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One day.
One day they had to film this scene for a music video in this park, and it just had to be during a crazy heatwave.
Bakugou was sweating up a storm enough to make him get up and wander around his drum kit. Tokoyami’s black hair was matted with sweat, black tank top sticking to his body. Yaomomo went to change her button up shirt. Jirou was trying to soothe her throat with fresh water from the cooler the crew had brought. Denki was looking around during their break, unable to focus on a single thing at once due to the heat.
It was humid. It felt like they were bacon in a pan, like they were sizzling.
The original costume plan involved leather jackets and oversized jeans for the guitarists; an oversized, off-shoulder sweater with fraying, and tights under her shorts for Jirou; an underbust waistcoat and slacks for Yaoyorozu; and dark cargos and a bunch of wristbands and necklaces for Bakugou.
The only one who tried to keep with the original plan despite the heat was Yaomomo, who only removed her waistcoat, undid a single button, and rolled up her sleeves. Hence the breaks.
Hence Denki looking around and people watching.
Then he saw purple.
A guy: on a bench a way down the path, reading a book. He had a cup of ice he was using a slushie straw to scoop a few fragments out of at a time to chew on. His hair, long and split-ended and purple, was pulled back by a thin black, elastic headband; in his ears were a pair of flat, black studs; he had sunscreen all over his face, neck, and the back of his hands, and he was wearing a pair of khaki-green cargo shorts that came to his knees. However, most peculiarly, he was wearing a black hoodie.
In this weather, where everyone was sweating even when barely dressed, this guy was dressed in a damn hoodie. A hoodie! A black hoodie!
An enigma, this guy. At best, he curled a finger over his collar and tugged now and then, but that was that.
Denki was deeply curious. He just had to go over and check.
“Hey!”
The poor guy flinched. He looked up from his book, looking up at Denki and, because of the high-sky sun, put the book over his eyes like a visor, despite the fact that he was wearing sunglasses.
“Oh, heh, sorry.”
“It’s fine,” the man said, but grumbled it in a way that wasn’t. “What is it?”
“Nothing – I was just curious – are you okay? This heat is insane and you’re here in a massive hoodie. And it’s black!”
“Oh.” His voice was deep and flat. It reminded Denki of one of the teachers he’d had back at school. But hotter. That might have just been from the heatwave. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“Are you sure?” Denki eyed the cup of ice that the man crunched from again, and then slurped in the water once there was enough formed at the bottom. “There’s an ice cream guy a way over there, I could get you one if you want.”
The man bristled. “I’m not some charity case.”
“No, I know... it’s just...” You’re really cute, Denki had to literally bite his tongue from saying it. “Come on. It’ll help you cool off.”
“I told you: I’m fine. This heat is nothing.”
Denki glanced at the sunscreen on the guy’s forehead. It was streaking. “Are you sure?”
The man slurped the water in his cup of ice indignantly. “I’m fine,” he said. “I don’t need a hero.”
Forget trying to score a hottie (badum-tsh – heatwave humour), now Denki was just outright concerned. “I’m not a murderer or anything.”
“No, how could you be when you’re a guitarist?” The man leaned to the side. The book was closed in his lap; he was sitting cross-legged. “Filming a music video. How famous.” The lean made him wince and readjust himself on the bench.
With a thumb to his chest, Denki proclaimed, “Hey! I’ll have you know I kill on the axe.”
The guy scrunched up his nose. “Yeah, I can smell it.”
Denki’s expression couldn’t have fallen faster off of his face. “Hey, what the hell man?”
The big meanie laughed. It was quiet, into his hand, but Denki caught it.
He tried again. “We’re ‘A Band’. We’re pretty pop-punky so probably nothing you listen to.” He tried to discern the print of his hoodie, which had a cat on it, as the main theme for a metal-band joke. “But, hey, Pantera, right? I’ve heard good things about them.”
“Bread-temple?”
“What?”
“Pan-tera.”
Denki’s brain stopped working. It must have. He didn’t know what the hell this guy meant.
The guy asked, “What’s ‘Pantera’?”
“Your hoodie,” Denki said, “it’s for Pantera. The band.”
“Oh,” he said, looking down at the print and pushing his sunglasses up until they rested on his headband. Tired lilac eyes stared at the print some more. He looked back up and pulled his sunglasses back down. “I got it from a second-hand store because of the cat. I thought it was a parody shirt.”
