Chapter Text
Eijirou could feel the grin stretch across his face as he listened, his hands balling into exited fists. He leaned closer to the radio, trying to catch Crimson’s words through the static. The gruff voice was about all the boy could make out, only a few words broke through the itching noise, but it was enough. Just hearing the voice of his hero, even cracked through irritating connection, brought a warm, fiery feeling that flowed throughout Eijirou’s body. A boyish, innocent exhilaration. He kicked his legs in his chair, the passion contributing to the boy’s constant desire to move around, as Crimson Riot finished with his signature line. Eijirou jumped out of his seat and swung his fist into the air as he spoke the words with the radio.
“It’s about living without regret! That’s what makes a true man!” His cheeks hurt from the wide smile stretched across his face. Behind the counter, Uraraka chuckled, her face softening as she looked on at the boy. “You sure do love Crimson Riot, Ei. I could barely hear him through the static.”
Eijirou turned to the older woman, excitement still pumping through his veins as he bounced on his toes. “I don’t mind, Mrs.Uraraka! Even if it’s kinda static-y, you’re still super lucky to even have a radio.”
Uraraka nodded. “Yes, I really am. My friends all pitched in to buy it for my birthday a few years back.” She sighed, leaning forward over the counter. “I remember feeling guilty that they spent so much money on me, but of course nowadays they’re even more expensive, especially the newer models.”
“Whenever I become a famous performer, I promise I’ll buy you the most expensive radio I can find. The sound’ll be so great, that when you listen in on my interviews and shows, you’ll be able to hear every word!” Eijirou exclaimed excitedly.
Uraraka smiled, the tired creases around her eyes stretching. “Thank you, Ei,” she murmured. “But I doubt you’ll remember me by that time.” Before the young boy could protest she asked him to switch the radio dial. “A good friend of mine is going to perform, and they’re broadcasting it.”
“What kind of performer is he?” Eijirou asked as he turned the dial on the radio.
“A pianist.”
They quieted as Eijirou found the station. At first, there was only the melancholic sound of piano keys being struck, emitting a sound Eijirou had always thought to be boring, but then he heard it. Not the piano, but the soul. An emotion too heavy for any heart to withstand was poured into every note. A grief-stricken yet passionate soul sung through the keys of an equally somber instrument, together in perfect harmony. The sound was gloomy but grabbed Eijirou’s attention and he hung onto every note, perfectly still and breath caught in his throat as the song reeled him in. A strange feeling formed within in his stomach, chilling his blood. When the song ended and the applause of the crowd caused the radio to go static again, Eijirou motioned to speak, remembering that Uraraka was in the room. Before he could make sound, however, she put a finger to her lips. “He’s going to play another.”
A strange kind of excitement coursed through Eijirou’s veins as he turned back to the radio. The static dissipated as soon as the pianist began to play again, as if not to disturb the sound. At first, the song was similar, gloom and grief spilling over the notes, but then the notes went faster, and a new emotion fell into the sound. The feeling was still somber, yet somehow lighthearted and hopeful, and warmth spread through Eijirou’s veins, a little relieved with the new sound. That strange feeling, however, grew into something almost like déjà vu, but still different in a way Eijirou couldn’t explain. Realizing how stiff he’s been sitting before, the black-haired boy adjusted himself, and a sort of comfort settled over him as he leaned in to listen more. The final notes were stunningly fast and almost humorous, placing a smile on Eijirou’s lips. The feeling continued to linger.
Brushing it off, he tried to speak once the radio went full static, signaling the end of the show. “That…it was…he..” Eijirou couldn’t think of much else to say, any words that came to his head seemed to belittle what he’d just heard.
“Beautiful,” Uraraka found the words for him, understanding and fondness reflected in her eyes that remained still on the radio. “It’s unlike any other sound you’ve ever heard, isn’t it?” Eijirou could only nod.
“I want to learn to play, just like that,” he uttered, still breathless. It was a slip of the tongue really, but Eijirou didn’t take it back. The piano had never interested him much before, but now he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t dying to play one. Uraraka nodded. “I’ll be sure to tell him that, once he comes to visit in a few months.” Any chance of Eijirou regaining his breath after hearing that was laughable.
