Chapter Text
Kirishima wouldn’t necessarily call himself a bad student, but not a good one either.
For all of their first year, he rode somewhere along the middle academically. Sometimes he’d fall flat and end up in the bottom half of the class, others he’d make it as high as fifth! There was nothing wrong with his studying or his memory, he really just chalked it up to being a bad tester, and for the most part he was cool with that. If he was passing, then it was fine! He didn’t need to be some genius or total whiz with a textbook; he knew his own worth and could accept his academic standing with a personal sense of pride.
It wasn’t the same for others though, it appeared.
Kirishima laid on his bed after a shower, decked in his favorite shorts and hoodie, his switch flashing gameplay of cute little technicolor animals on an abandoned island he was now (for some reason) in charge of. Biting his lip with annoyance as a familiar brown and blue bastard asked him yet again for money, he was startled out of his disdain for the fictional world’s capitalism by a hesitant knock at his door. He shot a quick glance to his muscle clock, noting it was pretty late at night-almost midnight. Not many other people were up this late (most certainly not Bakugou, who would turn the unexpected guest at Kirishima’s door into ash unless he got up soon to let them in).
“Coming, hold on,” the redhead called out quietly, pausing his game.
With a soft pop to his back the redhead shuffled over to his door, his mild exhaustion being replaced with curiosity and slight concern. Could you blame him, though? The past year or so with his class proved to him and everyone else that if you had problems, you sought out Kirishima. You needed a pick-me-up? You looked for red hair and shark teeth. Tickets aside, Kirishima was the resident ESR (Emotional Support Rock) and it wasn’t unusual for people to come to his dorm for comfort or advice.
He gently gripped the brass handle of his door and opened it, a gentle question on his tongue quickly dying the second he saw frantic golden eyes and shaking, staticky fingers gripping a red piece of paper in them like their life depended on it.
“Hi,” the visitor-Kaminari-warbled out.
Gods, he looked awful. Heavy bags under red-rimmed eyes, cheeks stained with dried tears alongside fresher ones, his mouth turned down into a panicked frown (the kind you make when you’re trying so hard not to cry, but are one small inconvenience away from breaking).
Kirishima’s heart damn near stopped in his chest, the familiar icy fist of worry coiling around his vital organs and squeezing.
“Kami? What’s wrong?” The redhead asked softly, not wanting to upset the boy more.
“I-I, I just-take this, please just take it-“ Kaminari begged, his sparking fingers pressing the damp and singed ticket into Kirishima’s palm with a desperation he hadn’t seen from the other boy before.
Something wasn’t right.
“Denki, hey, calm down for a second-“
“ Please Kirishima , I need help. I don’t want to be alone-I’ll use this! I’ll use my ticket, p-please let me use my ticket-I need-“
The blonde was nearly hyperventilating, shaking and sweating in his hallway at nearly 12 AM. Kirishima roughly stuffed the paper in his hoodie pocket and dragged Kaminari into his chest, hardening just a bit where the blonde dug his fingers into his chest to avoid the minor shocks.
“Dude-I don’t care about the ticket . I care about you,” he whispered firmly, cradling the back of Kaminari’s head like if he let go, the boy would shatter in his arms and he’d never be able to piece him together again.
“Come here, man. Let’s get you out of the hallway. I’ve got you, ok? I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
He gently took a couple steps backward, Kaminari stumbling after him while still pressed firmly into his chest, the redhead’s socked foot closing the door with mild effort.
Seeing the blonde like this was, for lack of a better term, downright terrifying. Kirishima was no idiot; he saw the dark clouds in Kaminari’s eyes sometimes. He recognized them from his own mirror-the inky swirls that made smiles just barely meet the eyes. The kind that had those same smiles dropping the second nobody was looking. He’d try his hardest to be supportive when he saw the seed of doubt begin to grow in the usually chipper blonde, but somehow he missed these. These little seeds that had grown into wild, raging vines, choking out the rest of the flora in Kaminari’s mental garden.
His grip tightened on the damp material of Kaminari’s shirt.
