Work Text:
Red and yellow, Jirou has always believed, is a horrid combination of colors. After all, red is dramatic and violent, and clashes horribly with the softer, gentler yellow. Staring down at Kaminari’s broken body, she thinks it looks even more hideous than she could ever have imagined. Red, red, so much red— crimson streaks through his marigold hair, scarlet dribbles down his face, carmine in his shirt and cinnabar stained tears down his back. His beautiful honey colored eyes are closed, and his expression is gentle. If only that damned red wasn't there, she could believe he was merely asleep...
None of this should have happened. They were just called to deal with a minor villain as part of their internships; it should have been an easy job, especially for soon-to-be heroes. It wasn’t. Instead, they were met with razor-sharp claws, forced to come face to face with bullets and blood and worst of all, death. Should have kept my eye on him , she thinks bitterly. Shouldn’t have assumed he’d be fine, shouldn’t have assumed we were invincible, shouldn’t have assumed that everything would come out okay just because we’ve survived so much worse. And oh— the fact that they’ve survived worse in the past is the greatest insult of all.
It’s so strange, so wrong, to see him like this. Kaminari should be giving her his goofy thumbs-up, flashing his cheeky smile and saying “Hey, we did it!” with that enthusiasm everyone so adored. Kaminari shouldn’t be lying cold and motionless on the ground, and he definitely shouldn’t be so hauntingly still. His skin should be rosy and warm instead of grey and clammy, and his hair ought to be messy and lively, not soaked with blood. Everything was wrong, so horrifically wrong; as if nothing would ever be the same.
Her vision blurs, and the sound of pouring rain echoes in her ears. The air is strangely cloudy, and she can barely feel the cold biting at her fingertips; could this all be a delusion, or perhaps a false memory? She wishes, so desperately, for it to be any of those things, for this nightmare to be anything but reality. Wishes she was imagining the chill of his body beneath her fingertips, wishes the ache in her throat as she screams and screams and screams was nothing more than a dream. Wishes the blaring of police cars and the incessant shouting was all nothing more than a delusion, wishes she could just wake up already and forget about this. But the nightmare never ends. She’s pulled away, forced into a hospital van, and driven off.
Two days pass as all of her friends visit, with their broken eyes and tear stained faces. It’s the sight of Bakugou’s furious crying that really gets to her, forcing her to fully recognize the truth. Kaminari is gone. He isn’t coming back, ever. Bitterness wells in her throat as she throws the covers over herself, refusing to look at anyone, refusing to acknowledge the pain and infuriating pity in their gazes that makes her blood boil with rage.
“Kyouka-san…” Momo’s voice hesitantly breaks the heavy silence, and Jirou wants to scream. Why can’t they just leave her alone? Can’t they see she doesn’t want to deal with their bullshit right now? “We’re worried about you,” Momo continues. “You’re important to us, just as much as Kaminari-san was. We just want you to be okay.”
White, hot rage burns as she throws off the sheet and pushes herself up, eyes blazing. “Okay?” She snarls. “You want me to be okay after I watched one of my best friends die in front of me? Could you be okay after something like that?”
“That’s not-”
“Shut up,” she hisses. “Just shut the fuck up. You weren't there. You weren't there when we were fighting, you weren't there when he got hit, you weren't there while he was dying. You don't understand and you never will. Don't you get it? I can't be okay after seeing that,” her rage ebbs as her voice breaks into a sob. “If me being okay is what you want, you should just go.”
Cries of protest from her friends. “We’d never leave you!” says Ashido, tears welling in her golden eyes. “It’s okay if you're feeling broken right now, Jirou-chan. We’ll be with you through it all, I promise! Momo only means that it hurts to see you like this, and that we care about you.”
“She’s right,” Kirishima adds. He’s crying, too— always the empathetic one, just like he used to be. “We’d never abandon you just because you aren’t your usual self. You can trust us.” A long pause. “We miss him too.”
