Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Put what’s most important to you right now in your heart,” Midnight-sensei says as the growing panic of being thrust to the frontlines overwhelms him, and Kaminari Denki, pausing only to turn and glance at those he’s left behind, pictures the chin-length indigo hair, apathetic onyx eyes, and laconic smirk of Jirō Kyōka.

Sudden courage floods his veins, and as a crackle of static builds in the air just ahead, Kaminari rushes to the head of the pack of Pro Heroes and draws the incoming electricity to him. His confidence – normally supremely displaced and more for show than any true affect – suddenly feels real.

Because they’re in the middle of a war, he doesn’t have time to consider what’s driving him, the source of bravery he’s unused to feeling, but it lasts the day, even giving him the courage to attack the League of Villains directly when his friends are threatened.

A large piece of concrete intercepts his assault, and his bravery fades with his consciousness.

He awakens still on the battlefield, in some girl’s lap – he vaguely recognizes her from Class 1-B, but through his wooziness can’t think of her name – mutters something unintelligible, and then conks out again. When he stirs again with more of his senses about him, it’s in a hospital room shared with Tokoyami Fumikage and Jirō. The atmosphere is subdued, and Kaminari – now with time to remember the thoughts prompted by Midnight’s advice – finds himself a little too embarrassed to try to lighten the mood with his usual wit (or lack thereof).

Over the following weeks – with Shigaraki Tomura’s devastation of Jaku City, with Midoriya’s abrupt exit from U.A., with All for One’s machinations making life tumultuous and culminating in a war of unseen proportions – it (thankfully, yet regrettably, considering the circumstances) slips to the back of his mind. It’s only afterwards, when their first year is over and the perils of the world have started resolving themselves into a new normal, that Kaminari reflects on that moment, pulling it out and examining it from multiple angles.

Jirō apparently inspires him in a way that no one else does, and that has…implications. He’s nearing 17 and carries an easy infatuation for the opposite sex that’s resulted in a year of hitting on most every girl with a decent body and pretty smile, even though none of them have given him more than a passing glance and certainly don’t make him feel brave. But the Hearing Hero has never really seemed all that impressed with him, and there’s no way his feelings – young though they are, simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating – are reciprocated. Surely they’ll just…fade into the background if he doesn’t think too much about them. 

He spends the next two years both passively and actively (depending on the circumstance) trying to bury his feelings in a dark corner of his mind. It works…poorly.

Which is to say, not at all.

Despite their increasing workload – the end of the war has resulted in a deficit of heroes, and society is relying on the next generation, their generation, to course-correct – whenever he has free time (on the weekend, during lunch, on breaks, late at night), his thoughts drift to her.

Two years of additional interaction hasn’t changed the fact that Jirō is still the coolest person he’s ever met. She knows how to handle him whether his mood is cheeky or somber, laughs when he overloads (which thankfully becomes less frequent with time), rolls her eyes at his dorkiness. When he’s lucky, his charisma (honed through years of practice) and flirtations elicit a rare half-grin from her, and he feels his heart thud in his chest at his success, because even though he’s the same with everyone, she’s the one it’s intended for.

Her opinion means an uncomfortable amount to him, more than anyone’s really should, a fact that becomes more apparent the more time he spends with her. Kirishima Eijirō’s his best friend, and Ashido Mina is kind of his twin, and Yaoyorozu Momo is like his older sister, but none of them really hold a candle to how he sees Jirō.

He’s afraid to put a label on it, because if he does, he knows what he wants to call it, yet Jirō has never shown any interest that comes close to reciprocation; years of watching, bantering, teasing has given him enough insight to her personality, quirks, tells – just her – that he’s sure he would know something if she felt the same.

So he keeps it all locked in his dreams – both conscious and unconscious – and prays it’s just a really long phase, that he’ll get over it, that the terrible pit of absolute longing in his stomach can be filled with simple friendship (or a really good meal).

And in the rare moments of optimism, he hopes that what he feels is mutual, no matter all evidence to the contrary.

Aizawa-sensei announces, at the end of homeroom and with no preamble, that they’re going to have a formal in two weeks. Kaminari opens his mouth to ask ‘formal what?’, because it feels like there’s a word missing, but then Ashido and Hagakure Tōru bounce from their seats, hands slapping their desks, and squeal, “Really?”

It must be one of the ‘normal’ high school things U.A. sometimes throws at them, because nearly three years of being in a class with the two girls has taught Kaminari that only that stuff gets them this excited. 

Their teacher sighs, appearing annoyed. “Yes. Your last event before graduation. All third-year classes will be in attendance…” he’s shuffling to the door, lethargy in every step, “so have fun.”

To his right, Ashido’s beaming. “Ahh, this is so exciting! I wonder what I should wear…”

Kaminari leans away from her, turning to his left and whispering to Jirō, “What’s a formal?”

The indigo-haired girl shoots him a bored side-eye; she’s twirling a pencil around her right earphone jack. “A dance. A fancy one, if you couldn’t tell from the name.”

Kaminari’s heart skips a beat, and though he knows exactly why, he merely nods. Throughout the room, his classmates have started conversing with each other in pairs and trios, but the blond can’t make out what they’re saying, golden-eyed gaze stuck on the girl to his left. They’re a month away from graduating, and he finds himself wondering at the potential opportunity.

Midoriya Izuku asks Uraraka Ochako out in a stammering display in the middle of their dorm’s common room two nights later, made even more embarrassing by the fact that they’ve been dating for five months and no one understands how he’s still so shy around her. Ojirō Mashirao quietly leans over the couch the following evening and asks Hagakure if she’ll accompany him, and Todoroki Shōto – who is somehow even less adept at navigating social situations than Midoriya – wonders aloud in Yaoyorozu’s general vicinity if she would like to be his partner for the evening.

Tokoyami joins Kaminari, Sero Hanta, and Kirishima at lunch the day after, and the blond – having decided the inevitable rejection is too much for his heart to take – is about to suggest they all go stag together when the latter stands up, marches over to where the girls are eating, and asks in too loud a voice if Ashido will be his date for the formal. There’s a squeal from the pink-skinned girl, an emphatic ‘Yes!’, and Kaminari catches Jirō’s eyes watching from over Mina’s shoulder. His heart rate picks up and he averts his gaze, forcing himself to listen to Sero talk about a girl from the General Studies course who asked him out before class that morning.

He kind of wishes he had his own story to tell, but as Kaminari has never been particularly brave (except for once, really, and there’s a profound irony that she’s the source of both his courage and cowardice), he settles for digging around his mashed potatoes and offering the Taping Hero a (dim) smile.

Three days before the event finds him settled into the group of Class 3-A guys with no dates: a conglomeration of the reserved Tokoyami, skeevy Mineta Minoru, and unapproachable Bakugō Katsugi. None of them seem too put-out – well, Mineta does, but even three years of training to become a Pro Hero and learning the barest semblance of propriety has done little to clear the smaller boy’s perverse history and tendencies – and Kaminari is fine with it.

Kinda. Sorta.

Okay, he’s at least accepted it.

He’s strumming a guitar (borrowed from Jirō’s collection, with permission of course) alongside Tokoyami in the other boy’s room, a routine exchange of chords they’ve engaged in ever since practicing for their first-year school festival, when a knock precedes Asui Tsuyu entering and asking, in her usual direct manner, if Tokoyami is willing to go with her to the formal. The bird-headed boy looks over, nods once, and Tsuyu departs with a casual wave before Tokoyami returns his attention to the instrument in his hands. It takes only a few moments to realize that there’s no harmony, and his sharp-eyed glance goes to the blond sitting beside him. Dark Shadow, hovering over his shoulder and watching them play, comments blithely, “Hey, Fumikage, he looks pretty stunned.”

Tokoyami makes a noise of agreement, then says, “You should have asked her.”

Kaminari blinks, shaken from his stupor by his friend’s words. “Who, Tsu-chan? Why would I, especially if you guys have a thing.”

“Not Tsuyu, and we don’t.” Dark Shadow leans over and plucks two strings in quick succession with his claws, creating a discord that draws a look of reproach from his partner. “Jirō.”

The cacophony Denki’s fingers make falling down the guitar’s body puts Dark Shadow’s ruckus to shame, and he fumbles with the instrument, eyes wide. “Hah?! I don’t know what—”

“Kaminari.” Tokoyami’s deep voice is unwavering, his beady red eyes piercing through the blond. “I am no fool, and though you may act it, I know you are not either.”

Cornered, embarrassed, and unable to meet the other boy’s gaze, Kaminari looks down. “Yeah,” he mutters, “maybe.” Or maybe she’s better off going with someone she wants to, someone she deserves. There’s a saying he remembers from middle school – shoot for the moon, and even if you miss, you’ll still be among the stars – but it seems like every time he’s taken that shot, he just face-plants back on the ground. He’s not sure he can pick himself back up if he misses this one, so it remains unfired. Jirō has always seemed remarkably unaffected by his attempts to woo her. “How long…have you known?”

“Since our first school festival. But I’d only assumed until now.”

Kaminari doesn’t think he’d even known back then. It somehow makes him feel more pathetic. Instead, he plucks at the guitar strings, creating a melancholic riff, and Tokoyami joins his moping with his own chords. “Something a little darker?” he poses to the room’s owner.

And Tokoyami, good friend that he is, doesn’t press any further. “My favorite.”

The night of the formal is cool and clear, although the number of bodies in the gym ensures that everyone is warm. Kaminari has mostly stuck to the sidelines thus far, trying to avoid the obvious fact that he’s one of the very few people who doesn’t have a date. Bakugō, with his permanent scowl, has been providing convenient (semi-obvious) cover, up until Uraraka comes over and somehow convinces him to a single dance. Midoriya takes over from the temperamental boy as the blond’s temporary standing partner, commenting, “This is nice, huh, Kaminari-kun?”

Kaminari grants the green-haired boy a noncommittal hum in response. “You’re okay with letting Uraraka dance with Kacchan?”

Midoriya lets out a small laugh. “Ah, well, it was her idea. Said she didn’t like the thought of Kacchan being left out, y’know?”

“So does that mean I’m next?” Kaminari asks, voice tinged with false cheer.

“I-I’m sure if you ask—!” comes the stammering response, and the blond laughs at Deku’s social inadequacy. He waves off the shorter boy’s awkwardness with a gesture that’s meant to indicate he’s clearly joking, and Midoriya settles into sharing a quiet grin with him. In the next moment, it relaxes into something more thoughtful. “You didn’t come with anyone? I figured you would’ve asked Jirō-san—”

Kaminari’s laugh turns awkward and definitely a little too high-pitched. “Hahaha, no, that…that…”

He doesn’t really know what to say, because it’s what he’s dreamed of for weeks, years really, and yet it’s beyond his reach. Midoriya is a better man than him, because if Jirō was his date, he’s not sure he could bear to watch her dance with another guy. Hell, it’s part of the reason he’s specifically been trying not to look around too much, because if he gets a glance of whomever she’s with at this formal, it may very well break him.

He escapes further conversation with the green-haired teen by going for a drink, eventually settling himself at a table where Sero is chatting with his own date. Kaminari gives a little wave and smile as he sits, feigning interest well enough to not appear rude when the Taping Hero introduces them to each other.

“Hey, can we join you?”

Kaminari turns at Kirishima’s voice, the welcome on the tip of his tongue dying as he catches sight of who’s with him.

Next to the Sturdy Hero and Ashido stands Jirō, resplendent in a plum-colored, spaghetti-strap dress that falls nearly to her ankles. The color gives her pale skin an almost ethereal glow, and Denki can’t keep his golden eyes from raking over her, top to bottom and then back up, repeatedly, in a way that’s anything but subtle.

He feels suddenly inadequate, sitting before her at the table in his white button-down and charcoal-gray pants and vest, accented by a tie the color of boysenberries. Mina helped him pick it out two days earlier on a last-minute shopping trip, finger to her chin and gaze thoughtful when he asked for recommendations on a color. He realizes suddenly that it’s nearly the same shade as Jirō’s dress and almost bites his tongue in a fit.

Damn you, Mina.

The three of them have taken a seat while Kaminari’s been stuck in his own head, Sero apparently having granted permission in the interim. Jirō’s taken the spot next to him, and the blond tries to pay attention to Sero’s introduction of their classmates to his date, but his eyes keep wandering towards the girl on his right. He decides to try and start a conversation with her and settles on the topic most likely to hurt him just to get it out of the way. “Didn’t want to save room for your date?”

The words are said in jest, with his usual (albeit fake) grin, but he knows the answer is a dagger poised to stab his heart.

“She doesn’t have one,” Ashido pipes up from Jirō’s right side, leaning over slightly so she’s also within the blond’s line of sight. Golden irises set within pitch-black sclera sparkle with mischief, matching the glitter of her silver dress.

Jirō hisses her name in embarrassed reprimand, and Kaminari, stunned, asks, “No one asked you?”

“She turned down no less than four guys!” Ashido chirps with an overabundance of cheer.

“Mina!”

“Why?” Kaminari manages, slack-jawed.

“Because she—gah!”

Jirō’s stabbed the pink-skinned girl with her ear jack, a red flush spreading prettily across her cheeks. Kirishima has one arm around Ashido, the pink of his tie perfectly coordinated with her hair (and clashing terribly with his). He shoots a confused look at Jirō – apparently he hasn’t been paying attention to this particular conversation – and receives a curt, “Can you keep Mina distracted for a couple minutes?” Kirishima merely nods in response.

Now that they seem to have a private moment, Jirō turns back to Kaminari and says, raspy voice quiet, “I didn’t want to go with any of them.”

Kaminari gulps, fingers twitching in desperate search of a distraction. This conversation suddenly feels very poignant. His throat is dry, so he takes a sip of his drink and manages to eke out, “And…was there someone you did want to go with?” 

The expression she shoots him is almost…coy. It’s got Jirō’s usual social shyness mixed with a hint of pointed expectation. “Dance with me?”

Kaminari’s chair nearly clatters to the floor in his haste to stand and offer her his hand. He’s beyond nervous, but even he isn’t so stupid as to miss this blatant neon sign. Jirō takes the proffered appendage and rises, waving to Kirishima, Mina, Sero, and…Kaminari wants to say Mai?...as they leave and receiving several thumbs up in response.

There’s a slow song playing over the speakers, and Kaminari doesn’t really know what to do with his body as Jirō sets herself up in front of him. But then she wraps her arms around his waist, hands resting in the middle of his back, and her ear jacks lace themselves around his neck, leaving only a few inches of space between them. Denki can feel his heart threatening to pound out of his chest, but he mimics her movements, arms coming around her back and holding her close with more care than he’s ever given anything. The material of her dress is silky smooth under his fingers, each digit tracing the curves of her body beneath with tiny movements careful not to pass the border of propriety. He opens his mouth to say something, finds it dry, swallows, and somehow chokes out, “You’re…you look…beautiful. Like, absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous. I didn’t even know you owned a dress, but it’s…wow…” 

Now that the dam has been broken, he's just babbling. He can’t believe he’s getting everything he’s been dreaming of and he’s this nervous.

Jirō’s been staring pointedly at his chest this whole time, but she looks up as his words trail off, dark eyes sparkling and porcelain cheeks scarlet. “Thanks. You look pretty handsome, too,” she admits, her natural shyness struggling against her willingness to hold his gaze. Her lips quirk in the signature expression he’s grown used to seeing preceding her playful sarcasm. “I especially like your tie.”

His golden eyes flicker down as if to confirm the color, basically the same as her dress, like they were meant to go together.

Mina, you’re the best.

He grins down at her, charming with a touch of nerves.

Jirō’s head falls to his chest, settling there like it’s a pillow, and Kaminari’s heart starts stampeding like a wild stallion. There’s no way she doesn’t hear it, her ears are right there. This is the closest he’s ever been to Jirō – the closest she’s ever allowed anyone – and it’s all he’s wanted. He tightens his hold on her, just a little, so that they’re basically embracing and swaying in place.

“How come you don’t have a date?” she murmurs into his chest.

Denki chokes on air, not expecting the question. He takes a moment to recover, gathering up the courage he’s not even sure he has to respond. But Jirō’s already been brave enough to take the first step, which is more than he ever thought would happen, so Kaminari takes a deep breath and replies, “I didn’t think you’d want to go with me.”

Jirō’s response is muffled in his vest. “And now?”

He squeezes her in his embrace, a short, desperate hug, and tries to ignore the way his stomach flips, how her body slots against his and makes him feel. “I’ll never let you go again,” he whispers, resting his cheek against the top of her head. “…If…if that’s okay with you?”

Jirō hums, and he thinks he can feel her smiling. “I’d be okay with that.” 

He spends the rest of the night with Jirō in his arms, or with her fingers laced with his when they take a break, and the most beatific smile on his lips.

They’re sitting on her bed and Kaminari is watching her play bass guitar, his gaze wholly focused on the way her fingers move across the strings. Ever since second year, when the threat from villain groups receded to a status quo and their education returned to normal, they’ve had moments like these. Sometimes Tokoyami joins them, and when Jirō gets new song ideas, they even rope Momo and Bakugō into a jam session in the common room, but a lot of the time, it’s just her and Denki. He’s learned to appreciate these moments, where he can just watch and listen rather than play, because Jirō never seems as free or expressive as when she’s got an instrument in her hand and a tune in her heart.

He's not sure if she’s ever taken him seriously with his praise for her hobby and how cool it is, because he tends to come off as overly excitable and peppy, and maybe that makes his sincerity feel a little more like pandering no matter its authenticity, but she’s also never shooed him away, so he thinks maybe, just maybe, he’s gotten through.

And hey, she asked him to dance a week ago, at a formal dance, wearing a dress and everything, so he supposes she must like that he’s a bit intense, right?

He can feel himself grinning, that moment having gotten him through a blistering week of classes and reviewing for final exams, and Jirō stops playing. Kaminari’s attention is drawn from her fingers to her face, where she has one thin eyebrow raised with familiar skepticism. “What’s got you so excited, Jamming-Whey?”

His smile grows more pronounced. “Nothin’. Just thinking.”

“Don’t overdo it. I’d prefer you didn’t blow a circuit in my room.”

Denki laughs; then, because his brain is fixed there and he’s always had terrible impulse control, he asks, “How disappointed were you that I didn’t ask you to the formal?”

Jirō, fingers randomly plucking strings as part of some unknown interlude, stops. “Fairly,” she admits, face turned away from him, apparently finding some comfort in not having to see him. “Every girl dreams of being asked out by someone she really likes, so I thought…maybe I was wrong about how you felt—”

“You…you knew?” Denki asks, so shocked he wonders if he’s been affected by his own Quirk. He collapses backwards on the bed, head on her pillows, and runs fingers through his mess of blond locks. “How?” He’s never told anyone of course, but based on Tokoyami’s comments, and Mina’s color-coordinating scheme, it’s possible he’s never really been all that subtle either.

Jirō lays back, too, the bass resting on her stomach. It’s well into the evening on a Friday night, they’re both wearing older pajamas, and Denki realizes that, in any other context, this could be considered somewhat intimate, especially for two people who only recently seem to be crossing beyond the boundary of friendship. He can feel his heart rate increase, just a little, and from his periphery, Jirō turns her head to face him.

Wordlessly, her earphone jacks begin to move, the tips coming to rest on his body, one over the pulse point in his left wrist, the other on his shirt, directly over his heart. He’s been on the receiving end of the jacks before, but every other time has been a poke or jab, something to dissuade him from further action or in retaliation for some off-color comment. She’s never touched him with this sort of…intended gentleness.

He stands corrected: this is intimate, especially for Jirō. His heart is pounding in his ears and he can’t believe she’s not deafened by its loudness.

“You get like this a lot,” she says quietly, her normally flat voice low with respect for the sudden atmosphere around them. “In class sometimes, or when we’d team up in training, or jam together. Or even when we’re just hanging out in the common room. I found it soothing. It’s like…” she takes her right hand and strums a solo on the bass, a fast, repetitive line that Denki realizes is practically in time with his pulse. “You keep the beat, and I’m your inspiration. It always made me feel really…special.

“I didn’t really figure out what it meant until spring semester last year,” she admits. “Sometimes the others get the same way. Midoriya and Uraraka, or Mina and Kirishima. They kind of make that sort of thing a bit more obvious.”

Her tone has a hint of her usual wry humor, but Kaminari is still too stunned to appreciate the gibe at their classmates. “You’ve sat on this for over a year?!” he whisper-yells. It’s a miracle he’s able to keep his voice within a reasonable decibel; something about the atmosphere must have subconsciously impressed upon his brain.

She shoots him a flat look, somehow managing to retain a semblance of their normal banter while he’s over here freaking the fuck out. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“Bu—wh—how—” he takes a deep breath, using the moment to gather his thoughts. Nerves settling, he says quietly, “You never said anything. Do…did you not like me back?”

The fact that he almost asks the question in the present tense is terrifying, because he thinks the dance gave him a clear indication of her feelings, but now he’s just trying to understand…everything. Denki knows he’s kind of a coward and Jirō is shy, but it seems like they’ve missed some golden opportunity (or several) because either he’s an idiot (likely) or she just didn’t return his feelings (…also likely).

The earphone jack touching his pulse wraps around his wrist. Jirō turns onto her side to face him fully and slowly, tentatively, the jack brings his hand to rest on her chest, just over her sternum.

Kaminari has to focus on not short-circuiting, because his hand is way way too close to a spot he’s only ever dreamed of, and Jirō is not the kind of person to let someone – anyone – get in this kind of position with her. Her amusement at his electrified state notwithstanding, now would be an inopportune moment to lose his faculties. 

A rapid heartbeat flutters under his palm, and he absently wonders what her Heartbeat Surround attack would do with this kind of rhythm. “It sounds like—” he murmurs, and then reaches out with his other hand and uses two fingers to play the chords he hears on the bass. It’s a little awkward from their position, and he doesn’t have nearly the same ear or experience as Jirō, but he hopes the message is getting across, that he’s understanding her intent.

Jirō’s pale skin is flushed all the way to the V-neck of the shirt his hand is partially covering. “It’s been like this for a while. Even after I figured it out, I couldn’t…” she turns onto her back, staring at the ceiling while his hand falls to the comforter between them. “And, well, you’ve never really seemed interested in a girl like me.” 

Denki’s confused – an altogether not-unfamiliar feeling, considering his academic record, although this is definitely a new context – because he’s assumed that their confessions so far have indicated the exact opposite, that his feelings have not been nearly as well hidden as he thought. And Jirō is one of the coolest people he knows, a fact that he’s told her often enough since their first year, even if it’s taken dozens of repeated utterances to get the idea to stick. “What’re you talking about? You’re amazing. How could anyone not be interested in you?”

And how is he so lucky to be the one she reciprocates those feelings for?

She glances at him, the look somewhere between annoyed and skeptical – an impressive combination to pull off in one expression, but Kaminari’s gotten used to reading her over the years (although, apparently, not nearly enough) – and then says, “Not because of all this.” She gestures to her room at large, which he assumes is meant to be indicative of her likes and personality. “Because of…this,” and the gesture kind of floats down the extent of her body as her voice trails off, somehow seeming more embarrassed over this than anything else.

It takes him a long moment to grapple with what she’s saying, and if it’s partially because he is desperately trying to wordlessly will her to look back at him instead of keeping her dark eyes pointed elsewhere, he doesn’t really feel like he can be blamed. “Jirō…are you…” he hesitates in voicing the thought, because this seems like an especially taboo topic, and it very much feels like he’s about to shove his foot in his mouth, but then presses forward, “…do you think you’re not attractive?”

Her continued silence and inability to meet his eyes feel like dead giveaways, but she eventually mumbles, “You always seemed to like looking at girls who’re more…developed.”

His pulse has slowed to its normal pace, but there’s an uncomfortable churning in his gut that feels like it’s emanating from his heart. In any other situation, he would try to provoke her into an annoyed jab or make her laugh with his dorkiness, whether through his Quirk or some other means, but this isn’t like any other situation. He wouldn’t think that the girl beside him is somehow ashamed of how she looks—

But he can see it now, in his memories – his antics with Mineta and how their (early) attention always seemed fixated on the other girls, the ones who seemed to stand out more prominently than punk-rock hero Earphone Jack. He wants to blame his smaller friend, who led the charge more often than not, but it’s disingenuous of him to lay everything at the purple-haired boy’s feet, because while he had lines he wouldn’t cross, he also participated in his fair show of juvenile antics. He wants to blame being young, a 15-year-old with wild hormones and a little too much imagination, but most of their classmates were the same, and none of them preoccupied themselves with asking out every well-developed female in their year.

It’s his obsessive need to be on the cutting edge of all things, to put on airs in an effort to hide the fact that he feels like an absolute failure, undeserving of what he has, a total idiot—

And he’s even stupider, because Jirō is waiting for a response in silence while these thoughts bounce around his head, when what he really should be doing is saying—

“Jirō…Kyōka,” he murmurs when she doesn’t immediately respond to his call, and dark eyes snap over to him, red still striped across her cheeks, her neck, her collarbone. There’s an unwritten rule that they all call each other by last name, with some exceptions – Tsuyu, Yao-momo, Kacchan (for certain people) – because that’s how they started and that’s what’s stuck, and this is the first time he’s called her anything other than her surname or Hero name. He likes the way it sounds. “I like the way you look. A lot. Maybe you think I’m…shallow or whatever, ‘cause of how I acted back then, and yeah, you’re probably right, but you’re the only one I’ve thought about for the last two years. You’re beautiful…stunning really”—she snorts, and Kaminari smiles, because his use of the word is totally intentional—“and it doesn’t matter to me that you’re not”—careful, Denki, watch your words!—“built like Yao-momo. It’s not like I look like Kirishima or Bakugō, right?”

“…They are quite hunky, huh?” Jirō muses in her dry voice.

Kaminari grins at her; his bid for humor seems to have worked. Solemnly, he says, “Promise me you won’t think like that anymore.” He holds up his pinky finger between them.

Jirō’s just watching him, but he doesn’t move, waiting for her to take the extended digit. “You really don’t mind?” Her voice is laced with suspicion, unsurety, hope. Kaminari wonders how long this has been festering and swears to himself that he’ll break her of this insane notion that she’s not the prettiest girl he knows. 

“Nope! I meant what I said at the formal. Drop-dead gorgeous. If you’d seen yourself in that dress—”

“I did, I had to put it on, you know.”

“—then you definitely know!” He pushes his pinky forward a little, a gentle urge, and she wraps an earlobe around it in a solemn oath they created early in their second year. He’s reassured by this promise, and with how close they are and the mood of the night, he finds he desperately wants to kiss her, to override her insecurities with his affection. But because Denki is fixated on course-correcting and making up for lost time without pushing Jirō past her (physical) comfort zone, and because he’s an idiot, he cheekily adds, golden eyes sparkling with playfulness, “I would’ve helped you take it off if you’d asked.”

Jirō is beet-red. Kaminari can’t believe he’s even said something so insanely brazen, especially to the Hearing Hero, and even more surprised that she hasn’t jabbed him for his crass. A week ago, she definitely would have. “Maybe someday,” she murmurs after a stretch. She sits up before he can process her response and announces that she’s going to bed; the blond takes that as his cue to leave, dropping a hasty kiss on her forehead when he gets up. It’s the best he can manage right now, and Jirō smiles fondly at him in her reserved manner when she bids him good night.

Kaminari steps out into the hallway and ponders on what he should do next.

Raucous drums, steady bass, and soaring guitars blast from the dorm building of Class 3-A. The class is scattered around the band on the common room’s floor and couches, some even standing in the back. At the keyboards, Yaoyorozu exchanges glances with Tokoyami and Kaminari while Bakugō’s intense focus remains on his drum kit and Jirō sings to their friends. Even little Eri – nine years old and as cute as the day she stepped into their lives – is in attendance, seated right in front of Midoriya with wide crimson eyes as awestruck and happy as the day they sang during their first school festival.

There’s a final roll of the drums accompanying Jirō’s last lilting vocals of Hero, Too, the reprise to the song that started it all for their ragtag band. Jirō speaks into the mic, voice energized beyond its normal dry sarcasm, “Class 3-A, you’ve been a wonderful audience! That's it for us tonight, thank you all!”