“Breathe, buddy. Follow my lead ok? Just focus on breathing, try and match it.”
Kaminari whimpered but nodded, attempting a few choked breaths before Kirishima slowly inhaled, held it, then exhaled. In for four, hold for five, out for six. It was a method his therapist had taught him; his nightmares and self-loathing had taken a dangerous turn after his fight with Rappa, and Fatgum damn near dragged him to a local Hero therapist outside of the school. An “unbiased” opinion and source for help. She had shown him this breathing method that he implemented for himself whenever his panic grew too great-and now, it was his turn to pass on the knowledge.
“There we go,” he spoke softly, inhaling and holding his own breath once more, running a gentle hand across Kaminari’s shaking shoulders.
Upon his exhale, he took a couple more steps back until they both reached his bed. His grip on the blonde never wavered, nose still tucked firmly into Kaminari’s hairline, muttering soft reassurances between bouts of measured breathing.
Kaminari’s stuttered staccato had begun to calm down, his breaths no longer catching in his lungs and ripping rough, panicked exhales from his throat, but he was still noticeably panicked.
“You’re doing great, Kami. Here,” the redhead tugged on Kaminari’s sleeves gently, sitting down on his bed. Golden eyes stared back at him, brimming with tears that made his own begin to bubble.
Damn him and his sympathy-crying.
“Come sit with me. We can try talking in a bit-gotta get you to calm down.”
“M-m not-“ the blonde wheezed, his jaw set in what Kirishima couldn’t decide between was frustration or embarrassment. Either way, it wasn’t good.
“This is s-stupid-I’m a hero-“
“Heroes need help too, Denks. Don’t try to be some tough guy now-that’s not like you. Sit down and breathe for me, ok?”
The blonde stayed standing for a moment, eyes squeezing shut and letting loose a whole new barrage of tears. Kirishima knew what was going on in that head. Such nasty words, all directed at the blonde himself: worthless, pathetic, stupid, weak. The sturdy hero knew them all far too well, and he’d be damned if he let his friend deal with it alone, or worse, believe it.
His grip on Kaminari’s sleeve drifted down to still-sparking hands, hardened fingers carefully intertwining with them. He raised those trembling hands to his face, blowing gentle puffs of air across the knuckles before nestling his forehead against them. He hoped it was soothing; his moms did this for him as a little kid, and maybe it wouldn’t work on a teenager like it did for a toddler, but it was worth a shot.
“W-what, what are you doing?” Kaminari asked, and with a small spark of pride, Kirishima noticed the lessening raspiness of his tone. The growing lucidity. The lack of panic.
He smiled, all tooth and gum.
“Distracting you.”
He tugged until Kaminari stumbled and fell against him, their legs clashing in an awkward tangle, Kirishima having fallen flat on his back with Kaminari half-across him and half on the bed. It punched a surprised yelp from the blonde, a grumbling whine muffled into Kirishima’s chest, but Gods was it better than the panicked whimpers. The cries. Kirishima would take his annoyed grumbling any day over those.
With a warm, flat palm, Kirishima rubbed slowly up Kaminari’s back until his fingers met silky soft hair, twisting gently into the strands until he was secured down to the roots. His thumb tenderly stroked small circles into Kaminari’s scalp, trying to pull the blonde’s attention back toward him.
“C’mon, let’s get more comfy, and we can talk. Or we can just lay here for a bit-it’s up to you.”
Kaminari looked up from his pillow (read: Kirishima’s chest) and worried at his lip with his teeth, confliction clear as day on his tear-stained face. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it quickly after, words lodging in his throat like a thick ball of tar.
The redhead simply nodded and rolled them to their sides so they were aligned with the actual pillows and flow of the bed, Kaminari getting tucked up into each divot and curve of Kirishima’s frame.
“Don’t gotta talk unless you’re ready. But I mean it, Denks.”
Kirishima nuzzled his cheek against Kaminari’s forehead, lacing his words with a warm and saccharine affection, a hand coming up to stroke gentle circles below Kaminari’s ear.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m always gonna be right here.”