Guilt, grief, pain. Just how selfish could she get, to lash out at them when they were also mourning the loss of a dear friend? It’s too much to deal with, too much to confront in such little time. A normal person, a better person would probably be grateful for the endless support her friends were offering, and yet— right now, it just makes her want to hide from everything forever. She buries herself under the blankets again, trying to pretend that they weren't there.
“Just go away.”
A week passes, and she's finally let out of the hospital. She doesn’t want to leave. She wants to disappear in the mountain of white sheets and never wake up again, but she isn't granted that luxury when Bakugou and Aizawa-sensei show up to bring her back to the dorms. She dreads going back. If she goes back, there’s no escaping his absence, not when his warmth used to seep into every nook and cranny of the damn place. She doesn’t think she would be able to bear the haunting chill of his absence.
But there’s no arguing with Aizawa’s stern look, so she reluctantly finds herself in the back of the car and absently looking out the window. Trying to distract herself, even though she knows it’s impossible. At some point, Bakugou gently rests his hand on her shoulder, but she pretends not to notice.
A month passes, and it's time for Kaminari’s funeral. She can’t meet anyone’s eyes, still can’t stand the pity, and most of all she can’t stand the empty hole in her chest. One by one her classmates walk up to the podium to give their eulogies, and each one feels like another stab to the heart. When it’s her turn, she doesn’t even manage to say a full sentence before bursting into tears. How embarrassing— the famously stoic, tough Jirou can’t even keep it together long enough to give a simple eulogy for her best friend.
“He was a good friend,” she forces herself to choke out. “If I could have taken his place, I would’ve.”
She doesn’t pay attention to the rest of the service, choosing instead to smooth over her dress and examine her shoes a thousand times each and wishing she could just go home already.
Two months have passed when Jirou storms into Denki’s room. She doesn’t know why she does it, after weeks of avoiding the place like the plague. But for some reason, as the grief became so crushing she wanted to scream, some primal instinct urged her to blindly dash for his room even though it could only cause more pain. She slams the door behind her and sinks to the floor in tears. After sobbing for some time— she isn't sure exactly how long— something catches her eye. Kaminari’s old guitar case lays on his bed, long since forgotten. A heavy feeling of bittersweetness settles over her as she remembers the cultural festival. She remembers how hard he’d tried to master the guitar just for her, the hours and hours of private sessions spent together in the days leading up to the event.
Driven by a desire to remember happier times, she walks up to the guitar case and props it open. She pulls out the bright yellow instrument, so Denki in every way, and then she notices something at the bottom— a small box and a few sheets of paper. Her breath catches as she reaches for the box first. Inside is a musical note and lightning bolt pendant; next to it, a small amethyst charm.
She’s trembling as she holds up one of the pieces of paper. On it, to her surprise, is a musical sheet. The notes are written in pencil, and there are lyrics scrawled at the top of each line. In the corner, the words “For Jirou’s birthday!” are written in Denki’s messy handwriting.
The tears start to fall before she can stop them.
.
.
Time grants no mercy to the suffering. It continues on and on, abandoning everything without the strength to keep up. Sometimes she wants to give in and let herself be swept away, but there is also a small, flickering fire within her that refuses to die. So slowly, painstakingly, she drags herself back up. She pulls herself through the training and studying until she finally graduates. It's a somber ceremony. Well earned, given all the hell her class has endured to reach this point— but the absence of someone who should have been with them is also impossible to ignore.
Grief, she’s learning, is like the ocean waves. It comes in great powerful strides that pull you below the surface and chokes the air from your lungs before receding into peaceful lapping. It fools you into thinking the worst is over before dragging you down all over again. The only way forward is to swim with everything you have, to try to make it back to a shore she isn't even sure exists anymore, but there isn’t anything else she can do. Momo is her float, a comforting shoulder to cry on when the grief is too much to bear alone. Bakugou acts as the cord that jerks up and burns her wrists when she starts to sink. His tough love and harsh, but helpful words have helped her more than he could ever know.
