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There were a lot of things Hitoshi learned during his first week in class 2-A. Things like how the sofa in the lounge with the shark blanket permanently draped around the arm was Bakugo’s, and how if no one else raised their hand to answer a question during class, Iida always took one for the team, and how Kaminari Denki was a big ass liar.
Overall, Hitoshi would say that his time in 2-A, albeit still brief, was enjoyable. Far more enjoyable than his time in 2-C were idiots with second-rate capabilities and a lack of motivation even their egos couldn’t compensate for talked over people who actually had potential. Not that Hitoshi was being judgmental or anything, he was just… being judgmental.
He’d been trying to work on that. His dad said it wasn’t going to win him any favors when making friends, which Hitoshi argued he didn’t need to make in the first place, and who was Aizawa Shota to lecture anyone on being open. Still, he was trying to be less judgmental nonetheless. Because Hitoshi didn’t want friends, at least he didn’t need friends, which was the whole problem in the first place, as class 2-A was full of overly friendly people, and Hitoshi couldn’t get away.
They actively sought him out, like leeches, or ringworms, or excitable puppies. Midoriya had assisted him in setting up his stuff in the dorms. Kirishima had offered to help him catch up on homework (using Bakugo’s notes, which Hitoshi wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about). Tokoyami hung out with him for an entire night when neither of them could sleep, and they’d played horror video games in the lounge until Hitoshi thought his eyes were going to fall out from staring at the TV for so long. Admittedly, Hitoshi hadn’t minded that, or any of it actually, because Midoriya was pushy enough to snake his way into any friendship he wanted no matter how much the other person tried to resist, and it was hard to say no to Kirishima’s overly wide red eyes, and Tokyami was chill. So, Hitoshi’s resolve to be a loner was failing, which was a first. Usually, all he had to do was narrow his eyes and say a few harsh words, and then no one would talk to him for the rest of the semester. Or year. Or several years. Hitoshi wasn’t picky. Though, perhaps Hitoshi was picky and a bit lonely.
A lot a bit lonely.
It was just that Hitoshi had taught himself not to get attached to people. People left, or didn’t care, or ran out of time. Hitoshi had not had a whole lot of positives with people. Not until his dad, and then his pa, and then everything that came with their little family of four cats and two parents that told Hitoshi he was worth something for the first time in his stupidly bleak life. But they were exceptions. Hitoshi was slowly starting to learn that they were exceptions. So 2-A was throwing him the fuck off. Hitoshi had learned that his parents were exceptions, but 2-A seemed to be exceptions too, and did that mean that they weren’t exceptions at all? Where they really the majority? Hitoshi didn’t know.
Which all went to say that Kaminari and his big ass lying self threw Hitoshi off the most. Though that was a much longer story, one that extended far past the first week. One that Hitoshi lowkey (highkey) hopped extended for the rest of time. But it started on the first day, so Hitoshi figured he’d start there as well. Because Kaminari was a lair, and an amazing person, and Hitoshi loved him more than he’d ever loved anyone before.
1) He Thought He Was An Idiot.
Hitoshi had met Kaminari before his first day of class. Of course he had because even if he hadn’t met Kaminari during joint training, he probably would have met him some time else. Kaminari was a social little weirdo. He took pleasure in human interaction, and actively sought out others, and introduced himself to anyone he could get his hands on. So, Hitoshi couldn’t say that he met Kaminari on his first day. He couldn’t say that his dumb purple eyes that looked too dull under the buzzing fluorescent school lights met Kaminari’s iridescent yellow ones, the two of them falling in love like all the hundreds of books Hitoshi read under the covers as a child, flashlight held up so that his foster parents wouldn’t catch him. Hitoshi couldn’t say that at all.
And, admittedly, Hitoshi hadn’t known what to expect when this all began because all he really did have to go off of was those childhood books. Hitoshi didn’t know a lot about love, or relationships, or crushes if he thought about it hard enough. All he knew was what he’d read and what he’d seen from Shota and Hizashi. Though Hitoshi didn’t consider them a reliable source because Hizashi fell in love with Shota when Shota kicked him in the face during their first-year sport’s festival, and Shota hadn’t realized he was dating Hizashi until they reached their four-month mile marker. Which went to say that Hitoshi had no real-life references at all. So, it wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t predicted any of this would happen.
Digression aside, Hitoshi had met Kaminari before his first day. It was just that on his first day, he really met Kaminari, like properly met, and it was in those fleeting moments of the blond acknowledging Hitoshi’s dry existence, that Hitoshi realized Kaminari was a big ass liar.
