Chapter Text
The streets were unnaturally desolate, even for a brisk Saturday morning. Only the sound of the occasional winter breeze singing softly through the empty branches of trees and dead leaves skittering over dying grass echoed unimpeded in the silence. No cars roared down the immaculately cleaned streets, no people walked or laughed or made conversation in the bloodless and still shops that lined the main street. Not even the billboards, spirited with their façade of the joys of promoting overzealous capitalism through saturated colors and shapes could add life to the empty world.
This was the world was as it once was, strung along only by the faint ambience of itself; the simple beauty of falling pebbles on soft dirt and noisy songbirds in chorus. This was the world as it should have been, simple and delicate, the supporters made obsolete by the lack of oppressors.
Except for one thing destroying the harmony inaction created.
A person, so to speak. A little less than kin, receiving a little less than kind. Kaminari could not see the beauty around him. He would not be content to see what the world offered plentifully, as a wolf cannot simply admire the flock frolicking on greener grass. Like many others, Kaminari would only see value if he could take from the world. He would destroy the chorus and music, harvesting the notes but missing the music all to sate his desire to feel arbitrarily assigned satisfaction.
However, Kaminari, unlike the other misfits around him, held all right to take beauty from the world. After all, the world had taken beauty from him.
The world had taken Jirou.
Kaminari’s iron tipped boots sent the resting loose cobblestones flying from their resting places, crashing against the cold and unnatural pavement. The songbirds were drowned out through fear, rushing back to their homes to nestle in the safety of familiarity. As he crossed through the freshly cut lawn that separated the main street and U.A’s entrance gate, dying leaves were stripped from their form and shredded to shards by the soles of iron. The crisp, standing grass fell silent and beaten under the weight of a hanging duffel bag, leaving a clear trail of cutting to the front.
February thirteenth was not one of the better or more symbolic days to give gifts to the lost and late, but symbolism is a banished term, regurgitated and repeated by thousands until the deep and meaningful trinkets and messages become commonalities. Symbols hold no intrinsic value, no belief can stem from a petty grievance an author connects displays with a message, just as trust and faith cannot begin with a book or crucifix. No, true faith and symbolism is determined by an individual, tested through the trials of time until the faint blossoming of realization appears as a question: What does this mean to me?
And the faith will be shaken, applied to history until an understanding of true symbolism appears, more personally powerful than whatever a dove or a holiday may represent in the seemingly important whimsical tales of the old and weary.
As a result, Kaminari chose the day just before Valentine’s day. The day, which, exactly a year prior, a knife had carved out a person’s heart and left the murderer without one.
So the thirteenth of February had gained value far greater than the perception of symbolism present in Valentines day. To Kaminari, and whoever else may find it so, the morning of the day before Valentine’s was truly the day of love.
The front gates, as expected, immediately went into lockdown when Kaminari so much as put a single hand over the invisible threshold that guarded the prestigious school from outsiders. However, as history had proven time and time again, the countermeasures were more effective at deterring media and trespassers than intelligent villains or someone with even a semblance of common sense.
Kaminari scanned the area around the now iron bound building. The board of directors had installed a guard tower recently to combat the harsh criticisms from the media, and it was fully staffed at all times of day with two expert marksmen. While it did make the outside of the establishment radiate a sort of oppressive feel more common to a penitentiary, it was undeniable that the recent cases of crime around that area had lowered remarkably.
The tower itself looked like an evil lair; reinforced and spiked steel plating extended and twisted forty feet into the air, topped with the military equivalent of a searchlight. Through iron fetters and bulletproof windows, dark figures scurried from within while searching for any possible invaders.
Still, they were common folk with similar weaknesses, so Kaminari could exploit them in a standard way. The guards could not shoot him from within the confines of their bulletproof cage, nor could Kaminari injure them through layers of insulation and reinforcement. So their situation became more like a standoff, where the first to leave their sanctuary would lose the battle.
Luckily, Kaminari had already rehashed his scheme and worked it to perfection.
“HOUSEKEEPING!” Kaminari yelled through the intercom at the front of the gates. He was using the fakest voice he could, keeping it high and shrill. “HOUSEKEEPING!”
Almost immediately the shuffling in the top floor became frantic. A sweaty hand grabbed the opposite side of the intercom and replied in a gruff tone. “Oi! You don’t belong here. Scram!”
Kaminari returned with his high voice. “IS THIS HOW YOU RESPOND TO A MAID AT YOUR WINDOW?”