Three years pass as she works as Edgeshot’s trusted sidekick before going solo, becoming the fully-fledged hero Earphone Jack. She’s well-liked by the public, a cool and efficient hero that the girls could look up to admiringly. She’s no Midoriya or Bakugou, but still, her name is one that is well known despite the fact that she’s only been a solo hero for a few months.
It's been years since she lost him now, but when she hears the haunting whisper of “Hey, Jirou-Jack!” in her ears, the pain feels just as raw as it did on that cold, rainy day. It tears her apart and pulls her farther away from the shore she’s worked so hard to reach. Years of hard work to be the best hero she could be, and yet she can be torn down so easily. Raw frustration gnaws at her heart.
Pathetic, she thinks. She is a hero now. There’s no time to tend to old wounds that refuse to heal, not when there are people to save. How pathetic of her to be so torn up over his death, to still be so tormented by it after all these years when his other friends aren't. Kirishima, Bakugou, Tokoyami. Ashido and Sero. They’d all known him just as well, maybe more than her, and yet they didn't struggle as much as she did. Cry and sob during the first few months, yes, but they weren't still broken after three long years— so what was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she just move on?
“It’s because you loved him,” Momo tells her one evening. The answer startles her.
“But everyone loved him,” is Jirou’s immediate reply. Denki was loved by everyone, even people outside of their class. His bright, kind personality always had a tendency to draw people in, and when he was gone, his absence was greatly felt for months on end. Momo sighs.
“Of course. But not the way you did. I saw the way you'd look at him, you know? I saw the way your eyes lit up whenever you saw him, and I saw how affectionate you looked when you thought no one was looking. I saw the way a part of you died when he was gone.”
The words send Jirou reeling. She blinks, trying to hold back the moisture in her eyes. When Momo’s eyes look deep into her soul, they’re full of nothing but pain and understanding. “Maybe you didn't realize it. But Kyo— you loved him.”
You loved him.
Love. What is love? She loves music, she loves her parents, she loves Momo, she loves Kirishima and Ashido and all of her precious friends. But love, she knows, comes in many different forms. She’s always assumed that the way she felt for Denki were the same feelings she holds for the rest of her close friends, but Momo’s words never stop ringing in her ears.
You loved him.
The yellow guitar case sits under her bed, locked away where she doesn’t have to see it. For the first time in years, she pulls it out. Opens it, removes the slightly yellowed sheets of paper, and picks up the guitar. Her eyes glance over the notes as precious memories buried within the depths of her heart bubble up and rise to the surface. A single tear falls from her eye as she begins to play.
“Jirou!” It’s their first day of training at UA, and they’ve been paired together for their first exercise. The blonde is loud and carefree and annoying, so very different from herself. She finds it rather annoying, but he seems nice enough, and he’s got a strong quirk. He won't stop talking, though, and he almost gives them away more than once. She shuts him up with a hiss, and he gives her an apologetic smile each time before they move on.
When the mission ends with their victory — a miracle, really — he gives her a high five and a blinding grin. “We did it!! Our first hero exercise is a success!” The joy in his voice makes her feel a childlike giddiness, but her pride refuses to let her show it.
She settles for lightly punching him in the arm instead. “No thanks to you, dumbass! How many times did you almost give us away?”
“I’m sorryy! We still won, didn’t we?” he whines. “You were so cool, though! You’re definitely a pro in the making!”
She turns around so he can't see her blush.
.
.
.
Her eyelids are heavy — what happened? The last thing she remembers is doing that fear challenge at the camp, and then getting really sleepy, and then... nothing. Slowly, she forces her eyes open and realizes she’s in… a hospital bed? She sits up, alarmed, which makes her head spin. When her vision clears, she gets a better look at the room and realizes that Kaminari is fast asleep at her bedside. The bags under his eyes suggest he hasn't been letting himself rest.
