Archive of Our Own ^beta

Denki hated this.

College was supposed to be fun, after all. Especially because he'd made it into a prestigious music school! He'd never have to do calculus or dissect a frog again. He was here to play piano, and every class he took would be music-related, would help him be better.

He was going to be a star—everyone in high school had told him so. Denki would be the name that brought classical music to life. He wouldn't settle for being a teacher or an accompanist to greater musicians. He would be the great one, touring the world and performing in Tokyo and Berlin with the greatest symphony orchestras accompanying him.

It was his dream—well, his adjusted dream. His original dream had been to play in a rock band. Who didn't want to be a rock star? But he soon learned that his skills would be wasted on synth-pop ballads. His fingers were able to tackle technical passages that gave the pros a hard time and his sensitive ear brought an artistic interpretation to his phrasing that, more than once, had brought his chatterbox instructor to awed silence.

Maybe if he was still learning from Ms. Park, he wouldn't feel like he was banging his head against a figurative wall. The wall being, in this instance, Professor Aizawa.

"I don't believe you."

Those four words, spoken calmly, with only the slightest downward inflection to indicate displeasure, were all it took to create a heavy pressure in Denki's chest. He pulled his hands away from the keyboard and clasped them together in front of his stomach. He looked down, trying to think of which excuse or explanation would be most likely to win back Aizawa's approval. He glanced briefly at his teacher, who was still staring at him neutrally without blinking, and Denki's hair fell into his face as he flinched away. God, why was he so intense? But the longer Denki hesitated, the more suspicious he looked. "I did! I practiced for four hours last night and two this morning! I know I didn't—"

"You practice five hours every day when you're a member of my studio," Aizawa interrupted firmly. "At the bare minimum. And I don't believe that you practiced for four hours yesterday." When Denki opened his mouth, Aizawa said, "Repeating the lie will not make me believe you. It will only make you less trustworthy."

Denki's fingers were cold. He'd meant to practice for four hours yesterday, but he didn't think Aizawa was interested in hearing about Denki's bout of diarrhea after eating a questionable pierogi from the cafeteria, or how he'd been roped into helping Kyoka with her Russian Music essay after she praised his history retention and promised to get them a bottle of something good that weekend. With his left hand, he tried to squeeze some warmth into the fingers of his right hand. He looked at Aizawa and put on a reasonable smile, as if they were just having a little misunderstanding. "Look, I may have neglected my scales a bit, but I was just so excited to work on the Grieg Sonata! I even have the andante memorized now, let me show you!"

"No, Kaminari," Aizawa said before Denki could even get his fingers on the keys. "You don't get to focus on the fun piece and neglect your other assignments. Your scales and arpeggios are meant to warm you up, not trip you up, but you have to visit them every day, understand?"

"Y-yeah."

"Scoot over."

It was embarrassing for Aizawa to get up and join Denki on the piano bench and it was even more embarrassing when he played Denki's assigned scales and arpeggios flawlessly (at a brisk 140 bpm, even). It was downright humiliating when he immediately jumped into the etude he'd assigned Denki at the start of the year. If he made any mistakes, Denki couldn't tell.

His fingers were frozen from disuse. How was it a lesson if Aizawa wouldn't let him play anything? He wasn't even impressed when Aizawa started the first movement of the Grieg Piano Sonata without sheet music. Sitting there uselessly, he stuck one of his frozen fingers into his mouth as he watched Aizawa's hands move. He supposed he ought to be grateful. Kyoka's cello instructor was an accomplished musician, but she always had to check her lesson notes to remember what she'd assigned her students. Aizawa remembered, so obviously he cared. He was just such a dick about it. Denki bit down on the flesh next to his fingernail. Not hard enough to hurt, but it did warm up his finger. He considered that sitting on his hands would be a more efficient way to warm up his fingers, but it would be difficult with how closely Aizawa was sitting.

Thankfully, he didn't perform the whole sonata, but stopped after the end of the first movement and finally turned his attention back to Denki. "If you can do that at our Friday lesson, then I'll believe that you've been practicing."

And that was it. Denki was sent home, and since he had no more classes but it was too early for dinner, he actually did go home. On the way, he stopped at the store for some goodies, since his roommate had been at home all day with a cold.

"Yo, Fumi!" he shouted when he entered the apartment, spotting his roommate curled up on the second-hand sofa under a blanket. "Did you miss me?"

"I was enjoying the quiet, actually," Tokoyami Fumikage said as he looked up from his book. His voice was totally fucked up from his stuffed-up nose, not to mention all the coughing.

Denki was skeptical. Whenever he was sick, he'd always begged his parents to let his sister stay home from school, too, so he could have someone to distract him from all his icky symptoms. He knew Fumi was a sadist who enjoyed giving him a hard time, so he grinned and offered him his grocery bag. "I got you that ginger soother drink you were telling me about."

"Thank you—oh." He frowned at the bottle in his hand.

"What?" Denki asked nervously. "Don't tell me I grabbed the wrong one!"

