Archive of Our Own

The amp sparks when Kaminari plugs it in, but by now he forgets to flinch.

“Got it,” he announces. He makes a note to keep an eye on that cord as he stands. 

“Really?” Kirishima abandons Bakugo by the drums to rush over. He leans on the amp as he stares. “Thanks Denks, you’re the best.” 

He gives Kirishima an easy thumbs-up. “No sweat, it’s what I’m here for.”

“And you’re so so good at it!” Kirishima cheers. He hops around and crushes Kaminari into a hug despite his protests. He smiles reluctantly into his best friend’s shoulder. Kirishima sways back and forth with him trapped in his grip until Bakugo beats hard on one of the cymbals.

“Red!” he snaps. “Get the fuck back here, we’re short on time!”

“Coming!” Kirishima chirps, finally releasing Kaminari and skipping away. From the other corner of the stage, Jiro frowns. She reaches for Sero and grabs his wrist, but he’s already removed his watch.

“What time is it?” she calls to Kaminari. He looks down at where their phones are piled on the amp. 

“7:30.” Bakugo’s screen is lit up with notifications. Kaminari can’t help but snoop.

“Shit,” Jiro mumbles. She quickly frees herself from her guitar and gestures for Ashido beside her to do the same. “We’ve gotta go meet the new songwriter.” 

Kaminari pays them little attention as the girls and Sero swing by and grab their phones, shouting at the others to hold down the fort as they slip backstage. Kaminari picks up Bakugo’s phone, eyes skimming the notifications.

“Dude.” He waves the device.“Midoriya won’t stop texting you. I think he’s lost.”

“And how the hell is that my problem?” Bakugo calls.

“Aw, c’mon man. He has Eri with him tonight, right?” Kirishima says. “Didn’t we promise her a backstage tour?”

Bakugo groans, shoving his hands in his hair. Kaminari can read the stress on him. His snare drum isn’t behaving and he clearly wants to keep beating it into submission. 

“I’ll text him, don’t worry about it.” Kaminari waves a hand and unlocks Bakugo’s phone. Kirishima shouts thanks for both of them.

He frowns when he navigates to Bakugo’s messages. He can see the notification, but the app won’t load. He glances up at the top of the screen. No service. Right. The venue owners had warned them about that before.

“I’m going on a service hunt!” he calls as he hops off the edge of the stage. “Be back in a bit.”

“Don’t be late for sound check!” Bakugo snaps.

Kaminari rolls his eyes. As if he could be late for sound check. He is sound check. 

He ducks behind an “employees only” door and winds down the hallways of storage rooms, kitchens and green rooms. The venue Jack Off is playing at tonight is big for them. A real venue rather than a bar or college campus performance. They’ve only had a few spots like this in the past. Kaminari smiles to himself. They grow up so fast.

He finally finds a door that reads do not open, alarm will sound, and shoulders it open. No alarm sounds. This venue isn’t that fancy after all. The black paint on the walls is still peeling.

He finds himself in a back alleyway that houses only the dumpsters at the end of it and a colony of cigarette butts. He steps away from the door and leans against the wall. Bakugo’s messages finally load. He has to try not to laugh at the panic tangible even through Midoriya’s texts, and the blatant shift when he clearly handed the phone to Eri. Kaminari explains who’s talking, then spends the next thirty minutes texting Eri through Midoriya’s phone and telling her what instructions to relay to the driver. 

Just as Eri sends a text saying she thinks they’re here, someone else steps outside.

Kaminari glances just quick enough to confirm it’s not one of his band members coming to search for him, then goes back to looking at the phone, waiting for one final confirmation text that they’re inside.

The new arrival in his alleyway steps to the opposite side of the door and fishes out a pack of cigarettes. Kaminari hears him tapping the box and the shifting of him rooting through his pockets. 

“Shit,” he mumbles quietly.

Kaminari gets the final confirmation text. 

“Hey.” It takes a minute to register that the man with the cigarette is talking to him. Kaminari glances at him as he tucks Bakugo’s phone into his pocket. “Sorry,” the guy says sheepishly. His voice is low and attractive. It feels sort of familiar. “Any chance you have a lighter?”

Kaminari blinks. “I do, actually.” He roots around in the front pocket of his baggy jeans. He doesn’t smoke, but Jiro and Sero do. They’re always leaving their lighters around the stage or losing them in green rooms. As a result, Kaminari ends up stuffing them in his own pockets and forgetting to give them back later. They know by now to just ask him for one before their smoke breaks. 

He fishes out a beat-up, sheer purple lighter that barely has any fluid left and hands it over. The man reaches out to take it, and for the first time Kaminari registers his face.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. He watches the man light his cigarette, raising a pierced eyebrow at Kaminari’s reaction as the flame casts shadows on his expression. An expression that Kaminari knows, despite never seeing it in real life. 

He knows the flat stare, the sharp, straight nose pierced on each side, the light skin framed by waves of artfully disheveled purple hair. He’s stared at every sparing, blurry photo of this guy he can find. Memorized details no one else cared about. The pictures don’t do him justice, as he watches Hitoshi Shinso take a drag from his cigarette in a zip-up hoodie.

“You’re Mindwash,” Kaminari blurts. “You’re Mindwash, the songwriter.” His jaw drops as he points a finger at his own chest. “You’re Mindwash, our songwriter?”

Shinso lowers his cigarette slightly. “Oh. Uh, yeah, that’s me. Hi. Are you…part of Jack Off?”

“Yes,” Kaminari blurts. He corrects himself, “I mean, no. Not like—” He sticks his hand out clumsily. “I’m Denki Kaminari, I’m their tech. And you’re Mindwash, and you’re stunning.”

Shinso considers him with a small, embarrassed smile. He slowly reaches out and takes Kaminari’s hand, shaking it. His fingers are long and his hands are cold. Kaminari is deeply turned on.

“You can call me Shinso,” he mumbles, eyes darting away. “I’m guessing they told you who they hired?”

“Actually, no they didn’t,” Kaminari blurts. His hands wave beside him. “Which was totally intentional on Ashido’s part because she should’ve warned me that they had somehow locked down Mindwash.”

Shinso blinks. He takes another drag of his cigarette. “Are you—you actually know who I am?”

“Dude.” Kaminari gapes. “Yes! I’m a huge fan. Your lyrics are—” He grasps at nothing, trying to find the words. “Gah, see, I can’t even describe it! But you probably could with your genius brain! I mean people don’t realize how many huge songs you’re credited on right now. I follow all your stuff. I don’t care so much about the artist who sings it, just the fact that you wrote it, y’know? It’s like—I don’t know, they feel a certain way. I can always tell. Your songs are my favourite.”

Shinso is staring at the ground now, his shoulders hunched slightly. Kaminari stills.

“Ah, sorry,” he mumbles. He leans out of Shinso’s space. “I probably sound like a total creep.”

“No,” Shinso says quickly. He scrubs at the back of his neck, “No it’s—you’re fine. I’ve just never had someone…recognize me before.” He glances at Kaminari. “Don’t really know how to respond.”

“Oh, that’s okay! You don’t have to respond!” Kaminari waves his hands in front of him. “As long as you know that you’re awesome. And I’m obsessed. Oh, but I’m also totally chill. I promise I won’t let my fanboying wreck our professional relationship. Scouts honour.” He presses a hand to his chest. The strange, concerned expression Shinso’s wearing fades as he drops his head and chuckles.

“You always a talker like this?” he says. Kaminari blushes at the sound. The drawl of his voice and the low tone of his laugh is like something out of a movie.

“Most of the time, yeah.” He distantly hears a very loud bang of a drum from inside the venue and jumps. “Shit—I’ve gotta get them started on sound check or Katsuki’s gonna beat my ass.” He hops away from the building and tears the door open. “Stay and watch them, okay?” he calls to Shinso. “I promise they’ll blow your mind, Mindwash.”