It was only then that Kaminari fully allowed himself to relax, tucking his nose close against Kirishima’s skin, his breaths tickling where they fanned out past the collar of Kirishima’s hoodie. Distantly, the redhead was aware of the game music coming from his switch, the device lost amongst the twisted sheets and blankets (honestly, it probably fell between the wall and the bed). The soft music was somehow both soothing and hilarious; the cute little tinkling of bells and woodwinds after such an emotional experience making a soft giggle bubble in his chest.
Kaminari peeked up at him as the rumble began to intensify, his red-rimmed eyes bleary but more focused than before.
“What’s so funny?” He groaned.
Kirishima merely shrugged and held him tighter, running his fingers along the nape of the blonde’s neck.
“Nothin’, I think I’m just tired,” he snickered, turning his attention away from the Crimson Riot theme music of his town theme to smile down at the blonde against him.
“You feeling any better?”
Kaminari shrugged, letting his cheek fall heavily onto Kirishima’s chest again. His breathing was steady, the redhead noticed, and his hands had stopped shaking but there was still this underlying darkness about him. That thought made Kirishima tuck him a little closer.
“I’m kind of embarrassed, honestly?” Kaminari sighed, his eyes refusing to meet Kirishima’s.
“I like, totally freaked dude. I don’t even know what set it off-one second I’m in my room doing homework, and the next I’m at your door sobbing. I feel like I’m going crazy.”
“Hey, you’re not crazy,” Kirishima replied, scooting down so that the blonde couldn’t avoid his gaze anymore.
He took sticky cheeks in hand, letting one thumb run over damp blonde lashes. They probably looked so silly like this; curled up into fetal positions, knees pressed tight together with barely two inches of space between their faces. Kirishima could count the tiny, barely-there freckles on Kaminari’s cheeks from how close they were. Could see the flecks of blue that were hidden deep between bands of gold in his eyes, only made more noticeable by the low-light in the room and the persistent sheen of tears.
The redhead knocked their foreheads together with a small sigh, his hands migrating to clutch Kaminari’s shoulders.
“You’re not crazy. And it’s not embarrassing either, ok? Dude, you’re my best bro, I’d expect you to find me if something was wrong!”
“Yeah, but, I scared you man. I…I scared myself.”
Kaminari’s voice dropped to a whimper, his knuckles turning white where they gripped Kirishima’s hoodie, distorting the familiar friendly face of Crimson Riot.
“I’ve never, I mean, I’ve had panic attacks before but-never like that. I didn’t feel like I was in my own body-“
“Those are the scariest, man,” Kirishima agreed, choosing not to comment on the surprised look he received in return.
His history with self-doubt was no secret to his friends, of whom he’d confided in many times before about it, but he wasn’t very vocal about the rest of his struggles. The little orange pill bottles hidden beneath his underwear for his panic disorder were between him and his psychiatrist.
“Feels like you’re kinda watching from the sidelines yeah?” He continued, his smile soft and friendly as Kaminari slowly nodded.
“You’re not alone in this, Denks. I’m pretty sure every hero with a conscience goes through some nasty stuff mentally. It’s kinda part of the gig.”
“Yeah, but…but it wasn’t even over anything bad like that. I-“
The blonde bit his lip hard, his fists clenching red fabric into a death grip. His breathing had begun to pick up again, causing Kirishima to pull him closer and pry those clenched hands away to lay on his chest. A soft utterance of “breathe” left his lips in a hushed whisper as he ran soothing circles into the jut of the blonde’s knuckles with his thumbs.
“I feel so stupid, Kiri. My grades suck, I can never pay attention-“ Kaminari sniffled, his voice turning gummy once again.
“I’m a failure. I can never keep up in training, I’m so bad at testing it’s not even funny , and-and everyone thinks I’m an idiot!”
“Denki, hey, It’s ok. Deep breaths for me, man.”
