Archive of Our Own

“Guys, be honest with me. Brutally honest if you have to. Is this a bad idea?”

Mina’s the first to respond, shaking her head. “I think it’s cute!”

“Cute? Cute?!” Denki flails about, just barely avoiding knocking over the display next to him. “I don’t want to be cute! I want him to take me seriously!”

“Dude, he kinda seems like he takes everything seriously,” Sero mutters, but it’s mostly lost under Kirishima’s hearty addition to the conversation.

“Well, I think it’s super manly!” he says, to the surprise of absolutely no one. Bakugou, from where he’s looking at his own phone over Kirishima’s shoulder (a byproduct of his reluctance to let go of his boyfriend) makes his customary “Tch!” sound, again to the surprise of absolutely no one.

“If you want to, go for it,” Sero says. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Denki wonders if Sero is perhaps high out of his goddamn mind, or maybe just out of his goddamn mind. “You’re all no help whatsoever.” Sero squints at him, but doesn’t say anything else.

There is, however, one person who hasn’t yet offered advice. “Jirou! My man, my woman,” Denki hastily corrects when she pauses texting to glare at him, “what say you?”

“It’s kinda weird,” she says as her thumbs resume tapping at her screen. Denki claps his hands together and she leans away slightly.

“Thank you!” he says. “At least someone’s providing real feedback.” He quiets for a moment, taps his foot against the store’s linoleum tile, snaps his fingers. “I’m still gonna do it.”

Jirou rolls her eyes. “Ridiculous.”

She’s got the deadpan, I’m-so-done-with-your-bullshit expression down pat, but she can’t hide the rosy tint across her nose and cheeks. Denki sways closer, smiling mischievously.

“And what does Yaomomo think?” he asks innocently. Jirou’s blush deepens, but other than that, she doesn’t react beyond an exasperated sigh.

“She thinks it’s sweet,” she tells him. Denki nods.

“‘Sweet,’” he echoes, chin propped between his thumb and forefinger. “I can work with that.”

“Oh, but ‘cute’ is unacceptable,” Mina says, throwing her hands in the air.

Denki ignores her. There are more pressing matters. “It’s just perfect for him!” he says, snatching the item in question off of the display shelf. The bottle of deep purple nail polish is held aloft, silhouetted by the harsh fluorescent lights of the store's ceiling. “It’s even called Twilight Skies! He has to like it, right?”

“Kinda sounds like you’re just trying to convince yourself now,” Sero says gently. Denki’s about ready to dismiss the comment, but when he stops to think about it, he realizes it might have some merit. No member of the Bakusquad is a stranger to nail polish, although Mina is currently the only one who entertains the thought of color. Looking around himself now, Denki can count five sets of chipped black nails, including his own. Mina’s lime green gel manicure obviously isn’t included, but she’s with them in spirit.

Outside the squad, though, it’s rare to see anyone but the girls wearing nail polish. So when Denki passed Shinsou in the hallway on his way to lunch the other day, he couldn’t help but notice that the other boy’s nails were painted black too. As if he needs another reason to crush on the mysterious pretty boy from Class 1-C.

But is Jirou right? Is it weird to buy Shinsou a bottle of nail polish just because Denki saw it in a store and immediately thought of him? He’s not even in the hero course yet, and yeah, they had their joint battle during the Class 1-A vs. 1-B training exercise, they’d even won, but Denki doesn’t know Shinsou that well. Are they at an acceptable stage of friendship to give each other gifts? Are they even friends?

Nope, nope nope nope. That way lies madness, and Denki already has to deal with being called a dumbass on the reg. He’s not about to pile crazy on top of that.

“Alright, to the register we go!” he calls, marching through the center of his knot of friends, the bottle of polish clutched in his fist. “For once, I’m not going to overthink it!” Even if he doesn’t give it to Shinsou, it is a pretty great color. He could totally use it himself. Jirou would probably like it too. Actually, he might have seen her grab a second bottle out of the corner of his eye.

