Work Text:
Hitoshi Shinsou is pretty sure he is the only one of his kind. The chances that someone had the exact same accident under the exact same circumstances is ridiculously low. One could say that he was lucky. He didn’t die, in fact quite the opposite happened. He lived and he kept on living, as long as he… fed.
It happened at the dawn of the new age, when electricity changed from something primarily studied by scientists to something that was being installed in the homes of common people. The rich came first of course and with them came the money, if you knew how to provide that service. Hitoshi knew and Hitoshi made bank. He was fast and good at his job, a smooth talker to convince the ones scared of new technology and to push the curious ones to get even more than they initially planned. It went smoothly for a while, a good year. By then he had enough practice to do the job in his sleep, he was convinced. A nasty shock, followed by an intense spell of dizziness proved otherwise. Hitoshi went home early that fateful day, over 90 years ago. He felt weak and sick.
The threat of losing business made him roll out of bed the next day and still go to work, even if he felt like shit. His well being only improved when he came in contact with the current. He could feel the energy return to him, filling him, leaving him alert and feeling exhilarated.
It took him two weeks to notice that he was somehow consuming the electricity.
It took him half a year to figure out that he was able to do things when he was filled to the brim.
It took him over a year to hone that skill and try to master it.
It took him five years to realize that he didn't age anymore.
Now - today - he had theories why that was. Electrical current runs through his body and somehow he has lost the ability to generate it himself. Instead he gained the means to take it in from external sources. He needs it to stay alive - or whatever his state technically counts as - and if he has excess, his body uses it to regenerate him. Wounds, small and big; damage from the sun to his skin (he will never get tan now); cell degeneration caused by age; everything is healed, keeping his body in perfect shape.
A vampire feeding on electricity is how he explained to himself. Better than blood anyway, less messy and while his particular diet was hard to stick to in the beginning it only got easier with electricity moving into every part of human life.
Learning to live with it was tough at first, but working his job gave Hitoshi ample opportunity to replenish his body. He also got better at using the skills the energy provided him with - some kind of mind control - and he learned when he had to move. Staying in one place for 7 to 10 years was okay, but longer than that and people started commenting on his appearance staying the same. When everything got busier, the cities fuller, the people more ignorant, he was able to stay even longer, but usually at the cost of ending friendships early.
The fast way technology evolved came with its unique challenges. The first few times Hitoshi picked up devices not constantly connected to an outlet he usually destroyed it, robbing it of every little ounce of electricity. But he learned to control how much he took as well. Electricity was everywhere now and he never lacked it anymore.
He missed other things though. The urge to tell someone, to confide in someone got ever stronger with each passing year. Cats were great, but Hitoshi was truly lonely, unable to really form connections anymore without dreading having to leave in a few years.
“Hey, is this seat taken?”
Hitoshi opens his eyes. A blond man stands in front of him, somewhere in his mid twenties. He has a cup of coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other. He is wearing sunglasses, appropriate for a sunny day in the park and gestures to the bench Hitoshi is currently sitting on. Hitoshi shakes his head and wants to get up, but the stranger lifts a hand, making the coffee slush around in the cup.
“No, no. You can stay! Just scoot over a little?”
“Okay.”
Hitoshi picks up his backpack and moves over to one side of the bench, making space for the other man. He sits down, puts his drink next to him and rips open the paper back. Hitoshi can see one piece of apple pie, two donuts, two cookies and a croissant. Without meaning to, he raises his eyebrows.
“Don't judge!” The stranger says immediately. “I burn a lot of energy,” he giggles to himself and then clears his throat. “Anyway, I’m willing to part with either one donut or one cookie. Take your pick! I’m Denki by the way and you are?”
Hitoshi blinks before answering. Without meaning to, he gives his name. “Hitoshi. I don’t need your food, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to-” he is quick to apologize, feeling bad for making someone feel judged because they are getting a sweet treat.
“No, no, I insist. Take one! I made you move and probably woke you up, so it's just fair.” Denki smiles and Hitoshi doesn’t have it in him to deny him again.
“Fine. Cookie.”
“Chocolate chip or cranberry walnut?” Denki grins at him and presents the cookies with a flourish.
“Hmmm…” Hitoshi bites his lip, considering.
