Chapter Text
Denki Kaminari had mastered the art of being “okay.”
He knew how to smile with his teeth, nod at the right moments, toss out jokes like candy Halloween. He could spin energy into a room so quickly that people rarely noticed when it fizzled out, least of all him. But there was a clock in his chest, ticking down to a date he pretended didn’t exist.
June 29, His birthday.
And he hated it because it was just another day.
No cake.
No gifts.
No hugs.
Sometimes, not even a “happy birthday.”
Just... silence.
So why start pretending now?
but It wasn’t always like this.
When he was six, he waited all day at the window, hands pressed to the glass, staring at the empty driveway. His mom had promised she’d come home early. Said they’d get cake. That he’d finally have a real birthday.
She never showed.
It wasn’t that his mom didn’t care,she was a Pro Hero, after all,busy saving lives, putting her own body on the line, balancing her agency work with barely enough time to sleep. She’d leave before sunrise and sometimes wouldn’t come home for days from going on a mission in another country. Home-cooked meals were replaced by reheated convenience store food. “Goodnight” was usually a note left on the counter, if even that.
He understood. He really did. People needed saving. And his mom was good at what she did. But it didn’t make the house any less cold. He had no dad, never even knew the guy. His mother never talked about him, and Denki stopped asking after a while.
So every year after, he learned to downplay it. He’d mention it once, maybe, and if his mom was free, she’d try to make it special. But even those attempts felt rushed, half-hearted, distracted. She was always on call, always fighting villains, always apologizing.
“Next year, Denki. I promise.”
Next year never came.
And eventually, he stopped bringing it up, Denki got a voicemail, today though
It was short.
“Hey sweetie, I know tomorrow’s your birthday. I’m… sorry I won’t be around, we’ve got a class Z threat in Osaka, and I can’t get away. I’ll make it up to you when things calm down, okay? I love you.”
Beep
He didn’t cry, he wasn't surprised , he just listened, exhaled slowly, and turned his phone off.
Same script. Different year.
He didn’t blame her. Not really. But part of him still whispered: If you mattered more, she’d be here. And that part hurt more than he could admit.
So here he was, preparing his defenses, because his friends at UA were way closer to him than any other friends hes ever had, it made him feel even more terrible because what if they somehow found out the date?
What if they didn’t?
He didn’t know which was worse.
He was laughing louder, talking more, throwing himself into conversations so no one would notice the fatigue dragging behind his smile. He cracked jokes that didn’t quite land and changed topics the second anyone asked how he was doing.
“Doing great!” he’d say too quickly. “Just tired! Training’s rough, right?”
Jirou had asked if he was okay. He said yes. He always said yes.
Because how do you say, “I don’t celebrate my birthday because I learned a long time ago that I’m not worth celebrating because on my birthday every year my mom’s pulling a night shift chasing villains, And I hope she’s alive, because I haven’t heard from her in three days. And my dad you ask? I’ve never seen his face.”
You don’t.
You keep the smile and you hide in plain sight.
So when the clock hit midnight on the night of his birthday, Kaminari sat alone in the common room. The lights were off. His phone was on airplane mode. He was wrapped in a blanket, staring at the flickering light from the TV he wasn’t watching. He told himself it was fine.
He didn’t want anything, he didn’t want attention, he didn’t want people pretending they cared.
But still…He imagined what it must be like, waking up to friends yelling “Happy Birthday!” with balloons and laughter and messy homemade cake. Not because they had to, because they wanted to.
He’d never had that…..and he didn’t think he deserved it. He clenched his fists and muttered to no one, “It’s just another day.” If he said it enough, maybe he’d believe it. He stayed awake. He sat on the common room couch until sunrise, wrapped in a hoodie, hood up. He listened to Radiohead and put his phone on do not disturb.
Later, at 9am in the morning, no one mentioned anything over breakfast. Good….That’s what he wanted.
Right?
So why did it sting so much?
Why did he feel so heavy in his chest, like he was full of static and sadness that had nowhere to go?
He mumbled something about going back to sleep and went in the elevator before anyone could look him in the eyes.