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Contrary to popular belief, Denki was not yellow. Yellow symbolizes happiness, optimism, creativity, springtime, and sunshine. His looks may all lean in that direction, but on the inside, he wasn’t quite that, not really.
But he knows Midoriya is yellow. And so is Kirishima. He wasn’t though. But he’d give so much to be yellow. Instead, he was stuck with blue. Blue, the color of the sky, of the ocean, serenity, stability, inspiration. Even with his unlimited amount of energy and chatter, he offered stability and peace underneath all the hour-long rambles. He inspired others to take the leap by jumping first and people felt free around him, as if he was their gateway to a life of no restraints.
And he loved that. He loved that others felt comfortable around him. He loved that he had the power to inspire others to take risks. He loved that he could be the rock in the ruthless ocean waves. But with the freedom he radiated, he attracted the opposite. Selfishness, greed, they came for him.
But he was good at defending himself against people who wanted to use him. At least, he was until that man walked into his life. The man, with the brightest red aura he’d ever seen with his teasing words and good nature, captured him in an intricately knit web. Where Denki fell victim to the very thing he fought against.
Red. Danger, courage, anger, love, joy. So many things that seemed to oppose but came together in a burning fire of passion and overpowering attraction. So, he stayed. Denki stayed in the seemingly welcoming web, unaware of the strands that became glass. Unaware of the bottle he became encased in.
Until he caught his reflection in the eye of his lover. His blue seemed... darker, somehow. Perhaps it was a trick of the light or the fact that he hasn’t been paying as much attention to his color lately. Whatever it was, it didn’t bother him.
Until it did.
He woke up with warm sunshine on his face and soft covers on his body. But no arms wrapped around his middle and no breath grazed his ear. Sitting up, he glanced around the room. His lover stood by the door, alarm gracing their features, body language cold.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, rubbing the persistent exhaustion out of his eyes.
“You-you've changed,” his lover scowled.
“What do you mean? I haven’t-” but then the mirror on the vanity caught his eye.
All around him, his body, his eyes, his hands, mouth, nose, hair, everything, was glowing purple. Bright, majestic purple. Gone was the serene and calm blue. In its place was extravagant and creative purple.
Denki was excited. Excited to see that he’s changed. But his lover was not. His lover didn’t want purple, they wanted blue. But when red meets blue, they inevitably swirl into purple. And purple meant independence; the opposite of what the selfish and greedy wanted.
So he was thrown out. Glass bottle and all, rolling down a never-ending hill, head spinning and dizzying when he fully realized how trapped he’s been. How the comforting web had become the cage that sucked the freedom right out of him.
He was angry. Angry at the red aura man who tricked him. Angry at his former lover for taking what was his before throwing him out. Angry at the man for taking so many pieces of him until he was just a mannequin too blind to realize how plastic he’d become. But most of all, he was angry at himself.
Angry that he stopped talking to his friends for a person who didn’t care about him. Angry that he gave things up because the man said they were “weird.” Angry that he gave up opportunities just to have a chance of a future with the other.
Purple flashed red as he continued down the steep path in his glass jar at full speed. But he wasn’t scared or confused anymore. He felt pure anger surge through him as he elbowed a side of the cage that’s trapped him for so long. He thumped his hands on the transparent glass, willing it to crack and shatter. He screamed until he lost his voice in the hopes that someone could hear him and help him.
But nobody heard him. And he continued hurtling down the stupid damned hill in an impenetrable prison.
Until he heard the clink of glass against stone. Afraid of what was coming, he opens his eyes just a sliver to see that he’s fallen into the ocean and hit rock bottom. Panic surges through every vein in his body as he shoves harder in the glass container, screaming louder than ever as he felt the air run low.
Then, his attacks on the glass were responded to with little taps outside. Wiping blurry tears from his eyes, he can’t see much besides another purple aura, knocking the glass cage all over, murmuring comforting words, but Denki can’t breathe and he can’t make out the words. There’s a rushing white noise in his ears and he’s so sure he’s going to die right there, lungs begging for air as a stranger tries to save him.
One could only imagine his surprise when he wakes up in warm sand and little waves lapping his feet. At first, he thinks he’s really gone and moved onto heaven where endless beaches stretched on for miles and the sun never stopped shining.
But then a pair of arms wrap around his shoulders- a far cry from how other ones used to wrap around his waist- and a quiet soothing voice murmurs, “I’m so glad you’re alright, Kaminari.”
He opens his mouth to respond perhaps, or maybe ask who the stranger is but no sounds come out of his throat. Swallowing hard, he turns and sees a head of fluffy purple hair glowing in a similar purple aura.
Shinsou .
It was Shinsou who saved him.
It was Shinsou who freed him from a cage he couldn’t break out of.
It was Shinsou who pulled him out of the water and onto dry land just as he was running out of air.
“Why?” he finally manages to utter.
Arms pull away from his shoulders and he almost misses them when the warmth leaves.
“Because,” the purple-haired man says, “you’ve done the same for me. I couldn’t just let you struggle on your own. I’m not here to fix you like you once said, I’m here so you can talk to me.”
An overwhelming rush of something more intricate than just emotion sweeps him from head to toe as his eyes start clouding in tears again.
“Thank you,” he whispers brokenly, falling into the arms of his friend, “thank you so much.”
