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The pen felt heavy in Kaminari’s hand as the words swam in front of his eyes, red from exhaustion and overuse. He cradled his face in open palms. He didn’t know how long he’d been studying, but he knows that nothing he’s looked at has gone in.
Honestly, it might be because he doesn’t know how to study. In all his time in middle school, he never once studied for a test and now it’s really biting him in the ass because everyone at U.A. is so much smarter than he is. They’re smarter than everyone at middle school could ever dream of being.
And, if he’s being honest with himself, Kaminari doesn’t want to be in the middle of the class again. He wants to be up with Bakugou and Torodoki and Yaomomo. But he doesn’t know how to study.
And he’s stupid.
Kaminari knows he’s stupid; Jirou tells him mostly every day, and if he had 10 yen for every time Bakugou yelled “Are you fucking stupid!?” he’d probably be able to start a trustfund.
As it is, Kaminari could barely afford the U.A. uniform.
He’s not stupid in some areas. He knows how to get by on an empty street ringed by dark alleys just teaming with villains, and how to keep his head down while everyone around gets into shitheaps he’d rather not explore. But he’s stupid in the things that matter at U.A., like English, and History, and controlling your own quirk.
Kaminari set his hands against his forehead, pushing in until he can practically feel his skull vibrate with the force. He’s not good enough at Biology to know if this is possible or not, but he does know he can feel it, so there has to be some reality there. Doesn’t there?
He also knows that he’s gonna get nowhere like this, with his head full of doubt and criticism and nothing he’s meant to be learning for the fucking final exams.
Kaminari dragged himself out of bed, pushing his notes aside haphazardly. He needs a break. A long, long break.
The street was dark when he left the safety of his house, closing the door slowly, carefully behind him. It smelt of smoke, and rain, and darkness, refreshing to Kaminari’s stress-filled mind. He locked the door behind him, tucked his hands into his pockets and walked.
The roads were dimly illuminated by the few streetlamps the neighbourhood kids hadn’t yet managed to put out, and Kaminari didn’t really know where he was going but he didn’t really care either so. That’s something. He kept walking.
It was ten at night, and Kaminari hoped with his fingers and toes crossed that his mum didn’t try to check on him in the night, because he knew how she felt about his nighttime rambles. He kept walking.
Really, he’s only doing all this for his mum. He’s wanted to be a hero since before he can remember, so his mum can feel safe when she goes out alone and doesn’t have to sigh with want every time she sees those fake-perfect neighbourhoods on TV. He wants here to be a nice place for her. And, if he was a hero, he could make it a nice place for her, so she’d never have to worry again. So she wouldn’t have to panic every time he left home alone, or keep her keys clutched in her fist every time she went shopping.
Kaminari just wanted to keep his mother safe.
But he can’t do that if he doesn’t pass these exams.
He should have studied earlier, and, sure, Momo’s study sessions helped but he still doesn’t know his thens from his thans or how to expand brackets or what the Vikings actually did. He just can’t see himself actually needing this stuff. Unless, y’know, he came up against an English-speaking villain with a Viking quirk, who wouldn’t release their hostages until someone solved his equation. Then Kaminari would be screwed.
But he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He liked to stay optimistic.
So, as he wandered through an unfamiliar neighbourhood, he pulled out his phone and sent a quick text, before carrying on.
Luckily, Kirishima wasn’t as stupid as Kaminari was, and didn’t take him up on his offer of late-night study-session. It was probably for the best, all things considered, because Kaminari was starting to see double. And Kirishima insisted an early night was manlier than sleeping through class, after Aizawa-sensei caught him napping in class and made him run laps around the school. Kaminari can’t be sure, but he thinks that’s irony. It was funny anyhow.
That event is why Kaminari ended up on his doorstep the next day, cheerfully ringing the doorbell on every count of three. He doesn’t feel tired which is a blessing, but he’s not so sure about Kirishima, who stayed on the phone with him until Kaminari got back home, because they don’t have their provisional licenses yet, and it’s better to be safe than sorry.
Sure enough, when he answers the door, Kirishima’s trademark spikes are flat, but his sharp-toothed smile is intact, despite the toothbrush in his mouth.
“’ome ‘n!” Kirishima ushers him inside, pointing Kaminari towards the kitchen, from which tell-tale smoke blooms. Kaminari moves forward, clutching his notes to his chest and mentally preparing himself for what is to come. He knows Bakugou works harder than anyone in the class, even if he tries not to show it, but. Well. Kaminari’s not sure if he’s able to push himself that hard.
He can try, though.
“Good morning, Lord Explosion Murder.” Denki says cheerfully, leaning his folder of notes onto Bakugou’s hair and ignoring the stream of curses sent his way.
“Do you want my fucking help or not?” Bakugou hisses, pulling the folder from Kaminari’s grip and throwing it into the wall. “They’re probably useless, anyway.”
Kaminari slaps his hand to his chest in mock hurt “But I spent at least thirty seconds on them!” Bakugou snorts, and Kaminari counts it as a win.
He takes a seat at Kirishima’s kitchen table, and askes “So, what are we studying today, boss?” as Kirishima enters, pulling a shirt over his head, His hair is still flat.
“Algebra.” Bakugou says shortly, flicking him a pen. Together, they get to work.