Shinso leans closer and holds the door open as Kaminari ducks inside. He nods belatedly. Kaminari grins up at him before he starts down the hallway.

“Kaminari,” Shinso calls hesitantly. Kaminari skids to a stop right before the hallway turns, turning to look back at the gorgeous songwriter framed by the door, who suddenly looks unsure what to say. “Uh,” he says, “I look forward to working with you.”

Kaminari beams. He gives Shinso a salute and sprints back through the venue.

He spends the entire sound check thinking of soft purple hair and checking if his sweater smells like the smoke of Shinso’s cigarette. 

“Are you serious?” Kaminari tries to square up with the bouncer, who’s the same height as him and double his mass. “Dude, I’m literally part of the band.”

The security guard raises his eyebrow and doesn’t budge from the door. “The band has six people. I let six people in earlier.”

“No.” Kaminari grits his teeth. “The band has five performers, a tech, and a songwriter as of two weeks ago.” He jabs a thumb at his chest. “I’m the tech. I was literally in there earlier, but I went through the loading bay doors.”

“Got any proof? You should have a pass.”

“And I do!” Kaminari waves a hand at the door. “It is sitting inside on the lightboard I carried in.”

“Not good enough,” the guard huffs. “Can’t you text one of ’em to come get you if you’re so buddy-buddy?”

“No, I can’t.” Kaminari tries to stay calm through a building panic. “Because I also left my phone inside, on an amp. That I carried in.”

“Maybe someone’ll notice you’re missing then,” he says, unphased.

Kaminari spins away and yanks at his hair, groaning. This is exactly his kind of luck. He pivots back. “Do you see this?” He jabs a finger at the lightning bolt dyed into his hair. “Jack Off’s logo. Because I’m one of them.”

“Being a superfan doesn’t prove anything.”

“I can’t believe this.” He throws his hands up. “You know, when Katsuki realizes you’ve kept me hostage like this and made me late for sound check, he’s gonna beat you up. You’ll be feeling worse than his drumset after an encore, buddy.”

The security guard no longer entertains him with a reply. Kaminari curses again, ruffling his bangs and pacing in a tiny circle. He debates breaking into a sprint and darting back to the loading bay doors, banging on them until someone lets him in. But the band is likely already on stage, and he has a feeling this security guard would send more assholes to trail him. Stupid band getting popular enough to have big venues. He should’ve listened when Jiro talked about getting him a jacket with Tech printed on it.

“Look, if you don’t get moving, I’m gonna have to call someone,” the security guard says.

Kaminari gasps in offense. He tries to muster the most Bakugo energy he can as he plants his feet and crosses his arms. “Are you—you can’t send me away! I’m part of the band.”

“Didn’t you say you were tech earlier?” he argues. Indignation flares in Kaminari’s chest. He steps forward, which he knows is dumb. But he’s running on high emotions.

“Yeah, that makes me part of the band. They couldn’t do shit without me and I know that. And if Mina heard what you’re implying right now, you’d be out of a job by tomorrow!”

He gets too close and the security guard’s eyes narrow. He grunts as he grabs Kaminari by the wrist, his hold bruising.

“Hey—ow! Get off of me!”

“Told you you had to get moving, kid.” As he starts to grapple with Kaminari to turn him around, the door behind him opens. Someone sighs.

“Kindly get your hands off our tech guy,” an exasperated voice says.

“Shinso!” Kaminari cheers. He’s so relieved he could cry. The man is in an oversized hoodie and baggy cargo pants. There’s a cigarette between his fingers, but he tucks it into his pocket with mild resignation as he takes in the scene.

“To my understanding his hands are very important for his work,” Shinso drawls. His eyes fall on where the security guard is holding his wrist. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t break anything vital.”

The security guard slowly releases Kaminari. The blond darts past him to park himself beside Shinso, mustering his strongest glare. Relief soothes the building stress. He’s put himself too close to Shinso. He can feel the other man’s body behind his shoulder, but he selfishly doesn’t move. Neither does Shinso.

“He’s with Jack Off?” the security guard asks.

“He’s with me,” Shinso confirms. “Which I’m sure he tried to tell you. Here.” He roots around in his back pocket and pulls out Kaminari’s pass. He hands it over. The security guard considers it for a moment, then scoffs and hands it back. 

“Get moving then.”

Kaminari exhales in relief as he starts to turn towards the door, only to be stopped by Shinso. His touch is as faint as possible, a brief brush of fingertips to Kaminari’s bicep. He stills. Shinso is staring at the security guard. He doesn’t look angry, but his stare is so intense it makes Kaminari shiver. 

“You didn’t apologize,” Shinso says.

The security guard looks on the edge of laughter. “Pardon me?”

“You should apologize,” Shinso says, his voice betraying no note of emotion. “You caused him trouble and got unnecessarily aggressive with him. You should apologize.”

Kaminari stares up at Shinso, firm and unashamed as he talks down to this grown man in defense of Kaminari. His face heats. He thinks if Shinso let him he’d pull him inside the building right this second, abandon the band entirely and find a green room with a couch for them to break. He shoves the thought aside, but the feelings that fuel it remain. 

The security guard starts to laugh, then seems to register that Shinso is dead serious and trails off. His expression turns agitated. He mutters a quiet, annoyed, “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“And thank you for keeping us safe,” Shinso says in return. It’s dripping with sarcasm. Kaminari slaps a hand over his mouth. Shinso leans over him and nods towards the door, his shoe lightly kicking Kaminari’s heel to get them moving. 

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Kaminari bursts out laughing. He keels over and loses his balance, tripping into the wall as he cackles. Shinso’s trying not to smile and failing miserably. He looks all too pleased with himself. 

“That was hot,” Kaminari says through his cackles. “Like, deeply, incredibly attractive. I’d kiss you stupid if you let me.”

Shinso looks away. “Not particularly interested at the moment, but feel free to keep asking.”

Kaminari snorts, standing up straight and following after Shinso. His wrist aches faintly. He clutches at it, twisting it back and forth between his hand. Shinso eyes the movement.

“Did he hurt you?” he grumbles.

“Huh? Oh, no,” Kaminari says quickly. He lets go and shakes it out. “Just grabbed me hard. I’m being dramatic.”

“Ass,” Shinso grumbles. Kaminari’s brain divines wondrous fantasies about an overprotective Mindwash. He happily tucks them away for later.

“He was still on my nerves from earlier,” Shinso confesses. “He gave Ashido a hard time for how many bags she was bringing in.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s like the guy’s never been around creatives before.”

“Well you totally saved my ass. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Shinso stops and unwinds the lanyard around Kaminari’s pass. Kaminari ducks his head to let Shinso loop it around his neck. Once it’s on, Shinso tugs on it once. The second of pressure around Kaminari’s throat goes straight to his stomach. 

“Don’t lose this again. You’re lucky I thought to bring it in case I bumped into you on my smoke break again. I suspect we can only piss that guy off so many times before they kick the whole band out.”

“Right,” Kaminari says. His saliva suddenly feels thick in his mouth. Shinso shakes his head as he runs a hand through his hair. It’s infuriating how effortlessly attractive this guy is. He watches Shinso open the door and follows him into what’s clearly the green room.

“You should probably get going instead of loitering to flirt with me, huh?” Shinso glances over his shoulder as he moves for the nearest window. Kaminari blushes. 

“Am I that obvious?”

Shinso smirks. “Were you trying to be subtle?”

“No.”

“I didn’t get the sense.” He turns and cracks the window, perching on the ledge as he lights his cigarette.

“I sort of thought you were walking me to the stage,” Kaminari confesses. He tugs at the hair by his neck. “I’m bad at navigating inside buildings. Can’t really find my way to it from the front door, since that’s not the way I came in.” 