Fumikage smiled at him weakly. "It's quite all right. But in the future, I'd prefer the one without pineapple juice. It makes it almost too sweet."

"Oh. Okay! I'll remember that."

More rustling in the bag. "Are these for me as well?"

"Oh, yeah!" Denki enthused, spotting the marshmallow confections in his roommate's hand. "I always eat Peeps when I'm sick! They're like the ultimate comfort food. Though, I'm guessing…" His voice got quieter as his brain finally picked up on all the context clues. "…These are also … too sweet?"

"Please." Fumi shoved the pink package at him. "I appreciate the thought, but I have a feeling you'll enjoy these much more than I."

"Yeah, you're right about that," Denki murmured. He'd even made a point to buy the rabbit-shaped ones instead of the chicks, since Fumi really loved birds and probably didn't want to eat them. His chest still kinda hurt from Aizawa giving him a hard time, and he'd thought that helping Fumi would have made him feel a little better. But he hadn't helped at all. "Do you wanna play Smash Bros?"

Fumikage hesitated. "I was actually about to take a nap."

"Oh, yeah, totally." Now his chest hurt even more, and he felt like he was back in Aizawa's studio, where he'd been given every chance to prove himself, but he still blew it. "You need your rest. You look pretty comfy here, so I'll … just go to my room." He held his fake-ass grin in place but avoided Fumi's eye as he clambered off the arm of the couch and made his escape. "Just holler or text if you need anything."

Once he'd shut his bedroom door behind him, he let his expression fall. His heart felt so heavy and shitty, like it was about to either explode out of his ribcage or melt all of his insides into a molten goop that he'd have to spend the rest of his lifetime shitting out. Maybe that was yesterday's diarrhea talking. Either way, he was too young and pretty to have heart problems, so he figured this feeling was Stress™.

He wasn't sure what to do about that, so he fell onto his bed and stuck his thumb in his mouth. It was more out of wanting to occupy his mouth with something so that he wouldn't scream his frustration to the whole apartment building, but he soon found it comforting. There was something soothing about the wet heat of his own mouth, and the tingle of saliva on the sensitive tip of his thumb was a gentle distraction from the pain in his chest. With his thumb in his mouth, he was able to space out for awhile.

For just a moment, he felt all right.

Then he really registered what he was doing. Sitting there like an idiot sucking on his thumb. Something flipped in his stomach, and he winced and bit down on his thumb. Sucking on thumbs was something babies did to self-soothe, but he guessed it made sense, because he certainly felt like a little baby. Getting all upset just because his teacher told him to practice more.

He bit harder on his thumb, pinning flesh between two canines and clamping his jaw shut until tears sprang from his eyes and he just had to pull his thumb out of his mouth. He blinked at the red indentation his teeth had left on his thumb and resisted the urge to put it back in his mouth. He pillowed his hands behind his head, instead, and listened to his quiet apartment.

He should be in the practice room. He'd never needed to practice five hours a day before college. He'd never needed to practice as much as everyone else. He was a fast learner. Well, he used to be…

Denki would stare at the ceiling for another twenty minutes before finally getting up and heading back to campus.

Fumi was feeling a bit better the next day, so they went ahead with their regularly-scheduled band practice after dinner. Bakugou Katsuki was a first year university student as well, but his parents were successful fashion designers who had rented out a whole house for their son so he wouldn't have to spend money on his own housing. He was spoiled upper middle classes, but he made sure to never look the part, always dressing like a punk. He was also the best drummer Denki had ever met.

It was actually kind of annoying. Everyone who had ever worked with Katsuki, students and faculty alike, always talked about what a genius he was. He seemed to be full of raw talent and he was a model student, and even though he wasn't exactly the friendliest person, Denki couldn't help liking him.

Band practice at Katsuki's was awesome, for starters. Katsuki wasn't exactly generous with his space, but when he did share it, he was an excellent host. There were always snacks and beers for all, and the house was usually pretty clean. And Katsuki kept them on task.

But today, Katsuki's attitude was rubbing Denki the wrong way.

"I told you," he grumbled at Denki for the second time, "to match your downbeat with her, not me."

"Yeah." Kyoka nudged Denki's shoulder with a grin. "Stick with me, Denki."

It was a fair critique. Katsuki couldn't play ahead of the beat if Kyoka and Denki couldn't keep the beat. And normally, Denki's rhythm was excellent.

"Okay, I got it," Denki said, shifting his body away from Kyoka's friendly touch. He didn't miss the way her eyebrows shot up at his less enthusiastic than normal response.

"Should we start from the top?" Fumi asked, leaning against the frame of the window that looked out over Katsuki's tiny garden.

"No, we really need to nail this transition down. Line two of verse two?"

Katsuki was already putting his earplugs back in, but Kyoka made sure to wink at Denki. "Could just call it the bridge."

"It's not a bridge!" Katsuki snapped, brandishing his sticks at her. "It's not nearly long enough! God, get it right!"

