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This shit is sickening.
Kaminari Denki, age twenty-five, pro-hero Chargebolt, needs to find a new place to live. See, when Bakugou had invited their friend group to work under his agency two years after graduation, he had been more than thrilled to accept the offer. It was Bakugou, after all: the guy who settled for nothing less than absolute victory, indisputable, perfect wins. Even if they were still considered ‘green’ in the field, Denki knows well enough that anything that Bakugou touches will come out on top.
On top of that, the agency, while new, came with fully furnished dorms that had more than satisfactory rates, especially in central Tokyo, and an actual, real start at being a pro-hero, instead of being just a sidekick.
And besides, Denki had missed living with his friends. Having his own apartment had been nice and all, but eventually, the silence started to get lonesome. He’d missed coming home to a noisy common room, missed coming back to Ashido singing at the top of her lungs and dancing to the latest Tiktok trend, to Sero and Jirou playing Mario Kart on the TV, to Bakugou cooking while shouting at Kirishima to ‘dice the fucking onions better, goddamit!’
So yeah, when Bakugou had come calling, Denki had answered. Had packed up his belongings, cut himself out of his lease, left his sidekicking gig at the Lurkers’ agency, and set himself up at Dynamight’s agency.
Now, here they were, five years later, with Bakugou’s agency being one of the most successful and sought after for missions and internships, and Denki sits comfortably in the top twenty rankings as number eighteen. He gets to wake up to the noise and clamor of his old friends and coworkers getting ready for long patrols and come downstairs to the common room to see Ashido and Sero arguing over cereal while Jirou finishes the last of the orange juice in the fridge.
It’s messy. It’s loud. All his friends are ridiculous and stupid, even seven years after graduation. It’s home.
That being said, Denki needs to fucking move out.
They’ve all changed, in one way or another. Ashido’s grown her hair out and has a new habit of hand washing her costume after shrinking it once in the dryer. Sero’s developing his absolutely ridiculous mustache and he’s taken to drinking beer after long shifts. Jirou listens to more classical music than rock these days, and she’s started playing her music out loud instead of wearing headphones. Hell, even Kirishima has been wearing his hair down or in a ponytail instead of spiking it up, and Bakugou’s taken to meditating in the mornings.
They’re twenty-five now. They’re not the same rowdy teenagers they were seven years ago. And yet—
“Katsuki!” Kirishima pads into the kitchen, his hair tied back and his hero costume half on. He slides his arm around Bakugou’s waist as he nuzzles his cheek. “Have you seen my mask? I can’t find it anywhere.”
Bakugou, save for the pink tips of his ears, flips his pancake unbothered. Mostly. “It’s in my bathroom, idiot. You left it there after your shower.”
“Oh! Shit, thanks man!”
Denki watches with abject horror as Kirishima squeezes Bakugou’s waist cheerfully and ghosts his mouth against Bakugou’s hair before he breezes back to the dormitory floors. He tips his head at Denki and Sero in greeting, chirping a warm “Morning guys!” before he disappears into the elevator.
Denki looks back at Bakugou, who’s started a new pancake. He looks composed and cool as cucumber, his brow furrowed as he pushes the batter together with his spatula. But Denki knows better: he’s been friends with Bakugou for seven years and he’s been subject to their weird flirting since the first year.
Even though Bakugou hides his tells, Denki can tell by his pink tipped ears and bitten lips that Bakugou is definitely freaking the fuck out.
Which brings Denki to the one thing that has yet to change in the last seven years of his life: this stupid will-they-won’t-they that Bakugou and Kirishima have been dancing around, since their first year.
“Hey Kacchan—”
Bakugou unceremoniously dumps the pancake onto a plate and turns off the stove. “I’m getting dressed. Make sure Pinky doesn’t drown her pancakes in syrup when she gets her lazy ass up or I’ll drown her.”