She’s drowned out by the applause from her classmates, cheers and whoops and whistles from additional mouths Shōji Mezō has formed on his Dupli-Arms. The band basks in the praise, and Kaminari stares at Jirō’s profile from one side, admiring how carefree she looks in the moment, how playing and being surrounded by music seems to release her from the burdens of everyday life.

He wonders if he’s good enough to bring that expression to her face on his own merit.

Their classmates are around her now, pulling her into their midst and praising her performance; Yaoyorozu steps away from her keyboard and approaches Todoroki, who offers her a small smile and warm congratulations.

“Uh…”

Kaminari’s unsure voice echoes through the microphone, and all attention turns back to the makeshift stage. Most of his classmates look confused to see the blond boy standing nervously centerstage, especially with their performance completed, and he gulps beneath the extra attention. This seemed like a good idea a week ago, but now, in the moment, it feels like he hasn’t quite thought this all the way through.

So, par for the course.

Beside him, Tokoyami, the only one aware of his harebrained scheme, puts a hand on his shoulder, and Kaminari takes small comfort in the gesture. Dark Shadow brings the blond an acoustic guitar, and he slings the strap over his shoulder, strumming a few chords to give his fidgeting fingers something to focus on. “I, uh…” he clears his throat, wondering how Jirō manages to do this and momentarily lamenting all the times he pushed her into it. “I’m not gonna pretend that following Jirō is easy, but, uh…I’m gonna try. ‘Cause what I have to say is important. So, um, if you have someone special to you”—his eyes dart briefly to Jirō, holding her gaze for a moment—“this is for you.”

He begins to strum, plucking a simple, gentle rhythm that fills the now-silent room. When he's comfortable with the melody, he leans in and croons, “You might not think you’re a supermodel, but you look like one to meee… I’d rather have your picture on my phone than on the cover of a magaziiine. It’s hard to think that a girl like you could have any insecuritieees… It’s funny how all the things you would change are all things that are cute to meee.

“And I know you don’t believe me, and you think that I’m a fool but I don’t care…”

Kaminari’s voice is an unrefined tenor, a little pitchy, but soft and full of emotion, his golden gaze fixated on Jirō. The indigo-haired girl is watching him from beside Yaoyorozu, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide. “Maay-bee, you’ll never see in you what I see, the little things you do that make me go cray-zy, I’m not cray-zy, you’re perfectly perfect to me…”

Tokoyami begins to strum in rhythm with him, and Bakugō – still seated at his drum kit, and with a better ear for music than either guitarist – reads the melody and adds an intermittent drumbeat that Kaminari absently notes is fairly close to the actual song’s. Voice settling a little with confidence, he continues singing, “You brush it off every time I tell you, your smile lights up the roooom… And I’m guessin’ that you don’t even notice, the whole world notices youuu. You think you’re clumsy, I think you’re cool; you say you’re typical, but I think you ru-ule… Sometimes I wonder if you’ll ever believe that I wrote this song for youuu…”

Kaminari’s practiced this song for the past week with Tokoyami, listened to it hundreds of times to learn every guitar note and every cadence of each lyric. Each repeated iteration has only reinforced how appropriate it is; it’s from a pop-punk band that falls right within Jirō’s wheelhouse, and every word fits how he feels about her to a tee. It covers her insecurities and how none of them matter to him, because everything about her is what makes him love her.

“You don’t have to try, to change a single thing, it’s just the way you are is sweeter than anything. Maybe I’m a fool but it’s always been you, ‘cause no one ever makes me smile the way you dooo…”

His voice flows back into the chorus as his eyes wander around the room. Uraraka has her head on Midoriya’s shoulder while the two of them sway gently to the guitar, Eri following their motions from her seated position on the ground. Mina’s standing in Kirishima’s embrace, his arms around her midriff; from the comfort of an armchair, Ojirō’s tail is curled around Hagakure. He returns his gaze to Jirō and softly sings, “You’re perfectly perfect to me…”, fingers coming to a standstill on the guitar.

His class bursts into another round of applause, and Tokoyami murmurs into his ear that he pulled it off, but Kaminari’s attention is solely reserved for Jirō. He jumps off the stage, swinging the guitar to his back, and walks toward her, his friends parting around them to create a path. When they’re standing a mere foot apart, she admits, voice soft, “That was pretty good. You’re a better singer than I thought.”

He smiles at her, just the corner of his mouth lifting up, his normally blinding grin restrained by reservations at her potential reaction. This gesture could have easily backfired, because Jirō is nothing if not private, but so far she doesn’t seem to be berating him for the spectacle, so he’ll take the (tentative) victory. “High praise from you.”

Jirō ducks her head, bangs hiding her eyes in a display of modesty. “Was that…did you—” 

“I learned it for you,” he blurts out, still a little nervous. He’s starting to understand why Jirō hates public spectacles. “And I mean every word.”

“I see…”

She wraps her arms around him and pulls him into a hug. After a moment of surprise, he reciprocates the gesture, relishing her closeness, the softness of her hair against his cheek, her petite frame warm against him. They stay like that for several seconds until Jirō finally pulls away enough to look up at him, her face, for once, unguarded. Kaminari can see that her eyes are bright with vulnerability, and her expression is almost…hopeful. She’s never been so open, and it feels like she’s asking him to—

He leans down and kisses her, soft and sweet and tentative. Her lips move against his, and it’s everything he’s dreamed it would be, even as his heart pounds wildly in his chest.

There’s a loud whoop behind him – Mina, of course – and Hagakure is cheering, and Dark Shadow comments, “It’s about time, huh, Fumikage?” The pair breaks apart, though their gazes remain locked.

Jirō licks her lips, cheeks flushed. “Ah, that was…”

“Really nice?” Kaminari supplies hopefully.

“Public,” she admits, “but yeah, that, too. Can we, uh…go somewhere else?”

The rest of their class is crowding in, and he can sense an interrogation from Mina looming that he wants to avoid. It’s their last night in the dorms and Kaminari has always been willing to do whatever Jirō asks. “Anywhere you want.”

She takes him by the hand and leads him up to the girls’ side of the dorms. There’s an almost predictable swell of catcalls behind them – he can make out the voices of Mina, Mineta, and Sero – but they ignore it all. They reach the third floor and Kaminari stops her as they exit the elevator. “Sorry about that. I shouldn’t have—” 

She leans up and silences him with another kiss, gentle but sure. “Don’t worry about it,” she says when she finally pulls away. “I really wanted you to do it.”

He grins at her, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. It feels like he’ll never stop smiling. “You really are perfect,” he whispers, and then he drowns himself on her lips.

Chapter Text

“Phew! You know who’d be really good at this kinda thing? Uraraka. Or Shōji. Kirishima. Satō.”

“And yet,” Jirō replies dryly, walking past Kaminari and placing the guitars she’s brought up on their stands in her room, “I only have you.”

He straightens from plopping down a heavy speaker, flexing for her benefit. “Well, what kinda boyfriend would I be if I didn’t help you move into your new place, huh?”

She gives an appreciative hum in response, offering him a peck on the cheek that’s still enough to cause Kaminari’s stomach to turn with butterflies. Then she’s out the door for the next load of stuff, and Denki takes a moment to glance around.

The apartment Jirō and Yaoyorozu have gotten is already furnished to the latter’s immaculate, if somewhat old-fashioned, taste. They’ve found a place in Musutafu to keep the commute as sidekicks to their sometimes-teacher Thirteen’s agency fairly short, and Yaoyorozu’s natural inclination to be prepared for all things means that everything except Jirō’s personal belongings have been in place since the day they moved out of the dorms a week ago.

And Kaminari, willing to do anything to spend time with Kyōka before his sidekick gig with Lion Hero Shishido starts in Ueda, is more than happy to help move her in.

They spend another hour moving boxes and musical paraphernalia up two flights of stairs, and at the end, both young heroes collapse on the couch, Jirō’s head on Kaminari’s shoulder. The blond lets out a heavy breath. “Phew! Well, that’s one way to kill an afternoon. I don’t remember moving into the dorms being that rough.”

“You probably fried it out of your brain during all our training first year.”

He shifts his shoulder to jostle the Hearing Hero’s head. “Rude!” There’s a moment of silence, and then he asks, “Hey, wanna go out and do something?”

“…I’m trying to decide if it’s worth leaving the couch.”

Her deadpan pulls a whine from his throat, just to annoy her. “Come on, Kyōka! Who knows how much time we’ll have together once our jobs start.”

“Mm, fair enough.” Her head lifts off his shoulder and she rises, arms reaching upwards in a stretch that pulls the hem of her shirt high enough to reveal a sliver of pale stomach. Kaminari watches, momentarily transfixed, until she spares him a glance and arches an eyebrow as if to ask why he hasn’t moved. “Don’t even think about it, Jamming-Whey.”

He shoves down the first comment that comes to mind – as well as the desire to pull her into his lap and start something that’s likely a little outside her comfort zone – and shoots to his feet with a grin. “Right, date night!”

He holds his arm out, an offer to link limbs, but Kyōka rolls her eyes and moves toward the door. Kaminari drops his arm, used to her propensity for ignoring cheesy gestures (albeit previously as friends), and follows her outside, where the late afternoon sunshine forces him to shade his eyes. “Where do you wanna go?”

Jirō looks around at Musutafu below, as if trying to get her bearings. “Not sure, haven’t really been to this part of the city before.”

“How ‘bout we just wander around?” Kaminari suggests, heading for the stairs. “It might be the last time we can walk around unhindered before we get super famous!”

A jack comes up and pokes him in the cheek, ruining his grin. “Our class is already famous, dork. Besides, you’ll be in Ueda, so the only one getting ‘super famous’ here is me, and that’s…”

She trails off, and Kaminari shoots her a curious glance. Her jacks are twirling around each other, but there’s no color in her cheeks; nervous, or apprehensive perhaps, but not embarrassed. He takes her hand and squeezes reassuringly, probing, “What?”

Kyōka shakes her head. “Just…not really sure I want to be a…household name, I guess. I like being able to help people, but being in the spotlight? That’s a lot more pressure, and…I’m not really a people person. Remember our interview training?”

He adopts a pensive expression, recalling a multitude of moments over the last three years. “Sure, but it’s not like you failed it. Remember how Midoriya was?”

She chortles at that, their former classmate’s terror in the face of the press, even as practice, a failure of epic proportions. “Maybe not, but it’s not like being better than Midoriya in that regard is a high benchmark. Try being compared to people like Yao-momo or Ashido or…you. The difference in stage presence is huge, and…I kind of prefer that, I guess.”

“You have great stage presence!” Kaminari asserts, throwing his hands into the air to emphasize his point; at some point she must have wriggled out of his grip, though he’s not sure when (or why). “When you’re putting on a concert, everyone’s watching you!” I’m watching you, he thinks, unable to tear his gaze off her in those moments. “I bet if you did that, you’d get plenty of fans.”

Jirō shoots him her patented deadpan. “If I wanted to do that, I would’ve become a musician instead of a Hero.”

Kaminari opens his mouth, closes it, and accedes, “True.” The silence stretches for a long moment as they walk through this section of Musutafu, and the blond wonders if there’s a sudden frigidity tinging their outing – brought on by his own foot-in-mouth syndrome – or if he’s just imagining it. His hands grasp at air, Kyōka’s in her pockets, and he points to a street vendor outside at a nearby park. “Hey, how ‘bout something to eat?”

They settle on a park bench with an order of takoyaki each, yaki tomorokoshi – a corn cob brushed with sauce and seasoning – to share, and bottles of ramune to wash it all down. Kaminari fidgets a little, chomping down a single octopus ball with a little more bite than necessary, wondering if he needs to apologize for something, when Kyōka murmurs, “This is what it’s all about.”

He’s still chewing, and so only manages a muffled noise of question in response. Jirō, bless her, understands his garbled nonsense and subtly points a jack at the playground before them, where a group of children are playing under the supervision of their parents. “Everyone is able to enjoy the sunshine, or dusk in this case, and live in peace, and to me, it’s more important that they can do that rather than being the person who gets credited for that.”

Kaminari nods his understanding next to her, silent in his contemplation of what to say. Naturally, he agrees with her, not just because they’ve been taught as such in Hero Class, but because they’ve been through enough turmoil to actively want peace irrespective of which person brings it (so longs as it's done legally, of course); even so, he can’t deny the thrill of seeking a piece of the glory. The blond has always been a little vain in that regard, a desire for recognition driving him to action—

It’s a weakness that’s gripped him for a long time, and he’s ashamed to show it to anyone, let alone the girl he desperately wants to show only the best side of himself to.

Instead of responding, he offers Jirō a smile and a bite of tomorokoshi, which she takes a nibble of. Kaminari pulls the corn back and takes his own bite, golden eyes on the frolicking children. “It’s a noble cause,” he finally says, a mixture of honesty and deception by omission. “You’ll be an amazing Hero, Kyōka.”

She nudges his shoulder with her own, a gentle reassurance. “We’ll all find our way, I think.”

It’s such a simple thing to say, yet Kaminari thinks nothing else could so easily reveal both her great kindness and misplaced faith. Still, he appreciates her sentiment, loves her all the more for it, and finds that he wants nothing more in the moment than to kiss her, to show her that she gives him a hope no one else does.

He leans in to show her, but she turns to the side, his lips barely inking a mark on her cheek. Pulling back, Kaminari notices that she’s avoiding eye contact, and the question ‘did I do something wrong?’ almost escapes his mouth. Even though he wants to know, he really doesn’t, because there’s a fear that maybe it’s on him, that he’s screwed something up that he’s been looking forward to for a while, and that’s just unacceptable.

Instead, he throws an arm around the back of the bench they’re on, quiet with the hope that whatever this is will work itself out in time.

“Uhh, what’re you doing?”

Kaminari blinks and turns to look at the speaker. Ojirō is next to him on the couch, expression somewhere between concerned and confused. Sero, in an armchair perpendicular to them, has an eyebrow raised, a handful of popcorn frozen on its path to his mouth.

Denki’s fingers are running through the fine fur at the end of Ojirō’s tail, and the blond drops his friend’s appendage like it’s a lit stick of dynamite. “Sorry!” he apologizes immediately. “I…I didn’t even realize…”

His roommates exchange concerned glances and then focus back on him. “Are you alright?” Ojirō asks.

“I…yeah, yeah of course!” He laughs, though it sounds stilted and awkward to his own ears. “I just…old habits?”

He’s not sure either of them believe him, but they’re willing to leave it alone and return to the movie.

Kaminari sighs, not sure he’s ready to have this particular conversation, and definitely not with the two boys. Sero and Ojirō are his roommates, and his friends, but this is his issue, not theirs.

If he’s honest with himself, it’s become quickly apparent that he’s become too acclimated to the dorm lifestyle provided by Heights Alliance, and that being separated from everyone, but especially Jirō, is not so easy. It’s been three months since they graduated, and the adjustment period has been a trial.

The good news is that they still see each other with some frequency despite being in different cities, and since they’ve had three years to get to know each other – their habits, likes, dislikes, personalities, hopes, dreams – the normal side of dating (learning about a person) is behind them. The bad news is that Kaminari is rediscovering old childhood fears in the interim, and the lack of (near-)constant attention reminds him of a time when he had none, when it felt like he’d drown in loneliness.

It’s baffling at first, because he, Sero, and Ojirō are running on similar schedules, and they’re far from strangers, but he misses jamming with Tokoyami, wrestling with Kirishima, playing (and losing) Twister with Ashido…

Being poked by Jirō’s jacks.

But Tokoyami is in Kyushu at Hawks’ agency, Kirishima is in Esuha City with Fatgum, and Ashido, living not too far, typically splits her time between work and seeing Kirishima. And with Jirō at least an hour’s train ride away, the blond is perhaps slightly starved for physical contact, if not attention.

He’s apparently so distraught that he’s taken up his old habit of playing with Ojirō’s tail, which is some combination of mortifying and inappropriate, especially because he and Jirō are still going steady and he shouldn’t need this sort of reassurance.

But Jirō has never been that simple to understand, or interact with, and dating her is no different.

When they first met, he brushed off her standoffish nature as a consequence of just not knowing each other well. Then, as they grew friendlier, it became more apparent that Jirō was just not particularly enamored with touch, irrespective of how close she got to someone. It was a tool to deter people – stabbing them with her jacks – more than to show affection. And Kaminari, who’s never particularly considered the minutiae behind whether a physical action has positive or negative connotations, always considered that enough for their friendship.

Besides, the blond’s always been a little willing to push boundaries, and taking any presented opportunity to try to breach Jirō’s while also trying to not be (inappropriately) disrespectful of them was a hobby worth investing in.

And his efforts paid off, at least a little. Jirō never got to the levels of tactile that Kirishima or Mina or Kaminari were used to, but she opened up enough over the years where he would get a comforting hand on the shoulder or the rare hug. She was willing to sit next to him, thighs touching, in the common area, and when they were alone in one of their rooms, she would cozy up next to him while watching TV, or put her arms around his body to guide his hands on the guitar.

Nothing earth-shattering, but then again, they weren't dating back then, and his expectations were lower.

Now though, it’s much harder to soothe the age-old ache that’s suddenly returning in full force, the result of Jirō’s physical aloofness in public and subtle reminders that she’s not big on PDA in any capacity. He can’t even take it personally, because it’s not that she’s embarrassed of him, it’s just that she’s embarrassed in general, but none of that really helps how he feels about it.

Or apparently how he’s reacting to it.

He’s forced to roundtable the discussion when Sero brings up his tactile fixation with Ojirō’s tail at their monthly meetup with Ashido, Kirishima, and Bakugō, a routine to stay close amidst the business of their budding Hero careers, Mina enthused at the time. That they got Bakugō to agree – however sourly – to separate from his internship under Rabbit Hero Mirko for even a brief period will never cease to amaze Kaminari.

He shoots Sero a glare when all eyes turn to him, though the expression rolls off the Taping Hero, completely ineffective. “What?” he asks, almost defensive. “It’s not like this is new.”

“I always thought you did it in class because you were bored,” Mina observes.

“You have time to be bored?” Kirishima asks, and he sounds kind of concerned. It’s kind of precious how innocent he is in the grand scheme of things.

“Well he’s not touching Jirō, so yeah, of course he’s bored!” Mina asserts, and then all gazes are on her, Kaminari open-mouthed with surprise. She seems to realize that this is probably information she shouldn’t be disseminating and utters a quick, “Oops!” before focusing on her drink.

There’s silence for a moment until Bakugō mutters, “Ears isn’t into all that touchy-feely crap anyway.”

Kirishima and Sero, sitting on either side of the ash blond, each throw an arm around him in brotherly camaraderie and grin. “Not like you, right, Kacchan?” Sero jests.

“Oi, get your fuckin’ hands off me!”

Sero complies, the grin never leaving his face, but Kirishima – braver than the rest of them by far when it comes to Bakugō – pulls his friend closer, ignoring the curses thrown at him and the way Bakugō looks like he’s going to explode. Despite that, the redhead ponders, “Yeah, but it’s not like that’s new either, so what’s different now?”

All eyes turn to Kaminari again, his twitchy fingers playing with the straw of his soda. He takes a long sip, hoping to distract from this conversation, but even Bakugō – still stuck in Kirishima’s hold – is waiting for a response, feigned disinterest painted across his narrowed eyes and permanent scowl.

The blond sighs and looks down, resigning himself to the discussion. “I miss…people,” he finally mutters. He’s trying not to sound petulant and not sure he’s succeeding. “When your Quirk manifested, did you ever hurt anyone?” He manages to lift his head to look at the other occupants of the table, keying in on Mina and Bakugō specifically. Sero’s Quirk is kind of harmless if used accidentally, and Kirishima’s has less potential for disaster to others than uncontrolled acid or explosions.

“I nearly scratched my own eye,” Kirishima offers, while Ashido looks pensive and Bakugō raises an eyebrow with a muttered 'of course you did'. Sero shakes his head in answer.

“I think there was one boy who I burned a little,” Mina considers, swirling her straw in her drink. “We high-fived and my acid burned through the skin of his palm. But they were able to fix it up, no harm done.” All eyes flicker to Bakugō, who merely shakes his head, though his scowl seems a bit less intense. 

They won’t understand… he thinks. They might sympathize, but they can’t empathize, and that’s kind of the foundation behind his need for touch. He can just explain it as a function of dating and not being very physically involved, but as Bakugō has already alluded, it’s not like he didn’t have an idea of what he was getting into on that front. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Aww, c’mon Kami,” Mina protests, “don’t be like—”

“Raccoon Eyes, leave it alone,” Bakugō orders. “Dunce Face, whatever it is, just talk to Ears. That’s what you do in a relationship.” Everyone stares at Bakugō, and he snarls back, “What?”

“I always knew you were a big softie, Kacchan!” Mina coos.

“Yeah man, since when did you give relationship advice?” Kirishima adds.

Sero grins, leaning in just slightly. “Hey, I’ve got this problem—”

“Screw all of you.”

They all burst into laughter at Bakugō’s dourness, and the conversation moves on. The ash blond lasts another hour before proclaiming he’s had enough of dealing with them for one night, and despite the chorus begging for him to stay, they eventually acquiesce and leave for their homes. Mina hugs Kaminari before they split and whispers in his ear, “You and Jirō just need to learn how to speak each other’s love language. You’ll work it out, don’t worry.”

She kisses him on the cheek and flounces off with Kirishima, leaving him to follow Sero back to their apartment as the redhead waves goodbye to them. Sero shoots him sporadic glances as they walk. “Sorry I brought up Ojirō. I thought it was kinda funny; didn’t think it would be that big a deal.” His perpetual grin slips, just a little, to be replaced by concern. “Are you actually okay?” 

He’s not really sure; he’s definitely not feeling 100%, but it’s hard to say the exact reason. Instead, his mind focuses on Mina’s parting words, rolling them around in his head in an attempt to make them make sense.

It strikes him that his struggle is not just with (apparently) having different ‘love languages’, but that he’s severely lacking in experience. Despite his earnest attempts at begging dates from girls in their first year of high school, and then the uninspired endeavors of their following years (courtesy of pining over Jirō), Kaminari is a relatively fresh 19-year-old with no dating experience. His knowledge of romance comes from what he’s seen of his parents, his friends, and (bad) movies, all thrown together in a boiling pot of his own emotions and instincts, which people not named Ashido, Kirishima, Sero, or Mineta have mostly considered…a lot, even on a calm day.

And it’s not like Jirō’s any more experienced than him, but she is much quieter in general – less vibrant, more reserved, energetic in her own muted way. Their combined inexperience is both a blessing and a curse – no real expectations, but no previous familiarity – and Kaminari wonders if it’s a sign that they’re incompatible. Granted, their differences have never been a problem before – or if it was, she always made it abundantly clear when he went too far, with a snarky response or stab of her jacks – but he’s not confident the same logic applies now that they've moved beyond friendship.

He's afraid that, despite how much he cares about Jirō, if he brings up this mounting insecurity, the problems from his past renewed in a more mature form, he’ll lose her.

“Kaminari?”

The blond smiles at the other boy. Sero’s one of his closest friends, but he makes sure the gesture is airtight, so none of his unsurety shows. “Yep! Just old habits.”

It’s late into the evening, and Kaminari is relaxing in the nice apartment Jirō shares with Yaoyorozu, the latter out for the evening with Todoroki. They’re both on Jirō’s bed, dressed in their pajamas – old t-shirts and loose drawstring pants, black for him, lavender for her – and her indigo hair is resting on his chest, his arm around her shoulders as the television plays a rerun of an old concert, Cheap Trick’s performance at Budokan, which Jirō’s told him is one of the earliest dates her paternal grandparents went on. It’s not the first time they’ve seen it, and Denki’s humming the familiar tune of Surrender under his breath when he releases a contented sigh, finally close to Kyōka for the first time in weeks. 

“Do you want to tell me what’s been bothering you?”

He blinks down at her slowly, confused. “Huh?”

Kyōka’s looking up at him from his chest, dark eyes soft but knowing. She brings her left hand up and rests it beside her cheek, over his heart, to tap a gentle rhythm, about a beat per second. “This is the first time in weeks that it seems like you’re calm. Otherwise it’s mostly been—” and the pace picks up speed, seeming to skip a beat at random intervals.

Sometimes he forgets how good her Quirk is. He wonders if she’s just become super skilled at listening to everything around her, or if she specifically listens to him for anything out of the ordinary. “You’re gonna make it really hard to surprise you with a proposal one day if you keep figuring out when I’m nervous,” he jokes.

“Then you’ll just have to not be nervous when you’re ready to ask,” comes the matter-of-fact response.

…Did she just…accept a marriage proposal? His hand gropes through messy blond locks in utter befuddlement. Why does it seem like we do everything backwards?

“Denki…” and now he’s paying attention, because the way she says his name is just a little bit sad, and he can’t ignore it knowing he’s the cause, “please talk to me.”

He sighs, and Jirō’s head rises and falls with the deep, shuddering motion. “Did you ever have problems controlling your Quirk as a kid?”

“Sure, everyone does at first.”

“Did anything bad ever happen because you lost control?”

It’s a stupid question, because Jirō’s Quirk is essentially harmless unless plugged into something, which is always done with intention, but that she takes time to consider the question – that she’s listening (although when isn’t she?) – means a lot to him. “Not that I know of.”

The response isn’t really any different than what he heard from Bakugō, Mina, Sero, and Kirishima almost a month ago, but this time – because it’s Jirō – he’s willing to divulge what he wouldn’t to them.

“When my Quirk manifested, I accidentally shocked four kids and one of the teachers in my class. Two of them were sent to the hospital in pretty serious condition. They recovered eventually,” he says quickly, as if that’s the biggest concern, “but I was pulled out of school immediately because I was a…a hazard to others. I don’t really remember any of it, since, you know, Jamming-Whey”—Jirō’s lips quirk, the image of the blond in his dorky state a perpetual source of amusement—“but my dad told me later. He’s got a pretty similar Quirk, so he’s immune to it, but my mom, and my friends…

“Well, after that, I wasn’t allowed to be around other people until I could keep all my electricity inside and not shock people when they got close. It wasn’t like I was covered with lightning or anything, just that I couldn’t control when it would come out or how strong it was, and my dad told me that the voltage only increases with age and experience. And my mom…well, uh”—he swallows, knowing that this is the first he’s really told her anything of his family aside from the fact that they’re happily married and living in Kawaguchi—“she’s got a pacemaker because of a heart condition, so we had to be separate, ‘cause otherwise I might accidentally stop it and k-kill her.”

Jirō’s fingers intertwine with his own, and in the moment, his appreciation for her engaging in tactile comfort is more than he can say. She doesn’t interrupt his story, and he continues, “Anyway, I spent like…a year learning how to control my electrical discharges. Dad was great, but it’s kind of hard to be super young and isolated from everyone, so I didn’t really…adapt well? Even when I finally got back to school, there were a lot of kids who remembered what I’d done, or heard about it from someone, so I had a rough time making friends. And, you know, when you’re a kid you want what you don’t have, so I kind of became…touch-starved? Needy?” He laughs weakly. “I really wanted people to just like me again…

“Anyway, I figured out how after a couple years. If you follow what’s popular and kind of joke around, even at your own expense, people would like you. So…that’s kind of what I did? We moved when I was 9 and I changed schools, so I could start over with what I’d learned and ended up becoming, I dunno, popular? Likable, anyways. No one was scared of me anymore, and once they figured out I could recharge their phones or Gameboys, everyone wanted to be around me.” He stares at the ceiling, lost in memory. “Looking back, I guess it was really shallow…I mean, I’m kind of a shallow person anyway, trying so hard to get others’ attention and make them like me, so it makes sense, but I guess it’s not really a good way to live.