“Shinso,” Kaminari had shouted, walking up to Hitoshi’s desk with a big grin on his face. It was the type of grin you give to someone important, someone who you consider equal, and Hitoshi couldn’t help but preen, which was odd. “I can’t believe you’re actually in our class. I always thought you should be because, like, you’re, you know, you and everything. But, now you’re actually here!”
“I’m here,” Hitoshi said back in a flat voice. He pulled out his bento from under his desk. It was weird to have people talk to him at the start of lunch or school in general. Hitoshi kinda wanted it to all stop.
Kaminari didn’t falter. His smile was just as brilliant as before. “Well, dude, if you need something, we’re all here to help. I don’t know how useful I’ll be with anything complicated or whatever, I’m kinda the class idiot , but if you ever need anyone to talk to, I gotcha,” he said.
At the time, Hitoshi had nodded, stiff and awkward, leaving Kaminari to stand over his desk for a few seconds longer before shooting him finger guns and walking over to Kirishima. He’d thrown his arm around Kirishima’s shoulder, nagging Bakugo about something as Mina laughed and Sero rolled his eyes. The bakusquad, Hitoshi was pretty sure they were called. Hero students were weird. However, in the next few days, he’d come to realize that Kaminari was both entirely correct and internally incorrect in his declaration of assistance.
See, Hitoshi might not have had a whole lot of experience with love, but he had an overwhelming amount of experience with idiots. In particular, blond idiots. Yamada Hizashi had provided Hitoshi with years' worth of idiotism alone during the week over summer break where he’d only worn duck pajamas around their apartment while singing American pop songs into Shota’s hairbrush. And Hitoshi knew Hizashi was an idiot, Shota had told Hitoshi so before he’d ever even met Hizashi. So, yes, Hitoshi had plenty of experiences with [blond] idiot’s, but he knew there was a difference between beginning an idiot and being an idiot, and the way Kaminari said it, he meant idiot .
Hizashi was an idiot. He laughed loudly, and made dumb dad jokes Hitoshi wished he could forget (no, he didn’t, he kept a note in his phone of every single one Hizashi ever told), and he tried to make Shota dance with him to the sound of the dishwasher in their kitchen. And maybe Kaminari was an idiot too. He certainly seemed like the kind of person who made buzzing noises with his lips so his friends would laugh or exaggerated facial expressions to get people to smile. Except, Kaminari hadn’t said he was an idiot, he’d said he was an idiot , which was very different.
Idiots were annoying, miserable people. The kind that Hitoshi had spent his childhood with. They were the people who told Hitoshi his quirk made him evil, or that believed the Hero Commission was a source of all that was good, or who bit into their ice cream. Idiots were the losers in class 2-C who thought they could go places by sitting at their desks and belittling everyone else. Kaminari wasn’t an idiot , not like he thought he was.
Hitoshi came to learn that throughout the rest of his first week as Kaminari made very good on his promise to be someone for Hitoshi to lean on. A little too good actually, because Hitoshi had been unaware that the offer wasn’t necessarily a ‘Hitoshi gets to pick a time’ sort of promise. No, Kaminari took being a shoulder to lean on very seriously, as in he was always there, right next to Hitoshi, his shoulder far too close so that, if Hitoshi wanted to, he could rest his head against it (though he’d have crouch. Kaminari was short).
The boy was always there. On Hitoshi’s second day, he’d dragged Hitoshi to lunch with him; then he did it again, and again, and suddenly Hitoshi found himself included in Bakugo’s nightly math tutoring sessions as well. Not that Hitoshi needed tutoring in math, but Kaminari seemed to, so Hitoshi apparently did too. Whenever there was a break in class, Kaminari sat on Hitoshi’s desk. Usually, Mina or Sero were was there too, draping themselves across Kaminari's back or leaning into Hitoshi’s space even though he preferred if they didn’t. At the dorms, he made sure Hitoshi never ate alone or had a free minute to himself. The weirdest part, however, was that Hitoshi found he didn’t mind any of the company. He couldn’t explain that. Not even if he tried.
Hitoshi still was very much set on not making friends at that point. He was only a few weeks in by the time Kaminari seemed to physically staple himself to his side, and, while he did appreciate the blond’s ridiculous efforts, Hitoshi was beginning to feel as if all his attempts to be terrifyingly unfriendly were failing. Which was a first. It also all went to prove that Kaminari wasn’t an idiot.