“We don’t take lightly to tricksters, so state your purpose or have your head blown backwards.”
“I’M HERE TO BE YOUR VALENTINE, BABY!”
There was an annoyed voice through the intercom. “Listen, punk. Fucking scram, or we kill you. Fair?”
“OH, ARE YOU TOO SCARED TO FACE A LITTLE MAID AT YOUR WINDOW, YOU FUCKING SISSY?”
“Last chance, punk. I’ve never missed, and neither has my friend here.” There was a grunt at the back of the room, signaling the acknowledgement of the other sniper.
“WELL, I GUESS I’LL JUST FUCKING STAY THEN, SINCE YOU TWO ARE OBVIOUSLY TOO FUCKING STUPID TO HIT ME!” Kaminari’s high voice had gained a mocking undertone.
“Oh, for fucks…Cover for me, I’m killing this fuck.”
At the top of the tower, there was a slow grinding noise like the hatch of a rusty ship being opened. A plume of ash and dust from cigarettes poured out of the room as a rotund man exited, dressed in a grayed jacket and matching pants, greasy hair covering his eyes and ears. His polished and loaded sniper rifle hooked by a strap to his back. His hands gripped the handrail as he scanned the ground for the offender.
“Oi! Where’d you go, cunt? I’ve got a bullet with yer name on it, so come out!”
Kaminari flattened himself at the base of the tower and was currently wrenching off a panel of the building which concealed the wires. Reinforced or not, having a building made entirely out of conductive material with a single door at the top preventing electrocution was bad design.
The man called again. “Oh, for fucks sake, you’re not getting out of here. Show yourself and we kill you. Don’t show yourself, and we’ll be here all day.”
Kaminari managed to open the hatch, flinging the discarded scrap into the open.
Almost immediately, there was a loud Bang and a hole appeared in the exact center of the sheet, piercing so cleanly through that the plate had not even moved.
“Very funny, dickweed! Now come out, no one carries a single bullet in a loaded gun!”
Kaminari took a deep breath and let loose a storm of electricity. The yellow lines arced the the tower, sparking and expanding as they climbed the steel until flares of violent light replaced the clean and light smell of early morning with ozone and corrugated iron.
With a final burst of electricity, Kaminari blew the wires of the tower, melting the innards of the building and causing an explosion which launched him into the grass.
Forty feet above Kaminari, the electricity jumped to the two guards, racing through their bodies, locking their muscles and rendering them unconscious. No movement came from the dark watchtower except the encroaching shadows reclaiming their place in the cold corners of polished steel and the spasms of the guards.
Kaminari groaned, attempting to rise from his earthen wrappings. His light jacket was shredded and burnt by his fall, making it look more like a stitched collection of rags than proper clothing. Rising from his premature coffin, Kaminari coughed out a clump of dirt and patted his side to ensure his bag was still intact.
It was, save for the burn marks and scorch lines that overlapped the preexisting ones. Kaminari brushed off the excess burnt and frayed strings, then hefted it over his knee to check its contents.
Good. The wine bottle hadn’t spilt. The tuxedo wasn’t broken. The little hand-woven picnic basket was still neatly secured in the right corner of the bag and its contents were still even and pure. A wrapped parcel was waiting expectantly in the corner. An unused maid costume, forgotten amongst the chaos, was stuffed to the bottom of the bag. A little pocket to the side contained a securely stored box in a reinforced case. Most importantly, the unwashed bloodstained knife was still securely wrapped in saran wrap and stuck in the side pocket, unchipped and unscratched.
The knife wasn’t a tool he would use, but he needed to keep the memento to remind himself.
That it was all his fault.
Kaminari rose to full height, extracting the tuxedo and fancy dress pants from the duffel bag. He took a moment to appreciate the flexibility of a custom tailored three-piece suit; it was suitable for a proposal, wedding and funeral. As such, he would be attending all three events shortly.
Ripping off his shredded clothing, Kaminari donned his gleaming suit, folding the lapels into a neat V and tucking the messy pocket into itself. If not for his glowing, almost burning hair, Kaminari would look like a professional and snooty businessman.
Walking to the door, Kaminari knocked on the front of the three-foot-thick reinforced iron. Sure enough, with the shorted wires and lack of guards, the metal retracted into the ground and was swiftly covered by concrete slabs.