“When have you ever overthought anything in your life?” she mumbles behind him. He smiles despite himself. It’s good to have friends that can keep you humble. Bakugou’s a perfect example. He’d be an absolute nightmare without them, Denki just knows.

“Just this, please,” he says when he gets to the front of the line, setting the bottle in front of the cashier. She scans the nail polish and takes his yen, smiling in a distinctly customer-service way when he winks at her over his shoulder. Then he’s out in the chilled mall air, more fluorescent lights on his skin and children shrieking a stone’s throw away. This was a great idea, he’s sure of it.

This was a terrible idea. Why didn’t anyone warn him?

The problem with buying a gift for someone is that you actually have to give it to them. This proves much easier said than done when the person you want to give the gift to doesn’t have any classes with you, is usually somewhat standoffish and disinterested, and has a habit of turning you into a babbling mess by simply looking in your direction.

So things are going well for Denki.

Jirou’s having a ball, which is just unfair. Any time she so much as glimpses lavender hair, she starts singing love songs under her breath so only he can hear her. Whenever he attempts to retaliate by calling out for Yaomomo, he’s quickly thwarted by her earphone jacks. He never knew a) how sharp they are, or b) how effectively she can use them to force someone’s mouth closed. And he’s too nice to shock her (much) so instead he has to suffer. Really, it’s a disaster all around.

How the fuck is Bakugou the only one of them that managed to achieve a functioning relationship?

(Well, with Kiri, but that’s kind of a moot point.)

“Alright Sparky, sit the fuck down,” the blasty man himself says one afternoon, as Denki’s peacefully, unobtrusively watching Shinsou walk across the quad. Sero’s hair is absolutely not sticking straight out from his head because of the ambient static electricity surrounding Denki. He doesn’t even produce ambient static electricity when he’s emotional, and whoever started that rumor (Jirou) is a filthy liar.

Denki dutifully sits right on the edge of the nearest bench, flings his arms out as he loses his balance, and is saved from toppling shoulder-first onto the ground by Kirishima’s strong grip.

“Thanks dude,” he says, patting Kiri’s hand.

“No problem.” Kirishima looks at his own arm for a moment, where Denki can see short, dark hairs standing up from his skin, but he just shrugs and steps back so Bakugou can take his place.

“This is an intervention,” the other blond says, and Kirishima and Sero nod.

“‘Bout time,” Mina chimes in from her cross-legged seat on the grass, quickly typing something on her phone.

Denki almost wishes Jirou weren’t off mooning over Yaomomo somewhere until he remembers that she would probably be on their side.

“I don’t need an intervention,” Denki starts, pushing himself off of the bench, but Bakugou leans forward and quite without any conscious input from his brain, Denki finds himself thudding back down onto the metal slats.

“You definitely do,” Bakugou says. It sounds like he’s trying very hard to keep his tone in control. See, the squad is doing good work. “I’m sick of your bullshit.”

“You’ve said that many times,” Denki points out, and Bakugou honest-to-God growls. So much for being non-threatening.

“You saw him at the sports festival,” he continues. Denki blinks. “And you met him during the training exercise.”

“Yup.”

“Where you told him he had a good face.”

“It wasn’t exactly like that—”

“It was almost exactly like that.”

“It wasn’t that far off, dude,” Kirishima, the traitor, says. “I was there, I remember.”

“Fine, fine,” Denki says, rolling his eyes. “Your point?”

Bakugo points to where Shinsou is now sitting under a tree. “Just fucking talk to him! Give him the goddamn nail polish. Throw it at him if you have to!”

So that’s how Bakugou did it. Denki honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he actually had thrown something at Kiri. He folds his arms across his chest. “What if I left it in my room?”

Mina props her hands on her hips at that. “Are you seriously trying to tell me you haven’t carried it around with you every minute since you bought it in case you happened to stumble into the perfect situation to give it to him?”

“Since when do you live in my head?” Denki snarks at her, but she’s right, of course. It’s sitting in the front pocket of his backpack, where it’s been since they went to the mall, except for the few times he’s taken it out to look at it and wonder what he got himself into.