“And then I got into U.A. and we moved into the dorms and everyone just kinda…came together. It was easy to not feel lonely there, even if I didn’t always think I fit in.” His voice is getting tired from the recap, but Kaminari also knows some of that is the result of being an emotional mess. “Kirishima and Ashido were always close by and super touchy, and you would poke me with your jacks, and after a while it was easy to forget about everything that happened before. But now we’re Pro Heroes, or sidekicks anyway, and everyone is split up, and you’re…”

Jirō watches for him to complete the thought, but it sounds like he’s choked on his words, a slight pitch that could be construed as hysteria in his timbre. “I’m what?” she prompts.

“…Far away,” he mumbles, embarrassed. “Or it feels like it a lot, even when we’re together. And you’re not really a touchy person, and I get that!” he rushes out, trying to not suggest his strange burden is her fault, because it could easily be interpreted that way. “But it’s not always easy for me to, y’know, deal with that, even if you’re next to me, because I really love you and you want to touch the person you’re with, right? Hold their hand and put your arm around their waist—”

What is he even saying? He’s rambling now, water unleashed from a bursting dam.

“—I mean, I started playing with Ojirō’s tail again, and he’s being really cool about it despite probably thinking I’m absolutely nuts—”

“Denki…” and her gentle voice holds an authority that shuts him up. There’s a moment of silence in which the soaring chorus of I Want You To Want Me is clear in the background – still playing on the television, though turned low by Jirō as the blond has delved into his past – before she turns off the device with a click of the remote. “I know I’m not the best girlfriend—”

“No!” he protests, sitting up with the vehemence of his denial and pitching her off his chest. “Kyōka, you’re the best, really!” He can’t believe he’s told her all this, because of course she’s going to take it the wrong way. And yeah, there are things that he wishes were a little different, at least if he’s being an idealist, but really, he’s fine with how things are, and what in life is perfect…? “This is my stupid problem—”

One of her earphone jacks comes up to his lips in a shushing gesture, and Kaminari falls silent, though he casts her an almost reproachful look as he does so. His look changes to confusion as she shifts on the bed, throwing a leg over him to straddle his waist so that he can’t move anywhere. Something in his brain tells him to support her, so he bends his knees so that she can lean back against them, her knees on the bed, her weight hovering over his stomach. “You had your turn,” she informs him, and her dry tone is a little comforting in its familiarity, though he can still hear the soft undercurrent of concern. “I know I’m not, because I’m not good at this…this thing that you need. I didn’t notice it before, and I really should have.

“Everything great in my life has always been about what I can hear, and how that made me feel in here”—she taps her heart with her other earlobe—“rather than what I could tangibly feel. I know I’m not good with…PDA”—a flush is crawling up her pale neck—“even small gestures, because that’s not how we really displayed affection in my family, and no one’s ever shown interest in me physically, and I…I'm…” There's a pause as she swallows, seemingly wanting to say something and unable to force the words out.

“Kyōka—”

She stabs him with her jack, hard enough to tell him to shut up because she’s not done, and the rest of his protest dies on his tongue as she forges on. “But you’ve been really great about respecting my boundaries, and you tell me I’m beautiful like, every day, and I’ve even started believing it, because what sort of person would stick with me through all these stupid inconveniences if they didn’t mean it?” She sniffs, hard, and brings a jack up to wipe away the tears forming in her eyes. Kaminari’s staring at her face and trying hard not to cry himself, because Jirō really doesn’t get emotional like this and it’s starting to affect him, too, and it sounds like she’s admitting that what he’s been telling her for months now, ever since their confession in her dorm room, since they danced together, might finally be piercing the thick veil of self-doubt she’s held onto for years—

“And now you’re telling me that you’ve been hurting all this time, and I haven’t done anything to help because I’m only used to my own way of dealing with people. But you’re not just anyone to me, Denki,” she says with a fierceness that surprises him. “You’re my person, and we should be dealing with this kind of stuff as a team, okay? Your problem isn’t stupid and it’s not yours to deal with alone, because I love you, and I want to make sure that we have the best life together.”

Kaminari has always considered it an unspoken thing, because Jirō has never been good at verbalizing what she feels (except in song), but to hear her say she loves him kind of feels like one of Bakugō’s hand grenades has just exploded in his chest and flooded his entire body with sunshine. He takes one of her jacks and directs it to his heart, where it’s beating a strong, affectionate rhythm for the amazing woman he’s with. “I love you, too,” he tells her, the same earnestness in his voice that he’d once used to tell her how cool it is that she plays so many instruments, back when they were young and their relationship was nothing more than two sometimes-friends who didn’t know what they meant to each other. He doesn’t know if it means anything to her that he says it, because she probably already knows (likely even before he vomited the confession in his earlier diatribe), but he likes the way it sounds out loud, floating in the air around them.

Not everyone, he’ll probably have to remind her repeatedly, has her hearing to understand the things left unsaid.

Jirō smiles at him, the small curve of her lips nothing like his own luminescent cheer, but all the more special because of its rarity. “Good.”

It takes several seconds for Kaminari to realize they haven’t really moved, and if he has this time with Jirō, he’d like her to be in his arms. He clears his throat. “Did you, uh, want to come down and we can finish watching—”

“No.” There’s a pensive expression on her face, and, more surprising, the earlier flush seems to be expanding to her cheeks. “I’d…I’d like to try something…?”

He manages to stammer, “S-sure,” because what could she possibly want to try from her position— 

Her jacks scoop under the hem of his shirt and start to lift, and Kaminari finds himself equal parts terrified, excited, and disbelieving. The insinuation of what she wants to try is insane considering Jirō’s aversion to physical connection, even in the aftermath of their conversation, but he’d be lying if he said he didn't think about it – hundreds of times, practically every day – but he doesn’t want it just because of what’s come out tonight. “Kyōka, you—we—we don’t have to do this. I don’t want you to feel like you have to—” 

“Denki, just relax, okay?” she interjects. Her entire face is red, and she can barely maintain eye contact. “I’m not—I’m not ready for…something that big yet, but…I’ve thought about…things…with you.” 

Kaminari stares, mouth agape, at this admission. Jirō has always seemed above all the annoying problems associated with being a hormonal teenager – especially when surrounded 24/7 by other hormonal teenagers – that he can’t believe any thought has ever crossed her mind. And with him?

He supposes they really are that serious about each other.

Resistance gone, the jacks continue their task, and Kaminari shifts silently as his shirt is pulled over his head. He’s unnaturally quiet as she gently pushes him back into a supine position, trying hard not to flush under Jirō’s scrutiny of his naked torso. The blond has never considered himself the best-looking guy since his Quirk doesn’t require a lot of physicality (at least compared to some of their peers), but he does stay in shape, and years of training with the likes of Kirishima and Bakugō have given him obvious lean muscle. 

Jirō’s hands are surprisingly warm when they come to rest on his abs, fingers tracing the peaks and troughs of his musculature. “You look really good, Jamming-Whey,” she tells him in a soft voice. His nickname falling from her mouth provides an anchor to reality, because the experience so far has felt kind of like a dream, and this is what was missing to make it make sense.

Kaminari can’t help himself, because he and Jirō were built on banter and nothing will change that. “Better than you imagined?”

“Yeah. You’re…” her bottom lip rolls into her mouth, caught between her teeth, and Kaminari finds her conflict between innocence and whatever feeling she’s letting take control adorable, “pretty hot.” 

He’s surprised at the sincerity in her answer, because his question was definitely meant as a joke.

A shiver runs through him as the cool metal of her jacks falls to his muscles and traces random patterns along tanned skin. His breath hitches in his throat, and he wonders what she’s hearing from him – if she’s even trying to – while these ministrations go on. Kaminari doesn’t think there’s anything especially erotic about the moment, but his body and brain are apparently in disagreement, because the sensations are causing a noticeable stir where Jirō’s sitting, and the blond finds something very close to mortification creep onto his face. He closes his eyes in an attempt to focus on something else, anything else, before Jirō notices, electricity crawling like snakes just under the surface of his skin—

“Don’t think too much. I don’t want you to blow your circuit here.”

“My circuit isn’t the thing I’m worried about blowing,” he mutters without thinking, and then golden eyes open with horror at what he’s said. It’s the kind of joke he’d make with Mineta, maybe Ashido, but in front of Jirō, with their current situation, it could easily be the stupidest thing to leave his mouth.

Instead, he sees her lips quirk – she’s smirking at me! he thinks, aghast and also awestruck at her sudden brazenness – and her gaze flits down to where his growing problem is…well, growing…beneath her. “I can tell.” Her cheeks are red, but her movements continue unabated, dark eyes watchful.

Kaminari moans, simultaneously aroused and ashamed, eyes again closed, and considers succumbing to crocodile tears. He doesn’t know how Jirō is managing to do all this stuff that’s completely out of her comfort zone while managing to keep a cool head, because he’s trying so hard to not emb—

“Denki, please relax?” Her voice is pleading, like she’s sad he’s stressing out about this whole thing instead of just enjoying it. Maybe she is, and maybe he should be. “Let yourself feel, okay? I swear I won’t judge you for whatever happens.”

Her words strike a chord with him, and Kaminari realizes that he’s trying way too hard to maintain this façade of coolness that he’s already admitted has poisoned his childhood and early adolescence. But it’s just him and Jirō, who has seen – heard – through his front multiple times and is willing to be with him despite that. It feels disrespectful to the steps she’s taking to comfort him to not just let himself feel in this moment.

He takes a deep breath, golden eyes opening slowly and training themselves onto Jirō, who’s still sitting atop his noticeable arousal and tracing sporadic patterns across his exposed chest and abdomen with earphone jacks and hands. She’s scrutinizing the bare skin with an intensity normally reserved for a new composition, and Denki smiles at her, expression fond, while her ministrations continue. Now that he’s stopped freaking out, his usual good cheer is slowly returning. “You know,” he comments cheekily, and dark eyes flicker up to meet golden ones, “this seems really unequal.” One thin eyebrow arches in question, clearly not understanding what he’s saying, and Kaminari’s eyes flit down – just for a second, so she knows where he’s looking – before returning to her face.

He expects her to jab him somewhere in the stomach, because he’s definitely walking the fraught, familiar line between audacious and (playfully) suggestive that normally prompts a physical response, or at least an eyeroll. What he doesn’t expect is for her to look away, nibble on her lip, and then softly reply, “You have a point…” before her hands leave him to reach for the hem of her own shirt.

His distraction at her response is only superseded by the sliver of taut, pale stomach that slowly grows more expansive before his wide eyes. Her movements are torturously slow, and a bout of nerves forces his gaze to flicker up to her face for a moment, looking for reassurance, only to find that she’s still looking away, unable to face him.

Quicker than his brain can process it, his hands snap out and catch hers as the bottom of her shirt hits the center of her ribcage. His grip is firm, but not painful. “Wait. Wait wait wait wait wait.” She finally deigns to meet his gaze, and Kaminari forces himself to take a long inhale as the quiet between them stretches. “I…” he licks his lips, still nervous, but also a little bit more confident with being able to say anything without fear of judgment. “I was joking. You told me to relax, and I said something to provoke you. I don’t expect you to—I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about this, about you, a million freakin’ times”—he’s sure the insinuation of those words is its own source of embarrassment for Jirō (and him), but he’ll deal with that later—“but I can tell you’re not ready, Kyōka. Honestly, I’m not sure I’m ready either. I thought it’d be easy when the time came, but…” he wants to run his fingers through his hair, but he’s afraid if he lets go of her, she’ll do something she’ll regret because he’s an idiot, so instead he shakes his head and continues, “We should do this when we’re both comfortable with it. Even if it means waiting…however long it takes. Kyōka, I will wait for you however long it takes. I mean it, okay? You’re absolutely worth it.”

It's not a new realization, but it is one of the rare times he’s voiced the thought aloud, and the primary reason he’s been able to be both patient with Kyōka’s minimal physicality in their relationship and justify sticking it out despite his insecurities. Jirō, as a person, as a partner, is worth waiting out some personal inconveniences, especially if they can find a middle ground somewhere.

She’s not saying anything, so Kaminari takes a chance and releases one hand to tap over his heart twice. Jirō seems to understand, for the jack still tracing nonsense into his skin goes up and rests there, listening to the steady beat pounding his sincerity. He thinks he’s starting to understand this whole ‘love language’ thing Mina mentioned.

It takes almost a minute, but Jirō eventually pulls herself off him and settles back on her side of the bed. She exhales, and Denki doesn’t know if it’s with relief or exhaustion. “I don’t know if there’s another guy who would’ve done what you just did,” she tells him. “Midoriya maybe? Todoroki?”

He laughs lightly. “Yep, that may be the most insane thing I ever do.”

“It’s also really sweet.” She pauses, gratitude hanging thick in the air between them, then asks, “We’re…not very good at this, are we?”

“Seems that way, huh?”

“I really do love you,” she says, as if he needs reassurance in light of everything that’s happened. He doesn’t, but it still gets his heart racing anyway. He hopes he never gets tired of hearing her say it. “And…I really like you without a shirt on.”

“Well, I can work with that.” He turns on his side and pulls her into his embrace, letting out a contented sigh at the full-body contact when she turns so he’s spooning her.

“…Millions of times, huh?”

Kaminari groans into her neck. Her voice has returned to its usual dry timbre, so it’s easy to tell she’s teasing him. “I knew I’d regret saying that.”

“If it’s any consolation, some people were way less subtle about it than others”—she shivers in his arms, clearly remembering something from high school that her hearing picked up that he immediately decides he doesn’t want any additional information on—“but millions? That’s impressive.”

“Oh, and what about you, ‘having thoughts’ about me, huh?” Kaminari cries in rebuttal, mock-offended. “I always thought you were super innocent!”

“I’m in the high double digits, tops,” she deadpans, “it doesn’t even compare.”

Kaminari grumbles something about girls and how they just don’t understand, and then asks, as if the thought has just occurred to him, “Do you talk with the other girls about this kind of stuff? You know, compare notes? That’s a pretty common trope in movies and stuff, I always wondered if it was real.”

“I have learned more about Kirishima and Ojirō from Mina and Tōru than I ever wanted to know,” she informs him dryly, turning to face him. “You should be grateful you’re not at girls’ nights.”

“Do you talk about me at all?”

“Just that we’re doing good, maybe if we’ve gone out somewhere. Nothing as graphic as what they say. Not that we’ve…” she trails off, embarrassed. “Well, even if we did do anything, I wouldn’t tell them. That’s between you and me. Mina and Tōru think we’re horribly boring; like, Yao-momo/Todoroki levels of boring.”

Kaminari adopts an affronted expression. “What?! We’re way cooler than them! There’s no way Yao-momo would ever try to ride Todoroki like you just did!”

There’s a dusting of color on Jirō’s cheeks at his comment, but she surprises him by taking it in stride and whispering almost conspiratorially, “Todoroki’s never stayed over here, and Yao-momo doesn’t stay at his place either. They’re definitely squares.”

Kaminari nods in agreement, his usual good-humored smile ruining how serious he’s trying to appear. “I bet Todoroki wouldn’t even know what to do with an erection.” Jirō snorts into his chest, some mixture of bemused and mortified, and the blond laughs, each reverberation echoing through both their bodies.  “Yeah, the guys don’t share anything like that. Guess I’m kinda glad.”

“Boys are so repressed,” Jirō mutters.

“Yeah, but you still love me,” Kaminari replies. He drops a tender kiss on her forehead, adding, “And I love you.”

Jirō’s jacks wrap around his neck and draw him close for a deeper kiss. Kaminari feels happiness and comfort settle over his skin like a warm blanket. “Yeah,” she says when they finally separate, “there is that.”

Chapter Text

Kaminari drags himself to Jirō’s apartment with his body on autopilot, ready for a break. It’s been a hell of a week, but he finally has a full weekend off and wants nothing more than to spend it with her doing…whatever; he honestly doesn’t care what, so long as it’s with her.

He lets himself into the apartment with the key she gave him and stumbles towards her room after barely managing to toe off his shoes in the foyer in his mission to seek the welcoming embrace of comfortable sheets.

There’s a sound that’s somewhere between a squeak and a confused hum, and Kaminari raises his head at the noise – because the pitch sounds like Jirō, but there’s no way she should be back yet at four in the afternoon – to find—

Oh…she is back. And he’s just walked in on her in the middle of changing.

He’s tired, so his brain isn’t quite processing the fact that Jirō is wearing a grey sports bra and the black pants from her Hero costume and—

Oh, there is no ‘and’. Well that’s…

“Uhhh…”

“Denki,” Kyōka says, and he’s surprised that her voice is so even considering the circumstances, “what’re you doing here?”

“I was gonna take a nap,” he answers, pointing to the bed, golden eyes fixed on the indigo-haired girl, “while you were still working, but you’re, uh, you’re…” He’s not quite sure how to finish the thought.

Actually, he absolutely does (“Kyōka, you’re hot!”), but he’s not sure he wants to bring attention to it. Jirō doesn’t normally show this much skin, and he doesn’t know why (well, again, he does, he just won’t acknowledge these particular insecurities as reflective of reality) because she’s gorgeous, so he doesn’t want to say something that might cut this moment short.

Although…Jirō’s not stupid, she must know that she’s shirtless, right? And that he’s staring…in a truly obvious fashion…that under any other circumstance would result in some sort of consequence for him: a poke, a jab, a raised voice…

Or at the very least her trying to cover up.

“Had a rough time with a villain today,” Jirō explains, “was just about to take a shower.” Kaminari takes a closer look at her and realizes there’s smudges of something like mud or ink splattered across her forearms and hair. “You can rest if you want.”

“I could use a shower, too,” he blurts without thinking. He winces as the insinuation registers, opening his mouth to utter a hasty apology, but Jirō rolls her eyes and smirks at him, apparently more amused than embarrassed or annoyed.

It’s an unexpected, if reassuring, response.

“But I thought you were tired," she teases. "You can shower when I get out. I don’t think more than one person can fit comfortably, though I appreciate your commitment to water conservation.” The delivery is made with her usual dry humor, and Kaminari realizes that maybe he hasn’t totally overstepped his bounds, that she’s, in her own way, giving him an out for his comment. He smiles at her – grateful, tentative, understanding – and gives a single nod before collapsing on the bed and closing his eyes. A heavy sigh escapes his lips, the sound of a man walking a tightrope, spikes ready to catch him should he fall; despite all the good that’s come of the emotional conversation he considers a pivotal moment in their relationship, he still tries to be cognizant of the fact that he shouldn’t be pushing Jirō.

There’s pressure against his lips, and Kaminari returns it until it dissipates after a few seconds. Golden eyes drowsily open to find Jirō leaning over him, a familiar smirk twisting her features. He returns the gesture with a laconic grin, citrine irises clouded with equal parts exhaustion and affection. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”

“Just…appreciation.”

“Mm…” His eyes shut again as she makes her way to the bathroom, managing a murmured, “Definitely appreciate you, too,” before he drifts off.

The grip on his forearm becomes almost painful as fingers curl into his bicep. “I will do anything, literally anything, if we stop now.”

Kaminari turns away from the television, where some teenaged girl is being brutally eviscerated, to catch Jirō’s dark gaze. Normally, the horror movies he watches are schlocky C-list films (at best) that are more outlandish than scary, but every once in a while, he finds something top-notch to put on.

Jirō hates it. She’s one of the bravest people he knows – her utility as a scout means that she’s almost always the first target for the enemy, as hundreds of training sessions at U.A. have taught them, and still she never flinches – and yet some fake blood and special effects have the ability to reduce her to a quivering mess. He only does it because any horror film automatically means she’ll be spending the night tucked in close, and Kaminari likes these moments where he can at least pretend that he’s offering her a little bit of protection.

Irises of liquid gold sparkle with mischief. “Anything, hm?”

In spite of the obvious playfulness in his voice, he can see her thinking through the consequences of agreeing to this. She’ll back down and they’ll finish watching the movie (though her eyes may close for long stretches to block out the horror), or she’ll amend the offer, because anything is just too enticing to someone like him.

“Yeah,” she affirms, dark eyes serious. “Anything you want.”

Kaminari’s so stunned by the offer that he jumps when a male scream from the television shatters the resulting silence. This is…huge. His first thought, to his own chagrin, is sex, because there’s no limitations and Jirō knows, absolutely knows, that this is on his mind.

But the blond is no longer 15, and the past couple months – since their discussion – have been good. They’ve been holding hands in public, and Jirō’s taken to leaning into him for warmth and comfort, irrespective of who’s watching. They’ve even shared kisses out on the town, with Jirō (shyly) initiating several.

And at night, in the comfort of one of their rooms, Jirō strips him of his shirt and draws invisible figures into his chest and torso, and Kaminari holds her close and thinks that, even if this is it, it’s enough that she’s within his arms.

But she’s actually getting bolder in their private time, or at least comfortable enough with her body – and his attraction to it – to willingly progress things beyond that. He’s started to become familiar with the way she’ll saunter towards him in a sports bra or tank sleepshirt – she’s petite and practical and pretty and he loves it, loves her – a flush gracing her pale skin as she wraps her arms around his waist and jacks around his neck, and each time is as exhilarating as the previous.

Jirō’s burgeoning confidence with their physical relationship is both a blessing and a curse, testing the blond’s ability to restrain his wandering hands and desire to touch all the exposed skin newly available to him. He’s skilled enough now with his Quirk to summon just a frisson of electricity to his fingertips as he runs them over her slim waist, her collarbone, her ribs, just above her breasts, everything he can see, and she shivers under his touch, fine hairs standing on end from the static.

She confesses to him one night – about two weeks ago, face almost cherry – that his electrified touch gives her a feeling not unlike an orgasm, and his immediate response is that he’s totally willing to try for the real thing, if she’ll let him. His grin is teasing, honest without the intent to be pushy, so she knows that he has no expectations, and she snorts in the way that’s meant to hide how funny she actually finds him, letting out a noncommittal hum in response.

So he shelves the initial impulse, because things are going great, and he doesn’t want Jirō to feel like the natural progression they’re achieving is all for nought, especially if she’s not fully ready. Mineta would be disappointed in him – although ‘disappointed’ would probably be an understatement – but then, Mineta is also very single and Kaminari is very happily not.

He can live without sex – probably; it’s not like he knows what it’s like, so he doesn’t really know what he’s missing – but he can’t live without Kyōka.

He turns off the television with a quick press of the power button, and then turns back to Jirō and says, “Sing for me.”

It’s very clear she’s not expecting this, because her eyes widen and she practically splutters, “Come again?” Kaminari grins at how well he’s caught her off-guard.

“You heard me.”

Surprise fades to skepticism, and…perhaps a little bit of disappointment? There’s a strange twist on her normally droll façade that Kaminari almost wants to call wistfulness, or perhaps longing. He isn’t allowed to ruminate on it for long before she gets up and shuffles into her room, coming out with the guitar she normally lets him play (rather than her own bass) and a set of miniature speakers. She sets up the speakers on the coffee table and starts scrolling through her phone, looking for something. Kaminari watches her silently the whole while, impressed at the lengths of her dedication to his request, until she finally clicks something; from the speakers bursts a single, reverberating bass note that’s quickly joined by a pounding drum, and then dark eyes fix on him. “So you think that you’ve got him all figured out,” she croons, words quick and sharp, fingers poised and waiting over the guitar’s strings. “He’s a sweet-talking stud who can melt a girl’s heart with his po-out; he’s the kind of lover that the ladies dream about, hoo, yes he is.

“He’s got plenty of cash, he’s got plenty of friends. He drives women wild, then he drives off in a Mercedes-Bey-ee-enz… He’s got a long wick with a flame at both ends. He’s hot,” she sings, and over the flush of her cheeks, she winks at him, clearly in a groove. “But don’t let him go-oo… Just give him a chance to gro-oo-ow. Take it easy, take it slow, and don’t let him go-oo, don’t let him gooooo…”

Kaminari watches, and listens, and finds himself amazed with Jirō all over again. The song is clearly within the rock genre, with a fast beat and prominent synthesizer that’s a little outside his girlfriend’s normal punk-rock favorite – it’s probably something from her father’s archive that she’s been brought up on, since Kyōtoku is big into classic rock – but she nails every note and starts wailing on the electric guitar with a live performance so impressive that it’s clear she’s listened to this particular song a lot. The lyrics eventually fade into a high energy repetition of ‘don’t let him go’, and Kaminari waits until Jirō’s voice fades away with the backing music before standing up and applauding, golden eyes bright with awe. Jirō bows and places her instrument on an empty stand in the living room before allowing herself to be wrapped in his enthusiastic embrace. “How was it?”

The question isn’t shy, like it might have been years ago, but Kaminari finds himself offended that she even asks because Jirō has never been anything but amazing, especially when it comes to music, and he can’t believe he has to keep telling her that. “What’s a better word than amazing?”

“I don’t know, stupendous?”

Kaminari thinks for a moment and decides that stupendous still doesn’t do the performance justice. “You were better than that,” he affirms. “How long have you been practicing that one?”

She mumbles something, but the words are caught in his shirt, so he pulls back to look at her. Jirō, still a touch embarrassed, forces herself to meet his gaze. “I used to listen to it a lot, back at U.A. It…made me think of you, since you’re so carefree and personable and just…boyfriend-y, but also how you could be the most annoying thorn in my side, and maybe if I just waited long enough, you’d…take notice of me, and it’d be worth the wait.”

Kaminari pulls her back to his chest and drops a kiss on her crown. He loves listening to Jirō sing because music is her passion, and he’ll never tire of the emotion in her songs, but it’s even better knowing that he’s there, too, that the music in her heart – the unseen place where she holds the things she loves – is sometimes inspired by him. “I’ll never let you go,” he whispers into her ear, and he thinks he can feel her smile into his shirt.

“I hope not. You were worth waiting on.”

His evenings with Jirō start and end with her wrapped tight within his arms. When he has to wake up and leave to make it home in time for the beginning of a late-morning patrol, he leaves a sleepy Jirō with a gentle kiss, waves goodbye to Yaoyorozu – up early making tea – and departs with a Cheshire grin, whistling peppy nonsense. He knows he’s the luckiest guy this side of Japan and can’t imagine anything ever changing that.

There’s no expectation that this particular December morning is going to be any different until about fifteen minutes after his departure, when the sound of breaking glass shatters his good spirit. He whirls around, the training drilled into him by Eraserhead, Present Mic, All Might, and others forcing golden eyes to find the source of the disturbance.

There! It’s a jewelry store a block back, one he’s spared passing glances at before and briefly wondered what kind of jewelry Kyōka would like. No one’s at the scene – apparently it’s too early in the morning, none of the surrounding stores are even open yet – and he’s nowhere near his normal territory, but he’s a hero (even if just a sidekick) and they’ve been taught that they need to assess and react using good judgment.

Jirō’s always joked that he has terrible judgment – he’s too impulsive, despite his awareness for his teammates in battle given how his attacks can’t always distinguish between friend and foe – but he also knows she’s always trusted him when it mattered most, so he pulls a pair of shaded glasses from his jacket pocket and rushes toward the scene.

He doesn’t have his normal hero gear – didn’t expect he needed it for a night with his girlfriend – but three years of training at U.A. and nine months under Shishido have taught him more tricks than just using his pointer and shooter. The lenses in his glasses – a spare pair he carries in case of emergency – are made from a polarized material commonly used by welders and electricians so he can use the higher abilities of his Quirk without fear of affecting himself.

There are three guys outside the store, and Denki has his hands held low, about four inches apart, electricity crackling between them. No one else is on the street. “Hey!” he shouts, and it draws their attention his way. The lightning in his hands builds to a luminescent crescendo in a second. “Arc Flash!”

The trio howl as their eyes are seared by the blinding light. Kaminari finishes charging at them, electricity dancing within both palms as he lays a hand on bare skin and delivers enough voltage to knock each of them out.

He’s not the Stun Gun Hero for nothing.

A quick look through the shattered window reveals no further accomplices, and Kaminari gives himself a mental pat on the back for the quick work. He turns on his heel, cell phone in hand to call the police—

He’s backhanded through the broken storefront with a surprisingly powerful strike, more glass shattering as he blows through it. His back slams into a wooden countertop, phone slipping from his grip at the impact. “Nnn…”

Through the disorientation, he can see one of the men he stunned – or thought so anyway – stalking towards him. “I recognize you,” the man says. “Chargebolt, right? Pretty sure this isn’t your turf, but I guess if anyone had to find us, I’m lucky it’s you.” To Kaminari’s spinning vision, it looks like he’s rolling his shoulders, but the movement has more motion to it than any normal person is capable. He seems unnaturally flexible, like he’s made of…rubber.