Kaminari was astute. He knew when Hitoshi was overwhelmed, taking him away from the lunchroom if everything got too loud or letting Hitoshi take his time to express any emotion besides snark. He took Hitoshi’s pitfalls in creating bonds without even a blink, molding Hitoshi’s standoffishness into something akin to friendly. It wasn’t just Hitoshi that he did this to either. It was everyone. Kaminari held the balance between the relationships of his classmates together, ever the mediator. He knew when to stop, when his jokes would go too far, how much to push. He made everyone laugh when the mood went low. He complimented their quirks during practice, and showed his failed tests to his friends when they said they did badly, and offered to spot whenever a classmate wanted to train.
There was a reason the three people in the class everyone shared their secrets with were Kaminari, Kirishima, and Tsu.
So, no, Kaminari was not an idiot. Not at all. And Hitoshi felt a little put off by the fact that he would say he was in the first place.
2) He said he was happy.
Irespudibly, Kaminari was sunshine. A brilliant burst of joy bounded through rooms with enough energy to lift the spirits of even the dust mites. Hitoshi had once heard that the happiest people in the world were the saddest ones. He didn’t think that was true because there’d been a time in his life when he was pretty damn sad and he’d still been a desolate asshole. However, Kaminari, no matter how ridiculously bright he was, wasn’t quite nearly as happy.
He said he was, Hitoshi was fairly certain a lot of the class believed he was, but Hitoshi spent maybe too much time paying attention to Kaminari, so he knew the truth. There were little things. Things like how Kaminari’s smile would sometimes drop off his face when he turned around, or how his eyes dimmed when people joked about how his quirk fucked with his brain, or when one of their teachers told him to pay attention.
That last part was what got Hitoshi to ask the blond about it. It started during a particularly harrowing lecture on the Telepathy War Of 2028, one that made Hitoshi happy he sat near a window so he could do something slightly more entertaining while he listened, like watching clouds move or the grass on the front lawn grow.
Across the row from Hitoshi, Kaminari was doodling in his notebook. He was taking notes, too; Hitoshi could see how every time Snipe stopped to say something bullet point worthy, Kaminari would jot it down in his spidery kanji. When Snipe moved on to talk about another great general, Kaminari turned to wink at Hitoshi. Hitoshi winked back, raising an eyebrow. Kaminari smiled, and Hitoshi thought he finally understood why, out of all the things to rotate around in the universe, the earth chose the sun.
“Kaminari, pay attention. Don’t think I can’t see you drawing during the lecture.” Snipe’s voice cut through the brilliance, and it wasn’t harsh, only pointed in a stern sort of way, but it made Kaminari go from a main-sequence star to a dwarf star, skipping all the billions of years in between.
A few of his other classmates noticed. Mina sent Kaminari a pitting smile, the pink-haired girl having been called out for texting only a few minutes earlier. Bakugo and Kirishima exchanged worried glances. Sero frowned into his notes.
Hitoshi knew how much the bakusquad looked out for each other. They were a tight-knit group and, though Hitoshi wasn’t necessarily a part of it, he spent a lot of time being dragged to their events with Kaminari. Therefore, he’d come to recognize how Bakugo made them dinner because they wouldn’t remember otherwise, and how Kirishima hugged them all like he was afraid they might disappear, and how Mina would set up camp in their rooms if someone seemed anxious, and how Sero knew the right questions to ask if anyone’s eyes glazed over. They cared about each other viciously, to the depth of the earth and back. They had shared trauma, a year’s worth of chaotic stories, and enough sleepless nights spent beating Sero at Mario Kart together to read everyone's mannerisms down to a fraction of an inch. And Hitoshi couldn’t be a part of that, not when he stumbled in a year late without coffee. Kaminari was, though, and they cared so much about him. It was just that Hitoshi, for some stupid ass reason, also cared about him. A lot.
Which, it wasn’t supposed to be that way. Hitoshi didn’t think it would be that way. Except Kaminari had stuck to his side like Hitoshi was silver in a vat of electricity and Hitoshi had no other choice than to let him. Though that was beside the point, the point was that even with all the bakusquad’s constant vigilance, they’d managed to miss the way Kaminari’s smile dimmed like a broken lightbulb more often than not.
Snipe’s class was the last class of the day, the bell ringing just when the bird Hitoshi had been watching sit on the electricity lines for fifteen minutes straight flew off. He got up as Kaminari made his way to him, leaning against Hitoshi’s desk with his palms pressed to the fake wood, watching with wide yellow eyes as Hitoshi ungracefully shoved his notebook into his backpack. Mina came up behind Kaminari, making Hitoshi a bit nervous as he slid his backpack onto his shoulders. There was always something so disconcerting about doing menial tasks while being watched. Mina being the physical embodiment of a Fairytopia character was no exception.