Denki watches him for a few seconds and then laughs. “How about half of each?”
“That sounds great.”
“Okay!” Denki takes the cookies and breaks both of them in half. He gingerly puts two halves in a napkin and then hesitates. After lifting it up he puts it down again and pushes it along the bench over to Hitoshi. “Here ya go!”
Hitoshi doesn’t comment on the weird way to pass over cookies. Maybe Denki is a germaphobe or something. He has a lot of weird ticks himself. He just picks up the cookies and starts nibbling on them, while Denki starts devouring his sweets. They eat in silence until Denki has finished the apple pie, his two cookie-halfs and one donut. With a satisfied sigh he leans back.
“Oh, I needed that. How are you liking them?”
Hitoshi shrugs.
“The cranberry one is a bit dry, don’t you think?”
Denki is right, but Hitoshi doesn’t know why he is still talking to him. The advantage of being in a big city is that no one is interested in you. But Denki doesn’t seem to care for unspoken rules like this. He keeps chatting away, apparently unbothered by Hitoshi’s one word answers and grunts. Hitoshi considers briefly to just up and leave, but he has nothing better to do and somehow, Denki’s presence feels good. The carefree way he talks about music and books and film, food and travel and weather, it’s soothing to Hitoshi. It’s so normal.
Hitoshi watches him while Denki talks about a musical he went to, imitating the singer’s acting with big gestures. Maybe they could become friends for a few years.
When Denki is finished with his food, Hitoshi offers to throw the trash in the bin, longing to add something of value to their interaction. Denki nods and smiles at him gratefully and Hitoshi can’t help but smile back. He takes his napkins and Denki’s coffee cup and then stretches his other hand, asking for Denki’s now empty paperbag. Denki crumbles it up into a ball and places it into Hitoshi’s hand. Their fingers touch briefly and Hitoshi’s knees buckle.
In a fraction of a second he is down on his knees, panting heavily. Spots are in his vision and his mind can’t even begin to process what just happened. Far away, over the blood rushing in his ears, he can make out Denki talking, apologizing, berating himself. But Hitoshi is too distracted by his body going haywire to listen to him. He is sweating and all his hairs stay on end, his mouth is dry, his brain is going miles an hour and he is - strangely - achingly hard in his pants. It feels like his body is completely out of his control and nothing makes sense. Every sense is dialed up the max and Hitoshi is completely unequipped to handle that.
Without having heard a word of what Denki is saying, he wheezes, “What are you?!”
Denki shuts up immediately. Hitoshi opens his eyes and slowly the world comes back into focus. He can see the trash - napkins, paperbag, disposable cup - next to him and he can see Denki’s shoes - brown leather, black pant legs - in front of him. Who wears brown with black? He wonders idly, as his brain slowly comes back online.
He lifts his gaze and meets Denki’s. He looks concerned.
“I’m sorry,” Denki starts, avoiding his eyes. “I’m like one of these electric eels, I shock people pretty easily.”
Hitoshi shakes his head. His tongue is heavy as he speaks. “I’ve had static discharges before.” He did. It didn’t zap him anymore, instead he absorbed the energy into his body. It always made him feel a little high, like it’s the purest form of electricity and everything else seems stale in comparison. The effect was negligible though, because the amount was always so low and thus it was over before it really began.
Denki presses his lips together and looks to the side.
“Denki,” Hitoshi says insistently. “What was that?”
“I know they are strong, but nobody ever reacted like that.”
“Denki,” Hitoshi repeats, suddenly longing to feel it once more. “Do it again.”
Denki’s head whips around and he stares at Hitoshi in astonishment. “Didn’t it hurt?”
Hitoshi shakes his head. “Not one bit.”
“But you-”
“It was a lot. But it didn’t hurt.”
“I can touch you?” Denki asks, his voice merely a whisper.
Hitoshi nods.
“F-fuck. Okay. I- Let’s get you on the bench first? People are looking.” Denki looks around, offers his hand and then pulls it back. “Maybe it's better if you do this yourself.”
With careful movements Hitoshi gets up and gathers the trash again. He throws it into the bin and then walks back to the bench, where Denki is sitting now, bouncing his legs nervously. He took his sunglasses off and when Hitoshi looks in his eyes he is taken aback for a moment. They are golden. Not brown or caramel, no, pure molten gold. He thinks about his own eyes that went purple after his accident, now hidden behind contact lenses, and wonders again what Denki really is.
