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Hitoshi stared out the window, binoculars perched at his eyes, watching the building across the courtyard. This may go down as his worst birthday ever.
Forced to pose as a married couple just to rent this gay-couples-only apartment, all for a shaky lead on this hellish mission, was bad enough. Having to do it on his birthday was worse. Having to do it with his ex-crush, who he had’t spoken to in what—eight years?—was downright tragic.
“I’m hungry,” Denki whined from the couch. They’d been sitting in the dark for hours, well past dinnertime, and hadn’t eaten since lunch.
“Then grab a fucking snack,” Hitoshi grumbled. “We can’t risk being seen right now.”
“But we’re undercover!” Denki protested. “We’re supposed to act like a normal couple, make dinner, eat together, watch TV. You know, couple stuff.”
“Then go ahead and make something for yourself, Kaminari. I’m busy doing my job.”
“Fine,” Denki huffed, stomping toward the kitchen. “What about sleeping arrangements?”
“What about them?” Hitoshi returned impassively.
“There’s one bedroom and one bed.”
“Take it. I don’t sleep.”
“You really should try.”
“Can you just shut the fuck up? I’m not here for light banter. Stop distracting me.”
“Oh, I’m a distraction?” Denki teased, wiggling his eyebrows. The effort was wasted; Hitoshi didn’t even glance his way.
No response. Just tense, frustrating silence.
Then, out of nowhere, a loud rattle cut through the quiet. Someone was trying to break in.
Denki stiffened. “You expecting anyone?” he whispered, on edge.
“No,” Hitoshi quickly answered. “You?”
Denki shook his head.
With a shared, panicked look, they scrambled for the concealed hideaway—a cramped alcove concealed behind a false panel.
It was tight, barely enough room for both of them, forcing their bodies to press uncomfortably close. Hitoshi turned slightly to peer through a pinhole, eyes narrowed.
The rattling continued, followed by the faint scratch of metal on metal until the door latch clicked open. Heavy footsteps thudded across the floor, drawing closer.
Denki gasped too loudly. Hitoshi snapped a hand over his mouth, silencing him, eyes blazing in warning…and something softer, almost like concern. Shut up! he mouthed.
Denki froze, breathing in the familiar, clean scent of Hitoshi that stirred up memories of their UA days.
They were hiding in a supply closet from Aizawa, trying not to laugh, hearts pounding as they avoided being caught for being out past curfew. Denki had felt drawn to Hitoshi at that moment, tethered to him, helpless to resist. He held his breath and leaned in, pressing a soft, tentative kiss to Hitoshi’s lips, barely containing his quirk from unleashing out of adrenaline. And he would swear to this day that Hitoshi had kissed him back. But after a heartbeat, Hitoshi had shoved passed him, bolting out of the closet.
They had never spoken again, apart from the bare minimum during training.
Hitoshi remembered, too. Denki’s face contained that same wounded confusion. It clawed at him, trying to break through the high walls he had built around himself.
No. He couldn’t let that happen. Not again.
After what felt like an eternity, they only heard the sound of their pounding heartbeats and ragged breaths. Chancing that the intruder had left, they slowly, carefully, crawled out of the alcove.
Hitoshi scanned the apartment with a trained eye, then finally let out a long, trembling breath.
“Well,” Denki sighed, “that was cozy. Just like old times.”
Hitoshi ignored him, scanning the room. “We should check the perimeter, just to be safe.”
Hitoshi began methodically searching around the apartment for signs of tampering or bugs. Sensing he was alone in his endeavors, he glanced back to see Denki fussing with his clothing and hair.
“Kaminari, focus and help me out.”
Denki paused mid-adjustment and stared at him. “Why do you keep doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Calling me Kaminari. It’s Denki. You used to call me Denki.”
Hitoshi shook his head in annoyance, and turned away to keep searching.
Denki sneered. “Sure, right back to the mission.”
“That’s why we’re here.”
“You really don’t see how fucked up this is?”
“Huh?”