Kirishima’s heart ached at the vitriol that poured from his friend’s mouth; all the same thoughts he often had about himself, now manifesting in the mind and body of someone he loved more than anything. He knew Kaminari wasn’t stupid-they all did! Nobody called him an idiot anymore, not after a freak accident a few months prior that resulted in Kaminari admitting that it really wasn’t funny when they’d laugh at him or call him stupid when he was fried out from his Quirk.
The jokes swiftly died after that.
But to know Kaminari still thought that way about himself? That he saw so little in himself, had no faith in his own capabilities-it made Kirishima want to cry for him. Almost as much as it made him want to bash the truth into his skull.
“I promise, Denks, nobody thinks you’re stupid. And if someone says that to you, just let us know,” Kirishima joked lightly, flexing one of his arms and hardening it a bit.
“They kinda do, though,” the blonde replied, his tone dripping in misery and (far more worrisome) acceptance.
Kirishima’s brows furrowed as he wracked his brain for anything his classmates or, Gods forbid, he himself had said or done to make Kaminari feel this way.
A misplaced joke? A look or smile that had been perceived as malicious? A misunderstanding? He did his very best to make everyone (Kaminari included) feel respected around him, often telling others to back off when their teasing bordered a little too close to the side of mean rather than playful. He encouraged everyone around him when grades came back and his friends were disappointed in their scores. Did he slip up somewhere along the line? Had his encouragement turned sour, making Kaminari think that he pitied him? That he expected less from him? The very idea of it all made his stomach flip and twist, his throat growing tight.
But more than that, he felt a flare of anger spark in his chest-a spark he didn’t like to feed into. One he preferred to keep at bay, locked deep inside and doused with bucket after bucket of placations and excuses for things that pissed him off. An unhealthy tactic, sure, but one he clung to like a lifeline.
“Who?” He rumbled, keeping golden eyes locked onto his own, “Who says you’re stupid? Not implying, not assuming-who said that?”
Kaminari blanched for a moment, as if not expecting the seriousness of Kirishima’s tone, before deflating slightly. He picked at his already torn up cuticles, the skin around his nails pink and ragged from biting.
“...Nobody. Sometimes the Gen students or an asshole 3rd Year gives me grief, but…” the blonde muttered, soothing the heat in Kirishima’s chest. Only by a fraction though; he’d need the information of those kids.
“But?”
“But it feels like they think I’m stupid, and when it feels like everyone thinks you’re a moron and will never take you seriously, it’s hard to think otherwise.”
Kirishima sighed-not unkindly, but the sadness in that one exhale was enough to make the blonde curl in on himself more, his chipped paint-covered nails scratching at the frayed fabric of Kirishima’s hoodie.
“Listen to me, Denks. I’ll say it as many times as you need, but you really gotta listen.”
Sitting up, Kirishima pulled Kaminari up with him and tucked him into his side, their ribs pressed tight together. They had almost interwoven themselves that way, with Kaminari’s heartbeat so loud and prominent that the redhead could hear it in his own rib cage. It would have been soothing if not for the way the blonde’s heart hiccuped, the overwhelming anxiety and self-doubt almost tangible in each little stuttered beat. Kirishima felt that anguish as if it were his own heart thrumming sadly.
He let Kaminari’s head fall limply onto his shoulder, one hand used to balance their combined weight on the bed, the other playing with the little black lightning bolt (of which was natural, he was shocked to learn…heh, shocked) until it was illegible as one before smoothing it back to its intended shape.
“You’re smart, and I’m not just saying that because I’m your best bro, or to make you feel better. You’re really friggin’ smart.”
Kaminari grumbled as if to argue, but promptly shut up when Kirishima pinched at his cheek, ruby red eyes both playful and serious as the plague.
“I mean it! Dude, you have a whole library in your room of books-half of which, might I remind you, are in English. You speak four languages! You have the highest grade out of the whole class in English, you know the ins and outs of electricity that could probably rival some scientists-”
Kirishima stopped himself with a soft, incredulous laugh, tightening his hold on his best friend.