Eijirou was both terrified and overwhelmingly excited to meet the pianist. He was still determined to learn to play, and though Jirou had offered to teach him to play on her piano, his heart was set on learning from the pianist whose notes filled his head. After all, it wasn’t just the notes he was interested in. In fact, he was hardly interested in the sound at all. It was the way the music could convey such a message and invoke such feeling and thought through the listener. Not to say the sound wasn’t admirable in of itself. The music was permanently stuck in his brain, and in any silence that came over the next few months, the sound filled his head. He visited Uraraka’s more often now, not just to listen to Crimson Riot performances, but the pianist’s as well. Each time he listened he fell deeper and deeper into the pianist’s soul, capturing him and keeping him glued, like a fly in a spider’s web.
After attacking Uraraka with questions and scavenging for any information he could find in old newspapers, libraries and the always-gossiping townspeople, the young boy learned a few basic facts about the performer:
- His name was Bakugou Katsuki
- He was 32 years old
- His pieces were unlike any sound that had ever come from the piano and commonly brought his crowd to tears.
- If only his personality was as beautiful and enchanting as his music. He was supposedly an asshole.
- He grew up in the old tailor shop down the road. Though he owned the place now and could profit from it, he’s never once opened it and refused to sell it. “A waste of money,” remarked the entire town.
- He doesn’t talk about his past or social life
- He wears a ring, but no one has ever seen or heard of his bride
It was a few days before Bakugou’s arrival, and his manager had arrived early, bringing with her the piano. It was only natural that when Eijirou saw the workers unloading the heavy instrument from the back of a wagon he bounded forward to help, more so out of curiosity than genuine helpfulness. Of course, being a scrawny eleven year old boy, Eijirou’s contribution didn’t make much difference anyway, but the workers enjoyed his company and humored him.
They moved the piano from the wagon into Bakugou’s tailor shop. His home. The co-worker, a tall, beautiful woman with long black hair tied up into a glamourous ponytail, pulled out a key and unlocked the door. An excited grin found itself on Eijirou’s face as they hoisted the piano through the door and followed the woman through the building to where she wished it to be placed.
The shop looked as abandoned inside as it did out, but there was a comfortable kind of atmosphere in the way the afternoon sunlight broke through dusty blinds and floorboards creaked under them. Old moving boxes sat behind the counter, filled with trinkets and clothes that were in fashion before Eijirou was even born, and a rusted cash register stood slightly lopsided, decorated with intricate cobwebs. Dust danced around them with every step and flew up into the air in a swift, dark cloud when they dropped the piano with a thud. The whole building groaned under the weight.
As the woman started thanking the workers and giving them their pay, creaky footsteps sounded through the shop until a familiar woman poked her head through the door. “Ms.Jirou!” Eijirou waved, surprised by her presence but happy to see a familiar face.
“Hey, Eijirou,” she smiled down at him and ruffled his hair. “Good to see you. You were helping out Yaomomo, I assume.” Before Eijirou could register the name with someone, the sound of expensive heels creaking across the old floors paused behind him.
“Kyouka,” the woman said from behind him, fondly. She moved forward to hug Jirou, then looked back at Eijirou with a kind smile, noticing him for the first time. “You must be the Eijirou I’ve heard about? Uraraka talks about you often. Pleasure to meet you.” The small boy blushed as he took her hand and shook it, eyes focusing on her pretty features and fingers locked on her soft skin. “You’re quite pretty, Mrs.Yaomomo,” he blurted.
The blush on his cheeks reddened as Yaoyorozu blinked at him, but her smile didn’t falter. Instead, as she met his eye, her expression shifted into a look Eijirou didn’t understand. There was an almost sad glint in her eye and a sincere tone in her voice as she responded. “You’re quite handsome yourself, Eijirou. I’m sure Bakugou will like you.”
“Because I’m handsome?”
The heartfelt tone in her voice was unmistakable, now. “No, you just remind me of someone, and I’m certain he’ll catch the resemblance as well.” Eijirou had many questions after that, but thought better of speaking them.
The day Bakugou was scheduled to arrive it rained. The morning sky was dark with heavy clouds and by the time Eijirou got out of school, there was a downpour. Eijirou had never let rain stop him before. He had a jacket and could borrow an umbrella if he was really that concerned with getting wet. There was no reason he should let the weather keep him from the pianist that had occupied his thoughts for months. But it made the perfect excuse to cover up his real reason.
Eijirou was nervous, anxious more like. The anxiety imbedded in his stomach was heavier that day, and it chewed from the inside, forcing Eijirou’s legs to walk the opposite direction. He knawed on his lip, cursing himself for the cowardice.