Kaminari felt a wave of nostalgia as he crossed the threshold from the outside into U.A’s property. The exclusive school was restrictive to the public, and the strange wave of satisfaction that surged through Kaminari’s mind was reminiscent of his first day of hero training. Of course, the current of guilt and fear undermined the just pride was equally nostalgic as the emotions of a new assassin in a foreign location.
Once a murderer in innocent grounds, prepared to taint the white ground red.
Now a murderer in red stained grounds, preparing to taint the ground white.
The familiar feeling of loose cobblestones crunching under boots and light winds ruffling his hair only lacked a hand to hold to mirror a memory.
A knife, by all means, would also suffice to reenact the past, but joy is a rare thing meant to be sought and treasured while suffering requires acceptance of suffering.
Kaminari skirted around the outside of the building and field, turning into the vast forests behind U.A’s property and following the overgrown dirt path paved years ago.
Dragging himself through brambles and sharpened thorns of sin was never pleasant, but every action must receive equal repentance. Kaminari was willing to suffer the pain Jirou once did, for now she nevermore had to suffer anything.
Kaminari followed the familiar foliage down the squalid path, occasionally turning through passages only he knew, tearing the brambles down as he did so. The droplets of blood from bleeding palms followed his footsteps, much like it did years ago.
The interwoven foliage gave way to a clearing in the thick of the woods where a circle of neatly trimmed grass and cobblestones surrounded a weathered grave. The overturned dirt was concealed by the newly grown sod and the only indication a body lay underneath was the nearly illegible text of the tombstone:
KYOUKA JIROU
MAY THE HEAVENS BE ALITE WITH ROCK MUSIC
Kaminari reopened his duffel bag and spread a red and white checkered cloth at the foot of the grave. Loose pieces of dirt skittered away from the cloth’s downdraft, covering the new grass of the grave site. Kaminari took a moment to lightly brush the particles away, and another to dust the collected debris from Jirou’s grave.
Turning back to his bag, Kaminari removed the bottle of champagne tucked neatly in the corner. The outside was slightly cracked from his fall earlier, but nothing dripped through the imperfections.
Kaminari produced two champagne flutes from a side pouch of the bag and poured the fizzling liquid into them. He set one glass by the front of the tomb, pushing it into the ground slightly to ensure it wouldn’t fall.
The picnic basket came next, set carefully in between Kaminari and Jirou. Two sandwiches, a cake, slices of watermelon. Nothing too spectacular, but familiarity and memory are more important than decadence and luxury.
“Hey, Jirou.” Kaminari placed half of the food on the gravesite as gently as he could without falling on it. “I came back.”
Kaminari took a sip of his wine. “I’m sorry for taking so long. Traffic and security were killer.”
He winced at ‘killer’, memories running through him. He took a gulp of alcohol, refilled his glass and repeated. Twice. Thrice. Four times. “S…Sorry, Jirou. Killer…My…Fault…”
Kaminari drank flute after flute of champagne, then grabbed the bottle and took a swig. Twin streams of fizzling alcohol trailed down his chin. The liquid began to numb his mind, forming a blockade against memories.
“A…Anyways…Ha…Happy Anniversary, J…Jirou!”
Another swig of the bottle followed until half of the expensive drink had been barbarically guzzled. Already the effects of the alcohol were beginning to show through Kaminari’s dazed features and tears.
“I…I brought…FOOD!”
Jirou’s dead body didn’t respond.
“P…PLEASE, Ji…Jirou! I…I…”
Another swig of alcohol.
“Sa…Say!”
Another swig.
“Ha…Ha…”
Kaminari blacked out from the alcohol, falling face first onto the gravestone and then to the soft grass.
“…”
“C’mon, you idiot. Get up.”
“…”
“Kaminari. Get up.”
“…”
“I swear to FUCKING GOD Denki you smell like rotten alcohol GET THE FUCK UP.”
This was followed by a bucket of cold water to the head, and Kaminari shot bolt upright, gasping and coughing up water. Then the alcohol resurfaced painfully in his stomach, and Kaminari turned to the side and puked.
“Aww, gross! You got it all over my grave!”
My grave?
Kaminari’s eyes shot open and his head snapped towards the gravesite. Sitting atop the tombstone was an angel, watery crimson wings folded behind her and a deep gash where her heart should have been. Jirou waved at him with her earphone jack, absentmindedly munching on the sandwich he brought. Her expression was painfully lifelike, bored yet amused with a caring glint ever present in her eyes.
“Hey dude. Thanks for the food. They only have biscuits and cheap wine in heaven.”