“It’s not complicated,” Shinso says between drags. Kaminari watches with a fascination as he ducks his head to blow smoke out the low window. The strands of his hair slip off the back of his neck, revealing a line of soft, pale skin. “Down the hall, first right. Kirishima and Ashido were trying to figure out something with the riffs, you’ll hear them.” He points with the two fingers holding the cigarette. Kaminari’s jealous of the cigarette that gets to be between two parts of Shinso. God. He’s screwed. He hasn’t had it this bad for someone this fast in years. He feels hot everywhere. He needs to do this one right.

“Got it,” he says, not listening. He considers the green room where Shinso’s set up shop. A few of the bandmates’ bags are in the corner, but what grabs Kaminari’s attention is the notebooks scattered across the table. All familiar except for one.

“Are those Kyoka’s?” he asks, pointing to them.

Shinso hums, snuffing his cigarette on the windowsill. He moves to the couch in front of them. “Yeah, I asked her if I could look through them. I know you guys hired me because you like my stuff, but I still wanted to get a better grasp on your sound. Wanted to make sure whatever I write still fits Jack Off’s energy.” He trails his fingertips gently over the cover. “A song is the best way to get to know a musician. She was nice enough to understand that. I know it’s a big deal to be trusted with all her writing.”

Kaminari smiles. He slowly makes his way over to the couch and joins Shinso on it, though he’s careful to leave some space between them. He’s watched Jiro carry these notebooks around since high school. Shinso understands how big it is to be trusted with them. Kaminari feels warm with pride that the band has accepted him so completely so quick.

Shinso pulls one closer and flips through it gingerly.

“She’s really good,” he whispers. “Really good. I don’t know why she felt she needed me.”

Kaminari shakes his head. “She was overwhelmed,” he explains. “Jack Off’s popularity has been skyrocketing at a rate we can’t keep up with right now, and Kyoka’s too picky about her songs to churn them out fast enough. I’ve watched her write the same song for years at a time. We didn’t want to rush her, or ruin her process, and we didn’t want to make her half-ass songs she’d hate in a month just for the sake of having something.” He shrugs. “I co-write with her a lot. And sometimes we’ll write things as a band. If Eijiro gets particularly in his feelings he’ll bring us a song on occasion. But obviously not everything we write gets used, so it’s still not enough. That’s why we wanted you.” He taps Shinso’s wrist gently. “Many hands make light work and all that. I suggested another songwriter and may or may not have brought you up. I knew you’d vibe with us. Didn’t realize they’d actually gone and picked, though. If we can supplement our singles and a few EP tracks with stuff you’ve written, it’ll let Kyoka take as long as she wants to perfect the ones she’s super passionate about. We were hoping it’d stop her from burning out.”

Shinso stares at him, his expression soft. He turns back to the notebooks after a beat too long. “That’s sweet that you guys look after her like that.” He leans back against the couch. “Too many artists think that burning themselves out is noble. Like it proves their dedication to their craft if they suffer for their art or something.” He shrugs. “Always seemed dumb to me. Why render yourself useless like that?” He turns his head, hair fanning out on the cushions as he looks at Kaminari. “I’m glad to be here if it helps take the weight off. Thanks for suggesting me.”

“Of course,” Kaminari says. His lungs aren’t working right. “I mean, this is a dream come true for me.” He’s still starstruck by the fact that he’s sitting on a cracking leather couch in a quiet green room, his shoulder almost bumping Mindwash’s. He can’t grapple with the fact that he’s as beautiful as his songs, and that he knows Kaminari exists. That he seems to somewhat enjoy that fact.

Shinso scoffs. “So you’ve said.” He looks away, sitting up again. His hands drift over the notebooks before he picks one up. “You said you co-write sometimes?” He flips through the pages.

Kaminari hums in confirmation. Shinso stops, and flips one page back. “I thought this handwriting looked different. Was this you?”

Kaminari feels a sudden burst of stage fright, like he’s been thrown out naked into the streets. He stares at his own handwriting and nods, feeling bare.

“‘She hopes I’m cursed forever to sleep on a twin-sized mattress, in somebody’s attic or basement my whole life,’” he reads. “It’s good. I stared at this one for a while. I like it.” He makes it sound so simple. “I feel it.”

“Uh,” Kaminari stammers. Mindwash likes his writing. His old writing, too. Mindwash likes the nonsense he wrote in Jiro’s notebook, sprawled out on her bedroom floor at 3am when they were both eighteen. He ducks his head, all sense of romantics and coolness evaporated. “Thanks. It’s—thanks. That uh, means a lot, coming from you.”

Shinso flicks him gently on the thigh. It feels like an electric shock. “Don’t put me on a pedestal. I mean it. I liked a lot of the stuff in this handwriting. They couldn’t bump you up to full time songwriter?”

“Oh, no—” Kaminari waves his hands in front of him. “I wouldn’t want it. I like the tech stuff too much and I’m way better at it. I wouldn’t have time for both and I wouldn’t want to give up what I’m doing now.” He tilts his head. “Plus…Kyoka’s like a genius. It just pours out of her, y’know? It doesn’t come naturally for me like that. I like writing when I’m in the mood because I was always a big reader, but if I had to do it all the time, or like, as a job, I think I’d start loathing it.”

Shinso hums. “Understandable. If you like where you are, that’s all that really matters.” He puts the notebook back on the table.

Kaminari eyes the only notebook he doesn’t recognize. It’s a dark, purple cover, some sort of fake leather marked by wear and fingerprints. Pages and tabs stick out of it at every angle. The spine is cracked three times over on the same veins. There’s something scrawled in permanent marker on the cover, but it’s so faded he can’t read it.

“Is that one yours?” His hand lifts towards it. “Can I see?”

“No,” Shinso says sharply. He slaps his hand over it. Kaminari flinches and shrinks back.

Shinso cringes. He looks away. “Sorry—I just, I don’t let anyone read my stuff. I get embarrassed.”

“No, totally, of course,” Kaminari says too quickly. He tries to kill the monster of rejection that coils in his chest before it can bite. He’s being dramatic and he’s being dumb. They’d just talked about how vulnerable a songwriter’s notebook was. He shouldn’t have been rash. It was stupid and parasocial to assume Mindwash would let him in after a few conversations. He’d been caught up in the moment they were sharing, forgetting they were nothing more than new coworkers. His shame eats him alive. He pulls his legs from the couch and realizes he’d curled up at some point. He doesn’t remember getting comfortable like that. Having to pull himself free of the leather only compounds the awkwardness of his escape.

“I should get going,” he says. He flinches at how obvious his own excuse is. “Band’s probably looking for me and…yeah.”

“No it’s—” Shinso starts. He looks upset. “Shit, I wasn’t trying to…” He sighs. “It’s just that I only write what I know. So it’s kind of…” He gestures to his notebook.

“Right. Of course. I get that,” Kaminari says. Meaningless words strung together into a sentence that says nothing. Shinso frowns. Then, because Kaminari’s decided to see just how deep he can dig this hole for himself, he blurts, “That’s why you’ve never written a love song.”

Shinso blinks. It’s a miracle that, somehow, this is the right thing to say. His shoulders slump as some of the tension fades. He nods.

“Yeah. Yeah I’ve never written a love song. I guess you would know that.” He drums his fingers on the cover of his notebook. He stares at Kaminari where he’s still standing by the couch. “I don’t really care about…labelling myself,” Shinso says slowly, “but I’m probably somewhere on the aroace spectrum. It takes me a while to feel any sort of attraction. Not to say it doesn’t—or can’t—happen. Just hasn’t been worth writing a song about yet, I guess.”

“Oh.” Kaminari blinks. He relaxes too when he realizes they’re still talking. That Shinso’s still being vulnerable. He hasn’t ruined this entirely. “Right, that makes sense.” He points to himself. “I’m bi, so.”

Shinso smiles. “Yeah, sort of assumed.” He tilts his head. “Nice to know for sure, though.”

“Right,” Kaminari repeats. His heart does a traitorous flutter in his chest. The words float between them. He feels less like he needs to run. But he’s not sure what else they’d talk about if he sat back down.