Kyoka chuckled and rolled her eyes, hefting up the neck of her bass. Normally, Denki was able to laugh off Katsuki's harsh demeanor, too, but he frowned down at the keys of his cheap electric Yamaha. He really wanted to get it right, but he'd skipped dinner in favor of spending an extra hour in the practice room, but he'd still only clocked four hours and fifteen minutes for the day. A quick 45-minute session before bed shouldn't sound so daunting, but his fingers already felt like oversized, overcooked elbow macaroni. He gave the skin on the pad of his thumb a firm pinch between his teeth before Katsuki counted down the beat and he hastily set his fingers in position for the first chord.

The verse and the transition went well, and Denki was just getting into the groove of the chorus when Katsuki cut them off. Denki's shoulders tensed in preparation for the inevitable berating, but Katsuki only barked, "Again!"

They played the same section and Denki smiled as he got lost in the music. Fumi's harmony with Kyoka's vocals sounded so fucking sweet there.

The drums cut out again, and everyone took a few breaths to reset. "Again!"

This time, Denki flubbed three chords in a row in the transitional chord progression, and Fumi groaned and let his guitar fall before Katsuki could even mute his cymbals.

Oh, great, the ear plugs were coming out again.

But Katsuki didn't yell. He simply crossed his arms and glared at Denki. "What the hell, man?"

"I could ask you the same thing." He refused to back down from his stare. It was just a silly mistake. "It's hard to make any progress when you keep interrupting everyone."

"Tch. If we don't fix our mistakes, we'll keep repeating them!"

"But we've only been doing this for two weeks and we already sound so good!"

"Jirou sounds good," Katsuki said, waving a stick at Kyoka. "Tokoyami sounds good. You sound like you haven't even practiced by yourself for five minutes."

"I have been practicing!" Denki snapped, standing up from his bench. "I practice all the fucking time, but what I don't practice is being a perfectionist asshole!"

"Hey." Kyoka lifted her palms in the air in his direction. "Calm down. It's just band practice."

"Oh, sure it's just band practice when I raise my voice, but no one says a thing when he—" He wanted to scream so bad but he ground his teeth together. Because of course he was the one who needed to calm down when Katsuki was the one being a dick to everyone. God forbid he try to defend himself! He wanted to sink his teeth into something, to tear and rip apart. He—

Katsuki was just sitting there with his arms crossed, grumpy-looking as usual, but totally unaffected.

Denki wiggled his jaw, unclenching his teeth as he grabbed his backpack. "Fuck it," he muttered. "I'm outta here."

Kyoka caught him by the door, and he shrugged her hand off without looking at her. "Dude. Try to relax."

"I can't relax," he said loudly, tugging the door open. "Not when he's here."

He stomped his way down the sidewalk, fuming. Dick. Fucking dickhead. Thankfully, no one tried to follow him. He stuck his pointer finger in his mouth and kept walking. Fucking Bakugou. Fucking Aizawa. "You need to practice," well, I'm fucking trying! There was some dead skin next to his nail and he bit down on it. It was so satisfying when his teeth cut through the skin and it barely hurt at all.

It was already dark. Barely eight o'clock but the nights were getting longer. He chewed on the torn-off piece of dead skin, chewed it into tiny pieces until it almost felt like food in his mouth. So what if he didn't have perfect pitch and perfect rhythm like Katsuki? He was still an amazing fucking pianist!

His mouth was full of saliva and he was faced with the choice of trying to spit out all the tiny pieces of skin or swallowing them. He felt like a fucking idiot. Well, everyone treated him like an idiot. He grimaced and swallowed. He hated guys who spit on the sidewalk. He guessed his own skin wasn't too gross. He wished he hadn't left his water bottle at Katsuki's though. Along with his keyboard. And his MIDI keyboard controller. And his dignity. He couldn't go back, though.

Denki groaned and popped his finger back in his mouth. The torn edge of his skin was rough against his sensitive lips and tongue. He tried nibbling just on the edge of the tear to try to even it out, but he ended up biting on healthy skin that twinged painfully. His first instinct ought to have been to pull his finger out of his mouth, but instead he sucked on the jagged tear and massaged the flesh with his teeth. It barely stung, but he could feel the throb of his pulse in the tender digit.

The longer his finger stayed in his mouth, the calmer he became. He'd wandered his way through the college campus and found himself approaching the building with the practice rooms. Now that his anger was fading, he just felt queasy.

He needed to practice.

But he didn't want to be alone.

He unlocked his phone, the half-formed thought about calling his mom disappearing in a poof when he saw three messages awaiting him.

He ignored the two from Kyoka and opened the message from his classmate Mina.

Mina: Hey babe you'll never guess who just came into my work!

She'd sent it three minutes ago. She worked at the smoothie shop on the ground floor of the school's main dorm building. He could go bug her while she worked and get a smoothie in the process.

He needed to practice.

But it wouldn't be too terrible of him to put his needs on the back burner while he pursued his wants for a while. He pulled his finger out of his mouth so he could type a reply.