Was he worried about her? She didn't realize he cared so much. Sure, they were good friends, but still, she would never have imagined she’d wake up to him at her sickbed, and not only that, but with clear signs of stress and exhaustion on his face. It touches her heart that someone other than her parents cares that much, and a strange, fuzzy feeling spreads through her chest. Not wanting to disturb the boy, she gently moves her hand to his head and cards her fingers through his hair. It’s surprisingly soft— she always thought the stuff was full of hair gel and static. And she stays like that for a while, praying that no one catches her.
.
.
.
He sits across from her on the bed, brows furrowed with concentration. It’s an unusual sight, one she isn't used to. It’s kind of cute — not that she’d ever admit it, of course.
“You’re doing it wrong,” she tells him. “Here, let me see-” she reaches over and takes his fingers in her hands, and notices that they’re covered in scratches. “Is this from practice?” She didn't think she’d been pushing him so hard. She can’t help but feel a little guilty.
“No!” he protests. “It isn’t, I swear. I’ve been practicing lots on my own time! You aren’t being too harsh or anything, promise!” He shoots her a toothy smile that makes her heart flutter. She’s never understood how he was able to understand what people were thinking so easily.
“You don't have to push yourself so hard,” she says. “This is supposed to be fun, so you shouldn’t stress too much about it.”
His expression turns gentle, and fuck, her heart is on fire. “But it's important to you, isn't it?” His voice is softer than she ever could have imagined as he says it. “It’s important to you, so I want to do my best to make it a success! I want to do everything I can to cheer you on!”
"It’s so cool that you’re so good with instruments!” she remembers him saying, back when everyone was pushing her to perform for the festival. Uncontrollable warmth floods her heart as she realizes just how much he supports and cares about her.
.
.
.
They’re finally relaxing after a grueling week of ruthless training sessions. Kaminari is on the floor, reading his dumb comics while she tunes her guitar. It’s become a regular thing for them to hang out like this, basking in the other’s company— sometimes they talk, sometimes they don’t, and sometimes they’ll even rock out together. He’s gotten good with the guitar. Not as good as her, of course, but better than Tokoyami and better than even Bakugou, who hadn’t been too happy about that particular realization.
“Jirou?” He speaks up suddenly, looking up from what he was reading. “Can you play something?”
“What do you want me to play?” She asks.
“Hero too!” She groans.
“You want me to play that again?! You’ve requested that at least twenty times now!”
“But it sounds so good when you sing it!”
She sighs in defeat. “Fine. But next time, you'd better ask me to play something else, got it?”
“Okay!”
She raises her fingers to the strings and starts to play, losing herself in the melody as she sings.
.
.
.
“Jirou, do you believe in reincarnation?” The question comes out of nowhere.
“Uh, no. Why?” He shrugs.
“It sounds nice, doesn’t it? Being given a second chance at life. Getting to live more than once.” She laughs, because it’s exactly the sort of cheesy bullshit her dad would believe.
“Dumbass, why do you want a second chance? Just do things right the first time.” She smacks him on the back of his head, earning herself a startled yelp in response.
“Oh, come on! Don’t you find it at least a little romantic?” She rolls her eyes.
“Uh, no. its a dumb idea.”
He grumbles and mutters something under his breath, and they walk the rest of the way to the dorms in silence. Despite what she’d said,though, she doesn't stop thinking about it. Begrudgingly, she admits to herself that maybe the idea of reincarnation is a little nice, even if she doesn’t think it’s real.
“Jirou?”
“Yeah?”
“I know you think it’s dumb, but if we’re ever reincarnated, can we be friends again?”
She considers replying with something snarky, but eventually decides against it.
“Sure thing, dumbass.”
.
.
.