Kaminari held out his hand when Hitoshi pushed in his chair. Hitoshi took it, allowing the blond to drag him out of the classroom into the bustling hall. It was packed as always, every student rushing to be literally anywhere besides the school building. Hitoshi didn’t like the halls when they were this full. When he was still in general studies, he’d waited ten minutes after the last bell every day in order to avoid them. Kaminari didn’t seem to mind the crowds, however, so Hitoshi pretended he didn’t either. It wasn’t all that bad when Kaminari guided him through, especially not on the days when Mina or Bakugo would flank his other side like some sort of bodyguard, shoving anyone who got too close out of the way.
They were dorks. Overprotective dorks with big hearts, and Hitoshi thought it was amazing how much they would go out of their way to stop people from crowding Kaminari.
When they made it back to the dorms, Mina led Hitoshi and Kaminari up to her room, meeting Bakugo, Kirishima, and Sero on the way. Hitoshi liked Mina’s room even if it felt like the visual version of a migraine when all the lights were on. The pink rug on her floor was soft. The stacked blankets she hid behind her bookshelf full of manga was always readily available. The cheetah print lamp she had situated behind her bed gave off a soft yellow light. Usually, the cheetah print lamp was the only light on, bathing the pink room in a glow low enough to mute the colors. Whenever Hitoshi would lay dow in Mina’s room, wrapped in a blanket as his finger’s carded through the fluffy polyester piles of her rug, he felt like he could relax; the lavender-scented candles she always kept in stock but never lit would fill his senses until all he perceived were the purple spots behind his eyelids.
This time though, the bakusquad gathered in a circle, Mina pulling Hitoshi down to sit beside Kaminari before he had the chance to run off. Kaminari leaned into Hitoshi, mimicking Kirishima, who had fully dropped his weight against Bakugo’s shoulder. Hitoshi liked it - how Kaminari was so touchy-feely. No one had ever been like that with Hitoshi besides his pa. No one had ever wanted to. And Hitoshi understood that Kaminari was like that with everyone, always close, always touching, but Hitoshi liked to pretend that something about him was special - mostly because Hitoshi had never actually been special before.
“That was the most boring class I’ve ever sat through,” Mina said, her voice high pitched, chin buried into the white fuzzy blanket Sero got her for her birthday.
Bakugo scoffed loud enough for Kirishima to lift his head away from his shoulder. “You literally fucking said that two days ago.”
“But I mean it this time, Katsuki,” Mina said.
It was a shtick Hitoshi was used to. He’d seen it practically every time he wound up in Mina’s (, or Bakugo’s, or Kirishima’s) room after class. Sometimes, the two would banter back and forth about the legitimacy of Mina’s claim to boredness for so long that Sero would bring the deck of holographic cards out from the side pocket of his red backpack, the rest of them playing war until Bakugo set off explosions or Mina’s throat got dry.
Hitoshi turned to Kaminari, blocking out the loudness that was the blond boy’s friends. With the way Kaminiar’s head was situated, Hitoshi’s chin ended up resting on Kaminari’s hair, his eyes slanted so he could look down at the blond’s face. Could catalyze the slight bump in the center of his nose and the way his top lip turned up.
“Does Snipe Sensei scare you?” Hitoshi whispered.
Kaminari let the sides of his lips curl downwards, his eyebrows furrowing together, so tiny wrinkles formed in between. “I mean, ya. He could like yeet me into the sun or something without even activating his quirk,” he said.
“You know that’s not what I mean,” Hitoshi shook his head, chin rubbing against the soft ends of Kaminar’s hair until static ran up his cheeks. “After he told you to pay attention, you dimmed.”
“Humans can’t dim, Shin. We’re not light bulbs.”
“You are.”
Kaminari took a deep breath. “I don’t know; I guess I just don’t like being called out. Like, I can’t even try to focus if I’m not drawing, or fidgeting, or something. But then I’m not allowed to do those things or whatever. It’s annoying.”
“Have you told him that?” Hitoshi said because he didn’t know what else there was to say.
“Ya, it doesn’t matter, though.” Kaminari’s bright eyes flicked up towards Hitoshi’s. He quirked a smile. “I’m fine, Shinso. I’m happy with how it is now.”
But Hitoshi watched as the dimples on Kaminari’s cheeks sagged. How the lines that showed up in the corner of his eyes when he smiled never reached their peak. And if Hitoshi told his dad about the whole ordeal later that night, the two of them sitting on the couch in Shota’s bereft room at Heights Alliance as Shota graded tests, then that was no one else's business but his own.
3) He said he was stupid.