Ah, Kaminari thinks stupidly. That’s bad.

If the likes of Tetsutetsu can turn himself to steel, then it makes sense that other Quirks can do the same for other materials. It would explain why his shock had no effect. It would also explain why the would-be thief’s strike hit so hard, his body denser than a normal person’s, like Kirishima when he’s hardened.

Probably not a fight I can win.

He spots his phone a couple feet away. On it is an app that connects his old class together, one they created in second year to be used in emergencies. Between being cornered by Hero Killer Stain, Bakugō’s kidnapping, and a dozen other incidents affecting their class, they came to a mutual agreement that if anything big ever came up where someone’s assistance was required, everyone would be only a button-press away, and whoever’s closest could easily respond.

He could really use Todoroki, but Yaoyorozu and Jirō are both close; if he can get to his phone and send out a signal—

The approaching Villain’s arm lashes out, flexible and snakelike, to snatch the device before Kaminari can. “No backup coming to save you, hero,” the man sneers. He accentuates his point with a heavy kick to the boy’s solar plexus, and Kaminari wheezes with the impact, barely managing to latch onto the extended limb with a desperate strength.

Doubt this’ll work, but… “Indiscriminate Shock: 2 Million Volts!”

The Villain laughs, and Kaminari imagines that his electricity is just tickling this man. He’s punted through a glass display case and rolls across the floor on the other side, each motion painful. Denki drags himself to his feet, remembering training sessions with Bakugō and Kirishima and Midoriya and the punishment his body went through back then, and feints towards the robber.

His actions draw a laugh and a punch, but he somehow manages to duck the attack, shoving his body against the other man’s in a successful bid to throw him off-balance. Path unimpeded, he stumbles towards the broken window and throws his body through it, drawing long scratches down his skin. He lands on the sidewalk, electricity crackling along his arms, and with a silent prayer for luck, he raises both limbs to the sky and unleashes the gathered lightning.

Jagged yellow streaks of light burst skyward for few moments before being abruptly cut off as a hand grabs his scalp and slams his head against the concrete. Kaminari sees stars just before a boot obscures his vision and stomps down on his face. He hears the cracking of his glasses and the breaking of his nose; something sticky dribbles down his lips.

He tries to drown out the pain and think of a way to escape the looming Villain, but nothing comes to mind. Everybody has a weakness – Denki always thought his was just a limitation of how much power he could discharge at once, aside from the shortcomings in his personality – but he’s also never expected to run into a rubber-based enemy while completely unsupported. It feels like he's being punished for trying to do the right thing. Rubbery fingers wrap around his throat and begin to squeeze. If he doesn’t do something, no matter how desperate—

It’s possible he’ll die either way, but at least there’s an outside chance fighting back might do something. Electricity rolls under his skin, every volt stored in his body gathering for discharge. “…Light…ning…” he chokes out, “Strike!”

The entire street lights up in brilliant blue-white, and everything disappears in a blinding flash. Kaminari can’t tell if it worked – the move, a last resort technique, was named for the idea of lightning never striking the same place twice, because it doesn’t need to – but his brain is fried, his body beaten, and he just wants to sleep…

His last thought is of how, if he manages to survive, Kyōka’s going to kill him.

Kaminari wakes, very slowly, to a persistent beeping and sterile, white walls. There’s a head of indigo-colored hair next to his left arm, and it takes him a long moment to work through the lethargy fogging his brain. Finally, it clicks. “Kyōka,” he croaks.

Jirō’s head shoots up, onyx eyes wide and bloodshot. “Denki!” Her jacks fly to his left wrist and his chest, settling over the hospital gown to check his heartbeat. Kaminari wants to make a comment about how the monitor is already tracking that, but he’s too exhausted. “Stay there, let me get the doctor.”

“Not…” going anywhere, he finishes mentally. Every part of his body feels like it’s weighed down with lead, including his brain, which is caught somewhere between Whey mode and a bone-deep exhaustion.

“Chargebolt, good to see you awake.” The voice is unfamiliar, but glazed golden eyes try to focus on the bespectacled face standing beside Jirō. His doctor is young, maybe mid-30s, with dark hair held back in a tight bun; she vaguely reminds him of Jirō's mom, though that could be the drugs. He tries to focus on her, even attempts to shift his gaze to Jirō standing at the woman’s side, but his eyelids are heavy, and as the doctor begins explaining his condition, he drifts off.

The next time he wakes up, Sero is in the chair beside his bed, reading to him from a newspaper. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to digest what’s being said – he’s not even sure if the Taping Hero notices he’s awake – before he’s out once more. The third time is Jirō again, asleep in the chair; the fourth time, Mina’s there, scrolling through her phone.

He doesn’t manage to stay awake to exchange words with any of them until his fifth return to consciousness. Todoroki, of all people, is his bedside companion, reading a book that Kaminari’s sure is not to his own (unserious) taste. “To…” he coughs to clear the rasp clogging his throat, “Todoroki…”

The Half-Hot, Half-Cold Hero’s mismatched eyes flicker to him, one finger bookmarking his page. “You’re awake,” he observes.

“What…happened…?” Kaminari croaks.

“My understanding of events is that you fought three villains attempting to rob a jewelry store, but one of them was impervious to your Quirk.” Todoroki’s voice is flat in his recap; he’s the only person Kaminari knows who can outdo even Jirō’s normal stoicism. “We don’t know what happened in the interim, but Momo saw one of your attacks from the apartment and rushed to the scene. Kamui Woods was there when she arrived; he apprehended the villains and called the EMTs and police.”

Todoroki falls silent, and for a few moments, he looks somber, even more so than usual. “The doctors were initially unsure you would pull through. You’ve been mostly unconscious for the last five days. We’ve been taking turns watching over you.”

“We?”

Todoroki nods. “Momo, Ashido, Sero, Kirishima, Ojirō…even Bakugō took a day off to stand vigil.” That’s surprising on its own, because tearing Bakugō away from being Mirko’s only sidekick is like trying to dry water. “It’s mostly been Jirō though. Ashido had to drug her away.”

Kaminari blinks, sure he’s misheard; his brain still feels fuzzy. “You mean drag her away?”

The other boy’s expression doesn’t change. “No. Ashido overdosed Jirō’s coffee with anti-anxieties until she fell asleep, and then Momo and Kirishima took her home.” Kaminari stares, waiting for the punchline, but Todoroki’s expression remains unflinching, and the blond realizes that he’s being – characteristically – serious. “She cares about you quite deeply.”

Kaminari appreciates the sentiment from an outsider’s perspective, more than he’s willing to admit, but the circumstances seem less than ideal. He offers the stoic boy quiet gratitude, and then probes, “How, uh…how bad is it?”

“Four broken ribs, broken nose, orbital fracture, various cuts and lacerations, perforated lung—”

The blond zones out after that, each item growing the uncomfortable pit in his stomach. Todoroki is nothing if not thorough, but the extensive list is far worse than anything he suffered in school, a striking reminder of how close he came to not making it.

A ping interrupts Todoroki’s diatribe, then another, then three more in quick succession. The Half-Hot, Half-Cold Hero picks up his phone, heterochromatic eyes scrolling through something before his fingers type out a swift message. Kaminari, too nosy for his own good and looking for a distraction from his own mortality, asks, “Everything okay?”

“Our classmates are happy to hear you’re awake.”

“Our—huh?” The blond blinks again, and Todoroki reaches over to pass the Stun Gun Hero his own phone, apparently recovered (miraculously) in one piece from the jewelry store. There are 362 unread messages on his phone, the bulk of which are from their class group chat. He has some individual texts from several of his classmates who are further away – Midoriya, Iida, Uraraka, Tsuyu – all wishing him well and praying for a swift recovery; almost 50 in his chat with Mina, Kirishima, Sero, and Bakugō; and a dozen from Jirō dated several days prior that begin with ‘good morning’ and good luck on the day’s patrol to several increasingly panicked questions of where he is and if he’s okay.

He hands his phone back at that, unable to stomach what she must have gone through; he’ll look at the other texts later. “You should rest,” Todoroki advises.

“I’ve been sleeping for—”

“Five days,” his friend supplies, “and considering your condition, the doctor suggests more.” The blond wants to protest, but he can feel exhaustion creeping back in, golden eyes closing. As he drifts off, energy spent, Todoroki adds, “Someone will be here when you awake.”

Todoroki, as usual, is correct. When he again returns to consciousness, Jirō’s back at his bedside. She’s got a notepad in her lap and the end of a pen between her teeth. When he shifts to a more comfortable position, it draws her focus, and she immediately places her notes on the bedside as she stands, hands on the bed railing. “Denki…” His name is a breath off her lips, and it elicits a shadow of a grin from him, because just seeing her after days of being asleep or in a daze, with his mind finally starting to clear, is a balm unlike any the doctor can prescribe.

“Hey Kyōka.”

“How are you feeling?”

Denki tries to shrug, but his supine position, lethargy, and various medical devices attached or inserted in his body make the gesture difficult. “Better I guess.” He smiles at her, the expression tired and a little worn, but no less heartfelt. “I guess that’s all that can be asked, right?”

“You could not be here,” Jirō responds heatedly before she can bite back the words. Kaminari blinks at the rebuke, and the Hearing Hero brings up a hand to cover her mouth, expression unsure. “I’m sorry, I’m just…” She sighs, long and melancholy, earphone jacks tapping together with familiar nervous habit. “You don’t know what it’s been like to sit here and just watch and pray that everything’s going to be okay. You don’t know what it’s like”—she sniffs, and her onyx eyes look a little glassy—“to get a call saying that the person you love is on the way to the hospital and they don’t know…they don’t know if he’s going to make it…”

She’s crying now, nearly silent but for an intermittent sniffle or hiccup, and Kaminari finds himself drowning with guilt. Kyōka doesn’t cry; she’s always been one of the most emotionally stable people he knows, her insecurities notwithstanding, and to be the cause is devastating. “Kyōka,” he whispers, and he’s not sure whether it’s because it’s all his voice can manage in his current physical state or because he thinks speaking quieter will help temper his girlfriend’s fragile mood. “I’m sorry, but…I saw robbers and I couldn’t just leave them alone—”

“Damn it, Denki, do you think I’m like this because you did your job? I’m so fucking proud of you.” Her expression is caught somewhere between sadness and anger, and Kaminari feels incredibly lost on what to do. “I’m not asking you to not be a Hero. I was rooting for you when we went up against the PLF and you took the lead, and I’ll be rooting for you when you go solo; you’ve come so far since we first started, I have no intention of stopping you.” One pale hand brushes back blond bangs, revealing the jagged scar above his left brow, the result of his first true act of heroism. Everything about Kaminari is sharp angles and zigzagging lightning bolts, from his pointed chin to his injuries, and it’s always seemed amusing, except for now, when it feels like a stark reminder of his mortality. “But I need you to come back to me. I can’t—do this again.”

Just looking at her makes that painfully clear. Dark shadows sit under her eyes, the lack of proper rest over the days he’s been mostly unconscious prominent under the hospital’s fluorescent lights. Everything about her feels lifeless, her normal deadpan lacking the spirit that sparks their normal banter.

His throat feels swollen, choked by emotion, and the words in his head seem trapped. Instead, he raises his arm and carefully, gently, reaches for the hand clenched on the bed rail, prying her fingers off it and intertwining them. Touch is still more his love language than hers, and probably always will be, but they’ve spent enough time together that he’s hoping she understands what he’s trying to convey.

Jirō squeezes his hand and sniffs again. She uses the palm of her other hand to wipe away the tear tracks on her cheeks, letting out a shuddering breath in the process. “So long as we’re clear,” she manages, sounding a little more like her usual self. Her timbre is still a little shaky, but she’s clearly attempting to find a semblance of normalcy. “With that out of the way”—and her tone is a little genteel, leading—“when the hell did I become your emergency contact?”

This question seems like one he can answer. “Like a month after we graduated,” he admits. “Am I not yours?” He tries for something approaching their normal teasing, to steer things back to lightheartedness, but judging by the look on Jirō’s face, it’s still too early. “Guess not then…”

“My parents are still close by,” Jirō says, “and I wasn’t sure you”—her jacks are tapping each other again—“well, I guess I didn’t really imagine this happening. I would have appreciated knowing that ahead of time, instead of having it dropped on me in the middle of freaking out about your condition.” She’s glowering at him now, using anger to conceal however she’s currently feeling; he’s at least semi-familiar with this tactic of hers. “Want to tell me who Ito-sensei is?”

“Uhh…” he swallows the trickle of nerves that catches in his throat, not quite sure how Jirō is going to take this news, especially after her emotional outburst. When he feels he can speak without his voice catching, he says, “He’s a doctor who specializes in electric-type Quirks. I’ve been seeing him since I was four.”

“Why?”

Another moment of hesitation before he admits, “You know, uh, ‘Whey mode’?”

Now Jirō’s trying not to grin, attempting to maintain a sober expression to convey the seriousness of the conversation. “I’m familiar,” she remarks dryly, bemused. “It’s the reason you’re an absolute moron.”

“Hey!” he protests. “Sometimes that’s just ‘cause you make me stupid.” Jirō flushes, and even Kaminari thinks that he’s pulled off a pretty impressive comeback all things considered, one that’s even better because Kyōka’s body language suggests she’s more pleased than embarrassed by his statement. It takes a few seconds, but then she gestures for him to continue, and the blond says, “It’s a side effect of overusing my Quirk, right? Well, it’s not the only one.” He averts his eyes, unable to meet her gaze. “I guess some people just haven’t been able to adapt to every Quirk yet, and there’s…a limit…on how much electricity the human body can safely handle.”

There’s no response from his girlfriend, which is concerning, but Kaminari still can’t bring himself to see her face. It’s not the first time he’s delivered bad news, and he knows what he’ll see – pursed lips, narrowed eyes, furrowed brow, thoughtfulness indecipherable from disappointment. There’s pressure on his hand, and he turns back to her at the reassuring squeeze. Her gaze is soft with concern rather than hard with accusation. “What else?”

“Seizures; uncontrollable spasms; greater likelihood of brain disorders, including earlier development…” He’s rattling off the list like it’s a memorized speech, as if he’s heard it far too many times and can recite it upon request.

Maybe he has.

“I’ve never seen you seize before.”

“Yeah, I take medication to keep them in check. Ito-sensei says that medicine has come a long way and will continue to improve, so…” he shrugs as best he can. "Who knows what the future will hold?"

“We’ll deal with it together, okay? Whatever happens.” Denki’s throat closes with emotion, and it’s his turn to find tears welling in his eyes. He really doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve Kyōka, especially with all the missteps he seems to keep making. “Why didn’t you ever say anything about Whey mode?”

“Oh, well, you know I don’t really remember what happens in Whey mode, and…you always found it funny, so it didn’t seem like that big a deal—ow!” He rubs the spot she’s jabbed him with her jack. “Hey, I’m injured!”

“It is a big deal, Denki. Can you stop downplaying everything? I don’t need Whey mode to make me happy, I just need you.” He can’t think of a response that would add further sentiment to the moment, so he tamps down on the usual urge to open his mouth – and spoil the moment – and instead just smiles at her with all the love and gratitude he holds in his heart. Kyōka squeezes his hand a third time and adds, “If I’m going to be your emergency contact, you’re going to need to sign an authorization form so Ito-sensei can speak to me about your condition.”

“Ito-sensei’s here?”

Jirō nods. “He wants to talk to you, if you’re up for it.”

“Yeah, I think I can handle it.” Kyōka stands up, presumably to fetch the doctor, but her hand leaves his and Kaminari suddenly feels alone. “Hey,” he says, grabbing her attention. “Whatever he wants to say, please stay. I want you here.”

One earphone jack extends toward him and wraps around his pinky finger. “I’m not going anywhere.”

In the weeks following Kaminari’s eventual release from the hospital, Shishido relegates him to desk-duty. Both Sero and Ojirō shoot him sympathetic glances every time they go out, and even Shishida Jurota from Class B frowns in his direction more than once.

Denki kind of hates it – not necessarily the attention, although he probably should, considering the context – because sitting down and filling out paperwork all day every day is not enough of a distraction for his usual short attention span. It’s a huge reason he and Sero followed Ojirō to the Lion Hero’s agency in the first place upon receiving their offers: Shishido is tireless, constantly on the move, and good at utilizing the blond’s normally inexhaustible energy.

This – answering phones, sitting at a desk, reviewing paperwork – just doesn’t catch his attention. He knows it’s part of being a hero – there’s no escaping red tape – and he can handle it sparingly, just not all day, every day, for multiple weeks while he’s stuck taking it easy.

He appreciates the concern and precautions for his health, but he’s tired of being on the sidelines.

The result is a Kaminari who enters his apartment in a sour mood on a late Friday afternoon almost three weeks after his return to duty. He has the actual weekend off, which is a nice change, he muses as he closes the front door behind him with a little more force than necessary, but he’s really hoping that Monday will bring about a return to normal.

He shrugs his way out of the black jacket that’s part of his uniform, symmetrical white zigzags along the collar and bottom hem, as well as around the shoulders, hoping that disrobing will also shake off his current funk. One hand reaches out and grabs the doorknob to his room – I thought I left this open? – to step through the doorway, then looks up and immediately short-circuits.

His body hits the door and accidentally shuts it with a bang. Distantly, from outside his bedroom, he can hear Sero – enjoying the remnant of his day off – yell his name in concern, and then Kyōka, from feet away, shout back, “He’s okay! Just surprised!” There’s silence in response – perhaps Sero is as shocked as he is at Jirō’s presence (even though she has a key) – and in the back of his mind, Kaminari assumes that his roommate is choosing to defer to the Hearing Hero.

She kneels beside him, hiding a smile as a quiet ‘wheeyyy’ leaves his throat in a whine. “Denki,” she whispers, “think you can snap out of it?”

His normal reassuring thumbs-up stays down, because Kaminari is desperate to bring himself back to reality. He manages after several moments, glassy eyes refocusing their golden gaze to his girlfriend. “Kyōka,” he chokes out, stunned but at least verbal, “you’re…”

“Oh, um…yeah. Do you like it?”

Jirō’s embarrassment is as apparent as it’s ever been, porcelain skin flushed across her neck and chest above the black lingerie that’s the only thing keeping her modest. The lithe muscles of her legs, stomach, arms are on full display, a juxtaposition to how meekly she asks him if he likes that she’s practically naked in front of him. “Yes!” he bursts out, then babbles, “God, Kyōka, you’re an absolute knockout. Literally.” He raps his knuckles against the door as if to emphasize the last couple minutes.

Kaminari wants to ask what’s going on, why she’s in front of him wearing next-to-nothing, but electricity is roiling beneath his skin, a tingle like television static made tangible, and his brain is pleasantly blank. It saves him from posing such a stupid question, and instead he shoots to his feet and wraps his arms around her, fingers twitching at the lace of her underwear as he stares into her eyes, trying to read her intentions.

She’s always beautiful to him – in her Hero costume, in pajamas, in a dress, in casual clothes – but Jirō has never dressed with the intention to be sexy. It has an unquestionable implication, one that he’s spent months trying hard to not impress upon her – both consciously and subconsciously – because they’ve got a good thing going even if it’s a little slow and hurrying Jirō would be Not Good (capital N, capital G)—

Good lord, is he spiraling? Now, of all times?

His turmoil must show on his face, because Jirō cocks her head to the side, lips lifting in a half-smirk, as if to ask what he’s waiting for, and the blond eagerly captures her lips with his own.

The static in his brain intensifies briefly, and Kaminari lifts Jirō so she can wrap her legs around his waist. He carries her over to his bed and lays her on it as gently as possible, stepping back to drink in her beauty. He’s apparently unmoving for a beat too long, because Kyōka says, coyness mixed with her usual deadpan, “You’re staring.”

Denki licks his lips, mouth dry. “If you could see what I see…” He plants his hands on the bed, leaning over her so his white t-shirt is flush against her bra, thumbs running along her ribcage. He kisses her again, then blazes a trail from her lips to her belly button, smiling against her squirming. “Ticklish?”

She hums, and Kaminari can hear the smirk in her voice. “Or I’d rather not be teased.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

“I thought the sex is supposed to be the fun part?” Kaminari doesn’t have a response to that – well, he does, but it’s a touch sarcastic, a little confused, and lost to the growing static of his brain – so he’s stuck gaping at the blunt response and Kyōka’s growing smirk. “That’s attractive,” she observes wryly.

Her teasing snaps him back to the moment, and the blond strips off his shirt before jumping on the bed beside Jirō and showering her with renewed affection. “It’s called ‘foreplay’, Kyōka,” he admonishes with mock severity, fingers dancing around her bra straps. They stop for a moment on the clasp, and golden eyes watch her face, expression serious. “You’re sure about this?”

“Yeah. You?”

Kaminari nods, desire dancing in eyes gleaming like gems. “With you, I’m sure about everything.”

Her hands wander from his shoulders to his torso and then past the waistband of his pants, and Denki’s breath hitches. Jirō smiles at him, somewhere between teasing and shy. “Okay then.”

Chapter Text

The first time Kaminari meets Jirō Kyōtoku and Mika, he’s 16, brash, tired, teetering over the edge of irresponsible to responsible, and nervously preparing for the final battle with All-for-One.

They’re two of the hundreds – thousands – of evacuees sheltering at U.A., and the blond sees Jirō give them a final, quick hug before Class 1-A departs for their new base of operations. He doesn’t interrupt the moment, instead approaching and waiting just out of (non-Jirō) earshot, shifting restlessly from foot to foot, until the family separates.

When they do, he takes a few steps forward and offers an unsure wave when Jirō spots him; he has no idea what he’s doing, why he feels the need to approach. Instead of shooing him away like he expects her to, she jerks her head in a gesture he interprets as ‘fine, you can come over’, and when he’s within range, she tells her parents, “This is Kaminari.”

Mika smiles at him; her resemblance to Jirō is uncanny, if more poised and amicable, like a version of Jirō who took etiquette lessons from Yaoyorozu. “We’ve heard a lot about you,” she says. “A pleasure to officially meet you.”

“Y-yeah, same,” he manages. They’ve heard about me? From Jirō? He shoots his classmate a look, one she pointedly ignores, and he wonders if it’s his imagination that she looks like she’s blushing. “I just wanted to say…Jirō’s awesome. She’s gonna be an amazing Hero someday, a total badass.”

Her parents exchange glances, smiling at one another, and then look back at him. “Yes, we think so as well,” Mika says. Jirō still doesn’t seem able to meet any of their eyes, and her mother adds, “I’m sure some of that is owed to the support of you and the rest of her friends.”

Perhaps there’s something in her tone that resonates with the Hero-in-training, for Jirō finally rejoins the conversation and murmurs, “Kaminari’s done some pretty inspiring stuff this year…”

It’s probably the most genuine compliment he’s received from her, and he feels something warm swoop from his chest down to his stomach. Deciding to take the victory, he inclines his head respectfully to the older pair and excuses himself from their presence, unwilling to press his luck with Jirō any further.

The second time they meet, it’s at a dinner for her 19^th birthday, they’ve been together for almost five months, and Jirō introduces him as her boyfriend.

It’s said in her usual monotone, as if she’s talking about the weather, and Kaminari tries not to wither under the twin gazes that settle on him. In his mind, they’re judging him with a critical eye absent from their initial meeting, and it’s a long moment before Mika smiles at him, seemingly genuine, and says, “How wonderful!”

Kyōtoku just glares at him.

The dinner has a weird atmosphere, with Mika leading a lot of the conversation and both young heroes responding appropriately while Kyōtoku continues to scrutinize the blond. Kaminari feels like he’s trying not to spontaneously combust under the older man’s gaze, up until Jirō kicks her father under the table with her foot and says, “Hey, old man, you’re not fooling anyone. Quit trying to kill Denki with your eyes, we all know you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

There’s a few seconds of silence, and then Kyōtoku bursts out laughing. “I dunno, Kyōka, I think I got him pretty good. You never let me have any fun anymore.”

“You’re terrible at putting on airs,” she deadpans, and Kyōtoku grimaces. “It’s only working ‘cause Chargedolt here is so gullible.”

Mika coos, “Hear that, honey? She has a nickname for him!”

Kyōtoku almost starts bawling. “Adorable!”

Kaminari blinks. “I’m very confused.”

“Sorry, Kaminari,” Kyōtoku apologizes. “I’ve always wanted to play the overbearing father, but Kyōka’s never given me the opportunity. Truly the greatest disappointment of her teenage years.” Jirō almost seems to…twitch…at those words, but the gesture is so minor that Kaminari’s not sure he would’ve noticed if her arm didn’t briefly brush against his. “We’ve heard a lot about you over the years, and Kyōka’s always had excellent judgment. It’s our pleasure to have you as part of the family.”

And that’s when Kaminari gets confirmation that his girlfriend has some of the coolest parents on the planet.

Family dinners become a semi-regular occurrence after that; they’re not always easy to fit into his schedule, considering his work in Ueda and Jirō’s own schedule – especially between their dates – but he manages at least every other month, if not monthly. Kyōtoku and Mika welcome him with open arms every time, and in private, Jirō (teasingly) accuses him of being their favorite. Kaminari – famously known for being a people-pleaser – grins like it’s the best compliment he’s ever received.

Despite both that and his proficiency on the guitar, he doesn’t interfere with any jam session the Jirō family engages in, which is unsurprisingly a touchstone of their time together. He treats the post-dinner concerts with a reverence normally saved for Kyōka alone, applauding and cheering at their conclusions with an enthusiasm the Hearing Hero almost finds embarrassing. She nearly drags him from the house just to put an end to his antics, and he gets used to tossing a hasty goodbye at his hosts.

Then, one night, he drops her hand and hurriedly tells her, “Wait, I wanted to ask your parents something. Be right back!”

She can’t even protest before he’s off, releasing a resigned sigh as he disappears back across the threshold of her parents’ house. It’s just the price of dating Kaminari (she’s learned) that he’s struck by inspiration to do something at random times, and she’s fortunately grown patient enough over the years to just ride out the moments.

Kaminari returns after a few minutes – looking tickled pink – laces his fingers with Kyōka’s, and begins to swing their arms. Jirō rolls her eyes but succumbs to his childish enthusiasm, walking by his side back to her apartment while her lips quirk with fondness.

Since pre-pubescence, Jirō always felt like she lives at the unenviable intersection of insecure, standoffish, prudish, and socially anxious. Being a newly minted teenager with few friends and even fewer (read: zero) romantic prospects, even though it’s never been anything close to a priority, made her feel like she’s missing the inherent rush that comes with wanting or being wanted by someone. 

(The latter, at least, is something she knows now, with Denki.) 

She’s got years of being overlooked by others, of trying not to care about how she’s perceived by them even as each oversight chipped away at her until she withdrew into the shell of a snarky wallflower. It’s left her uncomfortable around others, feeling judged by those who compare her to other (more developed) girls, to people who are bubbly and outgoing and ideal, and it’s turned her off from most personal interactions – both emotional and physical – throughout her burgeoning (and continuing) adolescence.

But months and then years of U.A., of being surrounded by some of the cheeriest, least judgmental people she’s ever met – Kaminari, Mina, Kirishima, Yao-momo, Midoriya, Ochako – all with their own problems, but none they allow to hold them back, seeped into her skin and healed the broken pieces of the previous years. Even though she’s aware that humans are imperfect, her familiarity with chord progressions and drum rhythms and take after take after take of a recording to get the perfect track has set her up to be a little too critical by expecting the same perfection from people, from herself. She eventually learns that she’s better than she believes – than others sometimes led her to think – and much of the credit goes to Kaminari Denki. 

Right after high school begins, she’s paired with Kaminari for their first training exercise and finds him…irksome. A typical boy with no control and a propensity for shooting his mouth off, opposite her in every way: blond hair, honey-colored eyes, perpetual smile, exuberant positivity. His Quirk is flashy, strong – an ability made for Hero work, unlike hers, which annoys her all the more because it feels like the most undeserving people are the luckiest. He almost costs them the match, and when they walk away victorious, it’s with an eyeroll for his (misplaced, she thinks) overconfidence.