She hears the telltale crackle of electricity as he fires, and to her horror, the villain doesn’t even flinch. “Cover your ears!” she roars. She inserts her jacks into her boots to release the most powerful soundwave she can manage, but it only seems to make the villain angrier. This is bad, she realizes. This is really, really, bad. There’s a limit to how strong her attacks can be without risking permanent damage to her partner, and she knows Kaminari isn’t any better off.
“Any ideas?” she yells. Behind her, Kaminari aims a second disk and releases a stronger burst of electricity. Still no effect.
“You’re supposed to be the smart one,” he whines. “Why are you asking me?!” He’s trying to lighten the mood, but she can see the seriousness in his eyes. The sight makes the situation feel even direr.
She swallows nervously. “I can't think of anything. I- I think we should fall back and call for backup.”
“But we can't!” he argues. “It’ll take the pros at least half an hour to get here, and we’re the only thing standing between—” A strange look passes over his face, and for a long, trembling moment, he stops speaking. “I have an idea,” he says slowly. “But you aren’t going to like it.” His expression turns guilty... guilty? A sick feeling of dread pools in her gut.
“Kaminari, what’s your plan?” He doesn’t answer. “Kaminari, what are you going to do?!”
He smiles, only it’s tempered with an emotion she doesn’t recognize. “Just trust me,” he says. Without another word he charges, electricity thrumming through his whole body. He launches himself forwards and wraps his arms around the villain, and—
“DENKI!!”
.
.
.
The melody ends, unfinished and cut short. Silent tears snake down her cheeks as she comes to a realization— Momo was right. She loved Denki. She loved him with every last inch of her soul, loved him like he was her shining sun. But he’s gone, now. Any future she could have had with him has crumbled to dust. The hollowness in her chest that she worked so hard to seal up grows. Still crying, she takes a closer look at the song Denki worked so hard to write, and for the first time, she notices something else scrawled on the bottom corner of the paper. The writing is so small, she’s surprised she didn't miss it again.
“Love her <3”
Even though he isn’t here to say it, she understands. The realization that he loved her back slams into her like a truck, and her crying intensifies. So many years they could have together, so many more memories they could have shared— gone. This incomplete melody is the truest expression of his love she'll ever get, is the only thing she has left of him. It hurts. It hurts, more than anything, and yet… with that pain comes a new feeling of determination. She’s going to finish his song, because he isn't here to do it himself. Just as he wrote it to express his love for her, she’s going to finish it as the truest expression of her love for him.
She carves the promise deep into the depths of her soul, refusing to ever let herself forget.
I love you.
.
.
.
“Are you ready?” Momo asks. Today is the big day. After years of the idea being at the back of her head, she’s finally decided to take to the stage and play her music for the world, and her debut is just around the corner. She remembers a boy who’d never wavered in his support of her, and she hopes that somewhere, somehow, he’s watching her.
You’d better be watching me, dumbass. This one’s for you.
“Kyouka-san?” Momo looks at her strangely. “Are you alright?
“Yeah!” She responds. She hastily wipes at her eyes, only then realizing she’d started to tear up. “I’m, fine, just nervou-”
“Kyouka-chaaaan!” Ashido bursts through the door. “The crowd outside is huge! They all look super excited to see you!” Squealing, she pulls Jirou into a bone-crushing hug. “You look absolutely stunning in that outfit! Did Yaomomo pick it out for you?”
Embarrassment flushes her cheeks. The outfit she's wearing is nice, nicer than anything she's ever worn. It’s a beautiful purple chiffon dress that goes down to her knees, with small yellow and white rhinestones scattered along the skirt and complete with a black leather jacket. Around her neck she wears the necklace Denki left her, and her shoes are black with short heels. It’s way fancier than anything she usually wears; she can’t help but feel a bit flustered.
“Um, yeah,” she mumbles. Ashido looks like she's about to start gushing again, but Bakugou’s angry shouting cuts her off.
“Dammit, Shitty Hair! You made us late!” She suppresses a giggle— it was so, so Bakugou to still call his husband his dumb nicknames, three whole years after they’d gotten married.
