Chapter Text
Denki sat, criss cross appley sauce, on the worn green couch in the commons. Grey sweatpants rode up his legs, exposing his golden leg hair to the prickling cold of the underheated dorms. The raw, exposed undersides of his nails rubbed against the worn fabric, picking at the fraying threads in his excitement. In his lap, he held a worn moleskine notebook open, pen forgotten in the folds of the couch, which seemed to eat household objects to maintain its plush interior. The pen, however, was long forgotten in favor of his excitement.
Sero lounged next to him, one hand playing with his sleek black hair and the other clutching his phone. A can of soda rest between his legs, dripping condensation onto his track pants. Just the sight of such a cold object made goosebumps crawl across Denki’s arms.
“How are you drinking that in this weather?” He flicked his friend in the arm, notebook slapping itself closed.
“It’s barely fall,” Sero looked at him with a raised eyebrow, dropping his hand from his hair to draw the grape-flavored soda to his lips. “You just have low iron.”
“My anemia has nothing to do with how cold I am!” Denki declared, arms crossed, before faltering. “Well… Okay, technically it does, but that’s beside the point!” He pulled his phone from under his thigh, checking the weather. “It’s still only two degrees outside!”
“That’s nothing,” Sero turned his head away, taking another gulp from his soda. He belched, punctuating it with a hearty laugh. Denki laughed with him, punching him in the shoulder as his friend pulled the remote from the depths of the couch. “Anyways, do you wanna watch this interview with me?”
“Who’s it for?” The blonde threw his notebook on the dented, abused coffee table, twisting his body so he leaned on the armrest and his legs were slung over his friend's lap. Sero only responded by moving the can of Soda so it was wedged between the armrest and his hip.
“Some hero-idol band. Their gimmick is, like, mirrors or some shit.” Sero looked sheepish as he flipped through the channels looking for the band.
“I never knew you were into idols,” he said it playfully, but not judgingly. He hoped.
“I wouldn’t say I’m into them. I just think the idea is neat. They’re like the Pussycats, in a way.” Sero shrugged, and Denki nodded along, turning his attention to the TV. The heros were all crisp and clean, made up of dazzling smiles and sharp haircuts. By the looks of it, they were Co-Ed, and all seemed to have their own colors. What really seemed to tie the band together was their use of reflective, sparkling material on their costumes. They looked like the kind of group Aoyama would blend right in with.
Sero pointed out the shortest one, a small girl with twin pigtails and a bright, lime green costume that would put Kermit the frog to shame. “She can freeze water. She does most of her important missions aiding in the capture of aquatic villains and creating ground for her teammates to work on.” Denki nodded, playing with the strings on his sweatpants. “That one can refract light in ways to create illusions, but only for short periods of time.” Sero drawled on, talking animatedly about the heroes, their quirks, and their music. Denki was engrossed, enjoying the way his eyes lit up whenever he asked a question or made a funny quip.
Having friends was the fucking best.
About an hour had passed when cold wind blew into the common room, making Denki shiver and shrink into his hoodie. He peeked over the edge of the couch with an accusatory glare. Mina shrugged and gave him a cheeky, not at all apologetic look of sympathy as she shucked off her sneakers with a thump.
“Before you even think about complaining, I got you a hot chocolate.” Mina held up the drink coaster in her hands, which boasted three to-go cups. Denki made grabby hands over the back of the couch as his bubblegum pink friend walked over to push one into his hands. It was still hot, and he gripped the cup close to his chest.
“Oh Ashido, my one true love, my best and truest friend! You are my reason for living, my purpose in this cold, cruel, unforgiving world! I would follow you to the ends of the earth if it means I continue to be treated like such royalty!” He clutched the sleeve of her red hoodie, eyes squeezed shut as the warm steam from his chocolate paradise ghosted over his face. She laughed, pulling her arm away.
“I know how much you hate the cold.” She ruffled his hair, turning her attention to the television. “Oh! Is this the interview with Glazed ?” she leaned over to talk to Sero.
“Yeah. It’s almost over, though. Had I known you wanted to watch it I would have recorded it for you.” The black haired boy apologized, rubbing the back of his head. Mina waved him off with a well manicured hand.
“No, no! Don’t worry about it! I was gonna watch it online with Hagakure tonight, anyways!” She stood up, the cup holder still in her hands. “I’m gonna run these to Sato and Uraraka!”
“Have fun!” Denki threw up a peace sign, sipping from the still-piping cup. Pure, unadulterated heaven. “Thank you again!” he called after her. She gave him a one handed finger gun as she stepped into the elevator.
“What are you even doing out here? It's been nearly two hours.”
Denki hummed. “Waiting for our new dorm mate, duh!” he sipped from his cup again, ignoring the stinging burn on his taste buds.
“Ohh yeah! Shinso!” Sero snapped his fingers, toothy grin spreading over his face. “Love that guy!”
