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“Testing, one two, one two. Can you hear me?”
A thumbs-up from behind the glass window of the booth lets Kyouka know she should stop tapping the mic. She sends a wink Tokoyami’s way and gives it one last thump, the responding blare of her pre-recorded introduction sounding more aggressive as a result. Tokoyami shakes his head slowly at her, arms crossed and disappointment palpable through the glass, but Dark Shadow is laughing over his end of the controls so she counts it as a victory.
She leans closer to the mic as the drums fade out. “Alright. Gooood morning, Tokyo! It is a disgusting 29°C outside, but the air conditioning at your friendly neighborhood radio station is working just fine.” She points to Tokoyami and he plays a recording of Shouto’s ice crackling over the ground, rolling his eyes hard enough for her to see. He’s advised her, multiple times, that her choice of sound effects is corny, but Kyouka had worked hard to get that audio and besides, Tokoyami thinks anything not draped in a black cloak is corny. “You’re listening to Earworm Underground Radio. As always, this is Earphone Jack and crew, ready to amplify and electrify your morning. Now let’s put on something that’ll really wake me up.”
Kyouka reclines in her chair with a relaxed sigh as a guitar riff rattles the window separating her from Tokoyami. She can see Dark Shadow bobbing his head to the beat, Tokoyami as immovable as always next to him. But after nearly six years in the booth together, Kyouka can tell the subtle differences in the way his feathers rise when he’s enjoying a song. For this one, a single from a local band she had scoped out in person, he looks almost ruffled.
She scrolls through Twitter as the song hits its chorus, feet up on her desk and wiggling to the beat. Because of their schedules as pro-heroes, Kyouka and a rotating cast of her friends who can push buttons and recommend good songs (so, everyone except Denki) send out alerts only moments before the show is streamed online, since they rarely plan for it any earlier than that. They’re on for a short while today, barely enough to get through half of the playlist Kyouka’s been adding to during her downtime, but she’s got patrol with Momo later and Tokoyami is coming in from an all-nighter, so this next hour is sponsored by caffeine and a miracle.
The songs blend together, each one flowing into the next -- not seamlessly, because Kyouka wasn’t aiming for that. She likes the jumps and the drops, the one beat gap between a fade-out and an intro, the only warning that something’s ended and something’s beginning. There’s a story to go with this playlist, but the words for it are beyond her. It’s chill, though. She’s fine with just letting the music play.
“That’s all for today, folks,” she says at the end of the hour, throwing up finger guns at Tokoyami, who remains unmoved. Their show is a relief for him, though, a chance to be still and feel, a break from a job where distraction like this is deadly. Same as it is for her. “Oh, before I go -- Chargebolt, we still haven’t recovered from the damage to our brand caused by that last song you requested. Your ban stays intact.” She signs off to the sound of Dark Shadow’s cackle.
-- ♪ --
“I’m banned?” is the first thing Denki asks her when she knocks on his door that night, one eyebrow arched in a valiant attempt at menacing. But he’s too open with how he’s really feeling, always has been, so it looks more like he’s smelled something weird than anything else.
“Don’t do that with your face,” Kyouka says. “There are children in this building.”
He steps to the side to let her into his and Sero’s apartment, spluttering defensively all the while. Everyone from their old class who stuck around uses it as a home base, because Denki is alright enough to know his friends’ favorite drinks and dumb enough to tell them his door is always open. Kirishima would’ve offered his place up but can’t, on account of him living with Bakugou, who is a fan of using a lock and key.
Speak of the devil -- “Look at that. Earlobes decided to show up.”
“Sweat glands.” Kyouka nods to Bakugou and he flips her off. She returns the gesture then sends it Denki’s way when she hears him laughing.