Denki: I'm actually on campus rn. Wanna tell me in person?

Mina: Plz!!! Sooo boring tonight! Other than the surprise customer

He chuckled to himself, already heading her way. He doubted her mystery customer was anyone exciting. Next to the smoothie shop was a fitness center that anyone could use, but was usually favored by students, since they could use it for free. So there was always a good amount of people buying post-workout smoothies this time of night. Likely, Mina was all worked up from selling a smoothie to someone she had a crush on. Denki would hear all about it, and hopefully get cheered up in the process.

Mina squealed from behind the counter when Denki walked in. "Oh my gawd, babe, you look so iconic today! You know I love those shoes and—" She gasped dramatically as Denki approached the counter. "Are those fucking bunny rabbits!?"

Denki grinned and fidgeted with the stretchy headband that kept his bangs out of his face when his posture slipped and he bent over the keyboard. It indeed had a pattern of white rabbits on it. "I pulled it out of my thong drawer after I ate the Peeps I bought for Fumi."

"You ate your roommate's Peeps?" Mina cackled. "Bad karma, dude."

Denki held his arms out at his sides in some kind of martyr pose and turned his head with his eyes closed. "He rejected them. Someone had to eat them." He opened his eyes and caught the gaze of Mina's coworker. "Hey, Eijirou."

"Yo!" Eijirou grinned and flashed Denki an enthusiastic peace sign.

Denki didn't know anything about Kirishima Eijirou other than his name and his major, but he knew a fellow bisexual when he saw one. Mina was in good company tonight, then.

"So…" He looked around the empty shop. There were two little tables shoved against the wall but most people took their smoothies to go. "Slow night?"

Mina waved him closer. "So you don't wanna guess who came in?"

"I dunno, was it—" he covered his face as he snorted out a little laugh, "was it a celebrity?"

"Pff!" Mina blew one of her pink locks of hair out of her face. "Yeah, right! Hey, you like the Powerful Punch, right?"

"Powerful Passion Punch," he corrected. It wouldn't be the same without the passion fruit.

"Well?" She held her hand in the air and snapped her fingers without even looking at Eijirou. "Get it started!"

Denki blew Eijirou a kiss. He seemed happy even though he had to put up with Mina. "Well," he tried, "was it my mom?"

"No!" Mina exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "You're the worst guesser, Denki. Actually the worst."

"I know," he said cheerfully.

"Okay, okay," Mina grumbled. "It was Professor Aizawa."

"Whoa!" That actually was surprising. "I thought outside of the classroom he just … poof!" He gestured some sort of minor explosion. "Like a ghost."

"That's what I thought, too," Mina said earnestly. "No one's ever seen him walking around doing something normal."

"So, uh. What did he order?" It was a bit uncomfortable imagining Aizawa doing anything not piano-related.

"He ordered a mango smoothie."

"Freak."

"And get this: he was carrying a duffel bag and his sweaty hair was tied up in a man bun! I think he was totally working out next door!"

"That's … bizarre." Denki frowned at his fingertips as Eijirou fired up the blender. "Do you think he lives nearby?"

"No, I would have seen him here before!"

"Not necessarily…"

They speculated on Aizawa's personal life for awhile longer, but Denki's heart wasn't in it. Truthfully, he'd been hoping Mina had someone more exciting than Aizawa to talk about. He certainly kept to himself and the idea of running into him at the gym was amusing, but he kept thinking about how he was going to get berated by him in his lesson tomorrow. Definitely soured the conversation a bit, but Mina didn't seem bothered when he grabbed his smoothie and ran off to the practice rooms.

"Kaminari."

Denki flinched and pulled his hands into his lap, music abruptly ceasing, because yeah, it stung a little bit that he and Aizawa weren't on a first name basis when plenty of other freshmen were calling their teachers by their first names. "Sorry, sorry, I know I was rushing."

"I know you know," Aizawa said drily, without even a hint of humor. Sometimes when Denki was playing he liked to lean back in his chair and close his eyes, but now he leaned forward intently, and Denki was worried he was about to humiliate him again by taking over on the piano bench. Instead, he turned his piercing gaze to Denki's lap. "What happened to your finger?"

"What?" Denki splayed his fingers on his thighs and glanced at them with a feigned nonchalance, because if it wasn't a big deal, then maybe Aizawa would drop the subject. "What finger?" He'd been chewing on a few of them, but only one was red with scabs forming around the nail.

"May I?" Aizawa reached for his right hand and Denki clutched his hands to his chest as his heart hammered in his throat.

"Whoa, dude, it's just a hangnail!" Move on, come on, please just let it go.

Aizawa shook his head. "You've irritated it."

"Okay." Fuck, he wants an explanation. "I mean, it was irritating me, and I didn't have my nail clippers on me so I tried to get it with my teeth, but I—but I chewed too far, so … oops?"

Aizawa frowned at Denki's fist like he was trying to activate x-ray vision to see his abused fingertip through his clenched fingers. "And then you kept chewing on your finger?"