Well, a lot of people said he was stupid; it wasn’t just Kaminari. Hitoshi heard the word thrown out at least four times a day. Jirou would yell it at him from across the training grounds when Kaminari tripped over his own feet after an exercise. Tokoyama had once said it when he’d watched Kaminari pour salt into his ice cream as an experiment. Mina often muttered the word when the two of them got back math tests, Mina’s score a point higher than Kaminari’s. And Kaminari said it more than all of them, uttering it every time he turned in homework, or used too much of his quirk, or lost a bet.
They were sitting in Bakugo’s room when Hitoshi heard Kaminari say it for the millionth time. He hadn’t actually been keeping track, but after the four odd months he’d spent being in class 2-A, Hitoshi could only assume it had been that many.
Bakugo’s room wasn’t like Mina’s. It was tidy, all his clothes put away, every book lined up by size order. However, it still felt warm, perhaps the warmest out of all of their rooms. Which was a weird juxtaposition. Bakugo’s room had a blue rug, and a blue bedspread, and blue curtains, all the same color. He kept a dehumidifier on in the corner. Fairy lights ringed the ceiling. Everything smelled like burnt sugar. It was peaceful - centering. There was a reason all the bakusquad’s study sessions happened there.
Bakugo held a pencil between his fingers, a matching one twisted in Kirishima’s hair. Mina hunched over her laptop, Sero looking over her shoulder. Kaminari sat beside Hitoshi, his laptop balanced across his thighs, and Hitoshi watched as he typed word after word of his English essay. Hitoshi wasn’t all that great at English, much to Hizashi’s chagrin, but he knew Kaminari’s essay was good. He could see how everything was perfectly placed, commas precise, and words beyond their classroom learned vocabulary.
“Heard you losers failed your math test again,” Bakugo said, though there wasn’t any bite. If anything, Hitoshi noticed concern laced into the harsh way he pronounced his vowels.
Mina pouted, elbowing Sero. “We tried, Katsu. I swear we did.”
“But logarithms don’t make any sense,” Sero said, reaching across Mina’s lap to grab the English dictionary that sat near the center of their circle.
“I’m just stupid.” Kaminari shrugged. He didn’t look up from his computer screen, finger’s still typing.
“You told me in class you were proud of us because we did better than last time.” Kirishima’s voice sounded just as downturned as the pout on his lips.
Bakugo rolled his eyes, taking the pencil out of Kirishima’s hair before reaching over to flick Hitoshi on the forehead. Hitoshi didn’t understand why. He’d done perfectly okay on the math test. He’d even gotten a question right because of something Bakugo had said at their last tutoring session.
“You fuckers think I’m soft or something?” Bakugo said, though his red eyes held warmth, not unlike a hearth. “You’ll do even fucking better next time. Got it?”
The conversation died there, leaving everyone to write their essays. Kaminari’s words echoed in Hitoshi’s head though, they always did.
A few weeks later, Hitoshi lay sideways in his bed, Kaminari’s shoulder pressed against his own as he lay beside him. It was late. Late enough that if Hizashi knew Hitoshi was still awake, he’d make that worried little frown he always did when he found Shota and Hitoshi curled up on their apartment’s living room sofa, watching bad movies or listening to music to pass the time.
Kaminari had started to show up at Hitoshi’s door when he couldn’t sleep, somehow knowing Hitoshi couldn’t sleep either. They would lay there, heads almost hitting the side edge of Hitoshi’s bed as their legs pressed up against the wall, and talk until one of them fell asleep or their morning alarms went off.
Sometimes, Hitoshi would end up in Kaminari’s room instead, though those nights were rare. Kaminari seemed to prefer Hitoshi’s room for some reason. Hitoshi thought it was odd because his room didn’t have a lot of stuff in it. Hitoshi didn’t have a lot of stuff in general, and most of the things he did have were still in the Aizawa-Yamada apartment. A place Hitoshi felt was home. A place that was home.
“When lightning strikes, it’s only about the size of a nickel in diameter,” Kaminari said into the darkness.
Hitoshi leaned in closer to the blond. “Is that so?”
“Mmm, and it can be up to 30,000 degrees kelvin.“ Kaminari slurred his words a little, eyelids falling as if strings were tugging them down. Hitoshi let their fingers intertwine. Kaminari held tight. “Andesite, which is what Eijiro’s quirk is probably made out of, has a melting point of 1,750 degrees kelvin.”
“You’re not gonna melt Kirishima, Kami.” Hitoshi felt his own words blend as his teeth slid across his tongue.
“No, I know how to control it better than that.”