Bakugou and Kirishima have already slid off the couch, legs bumping under the table. Ashido and Sero welcome her at vastly different volumes, and Todoroki simply nods. The usual gang, then -- everyone who’s waiting for someone else to get off patrol and doesn’t want to be alone in the meantime. None of them were used to it, once graduation came around and they were expected to move out and away from each other. So a lot of them just didn’t. Kyouka and Momo live fifteen minutes walking from Kaminari and Sero, who live down the street from Ashido, who lives in the same building as Bakugou and Kirishima, and, needless to say, the neighborhood reunions tend to require months of planning and several permits.
Kyouka clears her throat, to ask for some tunes or challenge Denki to an arm-wrestling match, anything to liven things up, but a flash of purple catches her eye. Shinsou Hitoshi steals out of the kitchen, somehow sticking to the shadows even in the brightly lit living room, throwing a grin Todoroki’s way that quickly slides off his face when he sees Kyouka.
She stiffens, as if that will stop him from approaching. It doesn’t, and she spots Todoroki watching them out of the corner of his eye.
Great. She loves an audience.
“Jirou,” Shinsou says flatly.
“Hey,” she says, tapping her foot lightly.
He blinks at her. She pushes her bangs out of her eyes.
“Well. This was fun,” she says, and steps out onto the balcony.
The air at this height is chilly, just enough of a shock to focus her thoughts on something other than the memories of five minutes ago, and the memories that go further back.
“That was fast,” Denki says casually, shutting the door behind him.
Kyouka winces. “You noticed?”
“I was watching for it,” Denki says. “And you were standing in the middle of my living room.”
“Yeah,” Kyouka sighs. “Even you were bound to pick up on that.”
“Your hurtful words will not distract me,” Denki sniffs. “You still haven’t talked to Shinsou? It’s been, what, five years?”
“It’s a little weird to bring it up now,” Kyouka grits out, trying not to think about anything other than this moment, because the past has a tendency to play over and over in her head like a bad song on repeat.
“To him, and to other people,” Denki says seriously, and that’s never a good sign. “You know how this looks.”
“I get it, lightning brains,” Kyouka snaps, and reaches for the door. “Momo’s probably home by now. See you around.”
“Use that voice of yours, Earphone Jack!” Denki calls after her, watching her go. “I know you got one!”
-- ♪ --
Kouda’s at the controls the next time she’s on air. Out of everyone, he’s logged the most hours with her, suggesting bands she would never have thought of on her own. He was the one to name the station, back when it was just an idea to distract them during training.
He doesn’t like to speak, preferring to let his hands or his music do the talking. Kyouka has always been able to understand that.
Are you ready? he signs through the glass.
One sec, she signs back. She’s found a very convincing conspiracy thread on Twitter, and their station isn’t known for its punctuality.
She finishes reading, slides her thumb down and refreshes her feed for the last time, she swears, and smiles faintly at the picture of Momo that pops up on her screen, posted by a news account. She’s standing at the head of an evacuation, pointing at something offscreen, a calm expression on her face despite the smoke in the background. The good feeling lasts for a second, until Kyouka reads the caption that goes with it and leaps from her seat.
She storms out of the booth and thrusts her phone at Kouda without a word. His brow furrows when he reads the headline, and Kyouka’s anger only grows.
“Gimme a minute?” she asks, and sprints outside at his nod.
She dials the number she’s got memorized like her favorite song, taps her toe to the beat of the other line ringing.
“Did you see what they’re saying about you?” Kyouka asks once Momo picks up, trying to control her cadence, rein in her anger so it doesn’t bleed through her speaker. “‘Creati Gets Closer to 25, Ranking Gets Closer to Dropping.’ What the hell?”
“It’s the same stuff we see every time my birthday comes around,” Momo says placatingly.
“That just makes it worse!” Kyouka seethes. “They’re always writing this crap. Someone should tell them to check your last rescue, you killed it out there. Uh, not literally.”
“If we address it, it’ll turn into a whole thing, and--” Momo cuts off with a sigh. “Don’t worry about me, alright? I prove them wrong in my own way, every day.”
Kyouka smiles despite her anger. “You make everything sound like music.”
“I am dating the most ridiculous flirt,” Momo says fondly. Kyouka wasn’t even trying with that line, but she’ll take it.
