Chapter Text
Denki’s friend group has been constantly expanding and shifting since freshman year. They’re always adding new acquaintances, some of them become friendly enough to study together and some friendly enough to party together.
He lives with Kirishima and Sero. Kirishima dates Bakugou. Kirishima went to high school with Ashido, who’s friends with Uraraka, Asui and Hagakure. Yaoyorozu and Denki have known each other for years. She’s his oldest friend, and more like a sister than anything. Yaoyorozu has friends outside of his primary circle, but she’s become quite close to the other girls, which brings her around more. Midoriya and Todoroki are a couple of his teammates that he actually likes to hang out with outside of practice, other than his roommates. And Bakugou is a drummer for a band that includes Shinsou and Tokoyami, and Shouji is Tokoyami’s best friend.
He’s heard of Jirou.
She’s been mentioned by Yaoyorozu, who is seemingly best friends and roommates with her. But Yaoyorozu isn’t much of a partier and hardly ever attends their events, let alone bring a friend. If she shows, she’s mostly there for Denki and increasingly, for Todoroki. Shinsou and this Jirou are in a lot of overlapping classes; somehow making him a good friend of hers. Which is interesting, since Denki had to force his friendship with the former. Uraraka is also friends with Jirou, often mentioning her when they talk about girls’ nights and parties that Denki obviously never went to. Bakugou has spoken about her too, though he didn’t remember why and what for. He wasn’t paying attention. Her name was just so casually thrown around Denki assumed he’d meet her eventually.
He didn’t believe she was super significant, because they’ve been in university for two years, in their third, and he’s still never met her. She’s never been around to the parties, she’s never with Yaoyorozu when they meet up, and she’s not close to his close friends.
Jirou was just a name he heard sometimes.
And then… he sees her on a Tuesday.
He pretends it’s not absolutely insane to see such a relaxed, intimidatingly beautiful woman beside his giggly, bubbly friend, Ashido. They’re seated in one of the few campus dining halls, while Ashido talks and talks and talks. She’s got dark, eggplant-purple hair that’s cut short at an inverted angle, with a thick bang and pieces that frame her pretty face, her sharp features fitting on porcelain skin. Her amethyst eyes are twinkling at Ashido’s nonstop blabbering, and her full, pink lips are suppressing a smile. She’s also intermittently (and cutely) glaring at the salad in front of her but eats it anyway.
He’s been staring at her from one spot in the middle of the dining area for so long that Ashido notices him. Her mouth is stuffed with food while she frantically waves him over. He’s glad that her mouth is full because he’s sure that she’d embarrass him with a nickname yelled in the hall. He doesn’t want to think about the way the gorgeous girl’s dark eyes seem to be laughing at him when he overestimates his distance and speed, and stumbles into the table.
“Kaminari! Hi! How are you? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” he replies happily, shooting her a friendly smile. He adores Ashido; they both have this never-ending energy that their friends quickly tire of, leaving the two of them to dance around and often adventure together.
“What’s going on?”
“Not much, gonna head to the gym soon.” This small talk is nice, usually, but he desperately wants to know the girl’s name and her story and why she hates her salad so much.
“Cool,” she says, cradling her head in one hand. “Are you guys doing anything this weekend?”
“Dunno,” he shrugs, still curiously side-glancing the pretty girl with the thick, dark lashes that are fluttering as she tries to melt into the background. “Probs throw an accidental party and get my ass unrightfully kicked by someone that doesn’t even live there.”
Ashido snorts and rolls her eyes, laughing through her response, “You’re the one that launched the jello cup and stained Bakugou’s favorite hoodie with strawberry flavor. Unrightfully, my ass!”
The girl looks up, the attempt to suppress a smirk failing as her eyes meet Ashido’s, then Denki’s, before returning to her food. Denki’s caught studying her a bit too long, enough that Ashido remembers herself and quickly squeals, “Oh! This is Jirou! Have you ever met her? She’s Yaomomo’s roomie. And she’s the only person that totally gets my pain when our Psych prof uses Comic Sans.”
Jirou laughs, nearly choking. Swallowing through the laughter, she smiles softly. “Hi.”
“Kaminari,” he grins, taking her hand to shake. Her skin is soft and smooth, but he can feel rough callouses on the tips of her fingers. A slight blush blossoms over her pale cheeks when he doesn’t let go immediately. He also blushes, because what the fuck? Why is he such a loser? He clears his throat, awkwardly, and drops his hand before muttering a: “Nice to finally meet you.”