“But Katsuki,” Kirishima whines, coming in behind Bakugou, “It’s Kyouka’s special day! It’s not very manly of us if we don't show up well dressed!” He adjusts his tie, shooting her an apologetic grin.
“And,” Kirishima adds slyly, “That suit makes you look very handsome.”
That shuts Bakugou up. Kirishima grins and pecks him on the cheek, which causes the angry blonde to blush furiously; looking at the happy couple, a twinge of sadness shoots through her heart. Was this what she could have had, if only things had gone a little differently that day? If Denki never died, if she’d been able to save him— where would they be right now?
She knows for a fact that he would have insisted on being at her side all day to show his support. He would have taken her out for the day to calm her nerves and told her for the thousandth time how much he adored her music. Maybe he would have even performed on stage with her— by now, his skills would have been more than good enough. She wishes she could perform today with him as her righthand man.
She’s interrupted from continuing her train of thought when Midoriya and Todoroki make their entrance, followed by Uraraka, Tsuyu, and Iida. Unsurprisingly, Bakugou wastes no time leaping to his feet and picking a fight with Midoriya, only to be admonished by Iida within seconds.
“Katsuki-kun!” He shouts. “We are here to give Kyouka-kun our support! Now is not the time to be fighting!” Rather predictably, he’s only met with a barrage of insults and yelling. I guess some habits really do die hard, she thinks. She’s nothing but glad for it.
“Everyone!” Momo’s voice rises above the chatter. “The performance starts in half an hour. I’ve arranged for special seats to be reserved for everyone, so please make your way over to them! You’ll be able to give Kyouka your congratulations after the show.” She casts a stern glare in Bakugou’s direction. “And I expect your best behavior from you all. I won’t have anyone ruining Kyouka’s big day- is that clear?” Murmurs of agreement rise from the group, and then they’re all shuffling towards the exit to their seats.
On his way out, Bakugou shoots her a strange expression.
“Kill em with sound, Ears.” And then he’s gone, pulled away by Kirishima; within minutes, the room is empty aside from herself and Momo. She’s done her best to avoid it all day, but inevitably, anxiety rears its ugly head and she has to stop herself from chewing on her freshly painted nails.
Can I really do this?
“Hey.” She’s snapped out of it when Momo rests her hands on her shoulders, forcing her to make eye contact. “I don’t know exactly what you’re thinking right now, Kyo, but you are the most talented musician I’ve ever known. So when the time comes, you get up there and blow them all away. Got it?” She smiles.
“It’s your night, and one that's long overdue. Please remember that we’re all rooting for you. We always have.”
Ashido was right. Peeking out from behind the curtains, she can see that the crowd is truly enormous; there has to be well over five hundred people in the seats, chattering away as they wait eagerly for the performance to begin. She can see all eighteen of her classmates, plus her parents in the special section Momo reserved, elevated above the rest of the seats. Her father is cheering with an almost obnoxious enthusiasm, whooping and hollering so loudly she’s certain her mom is going to go deaf.
“ALLLLL RIGHTTT LISTENERS!!” Present Mic’s voice roars over the crowd. “EARPHONE-JACK’S PERFORMANCE IS ABOUT TO START! IF YOU COULD PLEASE SILENCE YOUR PHONES AND BRING YOUR ATTENTION TO THE STAGE!!”
And then the curtains fall away, exposing her to the world as the crowd cheers. She gives them a moment to settle down, taking the time to adjust the grip on her guitar. She can feel their anticipation and eagerness as they wait— what song would she play for her first performance?
She’d gotten many suggestions from her classmates on what to choose, but from the beginning, she’s known in her heart what the right choice is. What the only choice is.
Her fingers hit the guitar. The melody reverberates through her soul as the world falls away.