Then they’re stuck together (thankfully with Yaoyorozu) during the attack on the U.S.J., and his uselessness rears its head again, only capable of wide-scale attacks that are as likely to harm the two girls as much as help fend off the slew of villains assaulting them. It’s only Yao-momo’s quick thinking that saves them, except not really because of course Kaminari is a liability when he expends too much electricity and of course he’s taken hostage.

Fear and guilt shudder through her – not because of him specifically, but because she can’t have the death of a classmate hanging over her head, especially because she’s the one who kicked him into the enemy’s grasp – and she lets out a relieved breath when their teachers arrive in the nick of time to save them.

It hits her suddenly, while Kaminari’s arm is slung over her shoulders because he’s short-circuited and helpless and very nearly drooling on her, that his dorkiness is kind of…charming, she decides, almost intentionally quashing the word 'cute'. Unbidden, a snort escapes her lips, and she covers her mouth to hide her amusement at his state. It’s all wildly inappropriate considering the time and place – while he’s completely out of it and can’t do more than make little noises (“Wheey…”) – but once it hits, it lingers in the back of her mind like an annoying gnat.

She wants to brush the thought away, the same way she so casually dismisses him on the daily – she’s at U.A. to learn to be a Hero, not to…fraternize – but she never gets a break from him. He’s next to her in class, an unignorable presence – chewing on his pencil, fidgeting in his seat, tapping his desk – especially for someone with her sensitive hearing. Kaminari seems to become a thorn in her every day, his interference in the biggest moments of her education as they arise – shocking her into submission during the Cavalry Battle, tricking the Class 1-A girls into cheerleader outfits – a recurring embarrassment, which is a small counterbalance to the weird thought that she finds him kind of endearing.

It’s a one-off, she thinks, a fleeting notion spurred by high-adrenaline circumstances, one difficult to justify when, every time he overuses his Quirk and defaults into what she thinks of as ‘Whey-mode’, she bursts into hysterical giggling.

And then they’re forced into a dorm for the rest of their high school education, and while Jirō accepts the necessity of the move, she also thinks the situation has the potential to drive her past the brink of her sanity. She’s an incredibly private person, and having 19 other people hovering within the sphere of her personal affairs 24/7 is quite the adjustment.

But to her surprise (and relief), the opposite happens, and she begins to see her classmates in a normal, almost domestic, light. There’s something intimate about having to share every waking hour with someone – multiple someones, if she’s being technical – and Jirō has only ever been that close to her family. 

With her increased comfort comes a loosening of her reserved persona, and when she sees Kaminari following Kirishima and Bakugō into the antechamber during their Provisional Licensing Exam, she doesn’t think anything of ribbing their group in her usual manner: “I thought Bakugō would beat us here for sure, but I guess Kaminari held you back, huh?”

“Hey!” the electric-user cries, sounding offended. “Why are you like this? You should really change that part of yourself, ya know?”

She’s not expecting his comeback to hurt, but something in her chest twinges with how personal his response is. Jirō knows that she’s not a forthcoming person, that her normal has a bit more…edges…to it than, say, Ashido or Sero (Kaminari’s usual pals), but hell, the blond's gotten into the habit of following Bakugō (of all people!) around, and there’s no way she’s somehow more barbed than the explosions-user, right? 

The conversation flows around her while she tries to fight her offense at his response, and then they’re too busy with finishing the second part of the exam, the dialogue lost to another moment in time. 

It sits with her for a bit, that she’s actually becoming friends with the people that she initially tried to avoid getting close to, and the apparent rejection of her personality prickles for longer than she expects. Being on the outskirts of school cliques isn’t an unusual circumstance, but now that she’s older and trying to forge a future as a Pro Hero (and is actually friendly with her classmates), it seems a little more important to be…congenial.

Even if that means biting her tongue on her first (likely dry) comment.

So she resolves to consider her words before uttering them – the goal isn’t to change who she is as a person, just to make sure her commentary is appropriate to the situation – and apparently manages to endear herself to her classmates enough that they turn to her to lead their class during the School Festival.

She wants to put the blame solely on Kaminari, who’s discovered her love for music, won’t let it go, and enthusiastically volunteers her, but Kōda (to her surprise) jumps on board before she can really get a word in, followed by Hagakure, and then everyone’s eyes are on her.

It's then, with Kaminari a little too inside her personal space for her normal level of comfort (not that he cares), golden eyes gleaming, grin wide with an authenticity that she finds a little disarming, that Jirō realizes that this version of Kaminari is actually kind of…attractive. Everything about the blond in the moment is so earnest as to be cute, and she finds herself revisiting the embarrassment she felt when he first saw her room, a trickle of guilt catching in her throat at her uttered threats over what she’s now realizing is genuine admiration on his part.

He seems really into the idea of the band, because when she makes a halfhearted final attempt at escaping the sudden obligation, Kaminari volun-asks Bakugō (Bakugō!) to be their drummer (at least it isn't just her roped into his machinations), and at that point, it’s a done deal…

…Which, despite her initial hesitancy, ends up being a good thing. Every free moment they have over the next month – already limited with their heavy workload – is dedicated to writing, rehearsing, and teaching; it’s a humbling experience to be the authority figure – the leader – of a group, and Jirō takes to the position with a greater tenacity than she’s ever devoted to anything. She creates exhaustive notes rivaling those of Midoriya’s – known by all for his studious deep dives and voluminous notebooks, which she draws inspiration from – to get Tokoyami and especially Kaminari up to snuff. 

Hours are spent guiding them (sometimes together, sometimes separately) on how to hold their guitars, place their fingers, transition them to different chords so they understand first the basics and then what’s actually needed for the song she continues to edit day after day. And while being so busy with leading their band stops her from dwelling on the idle thought that the blond is attractive (which, in her mind, is a boon), the moments she spends alone with Kaminari really start to shift her perspective of him. She’s used to the Kaminari who tries to impress someone despite always seeming a bit out of his depth, and it surprises her to witness the intensity he devotes himself to learning the guitar. When he whines, it’s not because things are unfair (like he does in class or training), but because he’s frustrated that he’s not picking up the lesson and he really wants to.

She empathizes with that – every new song or new instrument created its own frustrations when she started learning it – and realizes that this version of Kaminari, who’s devoted to trying his best, is more proactive than reactive, focused on music, and just a little…milder, isn’t so bad to be around.

When the time comes, they absolutely crush their performance – according to both Kaminari and, surprisingly, Bakugō – and Jirō catches the blond’s excited gaze, expression open with unabashed awe that he doesn’t hesitate to shower upon her. He’s almost always nearby, cheerful beyond compare, full of praise, and Jirō’s cheeks flush under his gaze; it must be disguisable as an aftereffect of the short concert, because no one says anything, least of all Kaminari, and for that she’s grateful.

Now that their show is over, the niggling thought that the blond is attractive has room to fester.

It’s not a wholly foreign concept, she muses as she and Yaoyorozu move their way through the School Festival crowd. Their class is filled with good-looking boys growing into adulthood: Midoriya is cute in a dorky way; Kirishima is fit; Todoroki is kind of a pretty boy, despite his scar; even Bakugō is attractive in a rough-and-tumble kind of way when he’s not scowling and screaming at people. She can even acknowledge that Kaibara Sen and Awase Yosetsu from Class B are easy on the eyes. But it’s never really clicked with her that Kaminari – currently rushing with Mineta to the head of the crowd gathered around the beauty competition – falls within the same category, even though it seems fairly obvious in retrospect, and she’s not sure why the revelation is only occurring now or why it seems just slightly different from how she sees the other boys. Their attractiveness has always felt like viewing artwork and tacitly acknowledging that, yes, they’re pleasing to the eye; there’s no reason her mind should be finding any difference between him and, say, Midoriya.

She pushes both the idea and the discrepancy to the back of her mind even as the concert becomes a turning point in how she views her classmates, the experience solidifying them as her found family. Even then, Kaminari’s smile begins to unsettle her in a not-unpleasant way, and in classic Jirō fashion, she overcompensates by needling him when Aizawa reprimands him for not taking their battle exercises seriously, regret again twinging when he calls her a true heroine in return without any sense of insincerity. She’s not really used to guilt in her everyday life, and it gives her pause, enough to at least rethink how she and Kaminari treat each other despite their established rapport.

Her internal conflict comes to a head when Kaminari is sent to the frontlines against the PLF, her concern for him showing itself in a quiet, hesitant murmur only meant for Yaoyorozu’s ears. That he returns to them in one piece is nothing short of a miracle, and Jirō finds herself breathing a sigh of relief that goes unheard by everyone.

There’s a middle ground she thinks she finally finds when she adds her voice to those of her friends trying to convince Midoriya to return to U.A., and why she’s willing to abandon the “safety” of being support to head to the front lines in the final fight against All-for-One, inadvisable as it is. It feels like she's discovered an equilibrium that she's never known when surrounded by other people, and it spawns an internal catharsis that seems like it's healed (or is at least healing) some of her old insecurities.

But when the dust settles and their second year begins, the new normal – her self-described middle ground – has shifted once again into one where Aizawa works them to the bone and Jirō has so much on the brain that she doesn’t have time to think about anything beyond their studies. Right out the gate, Aizawa has them revisit their two-person Hero-Villain exercise from first year, and Jirō finds herself feigning nonchalance as she and Kaminari discuss their strategy to beat Yaoyorozu and Mineta. Spring break has gifted him another inch or two of height, an easygoing smile, and a straightening of his shoulders that suggests he’s suddenly found a confidence he lacked until the very end of their first year.

“We’ve got this,” he tells her, eyes bright, grin wide, pinky finger extended. Jirō wraps one of her jacks around it in solemn agreement and tries to forget that Kaminari is a) attractive, and b) really easy to like.

As it turns out, they do not ‘got this’, because Momo knows both their abilities far too well at this point and has become a reliable leader when it comes to planning and neutralizing an opposing force; despite that, the difference between them now and one year ago is stark. Kaminari is more cautious in their approach to the exercise rather than being afraid of hurting her, and when he pushes her away and shouts for her to go right before Mineta activates his Grape Rush to catch them on one of the lower levels, Jirō experiences a twang of…something…that he’s basically sacrificing himself for her sake, fake exercise be damned. She glances over her shoulder as the blond discharges two million volts, fusing Mineta’s purple spheres into a gooey web that traps the Stun Gun Hero while knocking the perverted boy unconscious.

It’s a bittersweet moment, and Jirō considers it a heavy failure that she can’t capitalize on it. That Kaminari doesn’t blame her for their (her) loss, laughs it off good-naturedly and tells her they’ll get them next time, is just a testament to how good a person he is.

He’s apparently decided to take more than their physical training seriously, she learns, as he becomes a regular presence in study sessions with her and Momo, which slowly grows to include Ojirō, Sero, Hagakure, Kirishima, and eventually Ashido, who whines when Kaminari’s marks start to leave her as the last in class academically. Their group becomes big enough that they’re forced to move from Momo’s cramped bedroom to one of the common areas, and somehow, Jirō finds Kaminari squeezing himself next to her with surprising frequency. 

She expects him to be distracting – because that’s just how Kaminari is – so it comes as a surprise when he merely encroaches on her space without necessarily being intrusive. He asks her for study tips on history and Hero law, and she begins to turn to him for help with English because he’s shown himself to be surprisingly adept at it. She can hear her heartbeat quicken when he angles his head just slightly into her personal space, looking to spy on her notes, and when she nudges him back to his own materials, he grins at her – her stomach flipping with the gesture – and silently heeds her directive.

It isn’t until after their summer break, as they’re resettling into the dorms, that Jirō starts to pick up subtleties she’s never noticed before. Her Quirk has always made her hearing naturally more sensitive than average, but now, with no effort, she can discern the individual heartbeats of her classmates, Kōda’s quiet mumbles, and (because he’s always nearby) the constant, near-silent buzz of electricity beneath Kaminari’s skin. She turns whenever he attempts to sneak up on her, trying hard not to smirk at the crestfallen expression on his face when his ploy is stymied.

It's a result of her training, she assumes, an evolution of her Quirk, and because it’s her role to pay attention to what goes on around her, she starts to take note of the unsaid things occurring around her. When the class spends evenings in the common room and Kaminari flops down in the spot next to her, his heartbeat (which sounds a little arrhythmic sometimes) speeds up, and when he puts an arm around her shoulders, she can hear his breath hitch right before she pokes a jack into his cheek or his ribs. From her room, she hears him playing the guitar she’s loaned him and catches his muttered curses at a missed chord; on another night, she overhears breathy, rhythmic grunting and is stunned for a few seconds before fumbling for soundproof earphones, a deep red flush spreading to the tips of her jacks. 

As she closes her eyes and tries to squish the sounds from her brain, turning up the volume to an unrecommended decibel level, Jirō quickly decides she needs to be careful with her (inadvertent) eavesdropping.

There’s always been an unspoken assumption that teenagers will do as teenagers do (being classmates with Mineta tends to strip one of a sense of innocence), but she’s never been interested in that aspect of life, and without hard evidence, the assumption has almost felt…mythical. She remembers (with vivid embarrassment) sex education classes at the end of middle school, hearing but not really processing any of the information; being a shy wallflower without attention lathered on her from any interested parties means it’s never seemed personally pertinent.

Several years later, with adolescence in full swing, a larger social circle, and even being friends (or at least classmates) with people who are (sometimes obsessively) interested in or growing more intrigued by that kind of thing, Jirō still can’t say she understands any of the hype.

The dichotomy between her and her peers sparks her curiosity enough to turn from silently musing on the situation to browsing the internet for an explanation, and she stumbles upon the answer surprisingly quickly.

Asexual.

Oh, she thinks, feeling stupid as she reads.

The rabbit hole is deep, expansive, and despite all that, Jirō feels a little lighter for having found an answer. She’s different, but not alone, and that there’s guidance – in research, in the stories and experiences of other aces – is more reassuring than she would have anticipated.

She starts to spend an hour in the evenings digesting people’s questions, answers, and lives to find comparison to her own, donning her headphones at the first inclination of any of her dormmates enjoying themselves, trying to train her Quirk to adjust to a new threshold of ambient noise while not creeping herself out.

Before she can blink, their second School Festival is upon them, and Kaminari is in her face again, exuberant and bright, proclaiming that they need to put on another concert, even better than the year before, and please please please will she sing again?

Her stomach flips at his expression, the most recent recurrence of many, and Jirō finds she can’t really deny him. His joy is enough to bring out a gentle half-smile that she quickly disguises, excusing herself to her room with an apology that, if they’re going to do this, she needs to get to work.

She’s spent the last year and a half watching Uraraka grow embarrassed with every mention of Midoriya, Ashido casually flirt on and off with both Kirishima and Yaoyorozu, and Hagakure subtly cozy up to Ojirō, not to mention hearing every perverted word from Mineta’s mouth and Kaminari and Sero’s inane focus on incidents involving (semi-)naked women to know that people have a fixation for other people that Jirō has never fully understood, and now she knows why. But it’s also been a long year of ignoring the little voice in her head that reminds her she thinks the blond is attractive (more so than the other boys she objectively notes are good-looking), that his grin does funny things to her, and that, despite some of his…particulars…Kaminari is one of her closest friends. All the evidence only seems to reinforce the overdue (yet sudden) realization that she has a crush on him that she doesn’t really know what to do with. 

That she’s somewhere on the asexual spectrum and Kaminari most certainly isn’t is essentially a death knell for her feelings. Besides which, a year and a half of interaction and observation shows the blond’s romantic interest in the opposite sex is on those who don’t look like her, meaning there’s nothing to suggest he’ll ever return her feelings.

She collapses on her bed after locking her door, a bevy of thoughts whirling in her head and none of them related to the song(s) she now has to create. Kaminari’s brilliant smile swims in her vision, golden eyes sparkling, and Jirō hesitates before closing her eyes and allowing her hands to wander. She imagines Kaminari hovering above her, fixes in her mind the image of him from their last trip to the pool, his lean arms caging her against the sheets while honey eyes darkened to topaz drink her in, and breaks a boundary she never before, and still doesn’t really, feel the urge to.

It's the first time, but not the last, that she treads such intimate territory, and it leaves her with a bittersweet feeling. There’s a sense of normalcy in this taboo of sorts that’s been absent from her life – plenty of other aces engage, even as others don’t – this thing that her classmates do outside of their homework and Hero training; in the privacy of her room, she feels close to Kaminari in a way that she knows she’ll never be in his presence. It’s her one whimsical engagement, where she sticks to the Kaminari in her dreams and pretends that she’s a little normal.

But her personal ministrations drive her focus – intentionally or otherwise – even harder onto Kaminari, and by accepting her own feelings, it starts to become apparent that there’s a difference in how he reacts to her as compared to his other friends. Unsure how to interpret the subtle changes in Kaminari’s body when he’s around her – though she knows how she wants to – she focuses her attention on more than just the blond in the hope that it’ll distract her from her fantasies.

But romance, she’s (kind of) accepted, is everywhere, and the way that some of her classmates act around each other (intentionally or subconsciously) is so similar to Kaminari’s reactions to her presence that it starts to give her hope. Not enough to do anything, because Jirō knows she’s bad at anything involving dating, that Kaminari likely expects things of a girlfriend that she isn’t really comfortable with (especially with another person), but enough to at least consider that maybe she’s wrong about his feelings, that maybe he is interested in her.

But the risks of admitting anything always seem to outweigh the rewards, and they’re still young and working through school, so Jirō sits back, hones her skills, listens, and lives with her fantasies, where there is no disappointment. As the end of their education approaches, she finds she’s running out of excuses, especially since her crush is as strong as it’s ever been. Mina – bless her, even though how the pink girl knows about her feelings is a mystery – is confident the blond will ask her to the formal, even as Jirō turns down multiple dates and the dance inches ever closer in proportion to her rising disappointment.

It takes all her bravery – and far too much encouragement from Mina – to approach Kaminari at his table and demurely lay out her feelings in such a way that her intentions are simultaneously obvious and capable of being brushed off if she’s read the situation wrong.

But while her gamble pays off, when she discovers that reality (terrifying as it can be) is better than fantasy, she continues to sit with the fear that there’s an innate incompatibility between them just waiting to rear its head.

For once, it’s her years of watching Kaminari rather than listening to him that suggests that something is off. She figures that he should be ecstatic now that they’re actually sleeping together – unless it’s bad, which is a distinct possibility, she has no freaking clue – but even though his heart pounds with rhythmic excitement and he assures her with no trace of dishonesty that it’s good, he’s still being…weird.

More than usual.

It takes a couple of go-rounds, but she starts to get familiar with the way the electricity crackling beneath his skin seems to build to a crescendo and then just…fizzles out, his expression intense and just a touch desperate. She’s seen him like this many times before, all while learning to control his power, and it occurs to her that maybe, instead of being bad at this, she’s pushing him to a point where he’s actively focusing on not hurting her, beyond their physical intimacy.

Which is both touching and a little disheartening; after all, he should be getting a lot more from this whole exercise than she is.

Jirō is grateful when Yaoyorozu doesn’t ask any questions following her request for the most powerful lightning rod she can create. That it has something to do with Kaminari is obvious, but the Hearing Hero is sure she’ll die of embarrassment if her roommate requests details.

She places the metal device in a corner of her room and waits for Kaminari to visit on his day off. When he finally does, she drags him into her room, kisses him fiercely, and then shoves him onto her bed. He lets out a noise of surprise at her aggression, golden eyes wide, and Jirō fists her hands on her hips, gaze narrowed into a near-glare, jacks wrapping around his wrists and keeping him snared. “You’re lucky I’m not as big an idiot as you, Chargedolt. You wanna go on keeping secrets, or are you finally gonna talk about things?”

Kaminari’s expression is pure innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jirō’s eyes narrow further, and the blond can’t hold her gaze. “Okay, this is gonna sound really stupid, but whenever we, y’know, my Quirk starts to act up, and I have to…focus on not losing control and—zzztt!” He twitches from his supine position in imitation of being shocked.

Jirō sighs and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I kinda figured as much. Try releasing some electricity.” One of her jacks moves to his lips in a shushing gesture, preempting his protest. “Just do it.”

He acquiesces silently, electricity sparking across the fingertips of one hand. There's a split second where it appears before flying off into the corner and settling on the lightning rod. Kaminari’s slack-jawed expression provides an opening for Jirō to comment, “Yes, you are that predictable, and I’m a geni—ah!”

Kaminari yanks her forward and then rolls them so he’s hovering over her. He’s wearing a smirk instead of his usual grin, his gaze hungry. “Well if that’s the case,” he says, voice low, “I guess I don’t have to hold back anymore.”

Jirō smirks back and doesn’t bother resisting his hold. “I guess not.”

“Hey, tell me a secret.”

Kaminari turns toward her, brow furrowed. “What kind of secret?”

Jirō shrugs, the sheet slipping just slightly down her shoulder. She can see the blond’s golden gaze follow the motion as more skin is revealed, her lips quirking at his enthralled expression. She’s wearing a sleeping tank, so it’s not like there’s any implication behind the reveal, yet he seems just as enraptured by her as ever; at this point in their relationship, many of her insecurities have been tempered by the fact that Denki has proven both verbally and physically that he’s constantly transfixed by her, but it still catches her off-guard sometimes. “Anything. Just trying to get you in the habit of sharing, since you’re bad at it.”

“Kyōkaaa,” he whines, poking her shoulder with all the petulance of a child. “You don’t know the pressure of trying to keep you happy while trying not to lose you.”

She pokes him back with a jack. “Hey, you’re not gonna lose me, especially if we’re honest with each other, so stop worrying about it. Now, let’s hear it, something I don’t know.”

“Hmm…” Kaminari pulls himself so that he’s sitting upright against the headboard, the sheet pooling around his waist and leaving his upper body on full display for Jirō’s appreciative gaze, one finger tapping his chin in thought. “Oh, I know! Back at U.A., I added the choker to my costume because I thought you made it look badass. And I decided to call myself the Stun Gun Hero because of what you said about me during the U.S.J. attack.”

“That’s…very flattering,” Jirō says, trying not to smile.

Kaminari’s grin suggests that she’s not succeeding. He nudges her with his elbow and prompts, “Alright, your turn.”

“Fair enough.” She hums and then says, “When I was in middle school, I wrote a song that my mom ended up recording for her next album.”

The blond’s eyes are wide with awe. “Whoa…you’re an actual published musician? Did you chart?”

“Cracked the top 40. And before you say anything else, I gave the credit to my parents for writing the song, so I’m not an actual published musician. Dork,” she huffs affectionately.

Kaminari shakes his head, releasing an exasperated breath. “You really need to learn to take credit for your accomplishments, Kyōka. Do you know anyone else who made their own song at, what, 13, 14? And it was a hit!” Beneath the sheet, he takes her hand and squeezes it in a gesture of support. “That was a way better secret than mine, though. Let me think of another one…

“Ah, okay, got it,” he says with a snap of his fingers, “although it’s not as whimsical or cool as yours. Promise you won’t freak out or anything.” She stares at him, and he appears to be waiting for her to actually respond, so she nods and he continues, “Alright, well, sometimes when you guys say I’m stupid or whatever, it…sits with me, and I kind of believe it. If it was just ‘cause of Whey mode, I wouldn’t think much of it, but…” he shrugs in an attempt at casualness. “I know that it’s just what people say and not necessarily what they mean, but I also know that I’m not always the smartest, so it being true doesn’t seem like that big a stretch…”

“Denki…” Jirō mulls over the revelation, trying to find the right words in a very short timeframe. She puts a hand on his arm and gently trails her fingertips along his skin in a comforting gesture. “You’re not stupid. I don't mean that when I say it, and…” She falls silent as the words come out; she knows better than most what a few choice words repeated over and over can do to one’s self-perception, and it strikes her that Kaminari is still human even when he’s always felt larger than life. “Sometimes, you do stupid things, and if you could stop doing that, I would appreciate it, but making mistakes is human, so if I ever make you feel like you’re less than you are, I’m sorry.”

He smiles at her, soft, forgiving. “Aww, you’re the best, Kyōka. Apology accepted. Think you can get Kacchan to apologize next?”

“I’m not a miracle-worker.”

“Fair enough,” he agrees, and Jirō is reminded again of how easy Kaminari makes it to love him.

He’s looking at her pointedly, and the Hearing Hero knows that it’s her turn again. Given the depth of trust in her Kaminari displayed with his admission, she feels like he deserves the truth of her most closely guarded secret. So Kyōka takes a deep breath, teeters on the edge of a knife blade, averts her eyes, and then admits aloud, for the first time, “I’m asexual.”

She’s not sure what Denki’s response is going to be. He’s not insensitive, so she doesn’t think he’s going to outright reject her claim (which has been the result of many of her internet-peers’ stories), but neither is he always overly perceptive (as he’s admitted), and if she knows him as well as she thinks she does, he’s liable to make a joke.

Instead, he’s quiet in the wake of her confession, and when she deigns to glance at him, his expression is more pensive than anything else. “What’s that mean?”

She’s surprised – pleasantly so – that he asks, and with a semblance of renewed confidence responds, “I don’t experience sexual attraction.” At his continued quietude, she pauses to think of a better way to explain it to him, takes another breath, and asks, “You know how you used to hit on everyone with at least a size C bra?”

“…Yes,” he admits, sounding chuffed.

“And you would’ve slept with them if they’d ever given you a chance?”

“…Is, uh…is there a right answer to this?”

“He’s learning not to hide the truth,” Jirō teases, poking him with her jack and eliciting a squawk of protest. “But I’m not going to judge you or hold it against you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She loves that Kaminari is so easily reassured by her words. “Yeah, okay, if the opportunity had presented itself, probably. But just as a reminder, I was 15 and stupid!”

“So you’re just older now?” she remarks, the response almost automatic, and it elicits a pout from him even as she apologizes. Their familiar banter is helping to anchor her to the moment, because it feels a bit like her spirit is about to exit her body; that she's not hyperventilating is a feat she doesn't know how to explain right now. “My point is, I’m not like that. I don’t just see people and think about…sex.”

“Even me?”

He sounds more confused than hurt, which Kyōka considers…well, not a good thing necessarily, but better than the reverse, since she’s not really sure how he’s going to react to her honesty. “…No, sorry,” she whispers, and the admission is genuinely distressing.

“So why—"

“Denki, you need to understand, just because I don’t experience sexual attraction doesn’t mean that I don’t think you’re physically attractive or that you’re…pressuring me into anything. Neither of those things could be farther from the truth. I love you, and that’s enough for me to be…comfortable…with you.

“For me, sex just doesn’t really register as a thing that I think about, but I enjoy being with you and it doesn’t hurt me or go against some…personal ethos to do so. Remember how we had to adjust to what we each needed from the other?” She laces her fingers with his beneath the covers as if to physically bring the memory back, and he nods. “It’s kind of like that…it’s not really a regular thing I consider. But at the end of the day, I’m okay with it; it just takes me awhile to get to that point, on top of, you know, overcoming my other insecurities…”

“Okay, putting a pin in that, ‘cause you know how I feel about that… So do you, uh…hmm…” He looks distinctly embarrassed, and Kyōka wonders if this is how she always looks around him, when the shoe’s on the other foot. “When you, uh…take care of yourself”—and now she’s blushing—“what do you use as…motivation?”

This, at least, is an easy question to answer, though it feels like her response is likely to inflate her boyfriend’s already high opinion of himself. “I’ve always thought of you.”

Kaminari gapes at her like she’s just revealed the answer to the meaning of life, and she’s again surprised at the difference between his reaction and her expectation. “Every time? Even back at U.A.?” he asks, and she nods. “You don’t like…watch porn or anything?”

It feels like she’s rapidly losing the thread of the original conversation, even if it’s still tangentially related, but there’s still a positive charge around their discussion, so Jirō decides to play along and see where it leads. She remembers reading and having a bevy of similar questions as she began looking for answers, and there are enough online horror stories of people in her situation not being able to work through this kind of discourse with their partners that she has a not-unrealistic fear of becoming another one of those statistics.