Momo’s voice is music to her ears, always, and she’s calmed down enough to start the show. That headline’ll be at the back of her mind the entire time, of course, but hey, when is she not worrying about how other people see them? It’s all part of the job, right?
“I’ll be listening!” Momo promises brightly, cutting through the static in her head.
“Love you too,” Kyouka replies, hoping her feelings reach Momo over the airwaves.
The tweet pops up again when she hangs up, the essence of Momo’s career distilled to under 280 characters and-- it’s fine. She’ll be fine. She can do the show, all she’s gotta do is sit and listen and smile loud enough for everyone to hear just how fine she is.
Against her better judgment, Kyouka clicks on the link.
--showing signs of stress, but we can understand how the work of a high-ranking hero takes a toll on a woman’s body--
Kouda is playing her intro, Kouda is tapping on the glass one two one two, Kyouka’s pulse is outpacing him.
--recommend a return to her high school costume, to drive up her ranking, among other things--
“Good afternoon,” she tries, speaking over the background noise. Her throat rebels against her, aches when she tries to clear it.
How many times has she read this same article? Not even about Momo, but about their friends, about the heroes they grew up with? How many more girls are going to see this and feel what she’s feeling?
Use your voice, Earphone Jack.
“Enough.”
She hears it played back through her headphones and beneath the static, it almost sounds like someone else’s voice. Someone braver, angrier than her. But it’s her mouth forming the word again, harder this time.
“Enough. This isn’t a regular show. I have something to say,” she snaps, jabbing a finger in Kouda’s direction. He lifts his hands off the controls in surrender, eyes wide.
Kyouka takes a deep breath -- not to calm down, but to get ready for the absolute hurricane she’s about to unleash. “The Number 3 hero Creati has been protecting this entire region since she was in high school. She does not deserve the crap that is constantly written about her -- crap, I might add, that only focuses on her body, and lately, her age. She is not slowing down. She has never been weak. She’s a hero. Our hero, idiots! She represents the best of us, and sees none of it paid back.”
Kouda has one hand clapped over his mouth. It’s a gesture of shock, but when Kyouka sees it she feels like she’s choking. She pushes on with a growl.
“Male heroes get to retire, but female heroes drop in the rankings before they’re forced out. It happened to Midnight, to Mt. Lady, it was even happening to Nana before--” she stutters to a stop. “It’s stupid, it’s so stupid and dangerous. And-- and I can’t stay quiet while this happens. I’ll scream.”
She closes her eyes and takes her headphones off, trying to breathe deeply.
“Thank you for listening,” Kyouka whispers weakly, but the echo reverberates in the empty booth.
-- ♪ --
During her second year at UA, Kyouka had recruited her friends to storm the lower levels of the school for an empty classroom. Momo had provided the tech, Tokoyami and Kouda had provided support, and Denki got the word out for Kyouka’s underground student radio project. That same year, Shinsou Hitoshi transferred into Class 1-A with several rumors on his heels.
He had used his quirk on Aizawa-sensei, on the principal, on All Might himself. He was a mole working for the League of Villains. He didn’t deserve to be a hero. Kyouka heard it all and said nothing.
She had an idea one night while cramming for a midterm, to interview Shinsou on her show, get his side of the story. She knew none of it was true -- his performance in the Festival was proof of how hard he had trained to make it to the Hero Course -- but she never even brought it up to him, too scared of sticking out, of jeopardizing one of the most important things in her life.
It was probably the most unheroic action she could have taken.
-- ♪ --
“I think I messed up.”
“You did the right thing,” Momo responds, automatic, the way she has been for the past thirty minutes as Kyouka repeats herself over speakerphone.
She sits with her head between her knees outside the studio, Kouda hovering at a respectful distance. Her throat is sore, but she hasn’t been able to drink the tea he’s brewed for her without her hands trembling. Every time she glances at her phone, she can see her notification count tick upwards.