He’s saved by Kirishima.

“Hey anyone in—” The redhead swings around the doorframe and cuts himself off at the sight of them. “Oh, you did find Denki! Awesome.” He points over his shoulder. “That amp isn’t connecting again. Do you think you could come take a look at it?” His speech slows as his eyes flick between Shinso and Kaminari. “Unless you’re…in the middle of something.”

“No, you can have him,” Shinso says. He leans back on the couch. Kaminari’s face flushes.

“Great, thanks.” Kirishima catches Kaminari by the arm and pulls him out into the hallway. Kaminari lets himself be dragged, feeling lightheaded.

“Dude,” Kirishima says, when they’re still way too close to the green room. He’s grinning wide. Kaminari slaps his hand over Kirishima’s face.

“Eijiro, I need you to let me have this,” Kaminari mumbles.

Kirishima laughs. “I’m letting you, I’m letting you,” he insists. He bumps Kaminari’s shoulder with his own. “I’m cheering for you.” He pauses. “And I’m telling Kyoka.” He breaks into a sprint as Kaminari screams.

“Don’t tell Kyoka!” Kaminari shouts after him. “Eijiro! I’m serious!” He chases Kirishima all the way to the stage.

Kaminari’s laying on the floor in a blanket of wires when he hears boots against the stage. He swallows a smile. Shinso’s only been with them for a few weeks, but Kaminari can already recognize the sound of his gait. It helps that he already had the sound of every other band member memorized, but the romantic in him wants this to mean something. 

It probably does mean something, that Shinso’s been around so much. He’s their songwriter, they’ve made it pretty clear he doesn’t have to actually attend their shows. Yet he shows up to practically every one as early as the band. He spends entire weekends with them, crashing in random hotels and Sero’s van between shows. Kaminari’s glad he isn’t immune to Jack Off’s charm. 

“Kaminari?” Shinso calls. Kaminari loves that he’s looking for him. For a second, he stays sprawled behind the amp he’s working on, just because he wants to hear Shinso say his name again. 

“Kaminari?” He draws it out this time, quieter in his uncertainty. Satisfied, the blond pops to his feet.

“Hey gorgeous,” he coos as he leans his arms on the amp. “What can I do for you?”

Shinso shakes his head. “Was just looking for you.” There’s a beat of silence between them. Kaminari smiles slowly. Shinso looks away, his face twisted like his own tongue betrayed him. “Couldn’t find any of the others.”

“Well, you found me.” 

Shinso nods. He doesn’t say anything else. Kaminari assumes he won’t. Shinso likes to linger the same way Sero does. He likes being near people, even if he isn’t looking for someone to talk to. As someone who can’t handle being alone for more than five minutes, Kaminari finds this delightful. 

He flops back onto the floor, lying on his back as he reaches into the bottom of the amp and tries to jam the pliers into the small space. Shinso steps over and stops sharply. He parks himself by Kaminari’s feet and seems to regret this choice. Kaminari smirks to himself as he puts the pliers in his teeth and raises his arms enough to make his shirt ride up. Shinso’s eyes immediately dart to the strip of skin above his waist. Kaminari buzzes. 

“What is…” Shinso says slowly, dragging his eyes up to Kaminari’s face. “The goal here?”

Kaminari drops the screwdriver and pulls the pliers from his mouth. He flicks them around in his hand. “My personal goal is to make you fall in love with me,” he says. He taps the amp with the pliers. “But in here, I’m trying to replace this cord that got snapped in the move.”

Shinso scoffs, smirking. “Right.” He sits down by Kaminari’s waist and fiddles with the lace on his boot. He’s gorgeous and Kaminari’s heart aches. There’s a little braid in Shinso’s hair that begins by his ear. He’s sure Ashido put it there. He’s cradling a coffee with his name spelled wrong on the side of the cup. He could probably scratch his nose and Kaminari would still find a way to get flustered.

Shinso doesn’t say much else. He sits with Kaminari while he pulls out the faulty wire and adds a new one. He passes him a few tools that roll out of reach, and they work as a quiet, comfortable unit. When Kaminari’s done, he sits up with the faulty wire pinched between his fingers.

“Threat contained,” he announces. He glances at Shinso’s forearm. His hoodie sleeves are rolled up. On impulse, he leans forward and ties the wire around Shinso’s wrist. It makes an ugly red bracelet that clashes badly with his dark clothes and purple hair.

Shinso stares at it with an eyebrow raised. “Is this not dangerous?”

“I’d never put you at risk,” Kaminari says solemnly. He pats Shinso’s thigh. Shinso smiles at the floor. 

“Alright, sap.” He pulls away and stands. Kaminari expects him to pull the wire off right away, but instead he shakes his wrist gently to make sure it’s secure and bends down to get his coffee. “Did you need help with anything else?”

What Kaminari needs is for Shinso to drag him up to the grid and crush him beneath his beautiful body until the metal grid marks are scarred into his back.

“Yeah I have some more stuff to carry on stage,” he says calmly.

Shinso follows him and helps him set up people’s instruments on stage. He’s slower than Kaminari because he’s being extra careful. It’s endearing to watch him be overcautious with the other band members’ things. 

As he’s ensuring the guitars are stable on their stands, Kaminari grabs another of the bigger amps. He makes it up the first few stairs fine, but then the weight shifts and it’s heavier than he remembers. 

Shinso notices him slipping and darts over, catching the bottom of it and hoisting it up before Kaminari can tip down the stairs.

“Careful,” he scolds sharply. The words hit Kaminari somewhere low. He wonders how mad Shinso would be if he dropped a light on himself. He tries not to get carried away with that image while they’re still on the stairs.

“Where’s this going?” Shinso asks. Kaminari directs him, and even with both of them it’s not easy. It drops with a thud and Shinso huffs. “Jesus,” he groans, shaking out his wrists, “you usually do that alone?” There’s a tinge of annoyance in his voice. Kaminari’s body heats again. Maybe he has a protectiveness kink, what a fun new discovery.

“No, of course not!” He waves his hands quickly. “Eijiro usually helps me with all the heavy stuff and typically everyone’s in charge of their own instruments and set up, but there were some fans outside the venue today.” His excitement bubbles up as he leans on Sero’s keyboard. “Isn’t that sick? They’ve hit the stage of fame where people line up outside hours in advance to catch them arriving.” He smiles, pride in his chest. “It was only a few people, but still. They’re basically doing an impromptu meet and greet. I told them I’d get started on the setup so they could take their time with the fans.” He winks. “Important for the reputation, to be seen with your fans.”

Shinso leans on the other side of the piano. They’re close, breathing each other’s air. Their fingertips are playing chicken on the keys.

“That’s sweet of you.”

“Yeah, I’m a sweetheart.” Kaminari grins. “Want a personalized demonstration?” 

“I’ve seen enough,” Shinso says easily. He’s smiling. Somehow, Kaminari never quite feels rejected. It’s playful between them, like there’s some innate trust that even if he can’t woo Shinso, the songwriter won’t break his heart.

“Maybe you should go out there too.” Kaminari inclines his head. “I’m sure lots of people would love to see Mindwash is somehow prettier in person.”

“Your nonsense flattery doesn’t work on me, you know,” Shinso says, but Kaminari can swear there’s a blush dusting his cheeks as he stares down at the keyboard. “Besides, you’re the only person who’s ever recognized me.”

Kaminari hums. He turns his hand slightly, taps Shinso’s ring finger with his index finger. Both of them have their nails painted black, chipping in the same places. “I’m okay with keeping you to myself a little longer.”

“You’re a hopeless flirt,” Shinso says. He pokes Kaminari’s finger back before he retreats from the piano entirely.

“Should I stop?”

Shinso shrugs. He twirls his coffee around, like a sommelier at a wine tasting. He considers the words for a minute, glancing at the wire around his wrist. 

“No,” he says slowly, “I don’t think you should.”