He did. Hitoshi knew he did. Kaminari’s quirk was a lot of things. It was powerful, and it was dangerous, and it made Kaminari’s brain short out sometimes, but it wasn’t uncontrolled. It couldn’t be uncontrolled.
The wind blew hard enough to shake Hitoshi’s window. Kaminari moved closer, snuggling into Hitoshi’s side. Hitoshi felt his cheeks grow hot. His heart beat faster.
“Did you know an electron travels at 2,200 kilometers per second?” Kaminari said. His eyes were closed. Hitoshi wanted to run his fingers through his blond hair until he relaxed completely.
Instead, he shook his head. “No. I don’t make a habit of thinking about electrons.”
“Electrons carry a negative charge,” Kaminari said and shrugged like it answered all Hitoshi’s questions. Maybe it did. “But they’re more than that. Elusive basterds.”
It was Hitoshi’s turn to shrug, the two of them lapsing into silence as Kaminari fell deeper into the darkness behind his eyelids, and Hitoshi pleaded with himself to do the same. He couldn’t. Not when his mind was buzzing so much. Not when Kaminari lay beside him, all weird science facts and warm body. So Hitoshi stared at his ceiling and thought about how Kaminari wasn’t stupid. He thought about how Kaminari knew all of these things about electrons, and could write eloquent essays in English, and knew what kelvin was. He thought about how he could control his quirk, his electricity-based quirk, and just how much Kaminari must have had to learn when he was younger to be able to keep everything regulated. How much he had to learn now to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone. To make sure he didn’t hurt himself.
Most importantly, Hitoshi thought about how Kaminari thought he was stupid because everyone else thought he was. His brain wasn’t hardwired for the lectures of teachers who wanted every student to learn the same traditional way. UA Hero Students didn’t take chemistry, or physics, or any of the things Hitoshi knew Kaminari understood. No one in their class carried all that much about English. Kaminari was stuck failing history tests because of long lectures, and doing poorly on math tests that weren’t made so he could succeed, and getting marks off on literary analyses for interpreting symbolism in the incorrect way. So, Kaminari thought he was stupid. Everyone else did too.
Hitoshi couldn’t help the way his fingernails dug into his palm. Kaminari fell asleep on his shoulder, leaving Hitoshi alone, left in the dark as his jaw clenched hard enough to hurt.
4) He didn’t think he had friends.
This one surprised Hitoshi the most. As mentioned earlier, Kaminari Denki invented the rules for socializing. He was the most actively extroverted person Hitoshi had ever met. The blond talked to anyone, everyone, anything. Hitoshi had watched him try to hold a conversation with a patch of dandelions on the front lawn once.
“Toshi, I think you’re the only actual friend I have,” Kaminari said, the two of them sitting on the floor with a game of chess in between their crossed legs.
Hitoshi looked up. “Denki, what the fuck?” he said. Given the way Denki’s whole face dropped, it probably wasn’t the correct response.
It was a Saturday afternoon. Hitoshi should have been cleaning his room, and Denki should have been writing the history essay he was putting off. Instead, they were sitting in Hitoshi’s messy room, Denki’s laptop left unopened on Hitoshi’s grey bedspread, playing chess. Hitoshi wasn’t the best at chess, but he was getting better because his dad thought it was a good way to learn understand strategy. It probably was. Hitoshi didn’t care.
Denki was good at chess. He set pieces down with a purpose and always managed to lock onto Hitoshi’s king before Hitoshi even realized he was in trouble. Then he’d smile, the bright kind that made Hitoshi feel like every receptor in his body was buzzing, telling Hitoshi that he’d play easier next time. He never did. Or Hitoshi was just that bad.
“I mean, I know no one in our class really likes me or anything.”
Hitoshi put his pawn back in the spot it was before he’d picked it up. Denki’s hands shook a little, his lip quivering, eyes tilted up. There was something fragile about it all. About how the sunlight peeked through Hitoshi’s orange curtains, bathing the dorm’s rug in a triangle of light just where Denki sat. How Denki's blond hair lit up under the light like a halo. How, despite the way the tension lines between his eyebrows furrowed his skin in an attempt to keep his eyes dry, the rest of Denki’s posture was relaxed, his legs crossed and shoulders tilted down as he let warmth lay into his skin.
“People like you. Why would people not like you?” Hitoshi said. He didn’t know what else to say.
Hitoshi never knew what else to say.
“Because I’m the actual worst.” Denki’s hands moved up, shrugging nonchalantly, but there was a weight to the sentence. “But for real, dude, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but, like, most of the class probably thinks I’m annoying. I never understand anything. Jirou blatantly goes out of her way to tell me I’m horrible. No one ever invites me to anything unless I’m already in the room when they're making plans. I don’t have any other friends.”