"No! Why would I even do that? Sometimes hangnails just get bad like that, man."

Aizawa's lips pressed together until they turned white but he finally raised his gaze to Denki's eyes. "You should take better care of your fingers. Or else I'm going to start worrying that you're trying to sabotage your piano career."

It was strange to feel relief that Aizawa was dropping the subject at the same time that his heart sunk. He let his posture sag but clutched his hands to his chest even tighter. Of course Aizawa only cared because it affected his piano performance. Had Denki been expecting anything different? Now he wanted to chew his finger even more. He blinked hard and tried to focus on the relief. They were moving on. He took a deep breath and with some effort put his hands back on the keyboard, doing his best to ignore how Aizawa's eyes locked onto his fingers again. "Do you wanna hear the cadenza next?"

"No, I want you to try those triplets again." He tapped the sheet on the music stand. "Allegro moderato. That means moderately fast."

Denki gritted his teeth at the condescension and continued the lesson.

Later that night, Denki sat on the carpet in Kyoka's living room with a bottle of Jagermeister in his hands. He took a big swig from the bottle and before he could grimace at the taste, he splashed some generic brand cola down his throat. He hadn't known exactly what kind of liquor she'd be able to get from her brother, but coke went with everything.

"How was the drive?" he asked after a long belch. Her brother lived near their parents' house two cities away. It was a forty-five minute drive one way, which Kyoka considered a small price to pay for a home-cooked meal at her parents'.

"No small talk!" she declared cheerfully as she scrolled through her Spotify playlists across from him. "We're only talking about serious stuff tonight."

"No we're not," he said easily, passing the bottle back. That was the great thing about Kyoka—she knew he was an idiot and didn't expect him to engage in intellectual conversation like Fumi and Katsuki did. He could relax around her without being put on the spot.

But apparently, she wanted to shake things up tonight. "Yuh-huh," she countered. She put the bottle to her lips and shot it back quickly, then scrubbed at her mouth with a disgusted expression. Her black fingernail polish was chipped and dull. "Something's up with you. We're going to talk about it."

He snorted. "Nothing's up with me. What we should really talk about is this carpet. Do you even own a vacuum?"

"I don't wanna hear it! Don't all guys pee in a drawer?"

Denki cackled even though it wasn't that funny. They'd already been drinking for a while. "You need to come to my place for a change. Fumi keeps it nice and clean for us. Hey, lemme pick the next song."

"No way, you're gonna make me listen to mumble rap."

"That was one time! And it was an accident!"

"Yes, and it was an assault on my ears." She shoved the Jager at him. "So you're gonna come to band practice tomorrow?"

Oh, goddammit.

"Oh, goddammit," he grumbled, strangling the bottle.

"Come on." Kyoka's lips quirked in an exasperated grin. "How were you not expecting that question?"

"Fumi's been nice enough to not bring it up."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure he's got like, a mild form of avoidant personality disorder. Don't tell him I tried to diagnose him."

"He's already been diagnosed."

"What!?"

"With depression! Come on, man, he's just shy."

"Pretty sure he's avoidant. Just like you're being right now."

Denki rubbed his belly while contemplating the alcohol. To drink or not to drink? "I just don't like being yelled at. Katsuki's cool, but he needs someone to stand up to him now and then, I think." He briefly slipped his thumb into his mouth thinking about the way Bakugou had singled him out, but then he decided to wrap his lips around the bottle instead.

"And I totally get that," Kyoka said slowly. "But it was kinda like … you blew up out of nowhere. I mean, I don't think he was really out of line. He wasn't being any more of a dick than usual."

"Fuck," Denki exhaled with a wince and passed the bottle back to her. He hadn't realized she'd seen it that way. So he'd just been overreacting? He didn't know how to make her believe otherwise. "Well, I'm not talking to him until he apologizes."

"Okay," she said. "How is he going to apologize if you won't talk to him?"

He shrugged. "He's sooo smart and talented, I'm sure he'll figure something out." Or, if they were both stubborn enough, they'd just fade out of each other's lives.

Well, Denki thought his stubbornness was strong, but apparently Jagermeister was stronger. Saturday morning he woke in his own bed to a hangover and two short messages from Katsuki.

Katsuki: I listened to your stupid message

Katsuki: Call me when you sober up

Denki left him on read and put his phone on silent. He bit hard on his finger until his painkillers kicked in and he was able to fall back asleep.

Denki hated Mondays as a general rule, but he faced this one with next-level trepidation. He hadn't talked to Fumi or Katsuki (aside from the drunken voicemail he didn't remember leaving) all weekend and Kyoka was treating him weird. Mina was a good person to talk to, but Denki honestly didn't know what to say to her. He was just feeling extra sensitive, and if he aired his issues to her, he was worried she would also tell him he was just being dramatic, since she was one of the many people who seemed to believe that Katsuki regularly shitted out golden turds.