“It is a parody shirt.”
“Right.”
“You’ve never heard of Pantera?”
“No. I’m trying to stay away from carbs.” Was this guy serious? “Plus, I don’t really like music all that much.”
Denki blinked, stupefied.
“I get that that’s weird,” the guy explained, “but I like peace and quiet. I didn’t say music was bad.”
“No, I got that. Okay, I admit,” Denki relented, reverting the subject back to the previous one, “the Axe thing was kind of funny.”
“Kch, only kind of?”
“But do you know what would be funnier?”
The man’s grin halved. “What?”
“Buying ice cream together.”
“You’re right,” he said, “that would be funny.”
“Hey, come on. You wanna go out or not?”
Any semblance of amusement fell from the guy’s whole face. He stared up at Denki with a look of sheer astonishment, eyes wide, corners of his mouth pulled downwards.
Ah, so that was a ‘not’, he just didn’t want to say it. “You know what? Hint taken, man, don’t worry about it. You should really get some water though. We have a cooler, you should come by,” he laughed, pointing over his shoulder at their filming area. “Well, I’ll see ya!”
“The hell took you so long, Dunce Face?” Bakugou growled. “We’re all burning up over here and you’re just—”
“Setting myself on fire, yeah,” Denki interrupted briskly. “He totally just rejected me. Can we move past it and get back to work?”
Bakugou ‘tch’ed, Jirou snorted, and Tokoyami and Yaomomo—the latter of which was now in a fresh shirt identical to the one before—both offered their condolences.
“The hell do you mean the guitarist said you could help yourself to our water?!”
It was so sudden that Denki nearly choked on the massive gulp he’d taken of his own. He turned, and there was that guy with the hoodie and purple hair. His glasses were hooked over the neck of his hoodie, under his chin, and his book was pushed awkwardly into the largest pocket his shorts had to offer. It had to be left open.
His eyes were purple like his hair—Denki had noticed that before—but he hadn’t noticed the dark rings under them before. Maybe the sun had waned them. He was in the shade now, with Bakugou, Kirishima (the cameraman, and one of their closest friends and resident old rock enthusiast), a pair of fold out chairs, and their ice box with all the bottles of water in.
“Oi, Dunce Face!”
Damnit.
“Chill out, Bakugou,” Kirishima muttered through gritted teeth.
“Heyyy,” Denki said on his way over. “You here for the water? Right over here, guy.” He rummaged in the cooler for the one closest to the bottom, as it would have been the coldest by now.
“Shinsou,” the guy in question said.
“What’s that?”
“My family name is Shinsou. My name is ‘Hitoshi Shinsou’.”
“Tch, you gotta be kidding me. Idiots, quit hogging the shade. If you want to stand around all day being stupid, do it anywhere else.”
“Fine by me. We were just about to get ice cream, anyway,” Shinsou replied.
Denki’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.
“Come on... uh...”
“Denki Kaminari,” Denki answered, a bit too quickly.
“Kaminari. You’re on break, right?”
“Sure. Yeah, uh, totally.”
“Then, let’s go.”
So they went. Shinsou’s sunscreen was completely gone, and Denki could tell his breathing was getting a little shallow.
“Why don’t you take the hoodie off? I’ll carry it for you.”
“No. I’m fine, I don’t have anything underneath it.”
Denki blurted out, “Then walk around shirtless.”
Shinsou said, “No. That worsens the problem.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t like people seeing my body. That’s why I came out in a hoodie. Worst decision of my life, but I have to go on a walk every Saturday, even if I just sit and read in the park, like today.”
Denki was struggling to wrap his head around it.
Shinsou changed the subject. “I didn’t realise you were asking me out. And when I did, I thought you were joking. No one’s asked me out in sincerity before. So... my bad.” He put a hand on the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry, I mean.”
“So, what? This is an apology, not a date?”
“It’s a date. A quick one before I head home out of this heat.”
“And will I be getting your number after this date?” Denki wiggled his eyebrows.
“If you behave.”
A jolt went through Denki’s whole body. “B-Behave?” he squeaked.
Shinsou hummed. He tried hiding it, but Denki caught a grin.
“Not that I can’t behave, because I can,” Denki announced, with determination, “but what happens if I don’t?”
“I call the authorities on you.”