“You’ve got this, bro,” Sero offers encouragingly, and Denki gets up to try to run from the flood of earnest reassurances that he’ll do great and everything will be peachy that he’s sure is coming.

“Only to shut you all up,” he says, swinging an accusatory finger around the group. “One of you gets to tell Jirou she missed it, because it’s not gonna be me.”

“What am I missing?” a very familiar voice asks from right behind Denki. He jumps about half of Bakugo’s height in the air and accidentally smacks Kiri in the face, although he’s pretty sure his hand is hurt more.

“Holy fuck, don’t do that to me,” he wheezes once he can breathe again, his uninjured hand pressed to his chest. Mina gets up to throw her arm across Jirou’s shoulders.

“Who did you think I was texting?” she asks as Jirou smiles.

Even Denki knows he doesn’t stand a chance against the combined forces of the four other people who managed to befriend the angry pomeranian of the class, plus said angry pomeranian himself. “I give in,” he tells them, backing slowly out of the group. “But you’re next.”

Before Jirou can react to his threat (because it is a threat, make no mistake about that), he picks up his bag, slings it on one shoulder, and takes off across the grass. His steps slow as he approaches Shinsou’s reclining form. The other boy is leaning against the trunk of the tree, eyes closed, and for a moment Denki wonders if he’s asleep, but his nose scrunches just a little bit (adorably, Denki’s brain supplies) and then there isn’t room for any more thoughts in his head because he’s trapped in irises like a violet sea that he doesn’t want to leave, anyway, so it’s fine.

Shinsou raises an eyebrow, like he’s asking Denki what he’s doing there without actually saying anything, and Denki’s little acid trip dissipates. “Um, hi,” he says, and mentally pats himself on the back for keeping it to an at least somewhat normal greeting.

He doesn’t have a follow-up, though, so he just kind of stands there and stares at Shinsou some more. His eyelashes are the same shade as his hair, Denki notices, and they’re really long. Shinsou’s eyes are kind of really pretty, actually, even with the deep purple shadows under them.

After what’s probably too long to be considered socially acceptable, Shinsou clears his throat. “Can I help you?” he asks, his voice a little rough around the edges, and it takes all of Denki’s willpower to not say something horrible like “Yes, you most certainly can.”

“Um,” he says again, then reaches awkwardly around to try to get at the front pocket of his bag. “I got something for you.” Miracle of miracles, he manages to move the zipper just enough to squeeze his hand in the pocket. After a brief moment of panic when he thinks Mina may have been mistaken, his fingers close around the small bottle, and he breathes a sigh of relief. “I saw your nails were painted the other day,” Denki says as he pulls his hand back out of his bag, and oh, there’s the babbling. “And it looked good—I mean, I liked it! And I was at the mall a few days ago, and I saw this, and I thought you might like it, because, you know, purple,” Oh for the love of God stop talking, “so I got it. For you.”

Shinsou blinks up at Denki, making no move to take the bottle of nail polish that Denki is now holding out to him, so he just sort of. Lets go. And it lands on Shinsou’s stomach, which is at most only a step down from throwing it at him like Bakugou suggested. If there is a level of mortification beyond what Denki’s feeling right now, he’d like to extend his sincerest apologies to the unfortunate souls that have experienced it.

Shinsou’s hands belatedly move, picking up the bottle and turning it over. “Um, thanks,” he says, then looks back up at Denki. “I like your nails too.”

Denki examines his own hands. The polish is chipped pretty badly, now. He should redo them soon. “I should redo them soon.”

“I can help,” Shinsou says, and Denki’s gaze snaps back to him. He looks as surprised as Denki feels, but he forges on. “If you want, I mean. Um, and you can help me with mine too. If you want.”

Denki takes one moment to process the offer, a second moment to reprocess it because the first time made no sense, and a third moment to fist pump internally, before saying, “Yeah, sure, that would be cool.”