“Live a life without regret, Ei!” Dear god, he was talking to himself now. “Be a man!” It was raining so heavily, he could barely hear himself. He could barely see, too. He should’ve waited the rain out. “Stupid, stupid, stupid…” He started to run. Always running away, that soul.
Eijirou’s next excuse to not see the pianist was his health, and though he found relief in a valid excuse like that, he also felt guilty about getting himself sick. Medicine was expensive and Eijirou’s family could barely afford the schooling. His parents were worried, and so was he, but about a different topic. Eijirou never wanted to admit he had anxieties, or that they held him back. But dear god, he hated himself for them.
Why couldn’t he have just gone and say hi to the guy? Why did he have to run away? That wasn’t manly at all, and now, against Crimson Riot’s advice, he had regrets. Crimson would be disappointed in him, and frankly, Eijirou was too. After all, he was no man. Just a stupid, foolish boy.
In a week or so, Eijirou was healthy enough to go back to school, ignore the sniffles and subtle coughs. He wasn’t certain if Bakugou was still in town, but if he was, Eijirou hoped he wasn’t at Uraraka’s. Crimson Riot was being interviewed today, and no matter how much Eijirou’s stupid anxieties wanted to avoid the pianist, there was no way he was going to miss that broadcast. Much to his relief, Bakugou wasn’t there.
He listened to the interview, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. His feet swung gently in his chair and he leaned forward, elbows on the table and head in palms as he sighed out Crimson’s signature line with the static. “You seem different today, Eijirou.” Uraraka’s voice was gentler than usual.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, for one, you’re much less excited. Usually during Crimson Riot’s interviews and live shows you’re practically bouncing off the walls but today…” her voice trailed off, obviously catching on to Eijirou’s uncomfortable shifting.
Fingers drumming nervously on his knee, Eijirou said in a voice low and abnormally soft, “Is he still here?”
Uraraka nodded. “He’s leaving on Thursday.” Silence, again. When Eijirou bounced off his chair and said goodbye, Uraraka watched with worried eyes.
Eijirou couldn’t sleep that night, or the next. His thoughts were too loud in the eerie silence of night, and only quieted when he hummed the notes of a familiar pianist. The music sounded lifeless coming from his lips and buzzed irritatingly in his ears. Outside, the sky was a black so deep you could get lost in it. Eijirou chose to get lost in the stars instead.
Thursday morning, Eijirou felt sick again, but not from a fever. Guilt and regret weighed heavy in his stomach, the negativity swirling around in his brain gave him constant reminders that he was a coward who didn’t deserve Bakugou’s presence. It took most of his energy to try and disagree with his own thoughts. Most of his breakfast was left on the plate, uneaten.
The morning sky was brighter than usual, and as Eijirou began his walk to the schoolhouse, he regretted not bringing his jacket. It was much chillier today. It was certainly November, and the young boy smiled at the thought of the upcoming holidays and snow. It was a pleasant thought, in the chaotic, anxious mess that had become his brain.
Turning a street corner, a tall woman and a kind-faced boy made eye contact. Unable to ignore her concentrated gaze, Eijirou smiled politely and waved, offering a simple ‘Good Morning, Mrs.Yaomomo!’ She remained quiet, then asked him a favor.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Eijirou, but I could use your help with something.” She extended her arm, bringing attention to the hefty, expensive-looking suitcase in her hand. “There’s someone at the station waiting to receive this. Could you deliver it for me?”
Eijirou eyed the suitcase nervously. It was obvious he didn’t need to do this. Yaomomo could do it, she was already on her way to the station, and by the looks off it, and Eijirou would be late to class. Yes, that’s all he had to say, ‘Sorry, I have to go to school. I’ll be late if I deliver this.’ The words ran around in his head, but didn’t escape through his lips.
He looked up, meeting Yaomomo’s eyes. They were dark and kind as usual, but also filled with a certain kind of sadness. It was a pleading request and a somber gaze that stirred the strange feeling in Eijirou’s stomach. The sensation forced away all his reason and anxiety, and brought his hand forward, taking it gently from the woman’s fingers.
Her eyes smiled, and her body relaxed. “The name is in on the tag,” she told him. Eijirou nodded and didn’t glance at the white tag hanging off the suitcase handle. He already knew whose name it held. Waving goodbye, he turned in the direction of the train station. As he began to step away, Yaomomo called out, “Thank you!”