Kaminari held a trembling hand up to her, reaching to assure himself she was real. He drew himself back before he could, in fear of realizing the opposite truth and hurting himself more.
“Are…Are you…?” Kaminari cradled himself at the far corner of the picnic blanket, more content to observe his love from afar than to ruin whatever blessing brought her back.
“As real as you are, dude.” Jirou threw the remains of the sandwich at him to confirm. The saran wrapped food bounced once off of Kaminari’s head before spilling its contents onto the ground. "Just dead is all."
“Can I…Can I…” Kaminari was at a loss for words, instead opting to hold both arms to the side and hoping for a hug.
Jirou laughed, jumping from her perch atop her grave and gliding towards him. Her blood wings left a trail of blood wherever she went.
At least now, that was something they had in common.
The dead, the living, the reserved, the eccentric, the witty, the gullible, the innocent, the murderer, purple and yellow. Two opposites, bound to attraction, each features presented a mirror of the other.
That was the nature of their relationship. The polar opposite nature meant the other could repair and fill in the gaps left by the other like two puzzle pieces. A magnet’s two sides are opposites, but only together can it show its power.
Jirou embraced Kaminari, folding her wings around them like a cocoon of blood. The stab wound on her chest gushed blood onto Kaminari’s suit. She was warm, but unnatural, heat emanating from her whole body like a heater. Kaminari could feel no heartbeat, nor did she draw breathe.
“H…How did you…”
“Dude…Is that a maid costume?” Jirou pointed to his duffel bag with his unused French Maid uniform inside. “The hell kinda kinks do you have?”
A censor noise, like the kind on T.V, blocked Jirou’s attempts to say ‘hell.’ She grumbled in annoyance, then let out a string of curses which all turned into robotic buzzes.
“Fine! Why the HECK would you need the costume?” Jirou scanned the sky, apparently daring God to correct her.
Kaminari, despite himself, laughed through his tears. It was his first real laugh in years, and the motion felt so unnatural it hurt his throat. “It was a distraction, but I forgot it.”
“For the guards?” Jirou motioned her head to the general direction of the school, her blood feathers rippling behind her.
“Yup. Douchebags.”
Jirou snickered, separating herself enough to spread her wings. Blood began to pool under her, staining the blanket a deep crimson. “Dare you to exit wearing that.”
“What! That’s mortifying, Jirou.”
“Fine, fine. How about this: Next time you come, you’re wearing that thing here.”
Jirou pointed her earphone jack at the costume. It was strange; she had six different limbs to motion to things, excluding her head.
“But I’m not exiting like that, still.” Kaminari had doubts about his costume when he purchased it, which were only amplified by the mystified looks of the clerks.
“Got it. In a maid, but you’re not departing as a maid.”
They laughed together, but the harmony produced was strange. Jirou’s laughter was like twinkling chimes in a light breeze: faint, melodious, but not human. Kaminari’s was coarse and unpracticed from years of blocking voice and opinion. It was different than it was years ago.
Familiarity is a fickle mistress. She comes and goes, like a tide receding into the ocean.
Memory is not. She stays with her companions, holds them in times of duress, cradles them or whips them mercilessly. It only matters which face one chooses to see.
The two sat in comfortable silence.
“Oh! Wait wait wait.” Kaminari began to dig through his bag fervently.
“Hmmm?”
“Ah! Here we go!”
Kaminari produced a closed parcel, neatly wrapped and addressed to Jirou. “This is for you! I planned to leave it…Ah, you know, but…”
“Well, aren’t you the Saint of Charity! Thanks, dude. Oh, ah, what is it?” Jirou looked pleasantly surprised, a faint blush decorating her cheeks at the gesture.
“Music books! I bought them for you. Do they have music stores in…?”
Then it all came back to Kaminari.
“Wait…Jirou. Where are you now?” Something began battering at Kaminari from inside, threating to break his composure he had managed to cobble together.
Jirou tilted her head to the side and gave him a bemused look. “I’m here, Kaminari. Or there, if you’d rather think that.” Jirou gestured at her grave.
“So...it did...You are...I...I…I did...this...to you…”
“Suppose I gotta thank you for that. This F***** ROCKS!” The magical censor covered her attempts to swear. “Except that part.”
“No! No…Jirou! I…did…this…” Kaminari looked shamefully at her stab wound, then to her grave. “I didn’t…I couldn’t…I…”
“Oh, pshaw, ‘course it’s your fault!”
That was the answer Kaminari was expecting to hear, but it still hurt.