He breezes past them too, ducking into the elevator. Denki and Sero watch as the up arrow lights up, ticking past the first, second, third, fourth floors, before stopping on the fifth floor. Bakugou lives in the sixth floor penthouse. Kirishima’s room is on the fifth floor, tucked at the end of the hall next to a sidekick’s room.
Denki exhales loudly, burying his face into his arms as Sero facepalms.
“This is ridiculous,” Sero deadpans.
“Did they even realize we were here?” Denki mutters. “Are they even aware of anyone other than each other? I can’t deal with this.”
Sero scowls down at his pancakes. “Ei nuzzles Blasty’s cheek in public and we’re just. Supposed to ignore it? Are we kidding?”
Okay, here’s the thing: Denki knows that Bakugou is emotionally constipated. It took a year and a half for him to finally get comfortable with attending their squad movie night sleepovers in high school, and another year for him to finally, finally start calling them by name. Bakugou’s just a little slow on the uptake when it comes to his emotional regulation, and it’s okay, Denki gets it.
But Kirishima? No excuse. The guy is literally a walking teddy bear. He’s been the class’ comfort person since first year, the shoulder to cry on, the reliable guy who’ll buy ice cream and tampons for the girls and the guy who stays up to drink hot milk post-nightmares. Kirishima is vocal and loud, and he’s the sort of person who’ll voice his thoughts as well as speaking up for others.
It’s what makes him one of the best heroes. It’s also what makes this whole fucking mating dance infuriating as hell.
“Kacchan has to know, right?” Denki looks down at his pancake. He had jokingly asked for a Mickey Mouse face, and Bakugou, in spite of his grumbling, had delivered. He cuts an ear off of the Mickey pancake and wonders if he could do the same with his own ear whenever Bakugou and Kirishima are nearby. “Eiji literally nuzzled him. We’ve seen them cuddle at our movie nights. And I’ve seen Katsu sneaking into Eiji’s room at night. There’s just no way he doesn’t know, or he doesn’t feel the same.”
Sero rolls his eyes. “Blasty’s not stupid, but—”
They both look at each other, mournful. Upstairs, the sound of Bakugou’s yells rock the floor and Kirishima’s laugh echoes from the stairwell.
“I need to move out,” Denki says out loud. “You think Tooru’s agency will take KiriBaku victims?”
“Tooru’s nice,” Sero agrees. “But if Katsuki comes after her for sniping us, she’ll kick us to the curb.”
There’s a resounding boom from above them, as if in agreement, and Denki exhales, sips his apple juice, and resigns himself to his daily torture by two of his closest friends. Maybe in another life, they’ll get it right just a little quicker.
It’s spring when Bakugou comes stomping into the office. His face is blackened with soot, hiding his pollen-reddened nose, and his eyeliner is smeared at the corners, making him look like an angry, feral blonde raccoon (Denki thinks this all the time. He’s smart enough to never voice the thought. In spite of his intrusive thoughts, he does value his ears).
Kirishima tails behind, his red hair falling around his shoulders like a cloud. He’s bleeding out of the side of his face and his arms are cut up and down.
Denki shoots to his feet. “What the hell happened to you guys?”
Bakugou huffs, folding his arms. “Got into a fight with some lowlife loser on the street.”
Kirishima rolls his eyes, which, huh. A little bit of an odd response from Bakugou’s best friend (and secret admirer, but that tidbit isn’t that much of a secret anyhow). “Katsuki just overreacted over something small. Had to haul him back.” His gaze cuts to Bakugou in front of him, a frown playing on his lips and Bakugou scoffs.
“I think I reacted the right fucking amount, thank you very fucking much. You, on the other hand—”
“It was nothing, Kats. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“Yeah, well, it fucking matters to me and it’s not nothing, that guy was a piece of—”
Alright. Denki doesn’t really value his eardrums that much, after all.
Denki steps in between his two friends, waving his arms. “Blasty, chill the fuck out,” he says firmly and he receives a hiss in return. Good enough. He turns over to Kirishima. “What happened out there?”