Besides, Denki always seems concerned that she’s going to react poorly to something he says or does, and in a way, she appreciates that he cares enough to have that thought, but she wants him to realize that things will turn out okay as long as they’re honest with each other. Perhaps having this open – and admittedly awkward – dialogue (where the shoe is on the other foot) will help with that; he already seems less hesitant just asking questions, which feels like a step in the right direction. “It…never really crossed my mind,” she admits. “Even with you, in my head, it was always just…a weird, impossible fantasy. It was like this,” she adds, thumbing towards the lightning rod, “just an outlet. I liked you, so if there was anyone I would be intimate with, it would only be you.”

Denki runs a hand through his blond locks, ruffling them as if attempting to unscramble his brain. “Well that’s…” he blows out a breath, “that kinda explains a lot, I guess.” He lets out a familiar laugh, sounding normal. “I feel like there’s a lot more pressure now!”

“That wasn’t—”

“I mean, I’m super flattered!” he interjects, potentially sensing that his comment is one of those that could start her spiraling into her insecurities. “I just…people are so different,” he settles on, and Jirō, curious at the obvious statement, waits for him to gather his thoughts and elaborate. “I guess…back at U.A., I never would’ve thought you would think of me in any way aside from the friend who sat next to you and sometimes annoyed the crap out of you. But now we’re here, and you’re telling me that your dirty thoughts”—he smirks at this, like it’s some sort of taboo he can lord over her—“were about me, and only me?”

“Like you’re one to talk,” she retorts with familiar snark.

Kaminari hand-waves the comment. “Yeah, but everyone expected that of me, right? Like, I got along with Mineta, so obviously I’m gonna be interested in all the things a horny teenager’s gonna be interested in. But your vibe is totally different, and…well, I guess now I know why. I always pictured you being into something kind of punk or emo or…music-related?” he muses, almost to himself.

Jirō blinks. “I don’t even know what that means. Is that a thing?”

Another hand-wave. “What I mean is, unless there’s some obvious evidence to the contrary, I think people assume everyone else is like them. Like…everyone assumes everyone else has a Quirk because most people in society have a Quirk. So when someone reveals something about themselves that’s different, like Midoriya and Aoyama being born Quirkless, you don’t expect it.” He rubs a hand across his forehead, like he’s trying to massage away a headache. “I feel like I’m just describing what it’s like to be told a secret.”

“Probably because you are.” The Hearing Hero hesitates, then asks, “So you’re…okay? With…this?” With me? she doesn’t say. It’s the make-or-break question that she’s aware has done the latter to a great many relationships, to people she doesn’t know whose partners can’t deal with the idea that their significant other doesn’t experience the same level of want or need or desire as themselves.

His smile is soft, golden eyes gentle, and Jirō feels that familiar flutter of insect wings in her belly that keyed her to her feelings years prior. “It doesn’t change how you feel about me, right?”

“No.”

“Then it doesn’t matter,” Kaminari affirms. Realizing how that might sound, he quickly corrects, “Sorry, I mean, it doesn’t matter to me that you’re not sexually attracted to me, not that I don’t care that you’re asexual. I mean…we kind of do everything backwards, right? And I’ve always known that you’re not big on physical stuff anyway, even as friends, so…” he shrugs.

“Yeah, but…” she gestures helplessly, at a loss for words. She doesn’t know why she’s arguing against her own case when Kaminari is telling her he’s fine with it. It feels…unbalanced.

“Kyōka…I think I get what you’re saying about how you feel. And I even understand why you think it might change something.” Denki hesitates for a moment, then warns, “This is probably gonna sound stupid, so bear with me.”

His hand finds a place on her hip, fingers tapping with their usual restlessness, but Kyōka ignores it in favor of watching his expression as he considers his words. “When we started at U.A., I thought I knew what I wanted in a girlfriend, especially how she looked. And my, uh, private preferences reflected that. But when I figured out I had feelings for you, I realized that what I wanted didn’t really match what I had been interested in before, because I wanted you. The things that excited me changed.”

“So, what, you started getting off to flat-chested women?” Jirō deadpans, only half-serious.

“Duh,” he says, with a fond eyeroll for emphasis, “because I figured out you’re the hottest person I knew and assumed that was as close as I would ever get to the real thing. Kyōka, you really have no idea what you do to me.” The sudden intensity in both his expression and his timbre fade a little; perhaps he realizes his vehemence is a little strange considering the circumstances and her recent revelation. “From what you said, it doesn’t sound like it’s the same for you, but that’s fine. I don’t need you to think that I’m the hottest thing since…Todoroki’s fire, or whatever, I just need you, here, in my life.

“And yeah, if you’d said something to me about this back then, I probably would have said something stupid and insensitive and perverted. Something Mineta-ish. Now…” he shrugs. “I don’t think I’ll ever say no if you’re up for it, but I also get that our relationship is more than that. And that’s not something I would have understood or appreciated back then.

“My point is, things change, and we change with them. Look how far we’ve come since we started! I love you – you’re smart and beautiful and insanely talented at like…a whole bunch of different things – and it doesn’t change a thing for me that you’re asexual. I’m never gonna take you for granted, at least not on purpose, and I’ll never push you if you tell me you’re not into something. We’ll just keep goin’ the way we have been, and everything’ll be okay. Roll with the punches, right?”

She can feel the beginnings of tears in her eyes; Denki’s unending loyalty and affection have always been a little overwhelming, but especially so in the wake of her confession. Instead, she leans over and kisses him, trying to speak his love language. We’ll keep at it, she tells him wordlessly. In the moment, it feels like the most appropriate way to show him what he means to her, what his acceptance means to her.

It’s kind of funny how her attempt to get Denki to open up to her has instead had the opposite result, relieving her of another burden she’s been unsure of laying at the blond’s feet. She’s read far too many stories of people like her, all across the asexual spectrum, who haven’t been able to find or maintain a relationship because of who they are, and the idea of Denki potentially rejecting this portion of her identity – of rejecting her – has been festering in the deep corners of her mind for a very long time.

“…We’re both really terrible at this, aren’t we?”

“That’s what makes us great together!”

She giggle-snorts and snuggles a little deeper into his side. Kaminari’s fingers are still twitching lightly near her waist, and now that his diatribe is over and her attention is less focused on what he’s saying, Jirō realizes that there’s a certain, familiar rhythm to the movements. …R-Y-M-E-M-A-R-R—

She leans away from him, dark eyes wide, and catches a grin taking over her boyfriend’s expression. “You know Morse code?!”

“I asked Shōji to teach me. I know you guys learned a couple different types of communication when you were working for Gang Orca.” She can see a glint of teeth as Kaminari’s amusement grows. “So?”

It’s Jirō’s turn to gape, too shocked to respond to his proposal, and so Kaminari, as he’s wont to do, decides to fill in the silence on her behalf. “I know that we’re still young, and I don’t have a ring or anything fancy, but I’ve kind of been sitting on this idea for a while and, I dunno, it feels like this moment deserves something special as an endcap. I’m not gonna pretend that I’ve always done things right, but I think this time I’ve got it figured out. I just want to be with you, if you’re good with that. I even asked your dad for his blessing and got it, can you believe it?”

By all accounts, it’s an objectively awful proposal. There’s no flowers or ambiance or sweeping romantic gestures, and as Denki himself has indicated, no ring. 

And if Kyōka was like Momo – raised in opulence and tradition – or Mina or Hagakure – placing import on stereotypically romantic gestures – she might care more. But the Hearing Hero is a purveyor of pragmatism, and she kind of loves how quiet and personal it is. She’s not sure if he’s chosen this semi-clumsy way of doing things because he knows she’ll appreciate the simplicity of the gesture or because it’s just a part of his dorky charm, but he’s right that the evening feels like it deserves something memorable to conclude it.

She smiles at him, happy and unafraid to show it. She kisses him again – one long, one short, two long; one short; and then three more quick pecks. In response, he smiles against her lips, pulling her close and relishing her nearness, and they fall asleep amidst the serenity of the open atmosphere.

Chapter Text

Days turn to weeks and nothing inherently changes. Jirō breathes a sigh of relief she doesn’t realize she’s been holding.

That unsurety…she doesn’t know where or when it began, just that the anxiety of people, of being in the spotlight, of screwing something up because she sees things differently, raises her hackles in a way she can’t explain.

Despite Kaminari’s words and constant reassurances throughout their time together, there’s apparently still a part of her that’s insecure enough to expect rejection – because of how she looks or how she treats him or how she experiences the world and their relationship and what that means for their future – and that it never comes is a wonder that helps beat back the whispering, doubting voices in her head.

Kaminari doesn’t get her an engagement ring – and she can’t say she expects or even really wants one – but three months later, he comes by with a jewelry case that opens to reveal a jet-black treble clef on a chain, a small amethyst embedded within the bottom loop of the note. It’s simple and elegant, and the blond’s expression of mixed bashfulness and hope (for her approval, perhaps, though what he has to prove at this point is beyond her) is endearingly familiar. Then she remembers that this is the boy who tries his hardest despite his own streak of failures and hesitancy, so she simply holds her short hair out of the way in a silent gesture that invites him to put it on.

He places it around her neck, fingertips barely brushing her skin, and when she turns around, he beams at her. “Beautiful.”

She knows him well enough to know that the compliment is meant for her and not the necklace, and instead of rejecting the claim outright like she once might have, or turning away in embarrassment, she stands on her tiptoes and places a soft, lingering kiss on his lips. When she pulls away, he looks inordinately pleased with himself, like he’s accomplished something much grander than the situation suggests, and Jirō sees the Kaminari who exudes the confidence and self-esteem that seemed more performative in their youth, the version that gives her assurance and courage just by virtue of his presence.

He suddenly grabs her hand and leads her out the door; Kyōka barely has time to grab her keys, slip on her shoes, and lock up before they’re gone, heading for the train station. “Hey, where’re we going?”

“To see my parents.”

Jirō is silent – stunned, contemplative – in the wake of his simple response. Kaminari doesn’t talk about his family too often, and from the story he told about when his Quirk manifested, her mind has kind of classified his parents in the same vein as Todoroki’s family – broken and diametrically opposite to the person she knows. She pictures his father as a Denki-colored version of Endeavor, muscles upon muscles and a stern expression, expecting his son to control his electricity and meet some predetermined threshold of greatness; his mother, with her pacemaker, is not dissimilar from Todoroki Rei, thin and pale-skinned, frail, maybe bound to a wheelchair.

This imagined picture stays with her on the long train ride northeast to Saitama Prefecture, and Jirō finds that Kaminari’s hand in hers is a simple comfort she’s slowly grown used to and greatly appreciates, especially in this moment. The gesture is one of those low-effort things common in most relationships that the Hearing Hero mentally recalibrated her personal habits to account for, but now seeks out as much for her own peace of mind as the blond’s thirst for touch.

When they finally arrive in Kawaguchi, Kaminari leads her to an average-looking apartment complex and knocks on the door marked 3C, and Jirō discovers that her preconceptions are wildly inaccurate. Despite the brief surprise that flickers across his face, Kaminari’s father is almost painfully normal: he’s essentially an older, less muscled, version of Denki, possessing the younger male’s light coloration, albeit with shorter hair and eyes like dark honey. “Denki!” he proclaims, broad grin the likes of which Jirō can’t even imagine on Endeavor’s face spreading across his lips. “What a surprise! Hey, Hikari, guess who’s here?”

Denki’s mother appears in her field of vision, looking similarly average with caramel-colored skin, chocolate eyes, and hair like pitch falling to her shoulder blades in a braid. She’s standing and walking and looks perfectly lively, and at first blush, it seems like the only trait she’s passed on to the Stun Gun Hero is the dark zigzag in his hair that’s the most striking feature of his physical appearance. “Denki!” She strides forward, ducks beneath her husband’s frame, and embraces the blond, tucking her 5’4” figure against his 5’9” one to squeeze tight. When she lets go, she spots Kyōka and offers the younger woman the same bright smile the Hearing Hero is used to seeing from her fiancé. “And you must be Jirō.”

Jirō takes second to blink away her surprise. “Oh, yes.”

“Denki has told us so much about you, and Daiki and I have seen you on TV, but it’s nice to finally be able to put a face to a name in person.” She bows in greeting and then steps aside, making a welcoming gesture. “Please, come in.”

Kyōka returns the older woman’s bow before following her fiancé into the apartment, allowing herself a bemused smile as Daiki tousles his son’s head and pulls blond strands vertical through static cling; Kaminari swats at the older man’s hand and makes an attempt at returning the gesture, to no avail. Watching the two men interact reminds her of the way teenaged Denki palled around with Mina and Kirishima and Sero, and that nostalgia provides a different sort of comfort that helps ease her nerves at spontaneously meeting his parents.

“I was just about to make dinner,” Hikari says, “but perhaps we should go out instead to celebrate this special occasion?”

“Or order in,” Denki suggests, golden gaze flickering to Jirō for a moment. She can feel herself relax a little more at his intervention, the idea of going out in an unfamiliar area while she’s already out of her element a touch too far for comfort. He winks at her, then exchanges a grin with his father as they start to bally dinner ideas back and forth.

Hikari sidles up beside her and asks, “Do you have any particular preferences?”

Jirō shakes her head and offers the older woman a small smile. “No, we eat everything. Just so long as it’s not too spicy.”

“Perhaps sukiyaki? It’s starting to get a little chilly.”

“Sure.”

Hikari walks over to interrupt her family's debate with their decision and, apparently with a place in mind, asks if their regular orders are fine.

The Kaminari matriarch is an amazing woman, Jirō quickly decides; she has a soft air about her that reminds the Hearing Hero of both Yaoyorozu and Kōda, but clearly isn't a pushover. Denki gestures her over while his father steps aside to make a call – presumably to whatever restaurant has been decided upon – and Kyōka obliges, moving towards him and taking position by his side. Jirō half-expects him to wrap an arm around her waist, but instead he just twines the fingers of his left hand into her right and says, “I know this meeting has been a long time coming, but you and Dad should also know that Kyōka and I are engaged. So, uh…surprise?”

Kaminari Hikari doesn’t squeal or cry or have any of the stereotypical reactions Jirō would expect from the likes of someone like Mina or Hagakure, which further reinforces her initial assessment of the woman. Instead, she smiles at the pair – bright, genuine, the clear progenitor of her son’s good cheer – embraces her son, and then pulls the indigo-haired woman into a hug. Jirō tamps down on her initial inclination to freeze at the physical contact and instead brings her arms up to reciprocate the gesture. There’s something about the Kaminaris, she muses, that makes breaching her normal boundaries seem inconsequential. “I’m so happy for the two of you.” Kyōka finds herself held at arm’s length by the shorter woman, face-to-face once more with the openly joyful expression her fiancé inherited. “We should have a proper sit-down then, hm?”

They move their conversation to the dinner table, where Kaminari Daiki finds them and claps his hand on his son’s shoulder in congratulations. “So you finally decided to take the plunge? Good for you! And here we thought Denki was too embarrassed of us to invite someone into the family!”

“I think you need shame to feel embarrassment,” Jirō comments dryly, and then immediately registers what she’s said and almost shrinks in on herself. Being around Denki allows her to feel comfortable with being herself, but there’s still a time and place for commentary, and a dig at her fiancé while they’re sitting with his parents is…ill-timed, to say the least. What a first impression…

Daiki laughs even as his son lets out a splutter of protest. “Quick wit and sharp tongue, just like you said, Denki. Pretty smart to marry up!”

Their conversation from months before pops into her head, and her memory of his vulnerable expression in that moment prompts her to say, “Denki makes plenty of smart decisions. I’m very lucky to have him as a partner.”

Daiki grins at her, and there’s a familiar angle to his lips that’s reminiscent of her fiancé’s authenticity. His heartbeat doesn’t suggest any dishonesty either. “I’m glad to hear it. It wasn’t my intention to strike a nerve; we’ve always tried to support Denki to the best of our abilities, but we also knew that there was always going to be something that we couldn’t provide.”

“As parents, you can only guide your kids so far,” Hikari adds. “We always knew Denki would need someone special to keep him on the right path.”

“Yeesh, you guys are making me sound like some kind of truant,” Kaminari mutters, expression approaching a pout. “It’s not like I was a big troublemaker or anything.”

Hikari pats his hand and smiles at him. Her expression is soft and loving. “No, but your motivation going through school never felt very true to what we knew you were capable of. Not until after the war, anyway.” To Jirō, she says, “Denki always required a little bit of a push to get going. After the war though, whenever we’d talk, he was noticeably different. There was a drive to him that hadn’t been present before.”

Jirō remembers thinking the same thing back in their second year, that Kaminari wanted to be better and try harder than his first-year self. She assumed that his motivation came from having watched the likes of Midoriya and the more popular of their classmates overcoming adversity leading up to and during the war, but his mother’s pointed look seems to suggest that it’s Kyōka herself who inspired the young blond to start achieving his potential.

She feels Denki squeeze her hand and doesn’t know whether to interpret the gesture as confirmation of his mother’s implication or simple reassurance. From her periphery, she can see him roll his eyes with the same sort of fond exasperation she’s used to bequeathing upon him.

“Whatever the reason,” Daiki continues, “we’re very proud of who Denki has grown up to be.”

“And glad that he found someone who cares for him,” Hikari finishes. She exchanges a glance with her husband and adds, “You know, loving someone doesn’t mean being blind to their faults. It’s about acknowledging that people are imperfect, and accepting that those imperfections make us who we are. That’s why we felt that Denki had to be allowed to follow his own path and find his way, even when he made mistakes.”

“And boy were there mistakes!” Daiki proclaims.

“Alright, enough about me!” Denki cries. “You should be grilling Kyōka about everything under the sun!”

“But it’s our prerogative as your parents to embarrass you!” Daiki laughs.

“Kyōka doesn’t need any more ammo than she already has,” Denki assures them, and Jirō takes the moment to squeeze his hand back.

The older Kaminari pair decide to oblige their son, and Jirō offers a tepid smile as all attention turns to her.

She spends the next couple of hours fielding questions, teasing her fiancé, and learning the Kaminari family dynamic. By the time they leave, it strikes Jirō that Denki’s parents are nothing like what she imagined, and in fact are quite easy to like.

They’re on the train back to Musutafu, Jirō’s head on Denki’s shoulder, when she asks, “Do you think they like me?”

“Duh! Who wouldn’t?”

She rolls her eyes and doesn’t bother responding. Instead, she muses on the conversation of the evening and says, “Spontaneous though this was, I’m glad I was finally able to meet them. How come you don't really talk about them?"

Kaminari is silent for a long moment, and then admits, "They're very normal. I love them, and I know they love me, but I don't think they always understood how I grew up, especially after everything that happened with the PLF. Sometimes, it's hard to explain those kinds of things to people who weren't there. Don't get me wrong, I talk to them all the time – about you, and life; it's not like we keep secrets – but it's a little harder to relate now, y'know? As long as they're happy and healthy, I think that's most important. 'Sides, even if they didn't like you, I was never gonna give you up."

It's not an answer she expects, but it also makes sense. There's a melancholy to the idea that she doesn't want to dwell on. Instead, she says, "It’s easy to see how you grew up to be who you are.”

He laughs. “We’re all molded by our parents, right? Among others,” he adds, pointedly nudging his shoulder to jostle her head.

“Hmm…so are you copping to being inspired by me?”

“Everyone really. We trained with an amazing group of people, and after everything we went through, it was hard to not want to be better. But despite all that, you’re the one who gave me the courage to fight, and you’re the one who makes me want to be better now. In a way, I think my parents are right about that; we don’t really grow into ourselves until we have someone to grow up for…or with.”

“…Dork,” Jirō replies for lack of anything better to say, warmth flushing her skin. Kaminari Hikari’s words about her son’s potential and motivation, and more interestingly, on love, echo in her mind. It seems to perfectly encapsulate how their relationship functions, with each of them trying to be as supportive as possible of the other to work through problems and insecurities, and their growth as both individuals and a couple shows so much influence from the other.

She snuggles a little deeper into his shoulder, feels an arm crawl around her frame, and closes her eyes to the comfort of Kaminari Denki.

There’s a beep from where Denki’s phone is resting next to him on the bed, followed by an echoing buzz from the nightstand beside Jirō where hers is set. Kaminari pauses the game he’s playing and shoots a confused look at the Hearing Hero, who lowers the sheets of paper she’s been scribbling music notes over and furrows her eyebrows, reaching for the device. “Uhhh…it’s not an emergency, is it?”

“No,” Jirō replies slowly, expression relaxing. She hears her fiancé’s quick breath of relief and finds a grin quirking her lips for just a moment, bemused by his laziness. “Yao-momo wants us – looks like most of the class, and some from Class B – to meet at some place in Iwata on Saturday. She gave the address.”

“She doesn’t say what it’s for?”

Jirō shakes her head and sets her phone down. “Nope.”

“Ooo, kind of mysterious for Yao-momo. What do you think it is?”

“No idea. She hasn’t mentioned anything to me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Kaminari lets out a hum that carries the hint of a pout to her well-trained ears, and Jirō smirks to herself; she knows him too well. “Well, guess we’ll find out soon enough. Wanna make a day of it?”

“Yeah, that could be fun.” Kaminari offers her his pinky, and Jirō twines a jack around it in promise. She catches him grinning in profile before returning to his game, like he’s won the lottery, and the Hearing Hero rolls her eyes at how easy he is to please, hiding her own content expression by burying her nose back in her papers.

This atmosphere of…homeliness, she thinks, has become more frequent, and Kyōka finds that settling into the whole concept of being in a committed relationship now seems less intimidating than she imagined. There’s also a deep sense of nostalgia that harkens back to her slow-growing comfort with her former classmates as they settled into the dorms, and she muses that this is probably just her process – sit with anxiety for a long time before eventually finding a new normal that calms her nerves.

She glances at Denki, tongue poking out his lips, and again finds herself grateful for his seemingly endless patience. Feeling spontaneous, she leans over and plants a kiss on his left cheek, eliciting a surprised noise from the blond. “Hah?”

“Don’t think about it.”

“Alright…”

Jirō grins quietly to herself and gives a little shake of her head, amused by Denki’s ability to just roll with things; it seems like years of dealing with their classmates’ ridiculous antics has trained him to just take things in stride.

Just another sign of them growing up, she supposes.

Saturday rolls in before Jirō knows it, and Denki’s hand is warm in hers as they walk to the address provided by Yaoyorozu. Iwata is a pretty, if simple, city that reminds her of Musutafu, which makes sense since they’re not that far and still within Shizuoka Prefecture. The breeze off the ocean is tinged with salt, twisting through their hair and throwing her fringe in disarray. Kyōka lets out a huff and tries to brush her bangs into order, and Kaminari comments, “Is it weird to ask if Yao-momo is sending us to be murdered?”

“Yes,” she responds, arching an eyebrow at him. “This is Yao-momo we’re talking about.”

“Yeah, sure, but also…it feels like we’re at the docks?” he hazards. “That’s where the yakuza, like, make people walk the plank with concrete shoes, and Yao-momo’s totally got that high-class background that would make perfect cover for them.”

“First of all, I’m pretty sure you just combined elements of mob movies and pirate movies, because walking the plank with concrete shoes isn't physically possible.” Kaminari shrugs, grinning, and Jirō can’t hide her amusement, affectionately adding, “Dork. And second, I have strong doubts that Yao-momo is part of the yakuza.”

“But you have to admit the docks are suspicious.”

“Technically not at any docks, we’re just walking along the waterfront. And it’s broad daylight. What kind of yakuza are killing people on the docks – which, again, we’re not at – in the middle of the day?”

Kaminari lets out a huff and nudges her with his shoulder, and Jirō smirks at his silent acquiescence to her victory. There’s a second nudge, and then his arm comes up to point ahead. “Hey, is that the place?”

Jirō’s attention turns to where the Stun Gun Hero’s is fixed, finding a modern-looking, five-story building sitting on the waterfront, the sun glinting off one-way windows. Though nothing they’ve seen of Iwata seems particularly dated, this structure looks new in a way the rest of the city doesn’t, and the Hearing Hero wonders if Yaoyorozu has had this building constructed specifically for whatever purpose she’s called them here. “Looks like there’s a decent crowd gathered in front of it.”

Kaminari nods in her periphery, and in confirmation of the text message group, a large portion of their class is present; Jirō spies some of the more obvious standouts, like Mina, Kirishima, Shōji, and Bakugō, in addition to Kendō, Tetsutetsu, Honenuki, and a few others from Class B. “Kacchan!” Denki exclaims, overjoyed, and receives a scowl in return. Mina flounces over and gives Jirō a quick hug, followed by Hagakure.

By the time they’ve exchanged greetings with everyone, a few more invitees have trickled in, and Jirō notices that Yaoyorozu and Todoroki have appeared as well, stationing themselves between the gathered crowd and the building. She pokes Kaminari with a jack and then directs his attention toward their hosts­­ when he turns to her. Yaoyorozu appears to be fiddling with a number of electronics, and in short order, projections burst to life around them; Jirō clocks the visages of Asui, Tokoyami, Midoriya and Ochako, and Iida – most of whom are further away, or perhaps inconvenienced by the time of the meetup – before Yaoyorozu clears her throat and says, “Hello everyone, thank you for coming, or at least making yourself available to listen in.

“I know that everyone has been working hard as sidekicks with their respective Pro Heroes, but Shōto and I have always had a long view for where we want to go with our careers, and we think that it’s time to come into our own. I think everyone here is under no misconception that there is intense pressure on us to rise to the newly established world order, and with our history, we thought that it might be preferable to step out into the world with support.”

Todoroki takes over. “To that end, we would like to extend the invitation to everyone here to join our new agency.”

Around them, awed murmurs and muttering break out. Yaoyorozu takes a step forward to draw everyone’s attention back to her, adding, “As we’re starting out and trying to get a feel for how this will work, we’ve only extended this invitation to those whom Shōto and I discussed we have a proven working relationship with and would be less prone to causing potential internal controversy.”

Jirō glances at the assembled crowd of former Class B members, understanding dawning at the smaller group and lack of certain members; most of the present class have some sort of camaraderie with Yaoyorozu, if not another member of Class A invited to the gathering. With that context, Mineta’s absence also makes sense.

“Obviously,” she continues, “neither of us will be offended if anyone declines, but please think about it. We would be happy to work with any or all of you.”

There’s another outbreak of murmuring as the crowd begins to discuss the proposition in small groups, and she feels Denki tug on her hand. When she turns to him, he raises an eyebrow and asks, “Whaddya think?”

“I…” She’s not sure what to say; the proposition doesn’t feel like it’s fully filtered through her brain yet. Somehow, Kaminari’s spontaneous proposal feels like an easier question to answer. “I like working with Yao-momo; I mean, we’ve done so many exercises together in school, and now under Thirteen, so it would make a lot of sense…”

“Plus it would be fun to actually work together professionally,” he adds, teeth flashing in a bright smile.

Jirō finds herself surprised and doesn’t know why. “You’d join? Just like that?”

“Sure! Yao-momo and Todoroki are two of the smartest people I know, and I think it would be pretty cool to work at an agency with all our friends. Remember how we worked together at Nabu Island?”

“You mean when you were basically just charging batteries?”

Kaminari pouts at her smirk. “Okay, yeah, so maybe this time will have a little more action and a little less batteries.”

“No promises. The job’s the job, after all.”

“Yaaaay!” Hagakure is suddenly next to them, excitedly jumping up and down, judging by the movement of her clothes. Ojirō, standing beside her, offers his own, tempered smile; watching them, it occurs to Jirō that they’re kind of the opposite-gendered version of her and Denki, and she feels a sudden kinship with the martial arts specialist. “Mashirao and I agreed that this would be great for us, too!”

“Although I’m not really looking forward to telling Shishido that we’re both leaving,” Ojirō tells Kaminari.

The blond laughs, the sound quickly turning uncomfortable as his friend’s words hit him. “Ahhhh, yeah, he doesn’t really take dissent well…”

“Buckle down, Jamming-Whey,” Jirō says with an elbow to his side, “you’ve done more difficult things.” She looks around, finding in her search for Yaoyorozu and Todoroki that the holograms of their friends have disappeared. “Maybe we should tell Yao-momo what we decided.”