“I got you in trouble,” Kyouka says hoarsely. It’s the fifth argument she’s tried to spur Momo into anger with, but she’s so patient, always, always patient with her.
“Listen, Kyouka,” Momo says firmly. “Listen to me.”
Kyouka closes her eyes, heart drumming against her ribs offbeat.
“You did the right thing,” she starts again. Kyouka swallows her protests and tries to believe her. “More than that. You did the heroic thing. That’s what we are, that’s what we do, right? You stood up for everyone who was hurt by those stupid rumors. Young heroines who haven’t found their voice yet, and former heroes who had their voices taken away -- you gave them yours.”
Momo is beautiful, Kyouka realizes. Again, and not for the last time.
“You’re my hero,” Momo says, and Kyouka bows her head over her knees.
“I love you,” she gets out.
“I love you too. I’ll see you tonight,” Momo says.
Kouda rests a hand on her shoulder and nudges the mug of tea closer.
I’m proud of you, he signs.
Kyouka uses the ends of her jacket to dry her eyes. “Thanks, Kouda. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He settles against the brick wall next to her. We’ll help you figure out what to do next. All of us, he signs, and she doesn’t need to ask who he’s talking about.
“Okay,” she breathes out. “Okay.”
-- ♪ --
Kyouka invites Shinsou to lunch the next day and he suggests McDonald’s, which isn’t the place she would’ve chosen herself for her big apology, but she’s trying to be accomodating.
“I know you’ve noticed how weird I am around you,” Kyouka starts, once she’s ordered fries and a burger and Shinsou’s ordered fries and several salt packets.
“Yes,” Shinsou says immediately. “I assumed it was just a character flaw.”
“Hmm. Okay,” Kyouka says. “I deserve that.”
Shinsou merely blinks, a trace of amusement on his face.
“Remember high school?” Kyouka tries, and rolls her eyes at her own question. “Yeah, as if we could forget, right?”
“It was not a normal high school experience,” Shinsou says diplomatically.
“I know it wasn’t, for you especially,” she continues, and swallows at the wince he tries to mask. “I heard all the stupid stuff they were saying about you, and I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t-- I didn’t do anything. I put my headphones on and played my music loud enough that me and everyone else could ignore what was right in front of us, and I’m sorry.” She wants to duck behind her bangs, hide from his gaze, but she forces herself to hold steady against her heart racing like a metronome gone wild. She expects disgust, disappointment at the very least -- she’s familiar with that last one, at least from herself -- but Shinsou snorts.
“Is this what made you impossible to talk to for five years?” At her nod, Shinsou laughs again. “I thought you believed those stupid rumors.”
“Sorry,” she says again, but he waves her off.
“Even if you had invited me onto your show, I would’ve said no,” Shinsou says. “It’s not my style.”
“But I should’ve said something, anything so you wouldn’t feel alone,” Kyouka says, but Shinsou shrugs.
“I don’t expect you to step into the line of fire for me,” he says.
“Isn’t that what heroes do?” she presses on, leaning forward now. “Isn’t that what friends do?”
“It’s what Midoriya does,” Shinsou says blandly, somehow pulling yet another fry from his never-ending pile, despite eating them at a rate five times faster than Kyouka. She squints between her tray and his, and yeah, there’s definitely some missing from her carton. “We were kids, and we weren’t even close. Plus, you’ve always been a private person. But you were also a hero, constantly in the public eye yet not used to it, and you didn’t want to jeopardize anything. I get it. But I heard your show last week--”
“You and everyone else,” Kyouka mumbles, stealing ten fries back and shoving them in her mouth all at once.
Shinsou grins. “And I think you know what to do. So you wanna make it up to me? Stay angry. Keep listening. You’ve got your voice -- use it for good, hero.”
“How did this turn into you helping me?” Kyouka asks, mouth full of food. Hopefully it distracts from the gratefulness in her eyes.
“Behold,” Shinsou says dryly. “The power of friendship.”