It’s silent for a second before they hear a loud whoop from behind him. Jirou and Ashido both light up.
“Bakugou!” Ashido sings.
“I see you’ve finally met the prime of idiocy,” he drawls. Jirou’s confused and Ashido rolls her eyes, though she’s not bothered enough to point it out. Bakugou’s always this angry and this mean outwardly, but Denki will never forget that time he got too drunk and confessed how good a friend he thinks Denki is.
“Shut your face, Splodey Boy.” He’s poised, ready to duck and cover because it’s absolutely a given that Bakugou’s going to swing and land. Denki accidentally cockblocked Kirishima and Bakugou the other day and the latter has yet to forgive him.
He just growls and throws his bag down beside Denki. He gets situated in his seat, slurping on a drink in a plastic tumbler. He whips a folded pile of paper in Jirou’s direction. “Shinsou made his copies.”
Jirou glares at Bakugou when the sheets catch air and flutter all over the table. She continues to glare expectantly at him, unmoving and silent. Denki’s so intimidated by it that he reaches to grab the papers for her — but Bakugou is faster, grabbing them and shoving them in front of her. His movements are apologetic, although Denki can’t be sure. Bakugou has never apologized to Denki for anything in his entire life.
He’s awestruck that someone - anyone - was able to glare Bakugou into complying.
Jirou hasn’t spoken, but Ashido is asking Bakugou about homework for Midoriya, and how he’d missed class due to some sort of dramatic lab incident that Bakugou certainly did not give a flying fuck about. He’s arguing with Ashido about the necessity of giving him the assignments, but Denki can only see and hear the girl beside him.
He summons all the courage in his bones, “What’s your major?”
“I’m on a music therapy track,” she says, smiling. It’s a muted, polite smile, and Denki so desperately wants to see a genuine one. “You?”
“Electrical engineering.” She whistles, impressed, and he tries to fight the blush rising from his neck.
“Sounds like a lot of math. I can’t do any of that.”
He shrugs, grinning at her. “Yes and no.”
They’re interrupted from their very short conversation when someone grips Denki’s shoulders and shakes him violently.
“’Sup dude!” Sero’s voice is loud, annoying, and so unwelcome. Denki just wants to learn more about the living, breathing angel that’s cooler than he’ll ever be in his fucking life, but obviously said life couldn’t be kind to him. He wants ten minutes to convince her he’s cute and adorable, and not an idiot like Bakugou had so lovingly noted. Sero plops down beside Denki, turning to look at Jirou. “Hi, I don’t know you?”
She laughs. Denki’s jealous Sero got a true laugh while he embarrassed himself by accidentally holding her hand. “I’m Jirou. I’m in a band with Bakugou.”
“Hey! I’m Sero, Ashido’s favorite person in the whole world.”
“Not true,” Ashido scoffs. She’s joking and he’s joking, but Denki can see a flash of fleeting upset before his signature crooked grin.
“Hurtful,” he laughs. Denki can hear his laugh is hollow, but it doesn’t seem like anyone noticed except for he and Bakugou. Bakugou nods a silent acknowledgment and it’s quickly forgotten; it would be a conversation for a later date.
Denki’s watching his friends interact, Ashido happily chatting with Sero, Bakugou growling something at Jirou. She is biting her lip while she listens to Bakugou’s gruff criticisms about whatever’s on the sheets of papers he’d thrown at her earlier. He’s just watching her watch Bakugou intently, marking the papers while his words wash over her.
He quickly screens a notification from Kirishima, who is probably wondering where he is. But Denki really doesn’t want to leave without subtly making a case for why he is worthy of ten minutes of Jirou’s time. He begins to mentally plan a party or game night or movie night to invite her to but before he can even get past the thought of inviting her over, Bakugou flicks one of Ashido’s fries at his forehead.
“Yo,” Bakugou says. “Ei is wondering where you are.”
Denki stares back, blankly, conceding to his failed mission. He stands, his eyes on his phone, acting like he’d only just received Kirishima’s text. “Whoops,” he says sheepishly.
He salutes the table, receiving a blank stare from Bakugou, a fist bump from Sero, a pout from Ashido, and a small smile from Jirou. He wasn’t going to deny his disappointment at being dragged away from her, but he shrugs it off, convincing himself that he doesn’t really care. Sure, she’s nice to look at, but she’s hardly the love of his life. He’s a flirtatious guy, and she’s pretty. So what?
Momentary distractions were fun for a young bachelor like himself.
He didn’t know how wrong he’d be until later that month.
There was a gentle nudge to his ribs accompanying a quiet voice. “Hey.”