“No,” Shinsou whispers back, “thank you. Thank you for giving so much to me and your friends. Thank you for not giving up. Thank you for helping us carry our burdens. It’s about time we give back and help you carry yours.”
And he knows. He knows at that moment that the words his friend whispered while stroking his hair are real. Denki knows they’re meaningful. But it’ll take a while for him to accept them. It’ll take a while for him to trust others. It’ll take a while for him to believe the things he tells himself. It’ll take a while for him to embrace his new purple.
But at least he won’t be alone this time. He took a month for himself, reaching out to old friends and sighing in relief every time they picked up the phone, happy to hear from him again. He took the month to rediscover his hobbies. He spent the month discovering new hobbies.
Things started falling into place as he came to accept the new things he found about himself. Purple was a nice color to be when he realized that he’s never truly felt freedom until he was independent. When he was blue, he only ever provided freedom; he never got a taste of it.
Now that he did, he never wanted to go back. Every day brought him something new to enjoy and every month he found another hidden layer of himself. The simple adrenaline rush he got from finding something new helped him heal just a little more, stitching together the wounds that would one day become scars.
Scars he could wear proudly to show what he’s survived. Scars that would remind him that he’s in a much better place now. Scars that would only prove others to him when they accept him with open arms or turn a cold shoulder.
He knew that there was at least one person who accepted his scars right now. Shinsou’s been his rock to cling onto during the less frequent, but still persisting nights when he broke down. Shinsou’s been there to tell him change was okay; that nobody stayed the same all their lives. Shinsou’s been there to assure him no one was going to leave.
And maybe his still-healing heart is confused, or maybe it really is beating for someone new. He’s read stories of people being “healed” by another with love and affection. He hoped this wasn’t what it was. It didn’t feel that way to him, seeing that he’s taken so much time alone, only asking for help when he was left with no other options.
Either way, he promised himself he wouldn’t let another love him until he could love himself first, no matter how much time it’d take. It wasn’t just for his sake; it was for the other’s too. He didn’t want to break a heart after healing his own.
His months of healing turned into a year and then some. His friends stood by his side, supportive, but never pushed his limits. Patient and caring when old memories resurfaced. And if he could, he would give them the world. Give them the world and so much more, especially for Shinsou.
Denki’s accepted his feelings too, for his friend who pulled him up when he was drowning. But he waited months after accepting those feelings, in fear that they would change. And to his relief, they didn’t change. They stayed the same, warm comforting butterflies in his stomach. Similar to the ones he used to feel for the red aura man, but... calmer. Kinder. Softer. A familiar sense of excitement, not for something physical, but something meaningful.
The warm rush that swept his body was so familiar but so foreign at the same time it left him curious to discover why. So one warm, summer night, on a little dock with his feet in the moving ocean, Denki decided he was ready.
Looking up from the water that was glittering in the moonlight, he turned towards the purple-haired man, tracing their features with his eyes as if he were trying to paint a picture to keep in his mind.
Noticing his sudden shift in attention, Shinsou turns to him, “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he confesses truthfully. Not-so-subtly checking out his best friend has become quite the norm at this point.
“Okay then,” the other replies, but doesn’t shift his attention away from Denki.
Pulling his feet out of the water, he scoots closer to the other man and places his head on the other’s broader shoulder.
“Denki?”
“Hm.”
“Is there something wrong?”
“No,” he shakes his head, practically nuzzling the other’s neck, “It’s just-” he sighed a little.
“I like you,” he says after a moment.
Shinsou tenses for a second then relaxes again, “I like you too. You’re my best friend.”
Denki picks his head up and looks the other in the eye, “Hitoshi, I like you. Like, like like you.”
There’s a beat of silence and for a second he almost regrets saying all of those words. The feeling only grows when all the other breathes a soft, “ Oh.”
There’s another little stretch of silence before Shinsou starts chuckling, the breathy, quiet chuckles that sort of rumbled at the same time. There’s confusion stirring in Denki’s head and the soft butterflies in his stomach intensified into wasps, buzzing and whirling like a siren.
But then an arm is thrown around his shoulder while another pulls him closer and everything stills. His head stayed tucked into Shinsou’s shoulder as the other leaned close.
“Denki, I like like you too.”
And he can’t believe his ears. The warm, comforting butterflies sweep into his stomach again as he sets his arms around the purple head as well. Happy tears sneak up on him and patter on the other’s black t-shirt as he lets the words sink in.
“Really?” his voice cracks.
“Really,” Shinsou says.
Denki can’t see the other’s face right now, but he can hear the smile in his voice.
They stay wrapped up in each other’s arms like that, under the moonlight and over the calming waves. When they pull away, they don’t kiss, and they don’t need to. They’ve got so much already; kisses would hardly mean anything when put up against the hours they spent together.
But he still wants to, so he leans in to capture the other’s lips. The kiss is soft, warm, comforting. All words that reflect the way the butterflies in his stomach have been acting. And maybe that’s why it’s so familiar. There’s still excitement, but there’s no rush. And he likes that. He likes that a lot.
Pulling away for air, he loses himself in those sparkling amethyst eyes and he can see it. He can see his reflection, see his purple, shifting and swirling. And colors, they’re so strange sometimes. One would think that when amethyst touches lilac, they’d swirl together into something between the two colors. But maybe auras don’t work like that. Maybe auras work more like numbers.
Because two negative numbers make one positive number and two shades of purple just turned into gold.