When I met you, my world changed for the better
You were a little mean, but you made me feel alive
Right now, here on the stage in front of hundreds and hundreds of people, it’s as if they don't even exist. There is only the guitar, her voice, and his— no, their melody.The notes and lyrics that he’d painstakingly written, hidden from anyone's eyes, that she completed with tears pouring every step of the way surround her as she plays. All of her anxieties have vanished like mist in the dawn as she sings and sings and sings. As she finishes the first verse and reaches the chorus, the music melts into yellow sunshine, and she remembers.
I wish I could just stay at your side forever
Because god, my love for you transcends lifetimes
She remembers his kind, carefree nature.
She remembers standing back to back against a cruel world, armed with nothing but their faith in one another.
She remembers laughing to the point of tears at that dumb, adorable face of his.
She remembers hundreds of days spent together, strumming their guitars and singing as if nothing else mattered.
She remembers standing up on a stage not unlike the one she stands on how, years younger and with him at her side.
She remembers his smile, so bright it would have lit her world for an eternity.
The second verse is sung softly, with grief and sadness and hurt. The yellow turns purple and the memories, too, are changing; two becomes one. Joy turns to pain.
Clinging to a limp body and sobbing. Being unable to unsee the red.
Weeks spent under a hospital sheet, hiding from the world.
Pitiful eyes that she hated, wanted to burn and tear apart and destroy.
An endlessly painful feeling of something that should be there, but wasn’t.
Hours of sobbing. Hours of screaming.
A life she could have had, cruelly snatched by the hands of fate.
You disappeared before I could say goodbye
My heart was empty and lost, missing you at my side
By the time the second chorus rolls around, her voice begins to strengthen; the tiniest bit of yellow returns, shining around the purple. This time, she remembers picking up the pencil and forcing herself to continue on, forcing herself to complete the song even when it made her heart feel heavier than lead. She remembers pulling herself up and holding her guitar, remembers refusing to hide anymore. She remembers her friends, such wonderful, wonderful friends who never gave up on her, even when she pushed them away. She remembers her parents, who've never once stopped supporting her. She remembers him and how much he’d loved her music. She remembers getting up on the stage to play, play for all the world to see what she was made of. Most of all, she remembers a promise. A promise she didn't take seriously at the time, but now hopes against hope that she can keep it.
I promise, we will meet again
Because my love for you transcends lifetimes
She roars the final verse, roars it with all of her passion, her fury, her pain and her joy.
Passion, for the music she loved so much.
Fury for the future that was stolen from her.
Pain, for the grief of missing someone she loved so much.
Joy for the countless, beautiful memories he’d given her.
It swells, the crescendo of her soul; it rises like a wave, carrying her voice higher and higher, makes her fingers move faster, furiously plucking at the strings. The verse draws to a close.
I always knew you’d be the greatest musician in the world.
Suddenly, she feels something—a pair of arms, wrapping around her from behind. Her eyes widen.
The music stops.
The crowd explodes.
.
.
.
Life moves on. Her debut is a massive success, and her popularity both as a musician and hero skyrockets; only a year after her first performance, she becomes the top artist in Japan as well as the 8th highest ranked hero— 6th by approval rankings alone. Girls throughout the country look up to her, a shining example of a woman who was cool and talented and capable; everything they aspired to be. Together with Momo, she works to encourage more starry-eyed young girls to pursue a career in heroism and music, pushing them to rise beyond their limits and show off their talent for all to see.
She writes countless songs, and each one becomes a smash hit. Her name and her music becomes incredibly popular, even outside of Japan. America in particular seemed to love her songs, and she ends up visiting the country on tour more than once. She also revolutionizes Japanese music, her unique and unconventional style inspiring countless others and permanently altering musical culture for the next generation. Her most popular work, though, is the song she and Denki wrote together.
It makes her so, so incredibly happy to see that song at the top of the charts. She can be at peace knowing that at the very least, she’s managed to immortalize a part of him in her legacy— even if only she knows it. They never got to confess their feelings or got to have a happy future together, but the music born of their love will live beyond both of their lifetimes.