Denki returned his grin with one of his own, which was far less toothful but just as electric. “Fuck yeah!” He pumped his fist in the air. “We’re gonna be so fucking nice!”
“Language.” Both boys turned from the couch at the dull, monotone scolding. Aizawa stood in the doorway with a duffel bag in his arms and a small box in the other. “Come help me carry these up to the fourth floor. Consider it a punishment.” he nudged two other boxes on the floor with a clunky boot. The boys groaned, standing up and turning off the TV. Denki rested his cup on the table next to his journal, sending a prayer to any gods that were listening that it wouldn’t be touched while he was away.
“But Mr. Aizawa we’ve heard you say way worse.” Sero complained, picking up one of the boxes and grunting at the weight of it. Denki followed suit, finding his didn’t feel as heavy as he assumed Sero’s was. Lucky him.
“I don’t give a shit.” Aizawa trudged through the commons to the elevator, not bothering to take off his damn shoes. Denki made a point of avoiding the wetness he left behind on the floor. The boys chuckled at the snarky comment as they waited for the elevator.
“Soooo…” Denki shifted the box in his arms. “Are these Shinso’s things?”
“Yes.” Wow. What an expressive and interesting response! Denki sighed, looking to Sero for any sort of entertainment or moral support, but the tape-themed hero looked just as bored as he felt. Oh well.
They unloaded from the cramped elevator, placing the boxes as gracefully as they could (which is to say- not very) in the hallway outside the new class member’s door.
“Thanks, kids.” Aizawa popped his back, a noise that made Denki cringe. “You can go back. Me and All Might already loaded everything else into the room.”
“Can we see?”
“No. Not unless Shinso invites you in,” Aizawa ushered them off, rubbing the back of his head.
Upon returning to the bottom floor, Denki shivered. The temperature seemed to have miraculously dropped even lower. He retrieved his cup, gloriously untouched, and sipped it. He hardly noticed the distinct lack of his notebook on the table until something firm and leather promptly acquainted itself with the back of his head.
Choking on his drink, the teen sputtered and spun around. Standing at the edge of the couch, his notebook in hand, stood the purple haired boy himself. He held out the journal for Denki, who slowly took it back while still trying to eject the hot chocolate from his lungs. Sero clapped him on the back, laughing.
“Oh my god he got you!” Shinso didn’t look amused, watching them with his arms crossed. Denki took in his outfit, never seeing him outside of class before. The taller boy was in baggy, torn jeans and an oversized white tee, looking horrendously fashionable in such a simple outfit. Denki could admire simplicity. He laughed as he regained control of his throat, smacking Sero away playfully with his then-retrieved notebook.
“No kidding!” He held out a hand to Shinso. “Hey! I’m Kaminari! But you already know that, or course, from the training and all!” When the other boy didn’t shake his hand, he retrieved it and rubbed the back of his head. “Welcome to the class 2-A dorms!”
“I didn’t know you were a poet.” Was the dead response, just as devoid of emotion as Aizawa. Denki fumbled with his words like a football coated in vaseline.
“Well- I wouldn’t call myself a poet per se. This,” he held up the journal and waved it a little, “is just some song lyric ideas. You know, for Jirou and I to work on and stuff!” he lowered the book, confusion drawing itself a pretty picture across his face. “You do know Jirou, right?”
“The girl with the earphones. Yeah, I know her. Saw her at the concert.” Denki nodded brightly.
“Yeah! Her! She’s the best!” Sero snickered over his shoulder and he shot him a warning glance.
“I’m going to my room.” Shinso moved to walk away, carding a hand through his unruly hair.
“Do you want help unpacking?” Sero offered from his seat on the couch, can back in his hand.
“Not from you,” He looked over his shoulder, eyes sparking with something dangerous. Denki frowned, sipping his drink to hide his disappointment. “I’ll see you in class on Monday.”
“But what about-” Denki was cut off by the other boy disappearing into the elevator. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “What was that all about?” he muttered, glancing to Sero. The other boy just shrugged, picking up the remote again.
Denki pounded on Shinso’s door, phone in hand. The fourth floor was surprisingly warm, compared to the third, and he attributed it to heat rising and all that scientific mumbo jumbo he could barely wrap his head around.
No response came to his pounding, so he repeated it, looking down at the menu on his screen. After another thirty seconds he went to pound again, only for his fist to sail through dead air and plant itself, firmly, into Shinso’s chest. The other boy huffed, pushing his hand off of him. He didn’t look enraged, per se, but he definitely didn’t look pleased either.
“What the hell do you want?” He blocked the shorter boy’s view of his room, which was sad, but not the point of his visit.
“We’re drawing from the pot tonight. What do you want?”
“Pot? Like… weed?” Shinso wrinkled his nose in confusion.