He’s definitely blushing this time.

“Can I get more drums?” Ashido calls from the stage. Kaminari gives her a thumbs-up, adjusting the headphones he has on one ear. He navigates the soundboard to put more drums in her speaker, then gestures again for her to try it. The band starts a test run with one of their favourite riffs, bantering through it instead of singing the lyrics. Kaminari moves to the other board that controls the lights, adjusting the preset for this song to have a bit more pink on the parts where Ashido sings harmonies.

He likes to imagine the flashes and squares of colour across the soundboard like his own little city. The squares are all windows into rooms he’s memorized. He feels at home here, pressing buttons and navigating channels, flicking sliders and spinning between the computer and the soundboard and the lightboard, making his friends sound and look their best all on his own. He feels important back here, his mind empty save for the requests of his bandmates and the sensations of buttons giving beneath his weight. He bobs along to Kirishima’s bass line as he messes with the blue balance in the lights. Ashido strums half a riff and shouts, “Get it, Denki!” He does a spin as he slaps the lights into a strobe. Everyone cheers, their sound check falling into a discordant cacophony as they all bang out random parts of different songs on their instruments, hopping around the stage as Kaminari laughs and makes the lights turn them into rainbows of joy.

A familiar body sidles up to him as he puts the lights back to normal. He’s still swaying and bobbing to the beat of the song when he sees Shinso in his peripheral. He stills a little, fingertips drumming on the board as he gives him his full attention.

“Hey handsome.” He slips his headphones around his neck.

“Come here often?” Shinso says flatly. Kaminari snorts.

“Your impression needs work,” He says.

“I have no desire to dethrone you in the flirtation department,” Shinso says. Their banter is so natural it’s intoxicating. Kaminari wants to be stupid and reckless and ruin their precarious work friendship.

“Good, cause you wouldn’t be able to.” He leans over the board and nods his chin towards Shinso’s hands, where he’s holding a coffee in one and a massive Redbull in the other. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

“This is for you,” he says, matter-of-fact. He hands the Redbull over the board, then hesitates. “Though…maybe you shouldn’t have liquid by all this tech?”

Kaminari freezes for less than a second. His stomach flips. He beams as he takes the cold can from Shinso’s slender fingers.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ve mastered the art of keeping caffeine around without threatening the precious electronics.” He crouches down to tuck it in a corner by his feet, below anything that could get hurt. He gives Shinso a sly look. “How did you know?”

He shrugs. “I asked Jiro for your coffee order and she said ‘wrong.’ Then Sero clarified that the way to your heart was through red dye 40 and sugary bullshit.”

Kaminari hums, tilting his head as he leans closer. “And are you trying to find the way to my heart?”

“Sero’s words, not mine.” Shinso pushes Kaminari’s forehead back with the rim of his coffee cup. He’s got that tiny quirk in his lips, the telling almost-grin. “You seemed groggy this morning, and I realized I’ve never seen you without a can of something caffeinated nearby.”

“Oh.” Kaminari blinks. “Doctor Shinso, have you been tracking my symptoms? I didn’t realize you were qualified.”

He shrugs. “Bakugo told me you messed up your wrist with a light the other day. And you don’t look like you’ve been sleeping.”

Kaminari blinks. He’d been flirting, but Shinso is serious. There’s a tug of worry in his eyes. Kaminari melts like ice cream on summer pavement.

“I’m okay,” he says softly. “Just, uh, not used to us having shows during the week, too. I usually have more time between setups and teardowns and switching between locations.”

Shinso hums. He leans on the board, careful to hold his coffee away. “You know, if this was getting too much for Jiro to keep up with, maybe you should be asking for help too.” His eyes roam over all the buttons and lights. “I’m overwhelmed just looking at it.”

“Oh, no, I’m okay.” Kaminari holds his hand over the station protectively. A flare of fear alights in his chest. In a way, the tech booth is his spotlight. He doesn’t want to share. He doesn’t want the band to think he can’t handle it. This is his pride and joy, he doesn’t want an outsider sneaking in. “I’ve got it, seriously.”

He thinks he keeps his tone light, but Shinso stills. One eyebrow raises slowly. He grits his teeth for a second. “I didn’t mean to imply you were replaceable, or incapable,” he says softly. “Just don’t want to see you burn out.”

“I won’t burn out,” Kaminari says, too sharp. He fumbles for a joke to smooth it over. “I’m not a lightbulb.”

“No,” Shinso agrees slowly, “you’re a person. One they rely on a lot.”

Kaminari doesn’t answer. He stares at the board and flicks a muted slider up and down. Shinso relents. 

“Sorry, I didn’t come over here to evangelize at you,” he says. “I figured you might need this.” He waves Kaminari’s phone in front of him. 

Kaminari blinks, slapping his back pockets and then his front ones. “Shit, didn’t realize I’d lost it.”

“I figured,” Shinso drawls. “It was in the green room.” He steps around the edge of the tech booth and up into Kaminari’s space. Kaminari starts to hold his hand out for the phone, but Shinso ignores it. He steps close and reaches around, slipping Kaminari’s phone into the back pocket of his jeans. Kaminari’s entire body locks up. 

Shinso has been doing that more often, testing their proximity. Kaminari doesn’t want to press about it, because Shinso had been clear that—if he’s interested—it might take time. Kaminari’s more than happy to let him be experimental, it just makes it hard to remain…professional, when Shinso’s figuring out how much of Kaminari’s space he wants to occupy. The anticipation and the concept of potential beats in Kaminari’s chest. He swallows hard, and tries not to think of Shinso’s hand lingering anywhere near his back pocket.

“Thanks,” he rasps, belatedly.

Shinso hums. He puts a little space between them, but stays in the booth with Kaminari. 

Jiro and Bakugo are on stage, laughing through a performance of one of their raunchiest songs. Shouting a loud, out of pitch chant of “Seven! Minutes! In Heaven!” on repeat. It feels like cruel punctuation to the disrespectful voices Kaminari has to silence every time Shinso gets too close. He lets his eyes trail over to where he’s leaning against the corner of the booth and sipping his coffee. Shinso’s in a worn-out zip-up with a faded graphic tee, fitted jeans with holes at the knees. His hair’s tied up. He mindlessly rolls up his sleeves as he watches the band, and Kaminari realizes he still has that stupid wire tied around him. Fuck. This is just unfair. 

“What about sex songs?” Kaminari blurts.

Shinso glances at him, a second of shock on his face that shifts to amusement. “What about them?”

“You ever written one?” He drums his fingers on the board. “Or have you not met someone hot enough yet?”

Shinso considers this as he sips his coffee. “Haven’t felt it strong enough to make it into a song, I guess.” He hesitates for a moment. Kaminari catches him biting the inside of his cheek. “Have you written a sex song?”

Kaminari grins. He leans on his elbow and nods to the band, right as Jiro shouts the words to something particularly lewd. “I wrote most of this one.”

Shinso flushes. “Oh.” He looks away. “It’s—it’s good.”

Kaminari tucks some of his hair behind his ears. “Thanks. If you ever want someone to help you practice, let me know. I’d be happy to give you tips.”

For a minute after the words are out, they both stare straight ahead, watching the band and not looking at each other. They turn their heads in each other’s direction in unison. Shinso opens his mouth and no sound comes out. Kaminari keels over the board, laughing.

“You are shameless,” Shinso mumbles when he finally finds his words. “Fucking shameless, Kaminari.”

Kaminari cackles harder, scrubbing at the corner of his eye as he bumps his hip against Shinso. “Should I stop?”

“No,” Shinso says. He bumps Kaminari in return. The blond feels sparks at every point of contact. “Don’t stop.”

“Denki!” Bakugo screeches across the room, breaking through their bubble. “Stop trying to fuck our songwriter and give me some more goddamn guitar!” 

Shinso snorts as Kaminari flushes. He fumbles to put his headphones back on and find the buttons necessary. Shinso watches his fingers move with a fascination.