He was also fucking petrified of his lesson with Aizawa at eleven. He spent most of that morning in bed, debating whether or not he should send him an email saying he was sick. Between his hangover on Saturday and his part time job on Sunday, he hadn't practiced enough over the weekend. If he went to his lesson, he was sure he'd end up embarrassing himself again. But the midterm recitals were in less than two weeks. Aizawa would be finalizing the program for his studio soon. Denki wanted to be in that recital. He knew he was amazing and brilliant, he just needed to prove it to Aizawa. He couldn't do that by hiding in his apartment.

He finally forced himself into the shower. Fumi had left for his morning classes hours ago, but Denki didn't sing in the shower like he usually did. He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the shower tiles as he let the hot water soothe him. It soothed him but it also burned the little tears in his skin that his teeth had made. He could still play. He hammered out Grieg's melody and tried to hum along, but his voice sounded shitty, so he shut up and focused on the tricky chord progressions in the second movement. There was a throbbing ache in the middle of one of his fingers where he'd chewed into the nail bed. He might have been falling apart, but he could still play. He had to.

His feet dragged on the sidewalk as he made his way to campus, even though his mind raced ahead to try to predict how the lesson would go. Aizawa would scold him. No, Denki would do just fine. He just wanted his hard work to be recognized. He deserved a little recognition, right? It was his first semester of college and he was already practicing more than he ever had in his life. Aizawa would probably place him at the end of the recital. The grand finale would be Kaminari Denki, freshman.

Yeah, right. In real life, in non-imagination land, he realized that he would be stumbling into Aizawa's studio at a punctual 11:10. He just couldn't seem to get his legs to move any faster. And he'd be coming in completely cold. He didn't have time to warm up in a practice room. He'd embarrass himself before he even touched the keys of Aizawa's baby grand. Just by existing. And then, if he tried really hard, he'd be able to make a passable showing of his scales and arpeggios and etude, and earn the privilege of performing the Grieg for his teacher. "The fun piece," Aizawa had called it.

"Not very fun," Denki grumbled to himself as the crosswalk signal changed and the two other people on the corner raced ahead of him into the street. Even though he had a delayed start, he trudged through the intersection with determination. His hands were freezing. He jerked his head up when he heard a car approaching fast, and jumped a good four feet backwards when a car squealed to a stop right on top of the crosswalk. It took way too long for him to realize that the driver was gesturing him forward because he was too busy staring at the car's front tire which had stopped on the same bar of white paint that Denki had been just about to step on. He shook himself and rushed in front of the car to get to the safety of the curb.

His finger was like ice in his mouth. He hadn't even checked to see if the driver was apologetic or angry because he'd almost been hit! He could have died. It took two more hurried blocks before the shock wore off enough for the embarrassment to sink in. He must have looked like such an idiot jumping like that. Should he have cussed out the driver? Or thanked them for not hitting him? He hadn't even taken the time to look at the driver. God, he was useless.

At least he was walking faster now. He walked up the stairs to Aizawa's studio and felt a smidgen of relief that his door was still open. 11:08.

"Good morning!" He gave his customary call as he entered the room and shut the door behind him. "Sorry I'm late!"

"I was about to give up on you," Aizawa responded in a bored tone.

As he took his jacket off, Denki watched Aizawa sit up straighter in his cushy armchair. He rubbed at his eyes a bit, like he'd been dozing off. Denki considered telling him about his near-death experience, but it wasn't like he actually cared. Instead, he said, "You know, I think you could fit a Keurig in here."

Aizawa waved a dismissive hand. "There's a coffee maker downstairs in the office. But it's not for students."

"Oh, okay," he mumbled around the finger in his mouth. He'd been thinking that his teacher could use some coffee—it was only two months into the semester, so he couldn't fault the man for not knowing that Denki didn't like coffee.

He sat down at the piano with his binder of sheet music. He rubbed his hands together, wincing as dry, torn skin caught on dry, torn skin. Aizawa was just staring at him. "Do you go to the gym a lot?" he blurted out.

Aizawa sighed heavily, even though Denki already knew it was incredibly stupid of him to ask such a personal question unprompted. "Yes, I do." Okay, he wasn't expecting him to actually answer the question. "I doubt you need me to lecture you on the importance of exercise. A well-meaning colleague recommended the campus gym for my use while my regular gym undergoes renovations, but I doubt I'll be returning."

"Why not?" Denki felt vaguely offended, even though he appreciated the extra time to warm up his fingers.

Aizawa's pause lasted a little too long, and Denki had to resist the urge to stick his thumb in his mouth. He wasn't a baby. He was going to be a star. Then, he said, "It's not professional. And … it makes me uncomfortable to think that I've given my students cause to gossip about me."

Great, now Denki had fucked up again. He'd made his teacher uncomfortable because he couldn't keep his mouth shut. Mina would be so disappointed if she found out. And he wasn't sure why he should even really care if he made Aizawa uncomfortable, after all the grief he'd been giving Denki lately. He shouldn't care, but it made him sick to know he'd earned his teacher's disapproval again. He was sick to death of never being on Aizawa's good side.