“Look, Denki. You’re not responsible for THIS.” Jirou took a moment to gesture to herself. “But, you are responsible for THIS.”
Jirou poked him in the chest, mirroring the location of her stab wound. “You can’t let go, can you? Like, it’s sweet, and adorable, and I would have kissed you thousands of times because of it while I was dead, but please, for the love of F****** God, forgive yourself.”
“But…I…You are…” Kaminari was at a loss for words for the third or fourth time that day. Forgive himself? Never! He had killed the only person that he had cared about.
“Look, dude. YOU didn’t kill me. I know that much.”
“But I…How…I...?”
Jirou sat down, absentmindedly playing with a strand of her hair. “Do you know you have beautiful eyes, Kaminari?”
Kaminari choked on his words, unsure how to respond.
“They sparkle a gorgeous golden. F***, I was surprised you never dated anyone before.”
Kaminari noddle blankly, unsure of where she was going with her arguments.
“Whenever you move, the light dances across your eyes. Oh, f***, I feel cheesy saying this! Point is, your eyes were blank when I…tumbled. And fell.”
Jirou moved closer to Kaminari, wings trailing on the ground and leaving two thin lines of blood.
“It wasn’t you, Kaminari. It was…them. I don’t know who ‘they’ are…but they…tumbled…me.”
Kaminari’s voice hardened. “They’re dead. All of them. I made sure of that.”
Jirou shook her head slightly, trying to look innocent and angelic, but a sadistic smile gave away her true feelings. “Kaminari, you shouldn’t have done that. That’s a sin.”
Then she leaned in. “Thank you so much. I love you.”
I love you.
She loved him.
Kaminari hadn’t heard those words in a long time. Too long. It felt like a foreign language, or at least slang from a familiar one.
Love. Was that even a word anymore?
“Kaminari?”
He turned to her. She was blushing, her cheeks almost matching her wings.
“Why’d you come today?”
There was a reason.
He had gone to a funeral with his suit. He still had two events to attend.
“Well, we’ve been…together…for a few years now, right?” Kaminari struggled with the ‘together.’
“I’m still dating you, Denki.”
“And we’ve gotten…um…”
“Yes, we’ve f*****.”
“So, I was wondering if…”
Kaminari ruffled to his bag and extracted the reinforced case, throwing it off and revealing the small velvet case inside. “I, uh…Was preparing for this today. I have a…speech…”
Jirou’s mind clicked. “Oh! Oh. I…Well, I’m going to accept, anyway…but please continue.”
Kaminari’s heart leapt in joy. Opening the box and getting on one knee, Kaminari began his speech.
“Kyouka, you saved me. Years ago, I couldn’t do anything but grab the one-line life kept giving me. You gave me another. You saved me from everything I would have ended up doing. You made me human, something which I couldn’t begin to understand before. Then…”
Kaminari choked back tears, then coughed and continued. “I…I couldn’t save you. No matter what you might say…It’s still my fault, and I will never forgive myself even if you do. But even if I can’t change the future, I will make it better for you, for us! That’s something you did long ago, and now I want to repay the favor.”
“Kyouka, I could never repay what you did for me. But I’m willing to try, and to try forever. Starting with this.”
Kaminari opened the box, revealing two intricate rings. Two halves of the same diamond decorated their top. It had cost him a fortune, but the dead need not pay.
“Kyouka, will you marry me?”
He already knew her answer. She did too. Yes was in the air. The resounding feeling of Yes. So the two didn’t need to elaborate. Simplicity is a virtue, after all. They simply took the rings, placed them on their fingers, intertwined themselves, and kissed. The knife memento lost importance. It was no longer symbolic to him. He didn't need it, so it stopped mattering. The past would wallow there, but the future always held opportunity within arms' reach.
And when they stopped…
“Hey, Denki…”
“Mmm?” Kaminari was still slightly dazed from their kiss, but her words registered clearly in his mind.
“I want to give you one more thing…”
“Kyouka…You don’t have to…”
“I want to, Denki…Just let me sing…”
And so she did.
Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s day,
All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.
Then up he rose, and donned his clothes,
And dupped the chamber door.
Let in the maid that out a maid
Never departed more.
By God and by Saint Charity,
Alack, and fie, for shame!
Young men will do ’t, if they come to ’t.
By God, they are to blame.
Quoth she, “Before you tumbled me,
You promised me to wed.”
He answers, “So would I ha' done, by yonder sun,
An thou hadst not come to my bed.”