“Your brains don’t just stop with academics, either. I love hearing you talk about music; I don’t understand half the stuff you day but I know you know what you’re talking about, and it's incredible. I don’t care if you don’t understand the homework sometimes or have issues with testing-because I’m right in that boat with you, bro-you’re so smart. Intellectually, emotionally, artistically-you’re one big brainiac.”
He shot the boy a smile, the very same boy who’s eyes had begun to swell with tears-much happier tears, he hoped.
“Y’know what else?” He asked gently.
“What?”
“Even our Top 3 think so. Do you know how much Momo raves about your classical literature knowledge? I heard her talking about setting up a book club if we ever have time because you inspired her to do so. Iida? He takes notes whenever you go off about electrical engineering and weather patterns. You inspire people, Denks. Me, our friends, the whole class.”
Kirishima pulled Kaminari into a tight hug, his lips finding the electric boy’s temple and peppering it with (very manly) kisses. He chose to ignore the way Kaminari’s shoulders shook with fresh sobs, nor the way his hands sparked against his back to the point he could smell slightly singed polyester. It didn’t matter-not when the blonde was finally starting to see just how loved and understood he was. How everyone really did look up to him as more than just a class clown or comedic relief.
How he managed the light up the room he walked in, and not just because of his Quirk.
“We love you, Denki,” the redhead muttered fervently against Kaminari’s skin, squeezing him hard enough that he could feel joints creak and pop-but neither boy was complaining.
“ I love you. So, so much, man.”
“That’s gay,” Kaminari sniffled, giggling wetly when Kirishima gently swatted the back of his head.
“Pot, meet kettle. I’m trying to have a moment with my bro. A very manly moment. A bro-ment.”
“ Please stop talking.”
The two snickered, delirious with lack of sleep and an onslaught of emotions. Kirishima shuffled back into his pillows and patted his chest, signaling for the blonde to cuddle up for the night. They’d probably get shit for it from Aizawa, but with the amount of sleepovers all the students had with each other, the old man was probably used to it enough to not actually care. He only gave them grief for appearances; Kirishima had seen his eye twitch exactly once the last time the redhead had slept in Mina’s room, but that was about it in terms of reprimanding them for breaking rules.
Surely he’d understand such an emergency.
Kaminari flung himself onto Kirishima’s chest after shedding his shirt, of which was nearly dripping with sweat, shrugging on one of the redhead’s spare hoodies. He tucked himself into the crevice of Kirishima’s armpit and side, sighing dramatically with a little wiggle before finally settling down.
“Wanna watch something?” The redhead asked, finally fishing his discarded switch from between the wall and the bed, quickly saving the game before setting it on his side table to charge.
Kaminari shrugged, resting his head against the redhead’s chest with a yawn. He scrunched his nose when Kirishima gently kissed his forehead, faking a gag that earned him a pinch to the cheek.
“Nah, I’m beat. Thank fuck we don’t have classes tomorrow; I’m sleeping in. Deal with it.”
The redhead was inclined to agree, suddenly feeling just how truly tired he was now that the adrenaline had finally left his body. Switching off his side lamp and dimming his LEDs to a soft, cozy orange, the redhead wrapped an arm around Kaminari’s shoulders and held him close, letting his cheek rest atop blonde hair.
“Fair enough, man,” he sighed, eyes already beginning to slip closed, his consciousness turning dark and frayed at the edges. With one more manly smooch to Kaminari’s head, Kirishima pulled the blankets over the both of them, a soft “good night” slurring from his lips.
“Goodnight, Ei. Thanks again, for everything.”
“‘Course, Denks.”
As the two drifted off to sleep, Kirishima idly thumbed at the little slip of paper that sat crumpled and torn in his pocket, a warm fuzzy feeling overtaking his chest. As nice as the tickets were, and as ingrained into all of their daily lives as the little sheets of paper had been, Kirishima could only hope that once they were all used up that his friends would still treat him and his company as if those tickets were limitless. To be sought out and openly loved as he so desperately craved to be.
With the smell of ozone and lemons furling around him and an armful of his best bro, Kirishima sent up a silent wish to whoever was listening that this closeness-with everyone-would last a lifetime.