“Some guy defaced one of the hero ranking voting posters in front of the konbini—”
“The one of Red Riot,” Bakugou seethes on his other side, and yeah, everything is starting to make sense now. “And then the guy saw Eijirou and spat in his face and called him a fucking Walmart cosplay version of Crimson Riot—”
“Well, his exact words were that I would never be Crimson Riot and that I didn’t deserve to be in the top ten,” Kirishima shrugs lightly. “But seriously, not everyone is a fan of our graduating class, especially after the war and you can’t get everyone to like you—”
“Eijirou, he called you a good-for-nothing piece of shit—”
“And his opinion doesn’t matter. He’s just some guy—”
“Who’s defacing your fucking face in the streets, Eijirou!”
Denki wonders if it’s too late to sit back down. Considering the fact that Kirishima and Bakugou are yelling at each other over his head, it might not be the end for him yet. But even so, this isn’t an argument that he should be sitting down for.
While Kirishima does make a point — there’s always gonna be some jackass loser calling them weak knockoffs of Golden Age heroes, and that’s just how it’s always going to be — Denki, for once, might side with Bakugou on this one.
Because Kirishima is half the reason why Dynamight’s hero agency is so successful.
Bakugou had gone out and made sure he burned his mark into the world, made sure everyone remembered the name Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight and the slew of victories against defeated villains in his wake.
But it’s Kirishima is the one who picks up everyone’s broken pieces and puts them back together with utmost care. It’s Kirishima, who ensures the name ’Red Riot’ feels like a blanket on a wintry day. Kirishima, who ensures that Red Riot’s name is synonymous with sunshine and the reassuring knowledge that someone will always come, no matter what.
He’s saved everyone and their mom and their goddamn cat in this area at least once, he makes an attempt to go out and socialize with the civilians, and he literally has rapport with the obaa-sans, for gods’ sake. Kirishima had been the first onboard for Bakugou’s agency (because of course he is, of course he’s the first person Bakugou would think to ask), and while the sign outside has Dynamight’s name plastered all over the building, it’s Kirishima, it’s Red Riot, who’s the face of the agency.
Dynamight is Japan’s reigning symbol of victory, but to the civilians, to Denki, Red Riot is the one who carries the banner of peace.
So hearing that someone out there hates Red Riot, hates what he stands for and the things he’s done to make their city, their world, a safer place, well. It doesn’t sit well with Denki either.
“Dude,” Denki says, “I hate to say it, but Bakugou didn’t exactly overreact.”
Garnet and ruby eyes snap to him, and Denki prepares for his imminent demise by either hand.
“The fuck you mean, you hate to say it—”
“Eiji, my guy, you’ve done so much for the agency and for the people of this city. Hell, I’m pretty sure that you’ve saved every civilian in our hundred mile radius at least once. Like,” he gestures offhandedly to the door. “Sure, everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but hearing that someone called you a knockoff Crimson Riot pisses me off too. If you asked anyone else in this agency, they’d probably agree.”
Kirishima sighs, tugging at his red hair helplessly. “Look, I love you guys and I’m really grateful that everyone thinks that, but I’m just another hero doing my job. If a guy or two on the street doesn’t think I deserve my ranking, then he’s entitled to that opinion, you know?”
Denki opens his mouth to retort, but Bakugou beats him to the punch.
“We’ll see about that,” he snaps, turning over his heel.
Denki winces as he slams his office door shut, and glances back at Kirishima. “Eijirou,” he starts, “You know we’re not just saying all that to be nice, right?”
Kirishima shakes his head. “Yeah, I just—” He scratches the back of his head, looks up sheepishly at Denki, “I’m gonna go take a shower and cool off. I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah, see you at dinner.”
He watches Kirishima’s retreating back and wonders if his friend believes him at all.
“You know, the quarterly ranking announcement is coming out soon,” Ashido says.