He swivels his head around to seek the source of the voice, chastising himself when he finally looks downward to see Jirou, in all her indifferent, gorgeous glory. He forgets he’s tall, and she’s not. But she’s tall enough to be able to nuzzle her head into his chest if she wanted to. He wanted her to. Fucking hell.
“Hi,” he finally responds, shooting her a goofy grin.
“Are you in this class?” she asks, but he doesn’t hear. He thinks she's fucking cute in leggings and a sweatshirt. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun and he almost forgets where he even is. There’s a long moment of silence before Denki realizes she’s talking to him and expecting a fucking answer.
“Wait, are you in this Classic Lit class?”
“Yeah, that’s literally what I just asked you,” she snorts.
He awkwardly apologizes with a grin, “Sorry, I spaced.”
They shuffle in together, finding seats beside the other, because how could you walk away from the only person you knew in the new class you were taking? That’s what he’s telling himself anyway, but Denki knows he’d desperately shove anyone out of the way to sit beside her. He internally rolls his eyes at himself; he barely knows her. He’s embarrassed he’s so weird about it, yet he’s undeniably, incredibly drawn to her.
Denki is a pro at not paying attention in classes so he’s trying to figure out why he’s so attracted to her. He thinks it’s got something to do with the mysterious about her personality. There’s something in the way her fingers move, gracefully, yet confidently. She seems shy at first, but she easily commands attention without asking for it. Well, she commands his. She is quiet, making what she did say important enough for him to shut the rest of the world out when she spoke. Her eyes, bright in the fluorescent lighting, are roving over the notebook in front of her. She turns to him abruptly, surprised to see him already looking at her.
“I’m really bad at any analysis of literature,” she complains, her lower lip pushed out in a pout. “How about you?”
He blushes. He’s really good at this, actually. He loves that old timey shit, the implications and deeper meanings found between the lines. He loves the history in the language and its context and — oh god she’s just staring at him.
“I kinda really like this shit,” he admits, embarrassed. Because what kind of manly, sporty man admits to a love of Shakespeare? She stares at him blankly for a second, before allowing her face to break into a blinding smile, the laugh escaping from her light and breezy —
“Wait, really? I guess I didn’t expect that,” she began trailing off, but suddenly looked horrified, gasping. “Wait! That’s not what I meant! It’s just how can anyone expect me to expect that, you know? Because it’s weird. Wait, not weird in a bad way, oh god, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make it sound like it’s weird, I’m just saying —”
He thought her floundering was cute. But he needs to stop her before she chokes on her own spit. “You’re fine, I get it. It is a weird thing. I'm supposed to be a dumb athlete, I get it all the time.”
“No, it’s not! I truly just didn't think anyone liked this shit, nothing to do with you being a dumb athlete!"
He blinks.
"Fuck, wait!" She gathers herself before blushing madly and hissing, "You're not a stereotype and you're not a dumb athlete so don't you even start with me. I'll tell Momo on you."
He's pleased with her fluster, feeling elite because he somehow got this intimidating woman to blush shyly. And even though she's huffing and irritated with him, he expects this. There's no way he can actually level with this girl. Even if she's embarrassed and stuttering, feeling foolish. He continues to grin at her.
"I appreciate you," he says.
"Well, I don't appreciate your amusement!" she replies indignantly.
"But it's kinda funny!"
"It is not!" she yelps. "Who even are you, you're a rude butthead."
"Butthead?"
"Yeah. That's you. A butthead."
She's glaring at him and he can't focus on anything but her nostalgic insult and her cute pout.
"Is that really the best you've got?"
"I don't think you want to know what damage I can do," she scoffs, pulling out her laptop.
The professor is now booming from the front of the classroom. He’s excited that he has the opportunity to show her he’s not a bumbling idiot. He knows that she probably thinks she’s the idiot, but god, she’s too cute. He wonders if he’ll pass this class at all; if he’ll excel trying to show her the wonders of Classic Literature… Or if he’ll fail, being so speechless and awkward sitting beside her, while she smells like flowers and looks too serene, like a calm, night sky.
"You're funny," he whispers.
"Am not."
"You don't want to be funny?"
"Wait a second —"
He's grinning so foolishly that it must be contagious, because she begins laughing and playfully hits him on the shoulder. The rest of the class they're exchanging insults and jokes and Denki can't remember the last time he felt so comfortable with a complete stranger.
He’s in for it, he remembers thinking.
He wonders how much actual damage she's capable of inflicting.
He's feeling masochistic.