Denki laughed, loudly and with a snort. He grabbed Shinsou by the arm and pressed the pair of them closer. “You’re funny.”
Shinsou stared at his held arm. “This doesn’t count as behaving.”
Denki frowned and eased up. They arrived at the queue for the ice cream van with space between them.
“I’m not allowed ice cream,” Shinsou said as they moved up in the line by one.
Denki was alarmed immediately. “How old are you?”
Shinsou stared at him, bewildered. “Twenty-four.”
“Oh.”
“No – twenty-five. I forget: my birthday just passed.”
“Hey, mine too! June twenty-ninth.”
“July first.”
“Wow, two days apart. That’s neat.”
“If you say so,” Shinsou shrugged. “Why did you ask?”
“Ask what?”
“For my age.”
“Age is important.”
“I don’t look younger,” Shinsou stated. “If anything, people tell me I look older these days. I think it’s from all the weight I’ve lost.”
Denki regarded him, then. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve lost weight. That’s why I’m not allowed ice cream. I’m on a strict diet.”
“But you’re not fat,” Denki retorted. “You look perfect, man, don’t listen to anything people tell you.”
For a moment, Shinsou just stared at him. Then he started to smile, amused. “No... but I used to be. That’s why I’m wearing a hoodie, and why I managed to stick it for so long. When comparing this to what I had to go through as a bigger guy in the heat, it’s a lot easier to just... I don’t know, stick it, I guess.”
Denki stayed quiet. “Sorry.”
“No, don’t be. You’re right, I’m not fat. And... thanks. No one’s called me perfect before.”
“Don’t mention it.” They reached the front of the queue. Denki said to the man waiting for their order, “I’m paying. Can I have a sugar cone with beni imo ice cream, sesame seeds, and kuromitsu, please. Shinsou, what do you want?”
Shinsou stood up straight at the mention of his name. “One cup of shaved ice, please.”
Denki pulled an appalled face. “No! What do you actually want? Pick a popsicle or an ice cream, come on, man. Treat yourself. It’s hot out. Don’t worry about the price, either. What do you want?” he asked, softer.
Shinsou worried his lip, casting a dubious look to the menu board in the window. “There’s only chocolate popsicles here.”
“Then—”
“Are there no sorbets?”
“I’m afraid not, sir,” said the man.
In reply, Shinsou hummed plaintively. “Then, can I have half a cup of yubari melon ice cream?”
“Sorry, we’ve just run out.”
Shinsou made a pained noise. “Half a cup of kinako ice cream?”
“Anything with it?” Denki probed. “Sauce, sprinkles? Come on, my treat.”
“Thanks for offering,” he said, “but no.”
Once Denki paid for their orders, he and Shinsou made their way to a nearby bench. Denki watched Shinsou watch his ice cream. “Hey, man, you good?”
“This is a cheat day,” Shinsou stated. “I don’t have cheat days, because they set me back. Tomorrow is going to be hell, all I’m going to crave is sugar.”
Denki looked at his order of yellow ice cream, half the size of Denki’s own set of swirls, without a cone or toppings, with doubt. “That’s the tiniest ice cream I think I’ve ever seen.”
“Yubari melon had less calories,” Shinsou grieved.
“Is it your favourite?”
“No.”
“Then what is?”
“I don’t eat them anymore, but the chocolate popsicles. And the chocolate soft serve. When I was a kid, I used to only go out during summer when I heard the ice cream truck, and buy as many as I could because my mom said she couldn’t find them in stores. I’d use all my allowance to sell the guy out and then eat them all in an hour.” It was said with a smile, but Denki’s mouth fell open. “I was out of control, honestly. If I can help it, I’m never going back to that place.”
Denki winced, choosing to tread carefully. “Being fat isn’t a bad thing.”
“Not on its own. But I was fat because I was depressed, and I was depressed because I was fat, and I had no one other than my mother and our cats for both of those reasons. So for me, as an individual, it was.” It was said with a sense of finality. Denki had no right to argue. Shinsou scraped a sliver of ice cream with his plastic spoon and smiled, with an element of nostalgia. “I haven’t had ice cream in years.”
“How long have you been losing weight?” Denki asked. There wasn’t much else to ask. It felt insensitive to switch the subject on Shinsou’s behalf.
“Since I was twenty-one. Maybe a bit before that. I’ve lost two-fifty.”
“POUNDS?!” Denki gawked.