It’s their off day. Ashido’s flipping through her magazine with Denki’s head in her lap, scrolling through his phone aimlessly.
He doesn’t take his eyes off his screen. “Yeah, and? It’s not like it’ll have changed very much since New Year’s.”
Ashido flicks the cover of her magazine at his face. “They’re doing something different for this quarter’s rankings. Some fan-servicey thing for hero otakus.”
That piques Denki’s attention, and he types in the search for the spring quarter’s hero rankings. Sure enough, the hero rankings tag is completely blown up, with Todoroki and Mirio’s hero names trending right underneath.
“What the—a life sized plushie?” He scrunches his nose. “What the hell?”
Ashido grins down at him, her eyes glittering with amusement. “Top three heroes are getting plushies made of them, but the number one hero of the quarter gets a life sized version. And, hero rankings are being decided by popular public vote.”
“What the hell?” he repeats. “Who even wants that? That’s insane, that’s—”
Kirishima sprints past them, his hair tied up into a loose ponytail and his backpack’s hero charms clinking against the zippers. “BYE GUYS, GOTTA GO!”
“YOU’RE OFF TODAY!” Denki hollers after him and the only piece of the answer that he catches wind of is ‘hero voting.’
The door slams shut and Denki stares up at Ashido, bleary eyed. Similarly, his longtime friend is staring at the ceiling, as if watching the drywall peel and crack is so much more interesting than Kirishima blitzing out their front door.
“Mina—”
“Shut up,” she says flatly. “If I don’t finish my deep-breathing exercises, I’ll end up in the bath with a toaster.”
Denki understands the sentiment. So instead, he wisely closes his mouth and joins Ashido in her ceiling-staring activities. Because hey, the chances of the ceiling of coming down on them is higher than Kirishima and Bakugou ending their seven year long, fucked up mating activities and Denki’s willing to bet against those chances.
You have got to be kidding me.
Denki doesn’t know whether he’s looking forward to the hero rankings announcement, or if he’s looking forward to the peace and quiet(?) that’ll come after.
Because seriously, watching Kirishima and Bakugou try to be slick about their votings is worse than watching paint dry. What Denki did to deserve being a spectator to their slow burn, yearnful romance, he doesn’t know, and he kinda wishes he does, if only to go back and beg on his hands and knees to ask for a different penance.
“I’m heading out!” Kirishima calls cheerfully.
It’s seven in the morning. Personally, Denki wants to drown himself in his Fruit Loops bowl — he despises morning patrols more than anything else, and it doesn’t help that he was kept up by Kirishima’s spam texts saying shit like:
> Kirishiman Brojirou: don’t forget to vote!
> Kirishiman Brojirou: please man, put dynamight in for the ballot, please
> Kirishiman Brojirou: i’ll buy u the 7/11 smoothie every day for a month if you do man
Honestly, if anyone asked him, he doesn’t give a shit about the life size plushie or the quarterly hero rankings (everyone knows it’s the year-end hero board that matters the most). But the entire country has been caught up in the frenzy. They can drop their votes once a day, at any time, online or in person, and yet, Denki has been seeing regular lines wrapped around the block at the convenience stores.
He’s been dropping his daily vote to each one of his old classmates, just for the hell of it, so yeah he’s voted for Dynamight. He’s voted for Red Riot, Alien Queen, Earphone Jack, Cellophane, and everyone else. But Kirishima, Kirishima. He’s been running to the convenience store every morning before his shift to vote in person (why he does that, Denki has no idea), and today is genuinely no different.
“It’s the last day before they tally the votes,” Kirishima says, flashing him a smile as he grabs his protein shake from the fridge (made by Bakugou the night before, mind you). “I really hope that ’Suki’s up there, you know?”
“Why, ‘cuz you want a plushie of him?” Denki teases and he mentally facepalms as his friend blushes beet red.