The years pass on, one after the other. Midoriya and Todoroki get married, and several of her other classmates find partners to spend their lives with— some of them even have children already. Questions have been raised about when the Hearing Hero will finally settle down herself, but she ignores the pressing questions and the curious eyes. She already knows that she doesn’t want to settle down— she wants to create more and more of the music she loves so much, and she wants to save countless people and protect their happiness, even if it might come at the expense of her own sometimes. That’s enough for her.
At some point, she takes to regularly visiting a nearby orphanage to try and brighten the lives of little children who’ve lost too much. She lets them ooh and ah over her guitar and plays whatever they request, earning their smiles and giggles in return. In all honesty, watching their eyes shine as they watch her play is infinitely more rewarding than all of the success she’s earned on the stage. She makes sure she visits at least twice a week, learning all of their names and bringing them toys and snacks she knows they like. Pretty soon, they start calling her “Big sis” instead of “Miss Earphone-Jack”.
There’s one kid in particular that catches her eye, a little girl with yellow hair whose eyes sparkle a little brighter than the everyone else at the sight of the guitar. The girl's eyes always seem to be following her fingers, studying her every movement as she strums with an eagerness she’s never seen in anyone else. A week later, she catches that same girl strumming the strings of a makeshift instrument, made with a glass cup and some rubber bands.
The next day, she buys her a proper guitar and sets up private music lessons with herself as the teacher. The little girl's eyes are positively glowing when she hears the news.
Her name is Hotaru, and she's the brightest, most talented child Jirou has ever met. They meet at her studio three times a week for lessons, and Hotaru picks everything up so quickly she’s certain the girl has the spirit of a natural born musician. Sometimes the other orphanage kids tag along, eager to spend more time with their favorite hero and big sister. She welcomes them all with open arms.
More time flies by. Before she knows it Hotaru’s twentieth birthday is just around the corner, the once small little girl now an aspiring musician eager and ready to dominate the stage. The two of them have grown close, now— Hotaru is the closest thing to a daughter she’ll ever have. Looking at her fills with an overwhelming sense of pride and joy. She’s sure that Denki would have loved her too. Even though it’s been years, a part of her still longs to have him back at her side. She still cries sometimes—not nearly as often as she used to, of course, but she seems to find herself shedding a few tears whenever his birthday rolls around. Once a year, she visits his grave and plays their song for him. She knows with absolute certainty that he can hear her. She’s known, and believed it with all her heart ever since she felt him on the stage so long ago.
“I know you think it’s dumb, but if we’re ever reincarnated, can we be friends again?”
Life begins and ends in the blink of an eye. At the ripe old age of ninety-four, Jirou Kyouka dies peacefully in her sleep. When the news of her death reaches the public, they mourn for weeks and her grave overflows with countless offerings. She’s left a good legacy behind.
.
.
.
Fifty years pass. A young boy with a black lightning bolt in his wild yellow hair boards a train, finding a seat in the crowded compartment and quietly flicking through his phone. He scrolls through his music app, trying to find something to listen to— his favorite artist is Earphone Jack, the most celebrated and remembered musician of her time. For some reason, something about her music has always been familiar to him.
His head shoots up as he hears someone strumming a guitar and singing. Immediately, he recognizes the melody as being his absolute favorite of Earphone Jack’s works; the melody that, for a reason he doesn’t know, he finds to be the most familiar of all. Urged on by his curiosity he gets up and follows the music, eager to find the person behind it.
Something in his heart is crying out, longing for whoever this stranger is and screaming at him to go to her. The sense of familiarity is overwhelming as he presses on. His feet bring him to the back of the train, and there, he sees her.
A girl with short purple hair and the most beautiful singing voice he’s ever heard. Around her neck, she wears a lightning bolt and musical note pendant.
I promise, we will meet again
Because my love for you transcends lifetimes