“Alright, uh, does Saturday work for you?” Shinsou asks, and Denki nods. He’s pretty sure he didn’t have any plans for Saturday, and if he did, well, he doesn’t anymore. Besides, the only people he hangs out with are the ones who told him to come over here in the first place, so legally they have to understand if he cancels on them. “Cool, I’ll see you then,” Shinsou says. Denki nods again before turning tail and walking at a socially acceptable pace back to his friends, thinking that it’s not fair that Jirou could probably hear that whole conversation, because she’s going to have a field day with it.

Which is how Kaminari Denki finds himself sitting in his dorm room waiting for one Shinsou Hitoshi on Saturday afternoon, armed with a bottle of black nail polish, Q-tips, nail polish remover, and sheer fucking determination to not make an ass of himself. Hopefully at least one of those things will be able to help him, although if he’s being honest with himself (which he makes a rule to avoid in high-pressure situations like this), his hopes are pretty low.

Denki’s just beginning to debate the merits of lighting the bottle of acetone on fire versus suffering certain death at Aizawa-sensei’s hands when he hears a knock at his door. He scrambles off of his bed so quickly that his pillow falls to the floor, and he has to spare a precious second to toss it back up. At least he didn’t fall off his bed. Shinsou definitely would have heard that.

He’s right there when Denki opens the door, which shouldn’t be surprising except that part of Denki didn’t really believe it was actually happening until this moment. Shinsou smiles just the tiniest bit when he sees Denki. Well, one corner of his mouth lifts up, and Denki chooses to interpret that as a smile. It doesn’t matter too much, anyway; he’s grinning enough for the both of them.

“Come in!” he says, standing back and gesturing at his room with an exaggerated flourish. Shinsou steps forward, toeing off his shoes just inside the doorway, and looks around. Denki sort of does too, and briefly wonders if he should have tried to shove more stuff in his closet that morning. He straightened it up, of course, but his room is still pretty… well, his mom would say it’s full of personality. His friends would say it’s gaudy, tasteless, or offensive to interior decorators, and in fact have said so. Several times.

But Shinsou doesn’t voice any of that. He just shrugs one shoulder and says, “Cool room.”

He’s a man of few words, that much Denki knew before they’d even officially met. That’s okay, though, because Denki can talk enough for both of them, too. And talk he does. “Thanks! The transition from living at home to the dorms was just so crazy, what with everything that led up to it and all, so I kinda tried to bring as much of home with me as I could. It’s still a little weird, but having familiar things makes it easier, you know?”

Shinsou, who hadn’t moved a muscle during Denki’s little speech, blinks at him. He doesn’t seem like he’s got a response for that, which is all right with Denki. He’s fully prepared to keep talking until he notices that Shinsou’s hands aren’t empty.

“Oh, you can put that down over here,” Denki says, indicating the low table that’s currently occupied by his supplies. Shinsou sets his own nail polish, cotton swabs, and a different brand of remover on the tabletop.

“Uh, I didn’t know what you would have, so I brought some of my stuff,” Shinsou explains, one hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Denki claps his hands, once again smiling brightly.

“Great! It’s always good to have more stuff.” His grin falters a bit when Shinsou lifts an eyebrow at him, and he flaps a hand through the air. “You know what I mean. Now come on.” Denki plops down on the far side of the table, and after a moment, Shinsou sits across from him, folding his legs so they’re crossed on the floor. “I don’t have any of the fancy stuff,” Denki tells him, momentarily halting his hunt for a hair tie. “Huh. ‘Stuff.’ That doesn’t sound like a real word anymore. I think I’ve heard it too much.” He resumes running his fingers across the rug. He’s sure there’s one hanging around somewhere… Ah! There!

So maybe leaving a black hair tie on a black rug wasn’t the most efficient plan, but Denki found it, so he’s not accepting criticism. He pops it between his teeth for safekeeping, then starts gathering his hair at the back of his head. It’s too short to all fit in a ponytail, but too long to just leave loose if he doesn’t want it getting in his eyes when he’s painting his nails, so he only goes after the top half. “A’way, wha’ I mea’ ith thith ith all I ha’.” He pauses to remove the hair tie from his mouth and put it in his hair, where some would say it belongs. “So we can’t really do any of the cool stuff,” he says as he finishes tying his hair back.