“No—that’s not—!” Kirishima averts his gaze and Denki can glimpse the blush spreading to the back of his neck. “He just deserves it, is all! Katsuki’s worked really hard this year, and I know he doesn’t care anymore, but he’s already number three and I wanna see him on top, you know?”
“Right…”
And you just want him to have a life size plushie, so you can collect it for your Dynamight merch collection.
Denki flashes his friend a thumbs up. “Well, good luck man! Happy voting!”
Kirishima beams, practically skipping to the door. “I’ll see you at work!”
The door shuts behind him and Denki opens his voting tab and slaps his vote right on Red Riot’s face.
The entire agency is parked out in front of the TV after work. Interns, sidekicks, pro-heroes alike, they’re all bustling around the common area and kitchen, chattering about the ranking release.
“I put half my votes on Lemillion!”
“You literally work at Dynamight’s agency, and you voted for Lemillion?”
“I hope Entropy makes it into the top three!”
“All of you are terrible, I put my votes for Red Riot and Dynamight.”
“Just because we work at Dynamight’s agency doesn’t mean we’re not allowed to like other heroes!”
“I hope you get fired, what the hell.”
Jirou takes the seat next to him, her purple hair pulled back in a messy bun. There’s half a glass of wine in her hand and when she tips her head onto his shoulder, he can smell the wine on her lips. “Busy night, huh?”
Denki takes a sip of his beer. He doesn’t usually drink beer — he has a personal affinity for the three percent fruity cocktails — but today’s current happenings call for bitter alcohol. He hopes he’s wasted by the time the announcement is broadcasted, but the likelihood is low.
“Mm yeah. You got any particular hopes for the top three?”
Jirou shrugs, but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “Nah, not really. My favorites probably aren’t gonna make the cut anyway.”
“Cheers to that.”
“IT’S ON!” Ashido shrieks from the other side of the room and suddenly, the living room is swarmed with all their coworkers.
There’s a low buzz in the crowd, murmurs and whispers all around, and Denki can even see cash being exchanged between hands. From nearby, Sero ambles over and plops down next to him, his beer bottle empty.
“Two thousand yen on Katsuki being in the top three.”
“Easy bet,” Ashido says, sauntering over. She’s dressed up for the occasion — how she found the time between her evening patrol and the event, Denki has no idea. “Four thousand yen on Katsuki being number one, because of Eiji’s diligence.”
“You’re on. Denks, Kyou, thoughts?”
Denki squints at the TV. “Two thousand on Kacchan for number one.”
Jirou snorts as she lifts her wine glass. “Please. You know what? Six thousand yen on Eiji ranking within the top three. That guy has no idea how popular he is.”
Sero whistles lowly. “You’re gonna be so broke after this, Kyouka.”
“Speaking of, where’s our happy couple anyway?” Denki flicks his gaze around the room. “Ei was super excited about the rankings coming out.”
“Yeah, because he’s been working his ass off to ensure ‘Suki gets number one,” Ashido giggles. “Don’t look too hard though, they’re sharing the loveseat in the back.”
Denki is mildly tipsy and terrible at listening to directions. He turns his head and sure enough, he glimpses Bakugou and Kirishima, tucked in together on the loveseat. They’re whispering together, but it’s so obviously lighthearted by the way Kirishima has his arm around Bakugou’s waist, and Bakugou is smacking at his shoulder while hiding a smile.
Ugh. Couples.
“I told you not to look,” Ashido chides, smacking his head gently. “They’re being disgusting back there.”
“One can have hope,” Denki says, finishing the rest of his beer in one go. “Maybe this will be the night.”
“You’re delusional,” Sero deadpans.
“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for! The top ten heroes for this spring quarter! Coming in at number ten, we have…”
Phantom Thief gets called. Then Suneater, followed by Nejire-chan. Seventh place is Mt. Lady and to everyone’s delight, Creati clocks in at sixth and Kamui Woods at fifth.