When Bakugo’s request is done, Kaminari gets another from Sero. He also decides Kirishima’s bass is drowning out Jiro’s vocals. He reigns in his focus and starts making the adjustments. Shinso lingers, close enough to feel.

“So,” he says carefully, “I get that you don’t want anyone to take over your thing, but I’m not doing anything else during these sound checks.” He tilts his head, somehow looking more embarrassed about this than any of their flirtations. “If you want help, I’m already here.”

Kaminari stares at him for a second. The defensiveness doesn’t rear its head like he’s expecting. He shouldn’t be surprised. He saw how Shinso protected his songs, he trusts he wouldn’t take this from him. Maybe a selfish part of him wants an excuse to spend more time with him.

He takes a slow breath as he turns back to the board. “What I’m doing right now is making sure everyone’s sound is balanced,” he explains. “They all have a speaker in front of them that ensures they can hear the other band members. When they’re saying they need more guitar or more drums, it’s because they can’t hear that person, so it messes up their ability to keep up.”

“Right.” Shinso nods. “How do you fix that?” He leans against the adjacent table with his arm behind Kaminari, boxing them both in. Kaminari lets him stay, and he teaches him how to fix it. 

Shinso watches the next show from the booth. 

“You know this isn’t the best view, right?” Kaminari shouts over the band’s opening notes. Shinso glances at him as his hands fly over buttons and his head bobs to the music. 

“I think it is,” he shouts back. Kaminari flushes. The music drowns them both out.

By the end of the set, Kaminari runs out of things to do besides dance. It takes a while to convince Shinso that the best part about being in the booth is no one’s looking your way. No one to make fun of your bad dancing. Shinso starts by only swaying to the beat, but by the last few songs he and Kaminari are jumping around, banging their heads and shouting the words to Jack Off’s best hits, safe in their tiny echo chamber.

Kaminari almost misses his cue as Jiro takes a breath. He surges forward, slapping a button on the lights board as her voice carries.

“‘And Denki’s looking at me, while I’m recording this song.’” The special he’d set up to hit the booth flares. He’s blinded by it, but even blind he knows where his band is. He jumps on beat as she sings, hands up to wave. “‘He’s probably laughing right now, just while I break the fourth wall!’”

Kaminari throws his head back. The light fades and the song carries on. Kaminari starts laughing, and he doesn’t stop.

The music carries him onward. He feels still aglow from the light, adrenaline in his veins from the beat. He tosses his head back and forth as the song devolves into his favourite part, the chaos. Ashido and Jiro start shredding on the guitar while Kirishima grabs the mic. He spins over to Bakugo, who leans into his own mic. The band plays like a pack of wild animals while the boys pretend to have a screaming match over the drumset. Everyone else joins in, curses and jumping and laughing as they shout practiced rage. The crowd loses it with them. Kaminari feels perfectly at home, praying at his altar to the god of noise.

The last note hits, and there’s a beat of silence before the crowd erupts. Kaminari has to catch his breath like he’s up there with them. When he looks over at Shinso, he finds himself being stared at. 

He shoves his hand into his hair, holding his bangs away from his face as he gasps for air.

“You’re supposed to watch the band,” he gasps. He’s too breathless to maintain a flirtatious tone.

Shinso’s shimmering too. He stares, looking oddly struck. “I am,” he breathes.

Kaminari grins. He turns back to the board for the encore. Shinso doesn’t pay attention to this song. When Kaminari glances over his shoulder, the man is tucked into a back corner of the booth, scribbling something in his notebook.

Shinso’s still scribbling when the show ends. The lights come up and the crowd starts to filter out. Kaminari adjusts some sliders, and crouches to unplug the things that he can shut down early. Shinso’s still writing by the time the small venue is clear. The band filters back out onto the stage, Sero and Kirishima start hopping around and waving to Kaminari in the booth. Ashido cartwheels to her guitar. Kaminari sneaks a glance at Shinso again, and realizes writing may not be the right descriptor. He seems to be doing a lot of staring at the page, and a lot of sneaking glances at Kaminari. He swallows another smile and turns back to focus on teardown.

“‘The scratch on your eye,’” Shinso blurts.

“What about it?” Kaminari hums. He’s coiling a cord slowly.

“‘I am the scratch on your eye, I am the worst of my kind,’” Shinso recites. Kaminari smiles as he sets the coiled cord down on the board. He holds up a finger for each of the descriptors.

“‘I am the trailer, the park, the first to lie.’”

“Shit!” Sero and Jiro shout from the stage, finishing the lyrics. Kaminari beams at them.

“That part was yours, wasn’t it?” Shinso asks. Kaminari blinks at him. “You wrote it?”

“I…did.” Kaminari tilts his head. “You could tell?”

Shinso nods. “I could hear you in it,” he says quietly. “I liked it.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me,” Kaminari says. He keeps his eyes on the comforting, familiar screens in front of him. He hears the shift of Shinso standing up. A second later, his notebook is on the soundboard, hand over it as he leans in to be in Kaminari’s view.

“Flirting implies flattery,” he says seriously. “I’m being honest. It’s not about who sings it, I can tell when it’s you. It’s you I like.” He tilts his head, “Isn’t that what you said to me when we met? I get it now.”

Kaminari can only bear to look at Shinso for half a second, out of the corner of his eye. He drops his elbows on the board and hides his face behind his fingertips. He feels too seen, being dissected with recognition in the middle of his safe haven. Shinso chuckles at his lack of response. 

“Fuckwads!” Bakugo interrupts, shouting across the space. “We need extra hands.”

Shinso pulls away to help. Kaminari follows. They’re so caught up in each other and then the band, no one notices that Shinso leaves his notebook on Kaminari’s soundboard.

It’s not until later, after Shinso has helped them wrestle the last speaker into Sero’s van and said goodnight, that Kaminari returns to recover his laptop and realizes the notebook is still there. His heart hammers just from seeing it. Picking it up feels like holding Shinso’s beating heart in his hands. It’s a part of him that’s been displaced, something raw and alive that Kaminari’s unwashed hands might infect and break. He runs his thumb back and forth over the strange fake leather that feels like old velvet. He tries again to read the marker on the cover, but its meaning is lost to any outsider. Gently, he tucks it into his backpack.

He carries his laptop home, so he doesn’t risk it damaging the notebook.

Kaminari finds the notebook after their Saturday show, and he doesn’t see Shinso again until Wednesday, when Jack Off is playing a small gig at a local bar. He doesn’t say hi to the band. He just shoves through the venue doors and beelines for Shinso. Shinso turns from his conversation with Kirishima as Kaminari approaches. He already has the notebook in his hands. He’s moving too fast and he ends up crashing into Shinso, the book crushed between them as Shinso curses quietly and grabs Kaminari’s shoulders to steady him.

“Woah, what is—”

“Your book!” Kaminari steps back and holds it out between them. Shinso stares. He sees the recognition click. Relief washes over Shinso, visibly leaking from every nerve. He snatches it quickly, taking a deep breath as he presses the edge to his forehead.

“You have it,” he breathes. “Fuck. Thank you, Denki.”

Kaminari’s entire body locks up. He flushes so red Kirishima snorts before he pivots on his heel and exits their vicinity. Shinso doesn’t notice what he’s done. Kaminari knows it’s a slip-up from the intensity of his relief, but his traitorous heart spins anyway.

“Of course,” he manages to get out, far too late. Shinso takes another shaky breath as he hugs the book to his chest.

“God, I was hoping you’d seen it and picked it up.”

Kaminari smiles. “You could’ve just texted me and asked.”

Shinso pales. “I was too scared of you saying you hadn’t seen it.” He flips it around and opens it, still breathing slow as he turns through the pages, like he needs to check if they’re all there.

“Thank you,” he whispers again, tender as a wound. He runs his fingertips over a page of writing Kaminari doesn’t try to make out.

“Of course,” Kaminari whispers.