“What? No.” Denki sputtered. How many times was this guy gonna make him sputter? “We have, like, a pot? Well it’s a mug really. I’m pretty sure it was Kirishima’s but now that I think about it, it could have been Mdioriya’s-”
“Just get on with it!” Shinso sounded tired.
“Right! Right!” Anyways, we have a pot, and we put money in throughout the week. Spare change, stuff from bets, a dollar every time Bakugo damages as piece of furniture-”
“What the hell does this have to do with me?” Denki raised his phone and flashed his screen.
“We use it to order takeout!” He explained, realizing that the taller boy was about to lose his temper. A year of dealing with Bakugo will teach him when to cut to the chase. “And we need your order.”
“Who said I wanted any?” Shinso spat, leaning on the door frame in a way that made him loom over Denki and oh, he did not that that would make him as flustered as it did.
“W- Well! We did sort of assume, but, since you’re new and we want to get you involved in the dorms and we just sort of thought we’d involve you in a Class A tradition and-”
“Shut up. I like shrimp fried rice.” Shinso rubbed his face with a hand. “Do you want some cash or-”
“No need! Again, the pot takes care of us all!” Denki started typing in his order to the restaurant, sticking his tongue out of his mouth and squinting at the screen. He really needed to get his eyes checked, noticing how his contacts were getting less and less effective.
“You need to find a new name for it before you guys get all our rooms searched.” Shinso grumbled. He wasn’t looming over Denki anymore, and when the blonde peeked up from his phone the boy seemed to be examining him with intense scrutiny. He laughed.
“As if we haven’t already!” He looked back to the order. “Okay I think this is right! I’m gonna send the order and we’ll send someone to get you when the food is here!”
Time stretched as the class waited in the commons together, sans one or two faces, for their meal. The TV droned on about some hero drama, begging for attention but receiving none as the kids chattered. Most of them were draped on the couch or on chairs they’d pulled over, a few sitting on the floor and laughing amongst themselves. With so many people in a room, it was warmer than usual, which Denki reveled in by wearing one of his tank tops instead of his usual, warm hoodie.
When Denki got the notification that the food was there, he sent Midoriya and Uraraka with the money and made his way back to the fourth floor. This time, when he pounded on the door, it was answered almost immediately. Shinso was in the same clothes as he had been the day before when he moved in, which hardly shocked Denki, who was clad in the same grey sweats.
“Grubs here!” He gave a cheesy double thumbs up, waving Shinso to the elevator. It wasn’t as cramped as when him and Sero had been riding with Aizawa, but it still felt hot, thick, and stuffy in the confined space with someone which seemed to be the human equivalent of a rock.”Sooo… Do you miss your dorm mates?” He asked, leaning on the metal bar in the elevator as Shinso avoided eye contact.
He was silent for a moment before shrugging. “Some of them, yes.”
“Oh! Who did you hate?”
“I never said I hated any of them.” It shut the blonde down, who bit his thumbnail and looked away. They spilled out of the elevator, uncomfortable and avoiding eye contact.
The warm smell of food distracted Denki completely, and he moved to the bags to pull out the last two boxes. He handed the one labelled ‘shrimp’ to Shinso with a pair of chopsticks and ushered him over to a clear section of the couch.
“Welcome to the dorms, Shino!” Uraraka leaned her elbows on the table, chopsticks laden with noodles halfway on their path to her mouth. “I’m glad you got accepted!”
A series of ‘Yeah, welcome!’ and ‘Good to have you’s followed, and Shinso seemed to shrink into himself in embarrassment. The conversation drifted, and Denki found himself engrossed in another music discussion with Jirou, something about a song that had recently come out.
“I just think that the lyrics could be better.” She shrugged.
“What are you talking about? The emotional depth of the song rocked me to my core!” Denki clutched his chopsticks in his hand intensely, sniffing dramatically.
“They’re good, but you can articulate the same feelings without being so blunt,” She defended, adjusting her hair clips. “Music should be about making your audience think!”
“But Kaminari is thinking. He acknowledges the depth of the song despite it’s blunt lyrics. The wording doesn’t matter if the audience still thinks about what it means.” The two looked to Denki’s left, where Shinso was sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, empty box of takeout in front of him.
“See! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” The electric hero clapped Shinso on the shoulder, faltering when he tensed up. He tried to divert attention. “I didn’t know you listened to this kind of thing, Shinso.”
“You don’t know me at all,” The boy said sharply as he stood, weaving around people to make his way back to his room. Denki shared a look with Jirou, her eyes flashing with confusion. The girl shrugged, eating another bite of her food. Denki followed her example, eyebrows furrowed. Why the hell was Shinso so touchy? What did he even say? He tamped down his nervousness, throwing himself back into conversation. It had taken them forever to soften Bakugo’s hard egg shell. Maybe they’d just have to work on Shinso, too. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?