“No Eiji,” Denki mutters to Jirou. “Not good, he was literally fifth at New Year.”
“We still got time,” Jirou says easily. “I’m telling you, top three.”
“Now, at our fourth place cutoff, we have…the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight!”
The room bursts into frenzy. Sero stares wide-eyed, his mouth moving back and forth, wordless, and Ashido’s all but spilled her drink down her dress and shoes, jaw dropped.
“No way—!”
“Dynamight got kicked out of the top three?!”
“Who could possibly be—”
Jirou hisses in his ear, “Kirishima looks devastated.”
Denki’s gaze whips towards his two friends, and sure enough, Kirishima’s wide eyed and utterly horrified. He’s taken his arm away from Bakugou, flipping through his phone for the news. Bakugou, on the flip side, looks completely unbothered, nonchalant. Even when Denki checks for his tells, Bakugou is still indifferent, composed even. When they lock eyes, Bakugou flashes him a smirk as he sips his champagne.
“And now, our final three! Heroes ranking within the top three will get limited edition plushies made of them, with our number one hero getting a life-sized edition! And now, starting off strong, we have Entropy as our third place finisher!”
“Shouto?!” Ashido gasps. “At three, then who—?!”
“Shut up, shut up!” Jirou snaps, batting at her arm.
“Now, our number two hero is going to be…Lemillion!”
“No fucking way Toogata-senpai is second!” Sero yells, amidst their drunken coworkers’ shouts and protests that ricochet around the room, “That’s some bullshit!”
“And in first place! With an astonishing twenty million votes nationwide, our number one hero is…”
The face flashes on screen, the name blazes in red fire and the whole room goes dead.
“Oh my god,” Ashido chokes out. “Oh my god—”
“RED RIOT!”
And then it all comes to a roaring head, with champagne bubbling and flying overhead, confetti streaming down the ceiling, as the entire agency starts chanting Kirishima’s name.
“NUMBER ONE HERO RED RIOT! OUR RED RIOT! NUMBER ONE HERO!”
When Denki turns his head to peek through the celebrations, amongst the shimmering confetti and dancing heroes and sidekicks, he spots Kirishima and Bakugou, tangled up in each other, kissing like no one else in the room.
He hides his smile as he cracks open a new beer and toasts to Kirishima’s name.
Finally.
The first thing Denki sees when he comes downstairs is Ashido, with a handful of her clothes.
“What the fuck,” he says, for lack of better words. “What are you doing?”
Ashido shakes her head mutely. “Living room,” is all he gets.
Fuck. Denki hesitantly makes his way to the living room, preparing for the worst. But even then, preparing for the worst is nowhere enough to prepare him for the absolutely massive, life-sized Red Riot plushie now occupying half the width of their couch.
Oh my god.
Denki doesn’t even blink when he turns right around and heads back to his room to gather his belongings. Maybe it’s time to become a nomad. A wanderer. Vigilante even. He’s okay with being agencyless, jobless, homeless for a little bit. He’s in the top twenty, he can find work somewhere.
He runs into Jirou in the hallway. Similarly, she has her backpack on, a box of her belongings in hand.
“You too?” he asks and she shakes his head.
“Not doing this today. I’ve had enough.”
Downstairs, there’s a boom and a shout of, “THE FUCK YOU MEAN WHY DID I BUY YOUR LIFE-SIZED PLUSHIE?!”
“WHY IS IT IN THE COMMON ROOM, KATSUKI?!”
“BECAUSE IT’S FUCKING ADORABLE, SHITTY HAIR.”
Then, quieter. “You think I’m adorable?”
Bakugou’s huff can be felt through four different floors. “I think the world of you, Eiji. You’re everything.”
There’s a gentle exhale of breath and momentary silence and Denki stares at Jirou, alarmed. They need to leave. Now.
“Besides, I didn’t fucking make fifteen new email accounts and open new phone lines for you to not win.”
“Sorry. You did what?”