“What about the bakusquad?” Hitoshi couldn’t get Denki’s words out of his head. Couldn’t get his tone, casual yet sharp enough to bite into Hitoshi’s skin like freezing rain, out of his head.
“They’re stuck with me. They wouldn’t hang out with me if I hadn’t latched myself onto Eijiro the first day. Wouldn’t be surprised if they had a separate group chat I’m not added to.” And with that, Denki picked up his knight, knocking down Hitoshi’s castle even though it wasn’t his turn.
It took Hitoshi the rest of the day to get Denki’s words to stop ringing like church bells in his head. It took him the rest of the day to even comprehend why Denki had said the words in the first place. Because Denki was Denki. Everyone trusted him, everyone loved him, everyone cared about him. Except, sometimes they took things too far. Sometimes Jirou would make jokes that didn’t really sound like jokes. Sometimes he wasn’t included.
Hitoshi knew these things were true. He also knew they had explanations, no matter how much they were shit. Jokes got taken too far because the class thought Denki was a ball full of humor. They forgot he had emotions. That he was delicate despite the brilliance. Jirou didn’t know where to draw the line, ever. She’d told Hitoshi shit Hitoshi probably wouldn’t have been able to take if he hadn’t lived most of his life with adults who picked out his flaws like it was a hobby. Denki got excluded from events because, if he wasn’t the one to plan them, most people got excluded. Somehow, one of Denki’s roles in 2-A had become the planner. He scheduled class meals, or outings, or theme nights. If he didn’t do it, no one else had the will. Not when whatever they planned wouldn’t go as well as Denki's plans would have.
There was a lull to it all, too. People had grown compliant, accustomed. So, no, Denki didn’t get invited to a lot of things he didn’t plan, but that was because there usually wasn’t much for him to get invited to.
The next morning, Hitoshi gathered the bakusquad together in the kitchen, the five of them hovering near the stove as Bakugo cooked omurice for them. Denki was always the last to wake up, stumbling down the stairs with a charger in his mouth, plugging the box into the outlet on the wall so he could charge himself or whatever while he ate. Hitoshi thought there was something probably very much wrong with everything about Denki’s morning routine, but he hadn’t had the nerve to bring it up.
“Denki thinks you all hate him,” Hitoshi said as Bakugo flipped the omurice.
One day he’d learn to mince his words.
Bakugo turned off the burner, setting down his spatula even though the food was nowhere near ready. “The actual fuck did you just say?” He curled his lips up like a wolf, red eyes narrowed.
On Hitoshi's sides, Mina and Kirishima looked around him, both of their eyebrows drawn down. Sero tilted his head, fingernails clenching into his palms.
“Denki thinks you guys hate him. He told me last night. He thinks the whole class finds him annoying and that you guys probably have some sort of group chat where you talk shit about him.” Hitoshi tried to keep his voice flat. Tried not to let the emotions spill through.
Because Denki was pure sunshine. He held so much love in his heart. He made the world revolve, pulling down the fabric of the universe and warming all that sunk with him.
“But we don’t,” Sero said, voice soft, not meant for anyone to hear but himself.
“I know you have a dry sense of humor Shin, but this isn’t funny.” Mina was louder, too loud really, lips close to Hitoshi’s ear, arms crossed against her chest.
Hitoshi met her eyes. “Why would I joke about this?”
“He wouldn’t,” Kirishima said for them all. “You know he wouldn’t, Mina.”
“Why the hell does he think he’s an add on? We’re going up there and setting his head straight,” Bakugo said, and he meant it, leaving his cooking behind completely as he grabbed Sero and Mina’s hands, pulling them towards the stairs.
Hitoshi didn’t follow, watching as Kirishima rolled his eyes good-naturedly, moving to catch up to Bakugo. Before he made it out of the kitchen, he turned. Hitoshi tilted his head.
“You’re coming too?” Kirishima said. He titled his words up at the end, like he wasn’t sure if they were a question or not.
Hitoshi let his eyebrows pull together. “I’m not a part of your little group. Why would you want me to come?”
The look Kirishima gave him in return was so utterly lost, Hitoshi wondered what he’d done wrong.
5) He didn’t think anyone would ever like him back.
This came up later. After the bakusquad held a meeting where Mina cried, and then Denki cried, and then they all ended up in one group pile on the rug in Mina’s room, Bakugo not even bothering to complain about being trapped at the bottom. Hitoshi still wasn’t sure why he’d been invited to the meeting, but Sero had dragged him to it after school ended, so it wasn’t like he’d had a choice. Besides, watching Kaminari be showered in love and told he was important made Hitoshi feel actual feelings. Soft ones that filled his chest up with fuzz.