“Maybe two-forty. I don’t know. I’m happy with the weight I’m at now.” Another small taste of ice cream, another smile. “It fluctuates a bit, though, even with diet and exercise.”
Denki couldn’t believe it. He whispered, mostly to himself, “Two-hundred-and-fifty pounds in four years. That’s – wild.”
“Mm,” Shinsou smiled, because of the ice cream. “I have to warn you, I have some loose skin. Not as much as you’d expect, though. It’s a gradual process. Building bulk in the gym helps.”
“Wow, tight gym routine. What else are you hiding under that hoodie?”
Shinsou frowned and pushed up one of his sleeves. Denki’s heart stopped. “No – not... Damnit, wipe that look off of your face. I’ve been fostering a litter of kittens. Their toes are too small to fit in the clippers I’ve got. They scrabble like crazy.” Shinsou pointed to a white, healed scar between the littering of newer, shallow scratches. The healed one was long and vertical in the centre of his inner forearm. “I hiked a cat over a wall a few years back to help it escape from a dog. It got me good.”
Wryly, Denki asked, “You like cats, I take it?”
“Cats are everything,” Shinsou confirmed.
“I like cats,” Denki agreed. “I like dogs, too.”
“Dogs aren’t my cup of tea. I mean, I don’t hate them, but... you know.”
“I get it.” Denki nodded. “So – uh –” He coughed awkwardly – “What made you want to lose the weight? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”
Shinsou sighed, placing his half-eaten cup beside him and standing with a wince. “One thing they really don’t tell you about losing weight is losing all the padding when you sit down. These benches kill.”
“Really? I don’t think so.”
“People say that all the time when I mention it. It has to be the way I’ve learnt how to sit. Ow.” He pulled the hem of his hoodie down over his behind as much as he could before sitting back down.
“I’ll have to give you a comfier thing to sit on, then.”
Shinsou sighed again. “You’re incorrigible.”
“What? Oh, not like that!” Denki groaned. “Like, my couch or something. My couch is super soft, I promise.”
“Well, at least now I know you’re not talking about your dick.”
“I hate you.”
“Not enough to avoid asking me on an impromptu date,” Shinsou pointed out.
“I hate you even more!”
“I definitely believe you. The feeling is mutual.”
Denki’s dramatics stopped dead in their tracks. “What?”
“Whatever your feelings are towards me, I feel towards you. The feelings are mutual.”
Denki baulked. Mental gymnastics. Right. “You hate me?”
“Only if you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” Denki clarified, quickly. “I like you a lot, actually.”
Shinsou hummed, tasting his ice cream again with another smile, this time brighter than before. “I’m glad.”
Denki watched him. His smile was beautiful. White teeth, straight enough in a way that was pleasant on the eyes, but slightly not straight in a way that gave him a bit of character. It kept Denki’s brain occupied. He could have stared at Shinsou’s teeth for hours.
“What?” Shinsou asked.
“Nothing. You’re just pretty.”
Shinsou choked on his final piece of ice cream.
Denki sat back, self-satisfied. He bit off more of his cone, half way through it. “Does this mean I behaved? Seeing as you like me so much.”
After his spluttering stopped, Shinsou grumbled, “I guess. You wore me down, that’s all.”
Denki beamed. “I’ll take it.”
Now Shinsou stared.
Now Denki asked, “What?”
“Nothing. I just feel like a damn sunflower.”
“Ohh, because of the sun?”
Shinsou went off to throw his spoon and empty cup in the trash without replying.
“Oh, look who fucking decided to show up!” Bakugou exclaimed, when Denki finally returned.
“Hey,” Jirou said, blithely. “How’d it go?”
Denki beamed. “You’re looking at a man who’s got a one way ticket to marriage-town.”
“Hah?!” Bakugou tilted his head.
“Kaminari, you’re incorrigible,” Yaomomo sighed.
Denki grinned. “That’s what he said.”
“I don’t get that one,” Jirou said.
“Ignore the idiot,” Bakugou commanded. “Let’s get back to filming this damn thing before we die.”
Denki complied, but not without casting a final glance to the purple hair leaving through the park gates. His phone chimed.
Good luck, sunflower, the message said, I’ll see you Sunday.
Denki grinned. Sure thing, Cat Stevens.
Who?
LMAO DW!
Denki was going to have so much fun with this guy.