They stay there for a while, planets drawn to each other’s gravity. Kaminari watches Shinso trace a few more pages. After a few minutes, he shuts the book. He drums his fingers along it, ducking his head. His hair falls loose from where he’d tucked it behind his ear.

“So?” he blurts.

Kaminari blinks. He waits for more, then realizes more isn’t coming. “So…?” he says slowly.

“So…” Shinso drawls, tilting the notebook back and forth with his hands. He gestures with it, blushing. “What did you think?”

Kaminari narrows his eyes. “What did I think? About—” It clicks all at once. He surges forward, clasping his hands around the book, his palm over Shinso’s knuckles. 

“Dude, I didn’t read it!”

Shinso looks away. “It’s fine, I’m not mad—”

“I didn’t read it,” Kaminari repeats firmly. “Shinso.” Shinso looks at him. He repeats it again like a vow. “I didn’t read it.”

Shinso’s face is unreadable, his eyes slightly wider. “Seriously?”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, are you kidding?” Kaminari blurts. He puts more pressure on Shinso’s hands, on the notebook sandwiched between them. “You told me how much you didn’t want me to. You hadn’t given me permission. I didn’t look through it. I didn’t even open the cover.” He smiles slightly as he tilts his head. “Admittedly, I tried to make out what the marker says, but I couldn’t figure it out.”

Shinso looks at Kaminari like he’s a puzzle with a missing piece. He looks away, then at their hands where they hold the book closed. He ducks his head. His hair falls around his face as his shoulder shakes. It takes Kaminari a second to realize he’s laughing.

Kaminari smiles, baffled and falling faster by the second as Shinso chuckles. When he looks back up, his eyes glimmer with sparks of joy, a shine of disbelief.

“It’s my name,” he chokes.

“Huh?”

“The marker—it’s just my name,” Shinso says. He shakes his head, incredulous. “It says ‘Hitoshi,’ that’s it. It’s not interesting.”

“Oh.” Kaminari laughs too. He composes himself enough to coo, “Well Hitoshi is very interesting to me.”

Shinso pulls away to shove his hair back, half hiding in his palm. Kaminari still sees the blush. “You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s part of my charm,” Kaminari insists. Shinso, still smiling softly, nods. He gently pulls the book from Kaminari’s grasp and spins it to face him. He runs his thumb over the bottom corner.

“There used to be a tiny cat doodle here, too, but that one really faded.”

Kaminari hadn’t noticed until Shinso pointed it out, but there is a tiny smudge there, a slight discoloration. A cat doodle. Faded from how much Shinso ran his hands over it. Forget the sex fantasies, Kaminari needs to walk this man down the aisle tomorrow.

“That’s so cute I’m thinking about marrying you.”

Shinso’s grin doesn’t waver. “I don’t marry before the first date,” he says easily. Kaminari can’t phase him anymore and somehow it’s thrilling instead of disappointing. He laughs again.

Shinso finally seems to reign the last of his emotions in. He still looks at his notebook. His voice sobers. 

“You really didn’t read it,” he says.

“I really didn’t read it,” Kaminari says. He holds up a hand. “Scout’s honour.” 

Shinso smiles, fond and lovely. He runs his thumb along the pages. He takes a slow breath, then nods.

He holds the notebook out to Kaminari.

“Will you?”

Oh.

Kaminari stares in disbelief. He gives Shinso a second to take it back, reconsider. Or for Bakugo to hit the drums in that pattern that declares all of this a joke. It doesn’t happen. Shinso doesn’t budge.

“You want me to—” Kaminari starts. He winces. “Look, I know I asked that one time but you seriously don’t have to—”

“Kaminari,” Shinso says sharply. “I want you to.” His eyes trail to the side. The words come slow. “You’re the light behind Jack Off. If anyone can better me, it’s you.” Kaminari watches him swallow. Shinso meets his eye. “I trust you.”

Kaminari reaches out and takes the notebook. Suddenly he holds all of Shinso in his hands, compiled in paper and purple fake leather and the souls of faded cat doodles. He runs his thumb over the miscoloured smudge. 

“I’ll be gentle,” Kaminari promises. Shinso smiles like he never had a doubt.

Kaminari slams the truck doors shut on Sunday. It echoes in the cold night. If he really listens, he can hear the rest of Jack Off around the corner, talking loudly to the small crowd. He spins Sero’s keys around his finger and turns as the door beside the loading bay bangs shut.

He’s obsessed with watching Shinso exist. The songwriter shuffles out into the evening air with his hood up and slouching. He roots around in his back pocket and fishes out his cigarettes and a lighter he stole from Kaminari. He lights up as he approaches and finds his way to Kaminari without looking up at him once, like he has a built-in compass to him.

“Hey,” Kaminari greets as Shinso sidles up to him. He leans back against the side of the van. Shinso mirrors him. Their shoulders brush. Kaminari leans into his warmth.

“Cold out here,” Shinso grunts. Kaminari hums. He leans into Shinso’s shoulder more and Shinso lets him. He turns his head with every exhale to blow his smoke away from Kaminari. Kaminari hopes they both end up smelling like it anyway. The chatter of the fans melds with the distant noise of the city. It’s a song on its own. They listen to it together.

“Have you been reading it?” Shinso mumbles. His voice is raspy from the smoke. Kaminari nods. 

“It’s good.” 

“That’s not what I want to hear.”

“The, uh, ‘Trying to be cool about it, feeling like an absolute fool about it.’” Kaminari sways to an unheard beat. “‘Wishing you were kind enough to be cruel about it.’” 

“I haven’t named that song yet.” 

“It’s my favourite so far.”

“Really?” 

“Mhm.” He flicks his bangs away from his face, stares up the cloudy night and watches the light pollution bounce off them. “Who’s it about?” 

“Guess,” Shinso says.

Kaminari smiles. 

“I want to know what’s on the forbidden pages.”

“Too bad.” Shinso smirks at him. Kaminari rolls his eyes.

After a few days of him having the notebook, Shinso had taken it back and quickly flipped to a page Kaminari hadn’t reached yet. He folded the corner down, flipped the page, scribbled something else, and handed it back. He’d told Kaminari he couldn’t read past the dog-eared part. Kaminari hadn’t.

“You’ll hear it when I’m ready,” Shinso says quietly. 

He doesn’t know when Shinso went from an idol to a crush to a trusted friend, but Kaminari has no interest in figuring it out. It doesn’t matter how he got here. He has no intention of leaving, so he doesn’t need a map.

“You’re not cold?” Shinso asks. He glances at Kaminari in his shredded t-shirt.

“I’m good like this,” Kaminari insists. He snuggles a little closer to Shinso, leeches off his warmth without getting Shinso out of the hoodie he looks so good in. Shinso doesn’t push. He lets silence fall as he finishes his cigarette.

“One sec,” he says when he’s stomping the butt into the concrete. He tugs his notebook out of his hoodie pocket, angles his body towards Kaminari and flips past the dog-eared page.

“Inspiration?” Kaminari smiles. Shinso nods, already sucked into it as he fishes a pen out of his pocket and uncaps it with his teeth. Kaminari watches him work in awe. He reaches over to pull the cap from between Shinso’s canines. Shinso lets him. He doesn’t blink.

Kaminari rolls the cap between his fingertips as he watches. He thinks of making jokes about the thrill of watching Mindwash work, but he doesn’t. It’s never less than amazing but it’s no longer novel. Shinso’s formed an odd little habit of pulling out his notebook mid-conversation. 

Calling him Mindwash feels odd, now. Mindwash was a concept Kaminari idolized. This is Shinso. Hitoshi and his notebook. Kaminari wishes he could kiss him. But he’d never dream of taking Shinso from his song.

He still has to get his laptop and a few more cords from inside the building. Slowly, he takes a step back, planning to leave Shinso to his writing for a minute. Before his body can turn, Shinso reaches out and catches his wrist.