"Should I start asking questions about your personal life?" Aizawa continued lightly. Denki clenched his jaw together, and his tongue felt too big in his mouth. "Or should I do my job and get this lesson started?"

The thing was, Denki liked small talk and idle banter and making people laugh. Getting a little goofy and unprofessional usually improved his relationships with his teachers. But there wasn't any point with Aizawa. He didn't have the energy to bang his head against the iron wall of Aizawa's "professionalism" any longer. He was here to play. He'd let the piano earn his approval for him.

He gripped his folder in his lap, and his fingers still ached from the cold, they ached down to the bone. It didn't matter. He could still play.

"Okay, let's do this."

His voice wobbled and cracked, startling himself a bit, and Aizawa leaned forward in his chair. His pulse hammered in his throat and his fingers were fucking freezing, but he'd feel better once he began playing. He opened his folder as he set it on the stand and had to catch a few loose sheets that started to fall out. He pressed them firmly against the folder and when he pulled his hands away, he left behind a bright red smear on the white paper.

Denki was frozen.

It was right there in front of both of them, a harsh red so obviously out of place there was no hiding it. It was his blood, and he couldn't breathe, because what the fuck!?

And Aizawa wasn't saying anything.

"I-I don't… Oh, God, I—shit, I'm, uh…" He tore his eyes away from the terrible red blotch and looked down at his hands. He was bleeding. What had he done to his hands?

"It's okay. Don't move. Don't touch anything. I'll be right back."

Aizawa's voice sounded wrong in his ears, a little bit different, a little bit foreign, hardly putting Denki at ease. Was he angry with him? Was he going to kick him out? Now that he was actually looking at his fingers, they hurt more than ever. There was a blood blister on his thumb from being pinched between his teeth and the skin around most of his cuticles was raw from being picked and peeled away. On the side of his pointer finger was a bleeding wound that couldn't be explained as a hangnail. God, it hurt. But he'd done it to himself. He wanted to run out of the room from the shame of it but he forced himself to sit still and take shallow breaths.

"I'm sorry," he croaked as Aizawa returned with a plastic white box. He'd put rubber gloves on.

"You'll be all right." Aizawa's voice was calm and steady. No downward inflection of disapproval. It didn't make sense. "It'll be easy to stop the bleeding, but the wound needs disinfected first."

He opened the box and tore open the packaging of an alcohol pad. "Y-you have, uh, a first aid kit?"

"Of course. I'm a professor. Will you let me help you?"

The alcohol burned in his nose and his hands were shaking. He couldn't believe he'd fucked up this badly. "I almost got blood on your piano."

"Kaminari."

He found the courage to look up at Aizawa, only to find his vision blurred with tears. He was such an embarrassment. But his teacher stared back at him patiently before saying, "Take a deep breath. I'm not angry. Please believe that your health and safety is my highest priority."

He discovered it was easy to obey him. He took a deep breath and exhaled shakily, then let his head hang low again. He held out his bleeding finger and tried to blink tears out of his eyes.

"Thank you. The hard part comes first. A little sting, now."

He felt Aizawa take his hand and clean the worst wound with the alcohol swab. Denki bit his lip because of course it stung, but it stung so deeply that he wondered if he'd actually managed to ruin his career. He bit his lip but he didn't make a sound. He thought if he was accused of overreacting again, he might actually implode.

After careful cleaning, Aizawa squeezed his finger tight with a dry cotton pad. "Now some pressure should do the trick. Fingers are crammed with capillaries, which is why they bleed so easily. They also contain a high amount of nerve endings. They're sensitive to pain."

Out of the corner of his eye, it looked like Aizawa was wearing a concerned frown. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I didn't … I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Hmm. I can believe that."

Denki huffed out a shaky sigh. Now he believed him. He just wanted to go home at this point, but Aizawa had apparently decided to humiliate him further by deciding to care about him after all. Well, Denki had done nothing but waste his time all semester, so if he wanted to put a Band-Aid on Denki's finger for him, why argue with him?

He glanced at the bloody paper on the music stand. He didn't understand how he'd let this happen. His hands had stopped shaking but they still hurt and his heart was heavy because he'd ruined everything.

"There. The bleeding's already stopped." Aizawa pulled the cotton pad away and pulled a bandage out of his first aid kit. "I'm glad it wasn't that deep."

Denki flinched hard and pulled his hand to his chest. "Not that deep? Not that deep!?" He felt something like anger rush into his throat but his voice just came out high-pitched and scared. "I think I—I'm actually freaking out right now, so what, so I guess I'm just freaking out over nothing!?"

He plucked the bandage from Aizawa's fingers and pulled away the paper backing. "I don't need you to baby me, not if you're about to lecture me about practicing and tell me I'm not good enough to be in the recital!" He wrapped his finger snugly in the bandage but he had to clamp his jaw shut as his eyes swept over the rest of his abused fingers because the sight sickened him. So he looked up at his teacher.