When Denki looks at Shinsou, the other boy hurriedly glances away. Denki’s probably imagining the dusting of pink high on his cheeks, right? Right. “That’s fine,” Shinsou says, “I wouldn’t know how to do it anyway.”

Denki chuckles as he grabs his bottle of nail polish and starts hitting it against his palm. “Me neither, dude. Have you seen nail artists online? Some of that shit is just mind blowing. Pretty sure I saw someone put an entire damn snowglobe on their nail. Insane.”

He worries for a second about the fact that he just admitted to looking at nail art, but then Shinsou’s eyes widen. “I saw that too,” he says. “Like you said, mind blowing.”

“And I can’t even manage to keep from accidentally painting my fingers most of the time,” Denki laments.

Here’s the thing, though, and it’s not something that most people know: he doesn’t just like painting his nails because he likes having painted nails. Sure, they look cool, and it’s nice to feel included with the rest of the Bakusquad, but it’s about the experience just as much as the end result. It forces him to be still, to focus. Even though he’s normally bad at activities like that, something about painting his nails just… works. There’s a lot of noise in Denki’s head most of the time, so much that even he can’t always keep up, but when he’s painting his nails, everything gets just a little bit quieter. And since there are precious few things that do that for him, he’s damn well sure to appreciate them.

So he jokes about getting nail polish on his skin, but in truth he’s very good at painting inside the lines. Good enough, in fact, that he paints the thumb and first two fingers of his right hand perfectly.

“I didn’t know you could go this long without talking,” Shinsou says as Denki dips his brush back into the nail polish. Denki laughs through his nose, letting go of the cap so he doesn’t accidentally knock over the bottle.

“Just concentrating, I guess,” he says, fighting the urge to move his hands. He can’t fidget now, he’ll screw up his nails. “But I can talk more if you want me to! Or not, I can just shut up too.” Oh God, he’s an absolute mess. Damned pretty boys with their damned purple hair and cool quirks and just everything else about them. Denki’s really putting the “disaster” in “bisexual disaster.”

Shinsou cuts off his train of thought before it can go any further. “It’s okay,” he says. His voice is soft, almost quiet but not quite. Even though he’s looking down at the table, Denki thinks he can see the hint of a smile. “I like listening to you talk, but the quiet’s nice too.”

“Thanks.” There’s something freeing, actually, about hearing those words. It’s almost like Shinsou’s released Denki from the responsibility of carrying the conversation, a responsibility that Denki’s sure he imposes on himself far more than other people do, but that he can’t seem to stop. It just feels like they expect him to always have something to say, and he hates the thought of disappointing anyone, so he tries really hard to live up to that. Don’t get him wrong, he usually does have plenty to talk about, but it’s nice that, at the very least in this one instance, he doesn’t have to.

They sit in silence for a few more seconds before Denki reaches for his nail polish again. That part is fine. No problems there. The trouble comes a mere moment later, when Shinsou says, “Wait, let me—” and takes Denki’s hand.

A yellow spark jumps between their fingers, and Shinsou jerks his hand back, biting down on what Denki guesses is a string of curses that would give Bakugou a run for his money. If Shinsou’s hair wasn’t already all floaty and stuff, Denki’s sure it would be now. “Sorry!” he squeaks, waving his hands in the air but maintaining a careful buffer space between himself and Shinsou. “Shit, sorry! I was just surprised. I don’t normally shock people like that! Sorry,” he repeats, trailing off as he calms down enough to actually see Shinsou’s face. He’s definitely smiling this time, white teeth glinting in the light shining through Denki’s window. Denki looks at him in confusion. It’s rare now for anyone to really get mad at him for accidentally shocking them, but most people don’t enjoy it.

“Uh, you good?” he asks. He couldn’t have made Shinsou short-circuit, could he? He’s pretty sure that’s not how his Quirk works, but he also doesn’t have Midoriya’s dedication to the scientific process, so he hasn’t tested every possibility.