Weeks passed. Jirou knocked her comments down a peg after Bakugo screamed at her about humor being subjective. Midoriya planned a class movie night. Hitoshi sat with his dad as Shota wrote an email to their teachers about the importance of being inclusive of how various people learned. And it wasn’t all that different, not all that much changed, but some things did. Enough things did. Denki’s smile held for a little bit longer than it used to.
They were in Bakugo’s room when Denki said it. It was a sleepover night; the other’s passed out in various splayed out positions on the nests Bakugo made for them out of Mina’s blankets. Hitoshi had brought his pa’s cookies to share with the group, and the empty plate lay in the middle of their sleep circle. He always brought some sort of food when they had sleepovers. He wasn’t sure how else to thank them for letting him hang out with them.
Katsuki would take the plate out of his hands with a look Hitoshi couldn’t describe making his eyes open wider, the wrinkles that tensed on his forehead smoothing out. Then, he’d flick Hitoshi between the eyes, handing the plate to Kirishima, who would thank Hitoshi with a sharp, warm smile, holding the plate above his head so Mina and Sero wouldn’t eat them all. Denki would giggle, bright like summer lightning above the ocean, making his way over to Hitoshi as if he had some sort of importance. As if Denki's positive charge actually needed whatever negative ass charge Hitoshi exuded.
The sleepover had been brighter this time. All of Bakugo’s lights were turned off except for his fairy lights, but the room seemed to beam a yellow glow. Even after the others went to sleep, the cards scattered across Sero’s pillow, an ace sticking to his cheek, the brightness was still there. Still pulsing.
“Do you think anyone would actually ever have a crush on me?” Denki said. He was looking at the ceiling, watching the fairy lights twinkle.
“Yes,” Hitoshi said back.
It felt odd, the conversation. Hitoshi felt like he was in an alternate dimension where he didn’t know the truth. Where Denki was asking this question to someone else, someone who never saw how his eyes sparkled in the sunlight or heard the way joy dripped off of Denki’s every syllable when he talked about the things he loved.
Denki shifted, turning his body to face Hitoshi. Hitoshi reached out, poking him in the nose just because he could. Denki smiled.
“But I don’t think the person I have a crush on will have one on me back.” Denki’s smile didn’t dim.
Hitoshi smiled back, awkwardly pushing the corners of his lips up until he felt the sides of his eyes wrinkle - until it didn’t feel awkward anymore. “I think he will.”
“You do?” Denki’s voice was quiet now, hushed like the buzz of the fairy lights or the clouds moving across the darkened sky.
“I do,” Hitoshi said.
They leaned in, Hitoshi first, Denki second. Denki’s lips were soft. Everything was soft. In those four seconds, Hitoshi felt like the world was the most brilliant it had ever been.
“Why?” Denki said when they broke apart.
“Why not?” Hitoshi let the smirk drop when he saw Denki bite his lip. “I don’t know, a lot of reasons, I guess. Because you’re a massive dork, and you care about everything so much, and you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met.”
“Don’t joke, Toshi, I mean it.”
“I’m not,” Hitoshi shifted closer, close enough for their noses to touch. “Look, you're like the nucleus that all the electrons revolve around or whatever. And you're so ridiculously amazing. And I like you.”
Denki reached up to cup Hitoshi’s cheek. “I thought you didn’t know anything about electrons,” he said.
“I don’t. You can tell,” Hitoshi said back.
“You really like me?”
“I really like you.” And Hitoshi kissed him again, just as gentle, just as brilliant.
6) Hitoshi was a hypocrite.
“You know, Toshi, you’re the biggest liar I’ve ever met,” Denki muttered into Hitoshi’s shoulder.
Hitoshi grunted, not moving from his spot. Denki was dropped on top of him. Their notebooks sat forgotten on the floor below their heads as they lay sideways on Hitoshi’s bed. They’d been talking about everything and nothing, Denki telling fun facts whenever Hitoshi ran out of stories about his dads. It was peaceful. It filled Hitoshi’s empty room until it overflowed.
“You say you don’t know how to make friends. You tell people you’re awkward or try to make them think you’re a big scary introvert. You never let us claim you as bakusquad even though you come to every single one of our hangouts. The list just goes on really.” Denki’s breath tickled the skin on Hitoshi’s neck.
Hitoshi blinked. He blinked again. “I think you might be right,” he said.
And, of course, he was.