The moment Denki and Jiro stepped out of his room, the air shifted. Like a trap had been set.
And then—
"MORNING, LOVEBUGS!" Mina squealed, practically teleporting in front of them.
"DENKI'S HOODIE?!" Yaoyorozu gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
"I KNEW IT," Ashido hissed triumphantly.
Before Jiro could even blink, she was swarmed. Mina latched onto her arm like a caffeinated koala, Yaoyorozu was peppering her with soft, extremely polite questions, and Hagakure's disembodied voice giggled somewhere near her ear, "How far did you get? Be honest!"
Denki, meanwhile, went wide-eyed as Jiro was sucked into the girl-vortex, and made one heroic decision:
Run.
"OKAY BYE I'LL JUST—NEED—TOOTHPASTE—" he wheezed, ducking around the corner at record speed.
(Courtyard – 3 Minutes Later)
Denki was panting, hands on knees, trying to summon the strength to teleport through embarrassment.
And then—
"Midoriya said you bolted."
Denki looked up. Aizawa. Coffee in hand. Hair low. Eyebrows already raised.
"Wait—I can explain!" Denki stammered, waving his hands like an airport marshaller.
"I don't need—"
"We didn't do anything! I swear! I mean, she stayed over, yeah, but—we were fully clothed—like, hoodie-clothed—and I slept under the blanket, she was on the blanket, totally above-board. ZERO funny business!"
Aizawa just sipped his coffee. Silently.
Denki kept going. "I—I want to wait anyway! For all that stuff, you know? Not because I'm a prude—well maybe a little—but it's also like, you know, emotionally significant and all that. So like—definitely not happening in high school. Probably not even in college. Maybe like post-agency, pre-pension? And plus—I love her! Not like—that love her, but also... that. But not in a—"
"Denki," Aizawa interrupted, deadpan.
"Y-Yeah?"
"I believed you the first time."
Denki blinked.
"Oh."
A pause.
"You sure? Because I also had socks on the whole night and—"
"Go get breakfast," Aizawa muttered, walking away.
"RIGHT! Yes. Food. Thank you. For... not expelling me."
Aizawa didn't respond. But Denki swore, as he turned the corner, he saw the faintest, faintest smile tug at the corner of his mouth.
Denki had barely survived his Aizawa Encounter™ with his dignity mostly intact when he walked into the common room...
And stopped.
Dead.
Everyone was already there.
Hagakure whispering behind her hands, Mina dramatically reenacting the "morning discovery" using plushies, and Bakugo—arms crossed, face neutral, but his smirk? That thing had a gravitational field.
Across the room, Sero leaned on the couch, sipping his third juice box of the morning like he was watching reality TV unfold in real time.
Denki edged backward like a cartoon criminal trying not to trigger an alarm.
But too late.
"DENKIIIIII~" Mina sang out, grinning like a cat with a megaphone. "Care to explain why Jiro was WEARING YOUR CLOTHES?"
Gasps. Mock swoons. Kirishima burying his face in his hands in secondhand embarrassment.
Jiro bolted in a second later, hoodie still on, cheeks bright red, looking like she wanted to phase through the floor.
"Oh my GOD," she whispered. "They saw the hoodie."
"I told you to change," Denki hissed, half-laughing, half-dying inside.
"It's COMFY."
The room erupted.
Uraraka clapped a hand over her mouth. Iida choked on tea. Midoriya started taking notes about healthy relationship development. Sero was trying to put a filter on the photo.
"Okay—OKAY, time out!" Denki cried, waving his arms like he was at a traffic stop. "Can I just say, for the record, that we literally just slept—slept slept and also, I'm waiting for marriage?!"
Everyone paused.
Bakugo turned slowly.
Jiro looked like she could implode.
"You're WHAT?" Mina cackled. "Did we time-travel to a fantasy novel?!"
"I'm romantic!" Denki defended, turning pinker by the second. "It's about emotional pacing! And stability! And, y'know, meaningful build-up!"
"You're so dramatic," Jiro muttered, dragging a hand down her face.
Denki beamed at her. "You love that about me."
She glared—but her ears turned pink.
The common room was pandemonium.
Denki had retreated behind a pillow fortress on the couch. Jiro looked like she was debating whether disappearing through the floor or setting it on fire would be more effective. Mina was practically on a press tour, running a full Q&A titled "Denki + Jiro: Breakfast in Bed or Just the Hoodie?"
Kirishima was the only one trying to call for calm—and failing.
Bakugo? Still smirking. Arms crossed. Enjoying every second like a shark who smelled emotional blood.
And just as Mina launched into her fifth reenactment of "The Morning Discovery," complete with badly impersonated voices—
The air shifted.
Every student in 1-A knew that presence. That aura. That spine-tingling hush that could silence full-blown explosions.
Aizawa.
He walked in, coffee in one hand, hair a mess, eyes scanning the room with that signature blend of exhaustion and barely-contained judgment. He paused just inside the doorway, taking it all in—Denki's blush, Jiro's hide-in-hoodie posture, Mina on the coffee table like she was hosting a talk show.