Kyouka accepts the weight of his words, because despite his tone, none of them were given lightly. The alumni of Class 1-A owe their lives to friendship. It’s given them something to fight for and people to fight alongside. It’s a heavy burden sometimes, but it’s also what lifts them up and makes them heroes.
For Kyouka, it’s a common language, it’s a motif, it’s melody, rhythm, harmony. Here, friendship has a beat like forgiveness and resonates with the promise to do better, go beyond who she was before.
She pushes the rest of her fries towards Shinsou. “Friends get special privileges at Earworm. You can request any song--”
“Classical,” Shinsou interrupts, looking directly into her eyes. “I like classical.”
Kyouka takes a deep breath, and then another one. One more, just to be sure, then she chokes out, “Of c-course. Classical sounds...great.” Can’t be worse than Denki’s music.
Shinsou holds her gaze for another moment before his stoic expression breaks into a grin. “Wow. You were actually going to do it. Without me using my quirk, too.”
“Oh thank god,” Kyouka says, clutching his shoulder. “Please never do that again.”
“No,” Shinsou says, and takes a long sip from his soda.
-- ♪ --
Kyouka invited everyone from the old crew who could make it, so in the end there’s barely enough room for them among her instruments. Bakugou has to sit behind her old drum set, his disgruntled expression bringing back memories of late night practices, hunched over and refusing to leave until his rhythm was perfect. Momo perches on a piano bench, looking perfectly at home even squished next to Tokoyami while he bobs his head, tapping the same somber note for the past ten minutes. Denki and Kouda lean on each other in the center, Denki taking up all the space in the studio with his talking and Kouda looking like he would shrink down if he could, just so everyone would be more comfortable.
Momo catches her eye (as always) and smiles at whatever dumb expression Kyouka’s making as she looks over her stupid, wonderful family.
Shinsou walks in ten minutes late, just off a patrol, and stops in the doorway. He looks over the group stiffly, attempting to lean casually against the wall. The conversation halted when he came in so Kyouka isn’t sure why he’s bothering.
“Just sit down, asshole,” Bakugou says, and yanks Shinsou to the ground next to him. “Making me nervous, hovering over my shoulder like that.”
They’re gathered to discuss the future of Earworm, their modulation into a station with a voice. It turns into a discussion of the issues plaguing the hero industry within five minutes. Kyouka talks, more openly than she has in a while. But she also listens, because stepping back is a part of speaking up, too.
“It’s fucking stupid,” Bakugou grunts, aggressively brandishing a water bottle at midnight. “Rankings should be based on skill. They let that little fishstick Gran Torino bounce around until he was using a walker.”
“Thank you, Bakugou,” Momo says.
Around 2 AM, Kyouka leaps up from her chair with a marker and tape in hand and scratches some edits to the sign hanging over the door, so that it now reads Amplify, Electrify, Defy. Momo offers to make them a real one, but Kyouka and the others agree that the duct-tape and Sharpie holding their new direction together fits their brand.
They don’t sleep. They have a show in the morning.
After everyone but Shinsou has left to save the world or whatever they do on Tuesdays, Kyouka opens Twitter with bleary eyes for the first time since she signed off angry and terrified last week. Her notifications are through the roof, as expected. She reads them all, messages from strangers thanking her often and disagreeing with her rarely, but only sends a simple tweet -- tune in, because Earworm’s first guests ever, Midnight and Mt. Lady, will be talking about their retirement experiences.
The responses are immediate. Kyouka opens the only one that matters.
To us longtime listeners of Earphone Jack, today’s show should be incredibly special and completely unsurprising. Their new status quo is challenging the status quo. Much love to the host and her crew.
Kyouka smiles softly and ducks her chin to hide it. Momo has never included herself as part of Earworm’s team, despite being the inspiration for every song she plays, the story Kyouka’s been trying to tell with her music. Something else to work on, she guesses. But for now--
“Can you hear me?” Shinsou gives her a lazy peace sign and a smirk through the glass and damn, she’s already used to it. She laughs, “Good. I have a lot to say.”