Work Text:
Wow. Just, wow.
Denki slid to the floor of the hospital rooftop, hands still trembling, breathing not yet calm, mind far from settled despite the doctor having told him and a few of his other friends, plus Katsuki’s parents, that they managed to get him out of critical state and stabilize him.
This was only the beginning, Denki thought. It was probably going to take weeks, if not over a month, for Katsuki to wake up. After that, he’d have endless physical therapy, putting him out of commission for months. If not for Edgeshot, Katsuki would have died— stayed dead.
He shudders, cold breeze blowing gently, fanning over his face, he sighed, watched as the air condensated. He is sitting underneath a metal awning, just by the door of the staircase, so the rain couldn’t reach him. It was freezing outside, he was shaking, hero costume jacket long discarded and left at what felt like a crime scene, abandoned, probably in the electrical unit of the U.A fortress. It scared him, how fresh the memory was. He felt like he was still in shock, the sound of explosions or Izuku’s screaming still echoing, ringing in his ears, the sound and smell of fresh rain backdropping it all.
He uncurled slightly, placing his hands at his sides, and his right index finger made contact with something that was typically discouraged, made out of paper, and highly addictive.
His gaze snapped to the cigarette, less than half-smoked, begging to be lit. He wasn’t new to this, he’d smoked before, but.. There was something so cathartic about the idea of smoking in the freezing cold rain while one of your best friends fights for his life on a hospital rooftop in the middle of the night.
So, he dusted it off slightly (not as if that would do much good for it, but it wasn’t filthy or anything), putting it between his lips without a second thought, generating a miniscule amount of electricity between his fingers to light it. The faint yellow glow illuminated his face slightly, reflecting in his eyes that, for some reason, now seemed unable to cry.
He laid his head back slightly, shutting his eyes and taking a long drag of it, before taking it out of his mouth between his fingers. For the first time since it happened, Katsuki’s corpse didn’t haunt him even with his eyes closed. He just saw nothing, pitch black. He sighed through his nose, ear twitching as he heard heavy, boot-like footsteps trudging up stairs. He waited for a moment, the door to the stairwell opened, and he heard a few footsteps come closer, only to stop seemingly right in front of him.
He almost considered not opening his eyes, instead, he let them crack open.
Nearly deciding he was too far gone and traumatized to talk to anyone right now would probably be an understandable excuse to any sane person trying to spark a conversation today, but he couldn’t find it in him to. Not to Eijiro, who was standing right in front of him, bandages and gauze scattered here and there on his face and arms. Not to well-meaning, kind, strong Eijiro.
He almost felt like he should apologize to him— For not doing enough, not doing anything as their best friend killed himself in front of him. His lips parted, to say something, anything, perhaps a self deprecating comment or just to ask if he was okay. But nothing came, and he shut his mouth when Eijiro crouched down on his legs, arms on his knees. He tilted his head at him, carmine eyes sparkling in the moonlight, expression dark, grim almost.
“Hey..” Eijiro started, sounding almost awkward, like he had no idea how to approach Denki anymore. The blond exhaled through his nose and brought the cigarette back to his own lips, taking another drag, eyes downturned to look at it. He considered for a moment, what should he say? Or do?
Denki kept silent, repeatedly taking drags from the cigarette. Eijiro seemed like he was about to say something— To ask if he should leave, or if he needs anything, perhaps, but Denki looked back to him, removing the cigarette from his lips, offering it to Eijiro’s between his index and middle fingers.
He tilted his head, a silent offer, one that Eijiro didn’t take. Instead, he gently took it from the blond’s fingers, placing it on the floor, hardening his palm and crushing it.
Denki only blinked at him, as if he was fully indifferent to it, and hugged his knees, gaze wandering somewhere far away.
Eijiro sat next to him, their arms made contact, and even through his own hoodie, he could feel how cold Denki was. It was odd, really, because he was never cold, it didn’t matter if they were hiking through the mountains on some adventure, or if he was swimming, or if he claimed to be cold, he was always at least warm, usually burning.
Eijiro slipped his black hoodie off, offering it to Denki. He had long changed into comfortable clothes, figuring it was the least he could do for himself after such an intense battle, after.. Finding out about Katsuki. He winced a bit as he removed the article, straining his arm a bit, tugging at his sutures.
Denki blinked at him again, and it terrified Eijiro. He was just.. So quiet. It was unnerving. There was this far away look in his eyes, they crinkled, only slightly, like he was about to crumble into tears, but he never did. Sheepishly, he took the hoodie, holding it gingerly for a few moments, as if inspecting it. He slipped it on, exhaling a bit at the warmth provided from Eijiro’s skin on it.
Carefully, the redhead wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close. Denki’s head rested on Eijiro’s shoulder, and he just looked in front of him, watching rain slap against concrete.
“Denki..” Eijiro sighed heavily, leaning forward slightly, trying to look at him.
His eyes remained on an arbitrary spot, unblinking, unfocused.
“Mmh.” He mustered.
“He’s gonna be okay.” Eijiro said, firming his grip on him. Denki blinked, turned to him.
“I know.” He nodded, voice slightly deeper than usual, thick, but most importantly, tired.
“Okay.” The redhead nodded, leaning his head on Denki’s, holding him close. Denki tilted his head, letting it lay on his shoulder.
They sat in silence, both watching the rain. It was scary, seeing how easily Katsuki’s life was taken from him, only to be restored back by the smallest sliver of luck. What scared him more, was how Denki just.. Lost all his spark. He didn’t cry, didn’t break down, didn’t even sleep or eat, just scratched at the gauze on his arms, covering the fresh lichtenberg scars, looking around the room, unsure, hesitant, like he couldn’t believe he was safe. They all lost something today, collectively, Eijiro can’t help but think that it’s not just Katsuki, it’s their youths. Stripped from them cruelly. Especially the ones who watched, the ones who were there. Eijiro doesn’t want to discredit himself, he knows it won’t do any good to obsess about how he wishes he was there, all it does is bring past insecurities back. But he doesn’t think the rest of them have that willpower, to say, ‘I had another job to do, another part to play’ and start to move on. He especially doesn’t think that Denki has the capacity to do this. He always laments about things like this, standing at Izuku’s hospital bed and murmuring to himself about how he ‘should have done something’, or how he reacted when he saw Katsuki again after having been kidnapped. He literally apologized to him for not going behind his teachers (and the law’s) back and saving him. Somehow, to Denki, it was always his own fault.
Drunken confessions full of self hatred and frustration, tugging at his own hair as he slurs on about how useless he is.
Eijiro glances to Denki, entire body unmoving. He sees his expression, eyes closed shut peacefully, the faintest of pouts on his lips. He doesn’t want to watch Denki destroy himself over and over again anymore, but what can he really do..? They’re both ruined right now, livelihoods taken away, all they have to do is rebuild.
Eijiro sighs, laying his head back tiredly, biting at his lip with sharp canines.
Denki is snoring quietly, faintly now, hands curled in his lap. There is grime and dirt and more disturbingly, blood on the outsoles of his shoes, his pants torn slightly at the edges. His blond hair is tousled, dirty and sweaty.
Eijiro only hugs him closer.
“I love you.” He thinks of whispering quietly, they would be the softest of words on his lips. He wants to tell him this when he’s kissing his face all over as they fall into hysterical giggling together, when he’s crying in his arms, gripping at his hair and gritting his teeth, forever trying to hide himself away. From what? Eijiro muses.
But he can’t do that. Not now. Maybe not ever.
Instead, he settles on this;
“You’re not alone.”