The rest of the quartet nod in agreement, and they wander to where Jirō clocked her roommate’s position, finding the couple talking to – or rather, on the receiving end of – Bakugō. Noting their appearance, the ash blond breaks off his discussion, and with her enhanced hearing, Kyōka catches the explosions-wielder mutter to Todoroki, “If something ever comes up that you can’t handle…”

Todoroki hums in response and murmurs back, “We’ll keep you in mind.”

Bakugō departs then, offering a cordial, “Ears,” to Jirō and a hand-wave to the rest. Kaminari leans over and whispers, “I can’t believe after all our time together, you’re his favorite!”

Jirō smirks but doesn’t respond, instead saying to Todoroki and Yaoyorozu, “I’m guessing Bakugō declined this venture.”

Yaoyorozu sighs and shakes her head, seeming exasperated. “Honestly, we can’t say we expected any differently, though he’d undeniably be a powerful asset despite his temperament. He still wants to make a name for himself, which is fair. He’s certainly not the only one.”

“Iida, Midoriya, Uraraka, Tokoyami, Asui, Kendō, Tetsutetsu, and Kirishima all expressed their gratitude for the invitation but ultimately declined,” Todoroki clarifies. “For the most part, they seem to want to continue building out their reputations where they are.”

“If there’s so much attention on our classes, it’s not a bad idea for us to be spread out,” Ojirō muses. “Kind of a similar but opposite argument to everyone coming together, right?”

“Yes,” Yaoyorozu agrees, “from a national perspective, it’s probably for the best that some people stay in other areas where resources may be thinner. Either way, I assume you all have an answer as well?”

“We’re in, Yao-momo!” Kaminari and Hagakure shout at the same time, apparently unable to contain their excitement any longer. The blond adds, “Everyone else is a bunch of fuddy-duddies, this sounds so cool!” Hagakure blows a raspberry as if to emphasize his point.

The Everything Hero smiles at them, clapping her hands together, and even Todoroki’s stoic expression relaxes enough that he appears pleased by their answer. “That’s wonderful! Once everyone has decided, we’ll show you the new facility and go over our initial plans, see if anyone has any suggestions. In the meantime, Kyōka, can I speak with you for a moment?”

“Sure.” The Hearing Hero follows her roommate off to the side, out of earshot of the rest of their former classmates, and asks, “What’s up?”

“Starting the agency isn’t the only thing we’re doing together,” Yaoyorozu says. Her hands are clasped together, thumbs circling each other in a repetitive motion that Jirō recognizes as a nervous tic her friend hasn’t fallen prey to since early in their first year of high school. “Shōto proposed—”

The news is simultaneously surprising and not. “Oh wow, congrats!”

“Thank you. Now that we’re engaged, and with the agency starting up here, we decided that it’s time for us to find a place to live.”

Jirō nods in agreement with her friend’s logic, and then realizes what that actually means. “Oh…you’re moving out.”

“Soon, yes. I understand that this may feel a bit last-minute,” she adds hurriedly, as if to assuage the Hearing Hero of any potential anxiety, “and I can help with paying rent until you find someone to take my place—”

Jirō smiles at the taller woman, trying to appear reassuring even while her brain is working through what her friend's decision means. “Yao-momo, don’t worry about it. You and Todoroki should focus on getting this agency up and running and getting your personal stuff settled. I’m sure I can figure something out in short order; if this is going to be our agency, then I may not even stay in Musutafu.”

Yaoyorozu returns her smile, and it seems much more genuine than Jirō's own. “Thank you, Kyōka. This is all so new, it’s a little scary. I appreciate having your support.”

“Of course.” They return to the main group, which now consists of Todoroki, Kaminari, Hagakure, Ojirō, Ashido, Kōda, Satō, Shinsō, Awase Yosetsu, Honenuki Juzō, and Kodai Yui. It’s somehow a larger group than she thinks would be interested – Shinsō and Honenuki in particular are surprising pulls – and smaller than she feels it should be. Noticeably absent from those whom she thought would jump at the opportunity are Sero, Shōji, and Kirishima, the latter of whom seems a sore subject if Mina’s visible annoyance is anything to go by. Jirō moves over to where her fiancé is standing and sidles up next to him while Momo returns to Todoroki’s side. “What a motley crew we’ve gathered,” she murmurs.

“Yeah, pretty impressive, huh? I wonder if Yao-momo and Todoroki planned on this many people wanting to join?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” comes the quiet response, trying not to be disruptive to the couple talking up front.

“If you’ll follow us up,” Yaoyorozu says, “we’ll give you a tour of the new Apex Agency.”

“Apex?” Jirō asks of Kaminari as they shuffle inside.

The blond nods. “Todoroki said they named it to represent that we’re the best of the best. It’s also apparently a subtle nod to having lived in the Heights Alliance buildings. I kinda like the showiness of it, even if it feels a little…Kacchan-y.”

“You can just say over the top,” Shinsō advises from behind them, sounding bored. “Not like Bakugō has a trademark on being showy.”

Kaminari slows enough for the purple-haired man to draw even with him and then throws an arm over his shoulders. It’s a familiar gesture designed with the twofold purpose of annoying the man and showing him the camaraderie he missed during their first year of school. “You love the showiness!”

Shinsō rolls his eyes but doesn’t dispute the claim, and Kaminari releases him as they continue their tour through the building. Jirō asks him, quiet and curious, “Why did you come? This doesn't really seem like your scene.”

“Like it’s any more yours,” he retorts dryly. The Hearing Hero shrugs, lips quirking, and Shinsō returns the gesture. “I always wanted to be a Hero,” he admits, “and even though being an Underground Hero works pretty well for my Quirk, it feels a little too much like…falling into a role people wanted to shoehorn me into. I want to break the preconceptions people have of me just because of what my Quirk is. So…” he shrugs, “here I am.”

Kaminari nudges her with an elbow, and when she turns to glance at him, he arches a single eyebrow at her as if to say ‘see?’ She waves a dismissive hand at him, silently conceding that his long-held belief of people like her being in the spotlight has some merit; after all, if someone like Shinsō can yearn for acknowledgment, then perhaps it isn’t a stretch for her to follow the same path, even if she's still unsure she wants to be on it.

Their group is led to the second floor, where they’re shown through an impressive training facility. Jirō clocks multiple pieces of exercise equipment, a wrestling ring, and then an open area for more general combat training; she imagines this portion of the building is supposed to be a replica of U.A.’s gyms, albeit without Cementoss around to create irregular terrain. The walls, floor, and ceiling are reinforced, Momo explains, to handle the force of some pretty powerful moves, though not, she adds with a pointed, almost apologetic glance to Honenuki, to material-modifying Quirks like Softening. “Training outside then,” he replies with a thumbs-up, “got it.”

The third and fourth floors are devoted to individual offices ringing a bullpen of cubicles intended for support staff and future sidekicks. “We hope,” Todoroki says. There’s a moment of silence among the gathered Heroes at that, the declaration seeming to make the whole idea suddenly real. They’ve still only just tilted into their 20s, a few years out of U.A., and are trying to prove to the world that a bunch of ragtag – if veteran – youths can lead this kind of venture, that they’re good enough and responsible enough to (eventually) mold growing minds. The fifth floor apparently doesn't have any specific use for the moment.

With that overview, they’re told they have free reign to pick their offices, and there’s a mad rush as the more exuberant members of their party – Kaminari, Ashido, Hagakure, even Honenuki and Awase – clamor for the “best” spots down on the third floor. Jirō opts for meandering the fourth floor, Kōda and Yui following sedately behind. They have a sort of muted presence that the Hearing Hero appreciates in a world with way too much noise.

Jirō takes one of the offices next to Momo’s corner one, with Kōda and then Yui claiming the next ones in succession. The window offers a view over the waterfront, and the Hearing Hero watches the ripples with little thought except for how fast life moves.  She's still digesting the news her soon-to-be-former roomate dropped on her, in addition to their pending start as Pro Heroes. Despite that, she’s paying enough attention to be aware of someone’s approach, especially when that person comes with a familiar static buzz. “Should I be offended you wanted an office as far as possible from me?” he jokes.

“Technically, you left me,” she points out. “I just took the lazy approach.”

“Proof I’ve rubbed off on you!” Denki enthuses.

“Do you want to move in together?”

The question comes from her lips in her usual careful timbre, but there’s almost no thought behind its utterance. It’s one of those spontaneous ideas that spending years around Kaminari Denki has spurred to greater frequency and is given life when her anxiety is spiking. Given Momo’s secret rattling around her brain, this seems like the easiest, most obvious solution. They’re engaged, they spend plenty of time together already, it makes perfect sense…it’s strange that it hasn’t occurred to them (or maybe just her) to yet make this move; actually, it may have already crossed Denki's mind but been placed on hold due to her.

That makes sense, considering the unsurety roiling in her belly. There's something about these kinds of life-changing decisions, even when they seem like an obvious progression, that has her questioning everything all over again.

“I…yeah, of course! Are you…” She can see him half-frowning in the window’s reflection, more thoughtful than disappointed. “Are you sure?”

Despite standing directly behind her, he doesn’t touch her, and Jirō feels a little bit of her confidence in her decision return; that Denki knows her well enough to sense her caution, give her space, and double-check reaffirms her posing of the spontaneous question. She holds out her hand to him, and he takes it easily, stepping up beside her with a smile. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

Kyōka returns to what is now hers and Denki’s apartment and finds him sitting at their dining room table with a plastic object no larger than her arm, an array of metal wires, and, of all things, a textbook. He’s dressed in gym shorts and a sleeveless sky-blue tee with a black zigzag pattern across the chest, and his hair is pulled back into a short (impractical) ponytail; her initial impression is that he got back from a workout and immediately settled into studying…something.

Apparently he’s so engrossed in his activities that he doesn’t even notice her entrance, and the indigo-haired woman slides her arms around his neck in a hug that results in him visibly startling. “Whatcha doin’?” she coos in a low-pitched imitation of Mina, light and teasing.

“Kyōka!” It’s strange to see him caught so off-guard, the proverbial kid with his hand in the cookie jar.

From her position at his back, she has a better view of what he’s working on. The plastic object is rectangular, filled with rows of tiny pinholes, alphanumerically labeled, and striped with blue and red lines that seem to correlate with negative and positive symbols. There’s an array of tiny metal pins bent into the shape of a U scattered on the table before him, with several placed in the plastic piece. “What is this?”

“Breadboard,” he answers, then points to the pins and adds, “capacitors, resistors, inductors, and the like.”

“Okay…” That’s an explanation, if a vague one. She looks at the blond and notices that there’s a slight flush of color in his face. Is he embarrassed? The textbook appears to show a circuitry diagram that, to the inexperienced reviewer, feels like it’s written in a foreign language. “What are you trying to do with it?”

“…Learn.” Jirō raises an expectant eyebrow at him, and Kaminari releases a long breath. “Do you remember that exercise Aizawa put us through in first year? When we got split into teams of 10 and had to do that civilian rescue exercise?”

“And you guys got all the heavy hitters, sure.”

“Which we needed to escape with our lives after the building collapsed,” Kaminari retorts indignantly. Jirō grins at him, indulgent and coy all at once, and he continues, “Bakugō wanted me to reboot the generator so we’d have power, and even though I got it powered up, I don’t know how. So now, I figure that if we’re gonna be relied upon for this kind of stuff, and more importantly, be in charge of making decisions as heroes rather than taking orders as sidekicks, I should probably know what I’m doing, so…” he spreads his hands out, palms up, gesturing to the mess arrayed before him.

Jirō nods. She understands well that having a Quirk doesn’t necessarily translate to an innate understanding of everything associated with that Quirk; for Denki, that means that using electricity doesn’t mean he’s an electrician, just like how her sensitive hearing doesn’t make her an audiologist or, more appropriately, an expert on music. Her prowess as a singer and musician comes from years of rigorous practice and guidance from her parents, the same as training to be a Hero.

It's a side of Denki she’s not used to seeing, considering he’s never been the most academically inclined of their class, and it’s one of those moments that gives her pause in how she views him. Unfair though it might be, Jirō will willingly admit that there’s a perspective she keeps of the blond, even in the context of their relationship, that he is the person she watched and befriended in U.A., with a tendency toward unseriousness, and that’s fine. His fun-loving attitude is no small part of why she found herself attracted to him.

But with more time to ruminate on her anxiety, Denki's spiritedness is an aspect of living together that’s scared her. Their time together as a couple has been marked by dates and family dinners and the weekly or biweekly back-to-back days that basically mark their weekends, but spending the odd 48-hour period (tops) together is only a sample of what cohabitating is like. Sharing meals, going to the same agency, working together, and then coming home to spend evenings beside one another feels like so much time in one another’s presence that Jirō’s held onto the (currently unfounded) fear that Kaminari – who tends to like doing things – will realize they’re very boring.

This revelation, however, is both unexpected and reassuring. Denki (still, somehow) has habits she’s unaware of, and they don’t involve her, which means that their time together doesn’t necessarily have to involve being together every hour of every day, a tall order for someone like her. There’s some comfort in knowing that his penchant for needing to be distracted has a multitude of other outlets.

But they’re a couple years graduated from high school now, and Kaminari has proven through several life-changing revelations that he’s a serious person in more moments than his cavalier demeanor suggests. Jirō realizes that she needs to recalibrate her internal perception of her fiancé so that she stops underestimating him.

And maybe stop succumbing to unfounded doubt that might (eventually) poison her relationship beyond repair. In some ways, she isn't really any better than the Stun Gun Hero at being forthcoming with her problems. Another thing to work on, she muses.

She walks around his chair and throws a leg over his lap, settling herself so that she’s sitting reverse and blocking his view of the circuitry. Denki, bless him, remains silent – maybe in surprise – as she moves, even as her hands come up on either side of his face, onyx eyes staring into citrine.

It’s one of those rare moments where Jirō has to switch from relying on her ears to another sense, and scrutinizing Denki’s face takes her full attention. At first blush, he looks the same as ever – soft, wide eyes; open, readable expression; jagged scar over the left brow marring tan skin. But closer inspection suggests his jawline is a little sharper than she remembers, cheeks a bit thinner, barely-there stubble coarse under her fingertips…

This, if nothing else, feels like the ultimate confirmation that they’re older, that Kaminari is not the same boy he was at U.A. Once upon a time, she might have considered it hard to reconcile the blond before her with the same try-hard boy from school, but the evidence is as apparent as it’s ever been…

Just staring her in the face, like always.

She remembers being a child, excitable and eager and awed, and learning about her Quirk, as well as being a young teen and feeling like she didn’t quite belong anywhere, off-kilter and awkward. Then came U.A., and she recalls growing up faster than anyone their age should have, both blooming from a wallflower into a sunflower and figuring out how to achieve her dream of becoming a Hero, all while trying to accept the portions of herself she wasn’t aware of. Even the early years of her career have felt a little like an extension of her matriculation, a very long internship with no interruption for schoolwork and lessons.

Despite everything they’ve been through, it doesn’t really strike her until now that they’re really adults, that they have to take care of themselves and truly rely on each other in a way that transcends the previous years.

And Denki is taking it seriously, stepping up and learning something that is likely to aid their new venture at the Apex Agency.

She brings his face toward her and kisses him, long and slow and deep. He tastes like fruit punch energy drink and home, and there’s a level of contentment and confidence she draws from him in the moment that feels like it’s helping to solidify the half-dream of their new situation into reality.

When she finally draws away, warmth suffusing her, Denki is glassy-eyed and slightly punch-drunk. He licks his lips and manages, “Wow…didn’t realize circuits were an aphrodisiac.”

She taps him on the forehead with a jack and fondly murmurs, “Dork.” She leans forward to rest her forehead against his and closes her eyes, inhaling deeply as if to allow the moment to trickle through her nose and into her body, calming her mind. Through their contact, she silently tells him all her concerns with the most recent changes in their lives, taking comfort from his nearness in a way more reflective of the blond’s love language. “You’re the best.”

“And still very sweaty,” Denki whispers. “I kind of got absorbed in this right after coming back from my workout and could use a shower.”

Jirō leans away from him, fingers laced behind his neck and playing with the strands of yellow hair there, lightly tickling them. A smirk quirks the corner of her mouth, expression coy. “Or…” she drawls, voice dry but lilting, “you could wait…so you don’t get sweaty twice…”

Even after all this time, being forward feels like strumming an untuned guitar and hoping the chords come out right.

Fortunately, Denki is used to her stumbling ways in this regard, and his fingertips begin to play around the hem of her shirt. He grins at her, eager and bright, and asks, “Yeah?”

Jirō pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion, jacks drawing nonsense over his skin, and issues him a challenging grin. “Yeah.”

Chapter Text

It only takes two days of self-reflection for Jirō to decide that she wants to be better. For Denki, for their relationship, and most importantly, for herself.

She asks Kōda, who has his own share of self-esteem issues stemming from childhood and adolescence, for a recommendation for someone to talk to. Ever since their first-year exam against Present Mic, and perhaps because of their sound-based Quirks – albeit one auditory, one vocal, in a semi-counterintuitive sense – they’ve had a sort of empathic connection outside the rigors of their normal day-to-day. The Petting Hero gives her his usual tepid smile, a gesture both shy and understanding, and offers the contact information of one Dr. Hirano Kenji without probing any further, which she appreciates. 

As soon as she sets her first appointment, she sits Denki down and tells him her intentions. She explains that it has nothing to do with anything he’s done, that it doesn’t mean she has any regrets or questions pertaining to their relationship, that she really just needs to explore the insecurities that have floated in her head for years so that she – that they – come out stronger at the end. It’s about getting an outside perspective on the things that have clung to her like her own shadow, one uninfluenced by her own biased self-reflection or his rose-tinted glasses. 

She’s a tad surprised how well he takes her explanation, though perhaps it's just another sign of his personal growth that she's been underestimating. His smile is patient, and he only requests she let him know if she needs anything from him or ever wants to talk about it. It’s one of the easiest promises she’s ever made, and they seal it with their usual jack-to-pinky promise.

If he’s honest, Kaminari’s just as – if not more – surprised at his reaction to her admission. His younger self, the high schooler thrust ill-prepared into a war, was prone to freaking out over the slightest change in routine or questionable proposition, and his anxiety in the early months of being together with Jirō wasn’t all too different. But now they’re two years into their relationship, engaged, aware of each other’s peculiarities and (former) secrets, and he feels…stable. Assured of where they stand, regardless of any obstacles.

He's not sure where this burst of confidence comes from—

No, strike that. He’s very aware. It’s the same place it came from back before he knew what it meant.

Jirō makes him feel strong, even when she isn’t (or can't be).

It's a comfort he’s not sure he ever would have expected himself capable of, but he supposes growing up and maturing have benefits.

So, rather than panicking at his inability to do something (as his old instincts would tell him), Kaminari opts to trust his partner, leaving Jirō to her own devices even as he takes her hand each night and uses his thumb to rub small circles into her skin as a reminder that he’s there for her when she needs him. Instead, he focuses his attention on the Apex Agency, throwing himself into studious training with his new coworkers to fulfill an idealistic dream imagined by innocent teenagers.

His years at U.A. allowed him to watch and train with Jirō, Todoroki, Yao-momo, Hagakure, Ashido, Kōda, Satō, Shinsō, and Ojirō to varying degrees, even more with the latter considering their time together at Shishido’s agency. Their moves and abilities are nearly as well known to him as his own, though he admits that if they, like him, have grown in the last two years – entirely possible, given their work ethos – that’s something he needs to learn.

But the members of Class B – Awase, Honenuki, and Kodai – are a bit more mysterious. There’s been enough inter-class competition and camaraderie that he’s not unaware of their respective Quirks – Weld, Softening, and Size – but the minutiae of how they fight, or whether they can even fight at all (he doesn’t really understand how Weld and Size are combat-oriented skills), is beyond his (current) understanding.

With that in mind, the training room becomes an interesting place for observation of how their agency might operate. Satō, Ojirō, and (to a lesser extent) Kōda provide the most physical brute force, while Yao-momo, Jirō, Ashido, and Kaminari himself can provide close- to long-range combat support depending on the circumstance. Todoroki is clearly their ace-in-the-hole for large-scale operations, though Honenuki’s no slouch either.

Neither is Awase, Kaminari quickly learns. The welder grabs the blond’s wrist when he reaches out to tase him, then ducks, twirls, and brings Kaminari’s arm behind his back in a textbook wrist lock. Electricity crawls along his forearms, enough to shock but not hurt, just as he feels something cold and metallic snap around his wrist. Awase jumps backwards and tries to shake his hand free of the shock as Kaminari turns to face him and finds that his right arm is stuck at an awkward angle behind him. “Ha?”

Mina laughs at him from the sidelines, and Kaminari pouts when he spies Jirō next to her, hiding her obvious bemusement with a hand. Kodai is next to her, smiling but at least not outright mocking him like Ashido. “Sorry, Kaminari,” Awase apologizes with his own smile, somehow managing to sound both contrite and fiercely competitive at the same time.

He’s still trying to shake out the numbness in his hand, and Denki grins back at him. “Eh, fair’s fair. We’re both down an arm.” Kaminari tries not to use his shooter during training, but he does have a few pointers on hand, so he palms three of them and throws them at the dark-haired man. Awase pulls out a short, cylindrical piece of metal from the bag at his waist and swings it out into a collapsible bō that bats away the projectiles.

The welder lunges forward with his increased range, wielding his weapon with impressive dexterity for a (functionally) one-armed man. Fortunately, Denki has sparred against Yaoyorozu – who also tends to favor staff-like weapons – too many times to count, and avoiding his new coworker’s strikes comes almost naturally despite the inconvenience of having one arm stuck behind his back. He waits until Awase is in a rhythm before finding an opportunity to grab the staff with his left hand and surge electricity along its length.

It never works against Momo, who specifically creates her weapons of more non-conductive metals like tungsten or bismuth when fighting Kaminari, but Awase uses standard items made of steel, and it carries the current of his Electrification Quirk easily. It’s not enough to do any serious damage – he’s learned to modulate his discharge over time, rather than letting off 1.3 million volts all in one go like he used to as a first-year – but it’s still about 70,000 volts, enough to tase the welder and put him down for the count.

Awase falls backwards, slack-jawed and prone. “Ooo, Kaminari’s got moves,” Mina cackles, elbowing Jirō and waggling her eyebrows suggestively. He looks over to see Jirō roll her eyes at their mutual friend, but when the pink-skinned woman glances away, the Hearing Hero shoots him a smirk that he thinks means ‘Well, she’s not wrong…’

“Kaminari-san has gotten very good with his Quirk,” Kodai Yui observes. She goes from kneeling beside Awase – who’s slowly groaning to wakefulness – to where one of his pointers has been deflected, picking it up and examining the orange disc with curiosity. “I’m surprised you haven’t upgraded your support items since U.A.”

Another girl with back-length, dark brown hair tied into a ponytail, cocoa-colored eyes, and brown mechanic’s coveralls with a red plus sign and blue minus sign stitched over each breast pocket glances over Kodai’s shoulder. “Well, despite her many idiosyncrasies, Hatsume-san’s inventions sure are impressive,” she murmurs. Her voice is quiet, not unlike Yui’s, but her gaze is speculative, and Kaminari’s golden gaze is drawn to the screwdriver heads affixed like antennae to her blue baseball cap.

“I recognize you,” he says, pointing to the woman.

“Mm. I’m Furasu Maina,” she offers, bowing to the assembled crowd. Her presence doesn't seem to have surprised Jirō, but Mina's eyes are wide at her sudden appearance. “Yaoyorozu-san and Todoroki-san invited me to join this agency as in-house support.”

Kaminari snaps the fingers on his unrestrained hand. “Hey, yeah! You helped us keep the electrical cage going during the war!”

She nods, then adds, “I was in Support Class H in the same year as you all.” Beside her, Kodai shrinks and then grows the pointer in her grasp with her Quirk, expression analytical. “I think I can update your equipment to better suit your current fighting style.”

Yui hands the pointer over to a sitting Awase, and says, “Awase-san, what do you think?”

He rubs his head as if to clear the cobwebs, then takes the proffered object and finally nods. “Ah, yeah, it’s pretty similar to anything else we’ve used. Hey, Kaminari, how’d you like to have easy setup on these things?”

Kaminari arches an eyebrow, trying to parse what the welder could possibly mean, but agrees, “Sure, but what do you mean? And can you get this thing off me?” he adds, shaking his restrained arm as much as he can.

Awase grins at him and only says, “You’ll see.”

For two weeks, things in Iwata are quiet enough that Kaminari learns how to best combine his talents with Awase and Kodai’s Quirks, how it feels to be subject to the instability caused by Honenuki’s Softening, when to take charge and when to defer to the voices of his teammates coming in through the transmitter in his ear…

Then, Masu Komako – another U.A. graduate from their year that Todoroki and Yaoyorozu have hired, this one from Business Class J – tells them that there’s an emergency unfolding in town, and they rush out.

Kaminari, Jirō, Todoroki, Awase, Kodai, Ashido, Hagakure, and Shinsō all arrive at what their usual patrols have clocked as one of the city’s larger banks. Todoroki walks the perimeter, working with the established congregation of police to figure out the situation inside. Jirō approaches the building, crouches, and plugs her jacks in; Hagakure – who has replaced her normal gloves with the pair that goes with her Hero costume, an invisible one made by the same tailor as Lemillion’s so she no longer has to be naked – follows Ashido around to the back, where Pinky melts an entrance for her friend to sneak in.

Todoroki returns after a minute and says in his usual, flat timbre, “It seems like a robbery gone wrong. Whatever the Villains are doing, they triggered an alarm, and when the police arrived, they took the employees hostage.”

“Then we’ll have to wait for Invisible Girl to return with a scouting report for anything more,” Shinsō muses.

Kaminari’s foot taps as they wait for Hagakure, his normal frenetic energy dialed to 11. It’s not that he’s unused to tackling Villains at this point, but it is the first time that he’s been out – formally – while not as a Sidekick or to someone with more seniority.

As a real Pro Hero.

There’s a responsibility that comes with that which makes this feel like a make-or-break moment. He remembers the same anxiety, albeit with a heavier dose of terror, during the war against the Paranormal Liberation Front. At least this time he has both experience and the support of seven friends at his side to overcome the challenge.

“I can’t get in!” Hagakure exclaims, the suddenness of her pout startling everyone except Todoroki (of course). “There’s tar everywhere on the floor, I can’t walk around without getting stuck.”

“There’s 11 people inside,” Jirō pipes up from where she’s listening in. “At least four are Villains and five are hostages, based on who’s talked and the panicked rhythm of their heartbeats. Other two could go either way, possibly unconscious or just very calm.”

“I can take care of the tar,” Todoroki replies, “but we will lose the element of surprise. And in an enclosed space, my abilities may be too destructive.”

“So the rest of us will have to take the lead,” Awase observes.

“And quickly,” Kodai adds. She reaches into one of the many pouches at her waist and hands a few small objects to both Awase and the empty space where Hagakure’s voice last came from.

“I trust you all,” Todoroki assures them, offering them the barest of smiles. “I’ll stay out here in case anyone tries to escape.”

It’s a move that shows just how much the A.C. Hero trusts them, especially since the credit for their success will likely go to those most involved. Granted, Todoroki has never really needed exposure in the same way the rest of them have, so it’s possible that he’s not even considering that. Kaminari salutes the heterochromatic man and says, “You got it, boss.”

He, Todoroki, Awase, Kodai, and Hagakure sneak around to where Ashido is standing guard at the hole she’s created. “What’s the plan?” she whispers.

“Get in, protect the hostages, and defeat the Villains,” Todoroki answers. “We don't have enough information to do more than that. Get ready to go.”

There’s a brief pause, and then he steps forward and ice spreads from the toe of his foot, covering the floor in gleaming crystal. Hagakure rushes ahead – not that they can see her, Kaminari just knows her well enough to know she’s liable to get ahead of everyone else – and then he, Ashido, Awase, and Kodai enter, round a corner, and assess the situation as quickly as they can.