Denki snapped, gesturing between them. “You and me, posing as a happy-go-lucky married couple. Sharing a bed. Eating together. Playing house. Acting like we’re in love. You really don’t see the irony here?”
“Fuck, Kaminari, of course I do!” Hitoshi barked out. He closed his eyes and inhaled, steadying himself. “But it’s just a cover to get a job done. Nothing more.”
“It’s Denki,” Denki hissed. “And, yeah, it’s just a cover, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it to me. You think it’s easy pretending to be close to you after what happened? When we never even talked about it? You think that each one of my smiles isn’t forced, that I’ve forgotten how you ran out on me with no explanation?”
“That was eight years ago,” Hitoshi huffed. “Let it go. We don’t have time for this now.”
“We had plenty of time back then, and you never talked to me about it! I’ve spent years wondering what I did wrong. About what was so terrible that you couldn’t even look at me again.”
“I can’t do this now, Kaminari.”
“I said call me Denki, for fuck’s sake! And I am making you talk about this because I deserve answers. I’ve waited eight years for an explanation. I told you time and time again that I was sorry, but you just shut me out. Pretended I didn’t exist. Do you know what that did to me? How much it ripped me apart?”
Hitoshi’s voice cracked. “Fuck, Denki, it’s hard for me, too! Every time I say your name I think about how terrified I was that night. How completely petrified I was that I’d break you.”
Denki’s voice grew louder. “You did break me, Hitoshi! And then you acted like I was a mistake you needed to erase! Like being near me was somehow wrong! Fuck, Toshi, we were best friends— maybe even more—and you threw it away! At least tell me why!”
Hitoshi closed his eyes, drawing in a deep, calming breath. “I was protecting you. And myself. Because you would have left…eventually,” he finished, full of regret.
Denki’s face twisted in confusion. “Why the fuck would you think that?”
Hitoshi’s frustration finally boiled over, defenses crumbling. “Because everyone leaves me eventually!”
Silence.
“What?” Denki finally asked in a small voice.
Hitoshi paused, swallowing heavily. “Everyone leaves me because I end up doing something to drive them away. I couldn’t let myself get close to you because I would have messed something up. Or accidentally used my quirk on you. Or made you hate me somehow. And you’d leave me. Just like my parents. Like the kids at the group homes. Like every teacher, every classmate, every person who gave up on me. So I ran first.”
Denki’s eyes softened. “Toshi, why—?”
“Because I’m a freak, Denki!” Hitoshi cried, tears dripping down his rough cheeks. “No one trusts me, and no one ever stays. I’m lucky to even be an underground hero. But I know they’d kick me to the curb the second I slip up. That’s why I have to be perfect. That’s why I push people away—why I had to push you away. You’d just get in the way and get hurt because of me.”
“For what it’s worth,” Denki spoke, throat tightened, “I have never doubted you; never gave up on you. Not once. I’ve never feared you or your quirk. I fucking trusted you as much as anyone could. And I still do.”
Hitoshi was about to respond when the front door burst open with a violent crack, wood splintering against the hinges.
A masked figure in dark tactical gear stepped through, a metal baton crackling with electricity in their grip.
“Fuck,” they hissed in unison, instinctively dropping into defensive stances.
A tense moment passed, all three sizing each other up. Then the intruder lunged.
Denki surged forward, static crackling around his arms. “Don’t even think about it!”
He fired a sharp burst of electricity, but it fizzled harmlessly against the villain’s insulated suit.
"Shit," Denki spat.
Hitoshi stepped forward, voice firm and commanding. “Talk. Who put you up to this?”
No answer. The villain advanced, baton raised. Without a vocal response, Hitoshi’s quirk was useless.
Denki lashed out with his fist, but the villain dodged, swinging the baton in a dangerous arc that forced Denki back.
Hitoshi dove for his capture weapon, discarded over the back of the couch. Just as his fingers brushed it, the villain whipped the baton toward Hitoshi’s side. He barely managed to twist out of the way, but the charge still shocked his arm, making it spasm painfully.
The baton came up for another strike.
Denki shoved himself between them, shielding Hitoshi with his own body.