Shinsou seems to still be in possession of all of his mental faculties, though, so Denki’s willing to rule that out. “I’m fine,” Shinsou assures him, flexing his fingers as if to prove it. “My bad for startling you.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it. It’s not usually an issue.” Denki’s absolutely not going to tell Shinsou that the only reason it was an issue is because Shinsou makes him nervous by just existing in the same room. He does not have the security clearance to know that information. “What did you want to do?” Denki asks to keep the conversation moving.

“Oh, uh,” Shinsou hedges, and he’s definitely a little flushed now, not even Denki’s terminally self-sabotaging brain can deny it, “I was just thinking…” He stretches his hand out again, slowly this time, waiting until Denki nods to touch him. As he watches, Shinsou takes the nail polish he’d been using and starts painting the nail on Denki’s ring finger.

“I’ve seen some people do something different on one nail,” he explains when he finishes. Denki lifts his hand to examine the new addition. The purple looks good next to the black, he decides. Distinct enough to be noticeable, but still fitting with the dark theme. When he looks back up, Shinsou shrugs. “I always thought it looked cool.”

“It does! I really like it,” Denki assures him. He offers his other hand, even though it’s still bare of polish. “Can you do this one too?”

Shinsou doesn’t say anything, just grabs his nail polish, but he’s smiling again and Denki fucking beams.

“My turn,” Denki says when the second purple nail is done. He flaps his hand at Shinsou until, with an amused eye roll, he rests his own hand in the middle of the table.

Even though Denki’s doing it from across the table, just like at an actual nail salon (well, maybe not just like, but it’s pretty much the same), there’s something strangely intimate about painting Shinsou’s nails. They’re almost holding hands, but not quite, and Denki has to be really careful not to twitch or shake at all or he’ll risk messing it up. Forget surgery, nail art is where you need steady hands.

Too soon and not soon enough, Shinsou has two black nails and Denki’s back to working on his own. He’s able to finish up pretty quickly after that, and presses his palms together in front of his face to keep from accidentally moving his fingers around and causing irreparable damage to his art.

“So, Shinsou,” Denki says. Shinsou raises an eyebrow without looking up. Denki’s willing to give him a pass only because he’s still painting his nails. “What do you like?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, besides heroism and stuff. Nobody’s entire personality is wanting to be a hero. Well, I do know a couple of guys like that, but they’re kinda weird. Uh, not that that’s a bad thing! All love to Midoriya and Bakugou, you just seem more… well-adjusted, I guess? I don’t know, it’s hard for me to put my thoughts into words sometimes.”

Shinsou doesn’t make any effort to halt Denki’s rambling. Instead, he screws the cap back on his nail polish and waits until Denki fumbles to a stop. “I am less likely to blow up a building or break my own arm in six places,” he says. To Denki, it sounds like an agreement. “I guess I’d say I like cats. There’s this stray cat that hangs out, like, three blocks away from the school. I used to visit her every day on my walk home, but since we’ve moved into the dorms, I only see her a couple times a week. I always try to bring some food with me. She eats bread, which is hilarious. Absolutely loves it. I think I’ve got a picture of her somewhere.” He starts reaching for his phone before his fingers twitch abortively and he stills. Right, nails.

“It’s okay dude, you can show me later,” Denki says easily. “You know, I think that’s the most I’ve heard you say at once.”

Shinsou looks almost shy. “Yeah, well, most people don’t like it when I talk too much. Worried I’ll, you know…” he trails off, wiggling his fingers in the air. It takes Denki a moment to figure out what he means, but when he does, he taps his index finger against his temple.

“Can’t be brainwashed if you have no brain,” he says. Shinsou stares at him, then, almost as if against his will, he snorts.

“You’re such a dork,” he mutters, shaking his head, but he sounds affectionate and looks like he’s trying hard not to grin, so Denki’s gonna take that as a win.

“It’s one of my best qualities,” he says.

They fall into silence once again, but this time isn’t quite as comfortable as it was before. Denki suspects it has something to do with Shinsou, who looks like he’s trying about as hard not to fidget as Denki usually does.