Across a now-frozen stretch of tar are six bound hostages seated before a long wooden counter, one gangly male pacing before them and watching with a careful eye. Away from them and standing outside an old-fashioned open bank vault are four more perpetrators, one of which looks to be a gorilla; another – the only one facing them as they enter – is bare-chested, with worn khaki-colored pants, like a martial artist. The last two are bickering lightheartedly, their similar features suggestive of siblings, if not twins; they’re standing in front of a pulsing portal that Kaminari can’t see into but decides can’t possibly be good, and one of them is carrying around what appears to be a…sketchpad?

Their reactions are immediate.

Martial Artist lets out a bark of attention – “Hey!” – and the rest of the crew turns to the Heroes as his arms are covered in black fluid that blasts out towards them. Ashido steps in and claps her hands together, acid spraying from between her fingertips like a firehose to dissolve the incoming tar. Awase and Kodai split off just as Hostage Watcher’s arms stretch out towards their now-separated group, impossibly long and flexible as whips.

Kaminari stutters for one long moment, frozen with the memory of the rubbery Villain in the jewelry store, before his training kicks into gear and he ducks then rolls. He’s good enough to avoid getting hit directly, but the incoming limb manages to smash across his shooter. “Aw man!”

From his periphery, the blond spies Awase in combat with the gorilla while Ashido continues to counter Tarpit (now that Martial Artist’s Quirk is known, Kaminari mentally recalibrates him in his head) and Kodai fends off the twins, who have a penchant for gleefully calling each other by name: Kōji and Koichi, apparently. The one with the sketchpad appears to be bringing to life cartoons from a comic he’s carrying around – see, now that should’ve been what Manga’s Quirk is! he thinks of Class B’s Comic-Man – while his brother seems to be summoning random items from the open portal behind them – the mythical hammerspace – to hurl at Rule.

Kaminari evades the next strike from his own opponent – Whiplash, he dubs him mentally – and tries to grab the offending appendage, but the Villain withdraws too quickly and lashes out again. It quickly becomes apparent that this fight is devolving into something resembling a dance, which is kind of unfortunate because Denki has never been particularly rhythmic – unlike Mina, who’s born to dance – and he’s clearly not the one leading. His opponent is too quick and cautious, so the only way he can use his electricity is to either attack indiscriminately (and risk hurting his teammates) or take a blow and discharge everything upon contact, which has the potential to backfire and leave his friends even more outnumbered.

He wonders whether it was a good decision on Todoroki’s part to stay outside for this fight; they could use his firepower (or his ice, Kaminari isn't picky).

There’s a good minute of stalemate movements among Heroes and Villains alike, punctuated by the clanking of Awase’s metal pieces as he instantly welds and deconstructs them into various configurations, the hissing of acid versus tar, the joyful yelling of the twins as one tells the other to look at him—

Then Hammerspace slumps over, head bowed low, and Shinsō swings through the hole in the wall on his capture bandages. “Knock out your brother,” he commands, voice filtering through the Persona Chords of his mask, and the Villain turns with a mallet in hand aimed at his twin.

Kaminari sees a glint of something behind Whiplash glowing brighter, and Hagakure’s disembodied voice shouts, “Warp Refraction: Say Cheese!” followed by “Rule, now!”

Protected by his polarized lenses, Denki sees as Whiplash is blinded by Invisible Girl, and Kodai – reprieved from countering the twins, at least temporarily – claps her hands together, growing one of his planted pointers to two feet in diameter on the wall behind the Villain. “Yes, nice job, Invisible Girl! Stun Shot!”

Electricity blasts from the finger gun he has pointed at Whiplash, drawn almost magnetically to the pointer on the wall, and the Villain collapses in a heap as lightning surges through him. He pivots to where Ashido and Awase are still stuck in combat, yellow eyes catching Shinsō bundle up the brainwashed Hammerspace in capture bandages, and aims at Tarpit, who’s now fully engulfed in black ichor, where a pointer is just visible around his calf. The Villain bellows as he’s electrocuted, and Mina skates past him on a stream of acid to confront Animator, who’s started summoning actual Pokémon from a manga to the battle.

Original combatant gone, Tarpit turns to face Denki with a snarl, apparently insulated enough to resist succumbing to a surface-level shock, and Kaminari moves to avoid a deluge of goo sent his way. His first thought is to call out for Awase to give him a shield or disc – something to hold off the tar – or even Kodai, who must have something in her arsenal, but the two of them are fighting Gorilla, and interrupting them seems like a bad idea.

“Boomburst!”

Kyōka’s voice is never not the sweetest symphony to his ears, even in the heat of battle, and the sound waves expelled through her wrist-speakers have enough force to blow the fluid covering Tarpit off his body. The man himself hunkers down to better weather the assault, tar under his feet keeping him immovable, but enough of his body is visible now that Kaminari thinks he’s got a good shot at putting an end to this scuffle.

If only his pointer wasn't blown away as well.

This is gonna suuuuck… Kaminari launches himself forward, staying out of the path of Jirō’s sonic waves and taking inspiration from the Pokémon Mina is busy dissolving with acid. He lowers his shoulder and plows into Tarpit’s unprotected chest, unleashing several million volts upon impact. “Volt Tackle!”

Electricity surges from him in jagged streaks of yellow light, most of it discharging into Tarpit’s unprotected body while the rest blasts harmlessly into the air. The Villain bellows as his muscles seize, and he collapses backwards, hair standing on end.

Kaminari heaves a tired breath, electricity crackling along his skin, and turns to scrutinize the rest of the room with one hand to his head to stave off a bout of wooziness. Mina’s finished dispatching the Animator, out cold from a presumed hard blow to his glass jaw, his summoned creatures, various manga, and sketchbook lying in dissolved puddles at their feet. Gorilla is restrained by an interconnected series of metal pipes that are holding his limbs splayed outwards in a crude cross, welded manacles keeping his hands and feet apart.

The Stun Gun Hero catches his fiancé’s gaze and shoots her a wink and a smile. We did it! “You have perfect timing.”

“I know.” Jirō’s jacks twirl in the air in a meaningless gesture made to draw attention to them. “It helps to have an ear to the ground.” Her nonchalance fades, concern painting her visage. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just might’ve used a little too much all at once.”

Jirō lets out a noncommittal hum and then pokes her jack into his cheek, barely a touch. Kaminari puts a hand to the point of contact and feels a pleased grin cross his lips; from Kyōka, the gesture is equivalent to a chaste kiss, the most she'll grant him at work.

Ashido and Shinsō walk over with the unconscious Animator and Hammerspace in tow, and the blond exchanges a high five with the pink-skinned woman. From his periphery, he sees Kodai passing ball bearings to Awase, who starts welding the spheres to a large, flat sheet of metal that, presumably, his size-manipulating former classmate has also provided. Kaminari follows Ashido and Shinsō to the welder, touching the gorilla and applying enough electricity to knock him unconscious; they pile the gathered Villains onto the makeshift flatbed cart and then make for the bank’s entrance, walking – almost strutting – with heads held high. Hagakure, Kodai, and Jirō follow behind them with the hostages, providing support as needed.

They emerge into daylight to a crowd applauding them, and police rush forward to take custody of the apprehended quintet while parademics do the same for the former hostages. From beside them, Todoroki steps forward, and Kaminari whispers to him, “We could’ve used you in there.”

Todoroki shakes his head, just slightly, and utters back, “It wasn’t my place.”

The A.C. Hero moves to where the media is set up and calling for him, and Kaminari’s teammates coalesce around him, all of them looking up at their leader. “Frostburn, Frostburn”—Kaminari grins to himself, pleased at the result of his, Sero, and Yaoyorozu’s third-year effort to get Todoroki to change his Hero name to something less personal—“how did it feel to have foiled this operation considering your recent start in Iwata?”

“Obviously I’m glad that everything worked out,” Todoroki begins, his usual monotone clear over the murmuring crowd, “but I take very little credit for the success of this mission.” The murmuring grows to a clamor, and he continues, voice rising to make itself heard, “When I was a student, I was given the opportunity to witness how a large Hero agency – my father’s Hero agency – operated. And while I respect what Endeavor accomplished, I believe our job, and our duty to the community, is best done in a more cooperative manner.”

He gestures over to where his peers have gathered, and Kaminari feels Jirō twitch beside him as the paparazzi and cameras swivel in their direction. “I am not a monolith,” Todoroki announces, his voice ringing out clear as a bell. “The Apex Agency is a conglomeration of Heroes who are willing to put aside their egos and work together for a common cause. There may come a day when my talents are best for the situation at hand, but today, I direct your adulation to Pinky…Chargebolt…Earphone Jack…” Their names are a list delivered in a measured tone, each one spaced apart from the other to give them their due. “Welder…Rule…Invisible Girl…Echo… These are your Heroes!”

There’s a long round of applause from the gathered citizens, then a clamor as all attention fully focuses upon the identified party. “Pretty cool of Todoroki to spread the credit,” Awase mutters. “He never really seemed the type at school. I can’t wait to tell Kosei about our first successful outing!”

“Tsuburaba-san,” Kodai clarifies quietly at Ashido and Kaminari’s confused expressions. “They’ve been dating for about seven months now.”

 Huh… Kaminari thinks, digesting that little tidbit while he raises an arm into the air and begins waving it energetically, his other hand clasped tightly with Jirō’s. You learn something new every day.

Kaminari lifts his drink to meet Ashido’s proposed cheer, the pink-skinned woman in the midst of regaling Sero (who is listening with his usual engaged smile), Kirishima (for at least the second time, Denki's sure), and Bakugō with the tale of how they handled the bank robbers. Beside him, Bakugō is pretending to be disinterested, but the blond can tell he’s at least paying attention and might even be, if not impressed, at least somewhat intrigued.

Their monthly meetup is only a day after their success, and their agency is still riding the high, led by their businessperson Masu Komaku and the high spirits of Ashido, Hagakure, Kaminari, and Satō (despite his lack of participation). The success is a little like a drug (not that he’s ever taken drugs) and it occurs to him that things in his life are really, really good.

It’s a strange moment for the epiphany to strike, but as he juggles it in his mind, half-listening to his colleague, the truth of the statement becomes increasingly apparent. He’s spent most of middle school in a sort of…fugue state of contentment, the first year of high school teetering between cheerful optimism and sheer terror, the following two years trying to prove he’s better than he thinks he is, and the time since navigating the intricacies of maintaining both personal and professional relationships that he’s dreamed of for years and fought hard for despite every roadblock.

And now it finally feels like everything has stabilized, his goals have been achieved, and he’s…happy. Well and truly happy, unafraid and confident, ready for whatever the world will throw at him next.

He glances around at his friends, analyzing them with golden eyes to see if he’s alone in his revelation. Kirishima seems virtually unchanged from the hardheaded, strong-willed boy he met at U.A.: smiling, impassioned, one arm around Ashido’s shoulders in support. Beside him, Mina is squirming in place, excited, bright-eyed, eager; the acid-user is like a pseudo-sister to him, and Kaminari can pinpoint the same happiness markers in her that he feels burgeoning in himself, reinforcing his own joy.

Across the table, Sero extends his lanky arms and offers both him and Mina a fist-bump. His seemingly perpetual grin is firmly in place. “Nice! Sounds like the agency is going well then.”

“Yeah man, you really missed out,” Kaminari says.

Sero shrugs, all casual nonchalance, and then looks to the side. Mina leans forward and exclaims, “Yeah, it’s a shame it’s too far away from Tokage Setsuna, right?”

The Taping Hero’s jaw drops, and Kaminari’s almost follows. Sero’s voice is pitched with disbelief. “How…how the hell do you know that?”

Mina’s golden irises sparkle. “People talk to me. Now spill.”

Sero looks a little exasperated, but in the face of all that is Mina, he acquiesces with a sense of resignation, almost as if he’s expected this. “It’s only been a couple dates. We worked together on a mission recently and reconnected and…it was fun.” He shrugs, as if there’s nothing more to say.

Maybe there isn’t. It’s not like Kaminari has a good metric for this kind of thing.

But Sero looks pleased in the way the blond suspects he always looked back at U.A. when Jirō would grant him a morsel of attention, which draws a nostalgic grin to his lips. Struck by the thought of his fiancé, his dopey expression floats onward to continue perusing the gathering while Mina bombards the Taping Hero with follow-up questions.

Golden eyes catch sight of Bakugō’s dour expression, red eyes glaring at his half-full glass of whiskey. Kaminari’s whimsy fades a little as he observes the ash blond; reading his friend’s moods has always been a little more art than science, even with years of following him around and getting used to his various foibles, but his instinct is telling him that something’s upset the explosions-user.

Bakugō knocks back the rest of his drink in one long draught, and Kaminari squints at the other blond, now wholly invested in intensely scrutinizing him. Katsuki gestures for another drink and rests his cheek in his palm, elbow on the table, crimson orbs nearly glaring at the space between Sero and Ashido.

Kaminari takes a sip from his beer, using the motion to discretely volley his attention between the ash blond and Mina’s excited interrogation of the Taping Hero. As insane as it sounds, watching Bakugō, he wonders if his irascible friend is…jealous, or perhaps some similar feeling he doesn’t quite know how to define…of the fact that their group is now, even more than before, comprised of (seemingly) happy couples. It’s no secret that Bakugō has never been enamored with other people, between his (well-earned) arrogance and (ironically explosive) temperament, but it occurs to the blond that perhaps his friend is more affected by everyone else’s coupling off than he’ll ever admit.

Bakugō has always professed to work best alone, or at least put up a reasonable front supporting such, but there are too many moments in Kaminari’s mixed personal/professional life throughout U.A. that lend themselves to suggest he’s not as solo an act as he tries to put on. He’s a little like Jirō in that way, Denki thinks (which may explain why he seems to like her best), seemingly disinterested but perhaps just…unable to find his missing puzzle piece, and silently suffering under that weight.

It's an oxymoronic conundrum, he muses, watching Bakugō raise his glass in a (grudging?) toast to Sero’s relationship and receiving a round of clinking before he scoots his chair backwards and leaves the bar with a grumbled, “I’m done here.” Kaminari rushes after the ash blond after biding a hasty farewell to the remaining trio; his mind is tumultuous with sudden, unanswered questions buzzing with an undercurrent of concern for his friend.

“Hey, Kacch—Bakugō!”

He’s not sure if he actually expects his friend to respond, but it feels like he has a better chance if he doesn’t use the other man’s (antagonizing) nickname.

Bakugō stops and turns to face the blond, one eyebrow arched in question, mouth puckered in a scowl. He doesn’t say anything, but his expression reads an annoyed, 'What?’ Kaminari shifts from foot to foot, caught by the intensity of his friend’s red-eyed glare, and blurts out the first thought in his head: “Are you okay?”

“Tch, is that all?” He turns away once more. “Just got my fill of hanging out with you extras for one night.”

“…Is that it? ‘Cause you seem…angrier than usual.”

“Oh yeah? And why’s that? You think I’m jealous that you guys successfully foiled some bank robbers?”

“No. I think, maybe, that you feel…lonely?”

It sounds stupid the moment it slips out, because of the many adjectives that describe Bakugō, ‘lonely’ has never really fit (his preference for acting on his own aside), and for a long minute, Bakugō’s silence feels like confirmation of the inanity of his question. Then—

“You know, Kaminari—”

Oh, Bakugō’s using his actual name. That can’t possibly be a good sign.

“—I grew up as the best, and I knew it. Fuckin’ Deku knew it, too, for whatever that’s worth,” he rasps, sounding annoyed in a practiced way. If Kaminari didn’t know how long ago the two buried the hatchet, he might have considered his friend’s animosity believable. “But since it’s not hard to be better than a bunch of extras, I wanted to be better than the actual best. I set my sights on beating All Might.

“And until fuckin’ Todoroki and Deku…Baldy,” he adds with a dismissive handwave, and Kaminari rifles through his memories until he has a vague recollection of a Shiketsu High School student who can control wind confronting them during inter-school, post-war training exercises, “I never questioned how hard it would be.” He almost sounds pensive – or as pensive as Bakugō can be – speaking in a measured tone that's missing its usual growling bite, “Even after All Might…and Endeavor… My goal never changed. I found a path that can get me to the top, regardless of what everyone else is doing.

“And despite all that, despite training to be the best, getting the only internship Mirko’s ever offered…no one will ever see past everything else.”

Bakugō’s still facing away from him, just looking down the street, but Kaminari is riveted by the diatribe, enough so that he can detect the unfamiliar hitch at the end of his friend’s statement. He can’t recall ever seeing this side of Bakugō before, borderline sentimental, but it’s…kind of terrifying. Bakugō has always felt stable in an unstable sort of way – dependable perhaps, or at least predictable – and this is…an anomaly.

It unsettles Denki in the same way that Jirō’s sadness tears at him, a distinct sense of wrongness that requires correction.

He can’t organize a response before the ash blond snaps, timbre hard but a little tremulous, lacking its normal bombastic (hah!) edge, “Some people can’t change who they are. I’m not Deku and Round Face, or you and Jirō, or Kirishima and Ashido, or even fuckin’ Sero, apparently. Just ‘cause you guys all trauma-bonded and managed to find some sort of”—he gesticulates in a way that sets Kaminari on edge, because Bakugō playing with his hands normally precedes a series of explosions—“codependency—”

“You can be in a relationship without being codependent,” Denki protests, a little offended at what his friend’s opinion suggests about him and Jirō.

Bakugō scoffs, almost sounding normal. “The point remains. Whatever works for you extras doesn’t work for me. So sorry if I can’t express the same gratitude or whatever at every fuckin’ hookup you guys go through.”

“What do you mean? Are you—?” He cuts himself off, the end of the question – ‘like Jirō’ or ‘asexual’ – seeming like an overstep of someone’s boundaries. He wants to say that they’re still young, that someone must be out there for Bakugō and they haven’t crossed paths yet, but it occurs to him that he has no idea if that’s true, and it feels uncomfortably optimistic to hint as such. His own experience with pining suggests that, while there may be eventual payoff, it’s also entirely possible to wallow around waiting forever, as he did with their graduation dance.

Bakugō seems to take the blond’s inability to finish his question as a natural end to their conversion. Voice gruff, he mutters, “Whatever. Just forget it.”

“No!” Kaminari lunges forward at that and places a hand on his friend’s shoulder, drawing the ash blond’s irate red eyes to him. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend that I have any sort of great advice to give—”

“No shit.”

“—but I’m glad you told me this. Everyone should have someone they can talk to, and it means a lot you confided in me. And you’re right…you should be able to be yourself around…whoever, really. Me and Kirishima and Ashido and Sero and even Jirō, Midoriya, and the rest of our class have all stuck by you because we like who you are, temper and all. You don't have to change to try to meet someone else's…expectations. So just…keep doing you.”

There’s a long beat of silence where Kaminari thinks that Bakugō is going to reject his words, but finally, his friend turns away and huffs in what might be interpreted as amusement. Or maybe disdain, or dismissal…it's still a little hard to tell. “Can’t believe Ears is willing to stay around with shitty speeches like that.” He shrugs off Kaminari’s hand and then continues down the street, only offering up a parting, “Thanks, Sparky,” with a backwards wave of his hand.

Kaminari watches him go with equal pride in his success and concern for his friend, a furrow creasing his brow.

Kaminari has never been very good at keeping certain feelings to himself – except for the years he spent not telling Kyōka how he fell for her, but that’s obviously different – so it only takes two days of sitting with Bakugō’s words for his emotional equilibrium to unbalance.

He’s laying across the couch, Nintendo Switch in his hands, head resting in Kyōka’s lap while she runs her fingers through his hair, when he pauses his game and asks, “Do you think we trauma-bonded?”

“Sure,” she responds without missing a beat. It’s a devastating answer delivered with his fiancé’s usual nonchalance, and Kaminari feels a protest on the tip of his tongue just as Jirō continues, “I think that what happened to our class was formative in a way that couldn’t be planned for, and that experience did something to us that can’t be replicated. We’re really close because of that, probably tighter than most other classes before or since, and that’s definitely because of what we went through. But”—she grabs his hair and pulls, hard enough to force wide golden eyes to meet onyx without hurting him—“if you’re asking if our relationship is built on us trauma-bonding, then the answer is no.

“It’s true that the circumstances we met and became friends under were related to what the League of Villains put us through, but how I feel about you grew from a series of interactions and repeated exposure to your lame jokes, charm, and kindness over time. And it helps that you’re pretty,” she adds dryly, pushing his cheeks together and kissing him.

“Awww…”

When she pulls back, he sees Jirō arch an eyebrow at him. “Should I ask where this sudden insecurity is coming from, or…?”

“Just something Bakugō said the other night.”

Onyx eyes roll in their sockets. “You know better than to take anything he says seriously.”

He shakes his head in her lap, the friction against her pajama pants warming the back of his neck. “This time was different.”

She waits for Kaminari to elaborate, and when he doesn’t, Jirō returns to running her fingers through his blond locks, trying to interpret his silence. She’s spent years listening to him, everything said and unsaid, and has only gotten better at reading him over their additional time together. It’s unclear why, exactly, but there’s something bothering him and he either can’t or won’t tell her about it.

Which, given all their previous conversations, is…weird. “You know,” she says casually, finding a little comfort in the repetitive motion of threading her fingers through his hair, “Bakugō always seems like he hates everything and gets along with no one, but most of it is exaggerated. This’ll probably sound stupid, maybe even obvious, but not everyone knows how to express themselves like you or Ashido or Hagakure, and Bakugō never would have stuck around as long as he has, or subjected himself to your monthly meetups, if he didn’t care.”

“Yeah, I kinda said the same thing. It's no wonder you’re his favorite, though, you totally get him.” He’s silent for a long moment, and then asks, “Do you think he’s like you?”

It’s a curiosity that’s sent him on a spiral of internet searches over the past couple days, trying to find answers to questions he didn’t realize he had until then. Bakugō’s tirade feels a little like a referendum on their friendship, like he’s missed something that may have been obvious to someone paying more attention, and it makes him wonder what else he’s been oblivious to, especially after the Awase/Tsuburaba revelation.

The lack of answers bugs him not just because of Bakugō or Awase, but because of Jirō, and it’s thrown what he thought he understood about what she feels into chaos. Yes, they’ve talked about how she is – the logical, fact-oriented side of how they need to approach their relationship – but not really how that translates to her emotional state, of how she feels.

He respects her and their relationship enough to not push for information on whatever she’s been discussing with her therapist – she’s promised to tell him when she’s ready, and he believes her – but he wonders now if he hasn’t been a little…casual…with what they’ve discussed regarding her asexuality. It now feels like one of those things he accepted without any in-depth consideration for what it means to her, and with the repeated recurrence of ‘things he doesn’t know that he probably should,’ he’s starting to think he should be a little more discerning.

His online perusal for the stories of others like Jirō provides a fascinating perspective, the insight and needs of people so different from himself a little like stepping into a dimension that's gone previously unexplored. But even that short stint forces him to realize that there’s no real one-size-fits-all answer to his curiosity, and so he’s started mentally cataloguing questions to ask and details he wants to know from Jirō specifically.

“What, you mean ace?” She shrugs. “I dunno. Kind of a personal thing, you know? I’m not sure there’s a radar for that kind of thing, or if there is, I don’t think I have it. Didn’t really see the Awase/Tsuburaba thing coming, not that we've ever really seen them together.”

“I know, right?!”

Her lips twitch at his honest proclamation, then contort in a frown, then settle into a gentle smile. “You know, someone once told me the very obvious statement that people are different. It probably doesn’t matter what Bakugō identifies as, just that we’re there to support him if he needs us.” Kaminari hums and nods, and Jirō continues, “Hirano-sensei says that I tend to hide how I feel, and that I should let my first emotion through instead of pushing it down.”

Kaminari sits up and puts an arm across the back of the couch, expression open and curious. “Yeah?”

“It’s a habit I got into when I was younger,” she says, measuring each word with care. He’s seen Jirō like this several times before, slowly divulging a long-hidden secret, but unlike the previous occasions, her gaze remains level with his, and Kaminari thinks that maybe her professional sessions are bearing fruit to help her overcome her insecurities. “People always seem to have this…expectation of how others should be. When I figured out that I didn’t quite fit the mold, it just became easier to bury my initial reaction, keep it…contained, so I wouldn't be judged.

“In a way, it was kind of the opposite of what you did. But like you, that became part of who I am…or at least shaped how I grew up.”

“You know that I like how you grew up, right?” Kaminari confirms, flashing his fiancé a crooked smile. “You don’t take bullshit, and I need that to keep me in check and balance me out.”

“Yes, apparently opposites attract works for us,” comes the wry response. “I’m not trying to justify how I am—”

“You don’t have to justify who you are to anyone,” Denki asserts, reaching out and taking her smaller hand in his.

“I know, I just…” Jirō’s jacks twirl in frustration, her internal grievance twisting her features. “Don’t you think it’s annoying how we’re affected by such small things? We shouldn’t have to try so hard to be…authentic. I mean, we’re Heroes! We’re supposed to be a reassuring presence to people.”

“We’re still people,” Kaminari rebuts gently, “we’re allowed to have problems and be imperfect.”

“I’m not saying that I expect us to be perfect”—Denki heaves an exaggerated sigh of relief and grins at her, earning a quirk of the lips that suggests she’s deciding not to interrupt her own thought with a witty retort—“just that…” Kyōka growls, annoyed at her apparent inability to verbalize her issue. “I want to be better, for both of us.”

“We should strive for self-improvement,” Kaminari murmurs, fingers playing with the strands of Jirō’s indigo hair. “If it means anything, it sounds like seeing Hirano-sensei is good for you, and I’m glad that you feel like you can confide in me.” He pauses, then continues, “If you’re in the mood to talk, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

There’s silence as he gathers his thoughts, trying to arrange the words to multiple questions his curiosity has uncovered in the past two days, to things he probably should have been a little more sensitive to from the get-go.

How does she feel when they’re intimate?

She’s been initiating things recently, is that because she wants to or because she thinks he wants to?

What kind of perspective does being ace give her regarding the people around them, or on other relationships, like Mina and Kirishima, or Yaoyorozu and Todoroki?

Instead, he pushes those questions aside – he wants to know the answers, but it’s likely to be a longer conversation, and tonight no longer feels like the moment to engage – and inquires, “Have you ever thought about changing your hairstyle?”

Jirō blinks at him, surprise nakedly painted across her face. She probably knows that this is not the question he wanted to pose – Kaminari has never been particularly adept at subterfuge, especially where she’s concerned – but decides not to push, instead considering his query with a jack that brushes her crooked fringe. “I…haven’t thought about it. At least, not for a long time. Why?”

Kaminari shrugs. “Dunno. It just occurred to me that…we haven’t changed a lot since U.A. Maybe…” He shrugs again, unsure how to complete the thought in a way that won’t inadvertently cause offense.

“You have a point,” Jirō admits with a casualness that almost surprises him, “in some ways. Though I think you’re also off the mark. I realized recently that we have changed; sometimes it just takes a closer look to really know how much. But I guess you’re right that we’re physically still pretty similar…maybe it would be nice to change things up.” She brushes her fingers through the locks framing her face, expression pensive, and then probes with a smirk that’s more playful than he expects, “Do you like girls with longer hair, Denki?”

He brings the pad of his pointer finger to the smile stretching his lips and taps them in thought, pretending to ponder the inquiry. “Who knows? I guess we’ll find out, yeah?” When he leans forward for a kiss, Jirō meets him halfway, and after a few seconds, he feels her hand on his scalp, pulling back on the blond strands.

Onyx eyes meet honey. “You know, maybe you should do something, too. You’re much cuter when you use less hair gel and it’s all soft. Reminds me of how soft you are on the inside. Maybe it’ll look better shaggier. Or shorter. Who knows?”

“Anything for my girl,” he says, holding out a pinky. Jirō’s jack wraps around it in promise, and Denki adds a kiss to the appendage before she can pull away. A shudder ripples through her body at the contact, and he mentally clocks it for later introspection. “To the new and improved us.”