It was only a polite sentence, but the feeling in Eijirou’s stomach spread throughout his body, her voice giving him that peculiar sense of déjà vu. He played the words over and over in his head, and as he did so, the more he felt she was not thanking him for the favor. In fact, he had this strange doubt she was thanking him at all.
The train station wasn’t particularly packed or crowded, but Eijirou hadn’t thought it would be. Not a lot of people really came here, to this rural town. Mostly, people just left.
Eijirou didn’t know how, he’d never seen the man before, but he recognized him instantly. Bakugou Katsuki was standing stiff in an expensive gray trench coat, a matching scarf hanging loosely from his neck. His ash blonde hair was bright compared to his attire, but his scowl matched perfectly. Looking upon him, Eijirou felt at peace. His anxiety was ever present, but there was hope as well, and his feet were light as he moved forward.
When he got close enough, Bakugou’s sharp red eyes met his. Under those eyes, he couldn’t help but flinch. That striking gaze took away so much of Eijirou’s breath, he felt he would drop dead right then and there. That feeling coursing through his veins ran cold and he would’ve felt sick, if the exhilaration of being in Bakugou’s presence wasn’t there.
Unable to find words, Eijirou held up the suitcase, shamefully aware of how his fingers were trembling and his eyes flickered anywhere but Bakugou’s. The weight in his fingers shifted as the older man wordlessly took the suitcase from him.
Eijirou fumbled with the hem of his shirt, words dancing on the tip of his tongue and clogging up his throat like a rusted drain. But under the piercing gaze of the pianist and the dark anxiety filling up his brain and growing like a garden in his chest, the words remained stuck.
I loved listening to you play.
You’re so talented.
I wanna be able to play like you do.
Can you teach me to play the piano?
I really admire you.
No, no. None of it was right. Even this little moment, he didn’t deserve it. Eijirou was nothing but a coward, and here was a man who could bring people across the country to tears with only a few simple notes. He could only ever dream of being like that. He could only ever sit in someone else’s home and listen to their radio, and dream foolishly.
There was a bell, and the approaching sound of a train, running fast and heavy on its tracks. Bakugou’s gaze shifted to the upcoming train as it turned around the bend, then once more to Eijirou. Tears stung the young boy’s eyes. Nervously, Eijirou looked up, and though it was only for a few seconds that their eyes met, Bakugou’s eyes sent a message.
You haven’t even tried.
And that was all Eijirou needed. In an instant, he’d made a realization, an epiphany if you will, and it sent a rush of adrenaline through his small body. Live a life without regret! There was still time left! Eijirou’s dreams- there were right in front of him, he couldn’t let them get taken, not before he'd even tried to reach for them.
Just as the train stopped and Bakugou turned to leave, Eijirou gasped out a messy, rushed tumble of words that somehow managed to form a sentence. A sentence that, Eijirou never thought he’d speak aloud. But they were words that needed to be spoken above anything else.
“I always hoped to be someone who could reach people, and inspire them. Someone like you. Silly, isn’t it?”
The train doors opened slowly behind the blonde man. His eyes were still stern, but his brow became slightly less furrowed and his whole demeanor softened. The words fell easily from his lips, as though he didn’t need to think about them at all. As though he’d been dying to say them his entire life.
“You’ve already become that person, Eijirou. You just can’t tell cause you’re too damn busy admiring the good in others.”
It was those words, and everything that would follow, that would push Eijirou down a path of unbridled success. Starting with such simple sentences, that small, cowardly boy would grow. He would dye his hair bright red and perform like no one was watching. His anxiety would be conquered and blossom into confidence and bliss that would reach millions of people, and he’d wear a smile bright enough to touch the hearts of many more. He would bring hopes to those who’d never seen light, he’d inspire those who’d never thought of themselves as more than the dirt they walked on, and he would die happily and in peace, having lived a full life without regret.
But first, Eijirou had to wait. Wait for a grumpy blonde pianist to come back after performing for the country. Wait for said grump to teach him not only of the piano, but of himself and of the world around him. To teach him about life and death, about love and pain. He would teach that fragile, timid boy to be unbreakable, to never let go of his dreams, to protect him from regret, to guide him and finally, to love him more than the boy will ever know.
After all, Bakugou Katsuki had become a subdued man.