'm me."

"And I'm me." A shrug that felt heavier than it looked. "Guess we're both here now."

Shinsou looked at you then—his mind swirling with unspoken thoughts: how he waited for you every night, how your presence had become the only thing that quieted the static in his skull, how he'd started timing his breaths to match yours.

It was the twelfth night when Shinsou felt the weight of your head on his shoulder.

One moment you were blinking too slowly, the next Shinsou’s hand was hovering near your head, torn between shaking you awake and wrapping it around your shoulder.

And after a whole minute of contemplation he decided on the latter.

That was the night when Hitoshi whispered softly into the darkness,

“I love you,”

The words were barely audible yet too fast to take back. His lips brushed your temple, feather-light and gone before your eyelashes could so much as flutter.

Somewhere between Night One and Now, the rooftop had become your spot too.

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