“I can tell you want to ask me something,” Denki says. “It’s alright, you can just ask. You don’t have to wait for permission or anything.”

He seems to hit the nail on the head, if the way Shinsou’s eyes widen are any indication. After a moment, the purple haired boy sighs. “What’s it like, being in the hero course?” he asks.

On the surface, it’s a logical question. With any luck and all of his skill, he’s going to be joining their class next year, of course he’d want to know about it. And Denki could give him the normal answer of coursework and friendships and such, but somehow, it feels like that’s not really what he’s looking for.

“Honestly?” Denki starts. This is… kinda hard to talk about, actually. He looks down at the table, eyes skipping over the detritus of their afternoon, then takes a fortifying breath. “It’s terrifying. I mean, we’ve been through enough to cover six seasons of a show, at least, and we’re not even done with our first year. And, like, I don’t even know the half of it, I’m aware of that. Midoriya and Bakugou and even Todoroki have dealt with so much more. And they keep at it every day. I don’t know how they do it, man. Sometimes I don’t know how I do it.”

“Then why do you?” Shinsou’s leaning forward now, gaze focused on Denki, who thinks, once again, that he doesn’t need a quirk to brainwash people when he’s got eyes like that. “If it’s that bad, why haven’t you transferred out?”

“Why are you trying so hard to transfer in?” Denki counters. Shinsou nods, conceding the point. “I want to be a hero, to help people. It’s all I want. Always have, always will. No amount of villain attacks or danger magnet classmates is going to change that.”

Shinsou doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Denki thinks, probably, that’s something he can relate to. But when he finally does speak, it’s not at all what Denki was expecting.

“All you want?” he asks, head tilted coolly to the side even though his cheeks are slightly flushed.

Is Denki imagining things? Is Shinsou actually flirting with him? And so smoothly too? That shouldn’t be allowed. For Denki’s sanity, it should be illegal.

“That’s rich coming from you, Mr. I’m-Not-Here-To-Make-Friends,” Denki responds, somehow not stuttering once during the delivery. He deserves a medal for that. Or a boyfriend.

Shinsou shrugs. “I could be persuaded,” he says. Denki feels the briefest flash of victory warm his chest before a sharp trill cuts through the air.

“That’s me, sorry,” Shinsou says as he goes digging for his phone. Fortunately, enough time has passed that their nails should be dry. Denki catches a brief glimpse of the caller ID (“Dad🐱”), not that he was trying to look at it, before Shinsou’s swearing and scrambling upright. “Shit, is it really that late? I gotta go, sorry.” He begins gathering up the stuff he brought, but pauses to look back at Denki. “Thanks though,” Shinsou says, “this was… really nice.”

“Yeah, it was,” Denki says. He pushes himself to his feet, opening his door because Shinsou has his hands full, is the excuse he tells himself. “Don’t get lost on the way home!”

“I don’t know,” Shinsou says, stopping just outside the door. “That walk to the next building is really complicated. I’m not sure I’ll make it back.”

“Well,” Denki says, a smile spreading slowly across his face, “if you ever need a hero, you know who to call.”

“I do,” Shinsou says, and flashes him an answering grin before setting off down the hallway. Denki watches him go for a perfectly normal amount of time.

“Hey Pikachu, I thought you said you gave Mindfucker the nail polish.”

“Don’t call him that,” Denki says on instinct, even though he knows Bakugou doesn't really mean it. It’s almost a term of endearment, getting an insulting nickname from Bakugou. He still calls Kirishima “Shitty Hair” sometimes. “And I did.”

“Then why the fuck are you wearing it?”

Denki pulls his eyes from the cafeteria to his own hands where, sure enough, the two incriminating purple nails stare back at him. “Oh, this?” he says as casually as he can manage. “It’s nothing.”

He goes back to scanning the crowds of students as Mina squeals next to him. “Come on, Kami, spill!” she urges, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he waves across the room, and after a moment, an inversely manicured hand waves back.

Yeah, maybe he’s completely gone over the pretty boy from Gen Ed, but he’s starting to think he might have a shot.