The weapon cracked into Denki’s ribs with a sickening crunch. The impact sent him crashing to the floor, coughing up droplets of blood. One hand clutched his side as a pain flared hot and sharp across his ribs.
Hitoshi’s eyes narrowed as fury surged through him. He slammed the villain against the wall, twisting their wrist until the baton clattered to the ground.
His voice cut through the chaos like a knife. “They sent you to handle me? You couldn’t handle a house cat.”
The villain remained silent.
He shoved the villain harder, fists bunching their shirt. “You think you’re going to impress someone with this half-assed break-in? They’ll laugh at you.”
Still no reply.
Hitoshi’s hand grasped the villain’s throat, squeezing. “You better fucking answer me, or I will break your neck. I don’t give a damn about the hero code right now.”
“Toshi, stop,” Denki pleaded weakly. “It’s…not…worth it.”
The villain sneered again. “Better listen to your lover boy, Nighthide.”
Hitoshi squeezed tighter, nostrils flaring. “Last chance. Do you feel like dying tonight?”
“Arrogant prick,” the villain spat, still defiant in defeat.
Hitoshi’s eyes glowed violet as he locked his quirk onto their mind. The villain froze, eyes glazing over. Hitoshi finally loosened his grip.
“Sit,” he commanded coldly.
Bonelessly, they collapsed to the floor.
Hitoshi knelt down, still breathing hard, voice steady. “Any backup? Any traps? Surveillance?”
The villain’s voice was dull, distant. “No. I’m alone.”
“Good.” Hitoshi growled. “Sleep.”
The villain slumped over, unconscious.
Hitoshi bound their wrists tightly with his scarf, securing them to a support beam. Then he turned, heart hammering, back toward Denki.
Denki was barely conscious, struggling to breathe, one hand still pressed to his ribs. Hitoshi dialed the emergency response team with shaking fingers, providing the minimal details with practiced efficiency. Then he was kneeling at Denki’s side.
“You fucking idiot,” he scolded, worry coating his anger. “Why’d you do that?”
He tore Denki’s shirt down the center in one rough motion.
“Oooh…Toshi,” Denki wheezed, grinning through the pain. “Is this really the best time for a strip tease? I know it’s your birthday and all, but at least take me to dinner first.”
“You’re impossible,” Hitoshi sighed nervously. He gently probed Denki’s ribs, wincing at the swelling and dark purple bruise that was spreading. Denki hissed at the worst spots and giggled at the ticklish ones.
“Emergency crew will be here soon,” Hitoshi assured. “The biggest concern is internal bleeding. Stay still for now.”
“Wasn’t planning on moving,” Denki chuckled. “Hey, Toshi?”
“Yeah Denks?”
“When this is over, I’m taking you out for your birthday.”
“On a date?”
“If you want it to be one.” Denki paused, choosing his next words carefully. “I still care for you. Always will. But…if you don’t want more, I’m okay with that.”
“Yeah,” Hitoshi managed, smiling down at him. “I think…a date sounds good.”
Hitoshi spent the next few minutes talking honestly to Denki, telling him of his fears of rejection, how he never really stopped caring, how he was terrified of losing him again. Of not being enough. Of not deserving love.
Denki listened through his labored breaths, letting Hitoshi cradle his head in his lap.
The emergency crew finally arrived and loaded Denki on a stretcher. Hitoshi walked with them, never letting go of Denki’s hand, until they reached the ambulance. He placed a gentle kiss to Denki’s forehead, voice soft. “I’ll see you at the hospital once I’m done here. We’ll talk more, I promise. Take care, Denki.”
“Love you too, Toshi,” Denki murmured, winking at Hitoshi. “Happy birthday.”
Hitoshi watched the ambulance pull away, a nervous warmth spreading through his chest as he smiled—truly smiled—for the first time in eight years.
A moment later, one of the support agents stuck her head out the apartment window.
“Hey Nighthide!” she shouted to him. “Did you know there’s a birthday cake with your name on it in your fridge?”
Hitoshi closed his eyes, shaking his head in amusement. “Of course there is.”