“Wait—” he says quickly. Kaminari does. “Stay.”

They stare at each other. Kaminari watches a spark flare in Shinso’s eyes. A light goes on. He’s seen it in every member of the band. Inspiration. Revelation. The click of finding the word to hold the feeling.

“Just…stay,” Shinso says. “For a minute.”

Kaminari does.

On Shinso’s twentieth show, Jack Off sings a sex song.

Kaminari’s giddy in the booth when the beat starts, an unfamiliar and new rhythm, lead by Kirishima’s bass, letting him shine in a way he never asks for. Jiro leans into the mic, her voice a pitchy rasp.

“‘Hey man, I miss your collarbones. I know the way your skin feels on my collarbones.’” Her eyes flick up to the booth. Kaminari can see her smirk as she rolls her eyes. “‘I know, I stole that line. Steal all my lines from this guy named Mindwash!’” The entire band shouts Shinso’s pseudonym with her, pointing up towards the tech booth. Kaminari cackles as he snaps his gaze to catch Shinso’s shock.

“I didn’t write that part,” he says quickly.

“So you admit you wrote this song?” Kaminari shouts over the noise.

“Not that part!” Shinso looks genuinely mortified. “They aren’t stealing—”

“I know, I know.” Kaminari’s still laughing as he leans away from the booth. He looks up at Shinso. “I wrote that line. Didn’t realize they’d found a spot to use it.”

“Vandalism,” Shinso says flatly. He’s smirking. Kaminari sticks his tongue out at him. 

He pays very close attention to the lyrics of the song.

At the end of the night, when the venue is empty again, Kaminari stares at Shinso from behind.

He’s leaning on the edge of the table with the boards, watching Shinso until he feels it and turns around. 

Shinso turns around.

He’s already blushing.

“What?” he groans.

“‘I feel the way that you stare at the back of my neck,’” Kaminari recites, grinning. “Just testing to see how honest that was.”

Shinso glares.

Kaminari giggles as he pulls away from the booth and skips into Shinso’s space.

“I mean, that was a sex song, Shinso.” He pokes at Shinso’s chest. “You wrote a sex song.”

“It’s not just a sex song,” he argues.

“‘You be the bottom and I’ll be the top?’” Kaminari raises an eyebrow. He lowers his voice, still smirking as he whispers close to Shinso’s ear, “‘Can you break my legs tonight?’”

“Okay, you’re being—” Shinso shoves him away, stammering. “It’s just a song.”

“Oh you know damn well I see through that lie,” Kaminari says. “You forget I’ve read your entire notebook.” He brushes Shinso’s shoulder with his own as they walk towards the stage. “I know your whole soul, inside and out, Hitoshi. I’ve read your lyrics.”

Shinso blushes. He stares ahead at the stage, where the rest of the band is still in the early stages of teardown. He stops. Kaminari stops beside him.

“You haven’t read them all,” Shinso says quietly.

He looks between Kaminari and the band. Hesitates. Then he grabs Kaminari’s hand and pulls him away. Kaminari lets himself be dragged, ignoring all his responsibilities as Shinso leads him to the green room. He shuts the door behind them and it’s suddenly all too quiet. There’s a heat coiling in Kaminari’s gut, but his chest feels cold.

“Fine. It’s a sex song,” Shinso blurts. “And it was easy to write. I just put a bunch of feelings that have been building up into words.”

Kaminari smiles. “So I guess you finally met someone hot enough?”

“He doesn't need to know that,” Shinso says, staring right at him. “He’s got enough of an ego already.”

Kaminari exhales sharply, a laugh tangled up in a wild attraction. Fantasies play out that he has to suffocate before they distract him. Shinso hasn’t tried to rip his clothes off yet, he can’t get excited.

“The sex song isn’t important, Denki,” Shinso says suddenly.

“Well I quite like it—”

“I wrote another one,” he blurts. “A love song.” He winces. “Or, I started one.” He chews the corner of his lip. His voice goes quiet. He shoves a hand through his hair, musses it in his sudden stress. “But I couldn’t give it to the band. I didn’t want anyone else to sing it.”

“Oh,” Kaminari breathes. His smile is wobbly now, watery with emotion. “...Do you want me to read it?”

Shinso nods. He crosses the room and fishes his notebook out of his bag with shaking hands. He opens it just past the dog-eared page, to the section he’s had open every time Kaminari caught him staring. 

Kaminari starts to read.

The song reads like a story, almost. Snippets of interactions that he can trace back to their origins. He sticks on one line, feels it pang in his chest.

So here we are again, inside your neon shrine.

He thinks of the altar that is his tech booth. The space Shinso and him have spent months sharing. He thinks of the lights on his yellow hair, Shinso staring with his notebook in hand.

“That’s my favourite line,” Shinso breathes, pointing to it. “It’s…um…it’s supposed to be how you look. When you’re working. You’re…neon.” He’s blushing furiously. “That’s dumb. I didn’t know—I kept trying to find the word but light wasn’t right and glow wasn’t enough. Neon.”

Kaminari’s heart hammers. He keeps reading.

The morning’s hot and harsh, my notebook fills itself.

“The song isn’t really done,” Shinso’s saying. Kaminari’s eyes roam over the page.

The words come thick with sweat, but it feels like someone else is writing all of this.

“I mean I basically lost it in the end.”

Someone I just can’t believe.

So I mop my brow, set my pen back down.

“I just had…I don’t know, I had never felt like this.”

I’m grabbing at a feeling now that I could never name.

Some sign post to remind me

How I wanted things this way.

“I was trying to get it all out, make it make sense. I don’t know if it does. Make sense. Again, I barely even knew—or know—what I’m feeling. Just that it was overwhelming.” 

He says you’re pretty, but you hate yourself.

I could hear it clear as day.

“I got frustrated, maybe. I—it’s not even an ending.”

I said

I sing like this, it sounds worse than it is. 

“It’s just a feeling.”

I’m okay, I’m okay

I’m okay, I’m okay.

So just stay, just stay.

Kaminari flips the page. The end is the same two words over and over again. A repeated plea.

Just stay, just stay

Just stay, just stay

Just stay, just stay

Just stay, just stay

Just stay, just stay

Just stay, just stay.

“All songs are feelings, Shinso.” He closes the notebook and turns to Shinso. “I love yours.”

Shinso swallows. He takes a breath. “I think I love you.”

Kaminari smiles. His heart blows like a lightbulb. The sparks and glass scratch up his insides. He’s warm from the electricity.

“Well yeah.” He tilts his head. “That was a love song.”

He steps closer as Shinso shakes his head. “It was emotional vomit, I’m not sure what it was.” He waves a hand nervously. He doesn’t back away as Kaminari approaches, “I’ve never felt like this for someone. I don’t know if it’s attraction. I mean, I think it’s attraction. I love you. I just don’t know if it’s the right way. I just—the only way I can quantify it is by how much it hurts to think of you not being around. Is that crazy?”

“You’re not crazy,” Kaminari says softly. “And I’m staying. I’m staying.”

He takes Shinso’s face in both hands and pulls him down into a kiss. Shinso kisses him back. There’s another love song on his lips as his hands catch Kaminari’s waist. They stumble further into the room until they’re finally, finally on a green room couch. 

Kaminari would’ve waited a million lifetimes for this. Shinso’s kisses are eager and unpracticed and Kaminari loves that he gets to teach him this too. He loves that they’re always learning from each other. 

Shinso pulls away for a breath. He’s a vision and a dream Kaminari’s had a million times where he lies above him. 

“Kaminari?” 

“Denki,” Kaminari corrects.

“Denki,” Shinso adjusts instantly. “That was a love song.” Definitive. Certain. 

Kaminari wraps his hand around the back of Shinso’s neck. “Does this mean I get writing credits?” 

Shinso snorts. “Absolutely not.” 

Kaminari hums. “Worth a shot.” He pulls Shinso back. “Guess I’ll just have to write my own.”