Aizawa looked shocked. "The lesson is cancelled, Kaminari."

He swung his head away again, trying to find the energy to get off the bench, out of the room, to try to retain what little dignity he had left. "Why? It wasn't that deep," he bit out. "I can still play."

"When I said it wasn't deep, I was hoping the knowledge that you don't need to go to the hospital would be reassuring. I did not intend to downplay the pain you're in. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?"

"Yes. I'm sorry for putting so much pressure on you. When I said your health is my priority, I also meant your mental health. I've been too hard on you, and I'm sorry I didn't realize it until now."

"You—" His hot anger turned cold and bitter. He'd wanted this apology, this acknowledgement of wrongdoing from Aizawa, hadn't he? But he wasn't sure if he deserved it. He wasn't sure if he deserved an apology from Katsuki, either. He wasn't sure of anything. "You think you've been too hard on me?"

"I know I have." Aizawa pulled off his gloves and tossed them in the trash. "Every student has different needs and it's my job to work out a lesson plan that suits those needs."

"But why do you care all of a sudden?" he asked plaintively.

"Because you're a brilliant pianist but you're also a human being. I don't wish to bring you harm."

"But you didn't do this." He appreciated that his teacher was trying to take the spotlight off of what Denki had done, but he wasn't the one who had fucked up. "I'm the one who doesn't practice enough, and I'm the one who … who hurt myself."

He shivered to admit it out loud, but it was slowly sinking in that that's what he'd been doing. Maybe he hadn't taken a knife to his skin but tearing with his own teeth was more childish and more animalistic and more embarrassing.

But Aizawa didn't laugh or claim that Denki was exaggerating. "Yes. You've been biting yourself, right? Do you know why you've been doing that?"

"Well, no!" he said helplessly. "I've never hurt myself before—it's stupid! There's no reason for it. I won't make excuses."

"Hmm. Well, a little bit of stress leads to growth, but too much stress leads to burnout. Do you think that's what this is?"

"I don't know. I mean, yeah, I've been stressed." He hunched over his hands in his lap. He knew now that they weren't going to fall off or anything, but they still ached.

"I can help with that," Aizawa said earnestly.

"Really?"

"Yes." He settled in his chair and tapped his chin thoughtfully. "How many hours a day did you practice piano in high school?"

"I—um—like three hours?"

Aizawa shook his head. "You don't need to impress me. You already did that in your entrance audition. How many hours did you practice most days?"

Denki should have been mad that he'd called out his lie so quickly, but he was too tired. "Two hours most days," he whispered.

"All right. Do you think two hours of practice would be easy to achieve with the course load you have right now?"

He nodded.

"Then from now on, I want you to practice two hours and fifteen minutes each day."

A shocked laugh burst from his lips and he looked up. "That's it?"

Aizawa was serious. "That will be what I require from you. It's important that you have time not only to eat and sleep, but also to relax and socialize. For the next two weeks, you'll practice two hours and fifteen minutes each day, and if you feel like you have too much or too little free time, we can renegotiate practice expectations. However…"

He felt a pang of fear that made his breath catch, because surely now was when Aizawa would drop the caring act and start in on a lecture that would really make him cry. He didn't look away, though.

"I want to request one more thing from you. It's not a requirement. I won't force you. But I truly believe you would benefit from some counseling. I can help reduce the stress you're under, but you'll never be free from stress. A mental health professional can help you figure out how to tackle the challenges of life without getting burnt out. I promise to listen to you if you ever need to share something about your personal life with me, but I cannot help in the same capacity that a campus therapist can. Do you think a trip to the health center is something you can manage today?"

"I've… I've never gone to counseling or therapy or anything like that." It felt like a lot for Aizawa to ask of him. He didn't wanna tell a stranger about his problems, he just wanted to stop feeling so shitty. He wanted to stop feeling like the world was out to get him. "You think it'll help?"

"Absolutely. I know it can seem like a daunting task to tackle all the scary things in your own head. It would be brave of you to try, though."

The blood on his papers stared at him accusingly, but Aizawa's gaze was gentle. "I don't feel very brave."

"That's understandable. Perhaps you should enlist the help of a friend to help you get to the health center."

A friend. Mina would be eager to help him, but she would ask too many questions about why he was going to counseling. He didn't want to ask Kyoka for help, either. He couldn't expect anyone to understand him when he didn't even understand himself. Except, well… Fumi would understand. He knew how to deal with mental health stuff. And he wouldn't ask intrusive questions.

He stood up before he could change his mind. "Okay. I'll do it." His voice shook terribly but he pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and found that his fingers still worked fine. "I'm texting my roommate right now."

After he sent the message he turned around and grabbed his folder from the piano. The blood was already brown and dry. Maybe he fucked up, but he hadn't done anything that couldn't be fixed. He was still going to be a star.

Then he saw that Aizawa was smiling softly at him, and his teacher said the words that he'd been longing to hear. "I'm proud of you, Denki."