He sits down next to him gingerly and turns to look at him.
“Let’s try this,” he mumbles and Denki nods.
“You want to start small at first?” Denki stretches out his hand, but only points with his index finger.
Hitoshi mirrors him, slowly moving it closer and closer. When there are only a few millimeters between them, electric arcs start jumping between their fingers and Hitoshi can feel the current coming from Denki. He stares at their fingers, fascinated, while the energy rushes through him like the strongest coffee he ever had.
Denki sighs. “Damn… that feels… that feels amazing.” His voice is droopy. Hitoshi closes the distance.
The effect is instantaneous. Electricity is rushing into his body, crashing over him in waves, strong enough to make Hitoshi lose all other senses. It keeps coming, barely giving him room to breathe, to think. He feels strong, like he could run a marathon right fucking now and simultaneously he has no idea where he is. His world zeroes in on his finger touching Denki’s and the park loses its meaning as much as bench, the breeze and the sun.
He doesn't know how long he stays like that, just taking it in and enjoying the novel feeling, but after a while the intensity lessens. It doesn't go away but it feels like they reach some kind of equilibrium. The world shifts into focus again, but more colorful, brighter and somehow more alive then before. Denki shifts into focus again and his eyes shine golden and his skin, pale like Hitoshi’s, sparkles with electricity. Hitoshi threads their fingers together. He is sure he is sporting the absolute dumbest smile right now, but he doesn't care.
He has never felt like this before.
Denki starts crying silently, tears rolling down his face. Hitoshi leans close and with his free hand he wipes them away, catching sparks of energy in the process. A breathy sigh escapes Denki.
“Hey, hey,” Hitoshi tries to comfort him. “What's the matter?”
He may have known Denki only for an hour by now, but it feels like several lifetimes.
“I haven't been touched like this in decades,” Denki whispers back. “Since I was a kid. Nobody could.”
Hitoshi’s brain screeches to a halt and Denki seems to have noticed his mistake too.
“Decades?” Hitoshi asks, not allowing him to think about the possible meaning of this.
“I mean, years,” Denki laughs awkwardly. “Of course. Not decades.”
Hitoshi ignores Denki’s statement. “How many?”
Denki stares at him for a whole long while, but he doesn't answer, fear in his eyes. Hitoshi decides to take the leap.
“It’s been about nine for me.”
Denki’s eyes widen and it would have been funny if it wasn’t so serious. As it is, the only thought in Hitoshi’s brain right now is I am not alone.
“For me as well,” Denki whispers, staring at Hitoshi. They scoot closer together, speaking in hushed tones now.
“I was working as an electrician, installing new devices, connecting households to the grid.”
Denki nods, hanging at every word dropping from Hitoshi’s lips.
“I was getting a new home access one day when I didn’t pay attention for one minute. I shocked myself pretty badly, started a small fire.”
“Kaminari,” Denki breathes and Hitoshi halts every movement, apart from his hammering heart.
“What?”
“The house you worked at. The shock, the fire. It was the Kaminari’s family home.” Hitoshi stares at Denki, who just continues speaking. “I was… I’m Denki Kaminari. I was seventeen. Got hit pretty badly, felt the electricity in myself. Couldn't stop moving, had endless energy, rarely slept, and ate a lot. I- I-”
“You have too much,” Hitoshi says, eyes searching Denki’s face for an answer. He only finds golden eyes. “You overproduce. I don't produce anymore.”
“What do you-?”
“My body isn't generating electricity anymore, so I have to take it in from outside sources.”
“And I produce so much that I hurt everyone I touch. But it keeps me healthy and young.”
“Fixes all our ailments, including cell degeneration.”
“No tattoos allowed.”
“I never tried.”
“I can touch you. You can touch me.”
Denki lays his hand across Hitoshi as they stare at each other in wonder.
“Do you have any plans for today?” Denki asks, hopeful.
“Not even for the rest of the year.”
“Great, let's go to my place. We have lots to talk about.” Denki gets up from the bench and pulls Hitoshi with him. They keep holding hands the whole way.