He said nothing.
He sipped his coffee.
And in that moment, Denki died a thousand deaths inside.
"Aizawa!" he blurted. "We didn't—! I mean—it's not—We slept! Like sleep sleep! Under covers, OVER covers—Jiro had my hoodie on but only because—!"
Aizawa sighs, didn't he just say to him, he already believed him?
"I'm wearing socks!" Jiro added suddenly, as if that cleared anything up.
Mina turned dramatically. "Tell them, Aizawa. Tell them love is real—"
Aizawa blinked once.
"I give you all ten minutes unsupervised and this is what I walk into?"
Denki opened his mouth to defend himself again.
Aizawa raised a single hand.
Silence. Instantly. Sero dropped his phone.
"I don't care what happened," Aizawa said in a flat voice that somehow managed to send chills through the floorboards. "But if I hear one more unsanctioned fanfiction performance* before I've finished my coffee, I will assign drills. Outside. In the rain."
Mina gasped audibly. "You wouldn't."
"I would."
Dead quiet. Like a switch had been flipped.
Denki slowly peeked up from behind the pillow. "...So we're not in trouble?"
Aizawa stared at him. "You're not. Yet."
Jiro tugged the hoodie drawstring tighter over her face.
Aizawa turned on his heel, muttering something about "teenagers and drama and hoodies being the new promise ring" as he disappeared down the hall.
Denki finally exhaled.
"...I think he likes us."
Bakugo snorted. "He tolerated you. That's basically affection."
And just like that, the teasing resumed—but quieter.
Because Aizawa had spoken.
And nobody wanted to train in a thunderstorm.
(After)
The thunder rolled again outside, a low growl that rattled the windows and made the whole dorm feel smaller somehow. Rain tapped steady against the glass, and the chaotic energy from the morning had finally burned itself out—leaving behind a rare moment of stillness.
Mina slumped onto the couch beside Kirishima, her usual spark slightly dimmed, bundled up in a yellow blanket that looked like it used to be Pikachu-themed. Her hair was still damp at the tips from sprinting between rooms during the gossip storm, and she let out a long, dramatic sigh.
"I think I burned through a week's worth of serotonin making fun of Jiro," she muttered.
Kirishima gave a small chuckle, arms folded behind his head as he leaned against the cushions beside her. "Yeah, it was... a lot."
Mina peered up at him. "You're not mad, right? I mean, I had to—we found them like that!"
He gave her a half-smile. "Not mad. Just…" He turned his head toward the ceiling for a second, like he was choosing his words carefully. "Can I ask you not to do that again?"
Mina blinked. "What? Tease them?"
Kirishima looked at her, expression softer now. "No. I mean, don't assume it's okay to go shouting to the whole dorm. Even if it looked like a big deal. 'Cause... it wasn't just their moment, y'know?"
Her eyes searched his face. "Kiri...?"
He scratched the back of his neck, just a little flushed. "We—uh. We almost did more than just sleep, that one night. Remember? The….sleepover?"
Mina sat up straighter, surprise flickering across her face. "Wait, what?"
"Yeah," he said, voice lower now. Not ashamed—just honest. "We both kind of pulled away. Realized it wasn't time yet. But it could've been. Easily."
She stared for a beat, and then gave him a much quieter nod than usual. "Oh."
Kirishima's smile was faint but warm. "We made a choice together. And I'm glad. But it made me think—you never really know what two people are carrying."
Mina's gaze dropped. "I just got excited, you know? I wasn't trying to—"
"I know," he cut in gently. "I do know. And you were being you. But still... maybe next time, let the moment stay with the people who lived it."
Mina didn't reply right away. Then she sighed, dropping her head to his shoulder. "You're annoyingly wise sometimes."
"Only sometimes?"
She chuckled. "Shut up."
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the rain drum like steady applause against the windows. Softer now. Not for drama.
Just... real life.
(Denki POV)
Rain tapped across the rooftop tiles like a steady rhythm no one else could hear. Most of Class 1-A had scattered—some to study lounges, others into nap comas—but Denki had managed to sneak away. His hoodie was dry again, his hair less chaotic, and for the first time in forever, the air around him felt... still.
He sat on the rooftop ledge, legs tucked up, earbuds dangling in his lap. Just... breathing.
The door creaked open behind him.
"Should've known you'd be up here," Jiro said, stepping out into the gray light, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her palms.
Denki turned, grinning sheepishly. "Is it that obvious?"
Jiro shrugged, walking over and sitting next to him. "You always go quiet when your brain's too loud."
He smiled at the accuracy. "You know me too well."
They sat in silence for a moment, watching clouds roll past like slow, sleepy giants. Below them, the school was alive—but up here, it was just the two of them.
"I was thinking about earlier," Denki murmured. "How fast things blew up. How we went from surviving a storm to becoming the Class 1-A headline."
Jiro groaned. "Please don't remind me. If Mina starts calling me 'Mrs. Chargebolt' one more time..."
Denki chuckled. Then his voice softened. "Honestly? I kinda didn't mind it. Not all of it."
She glanced over.
He looked a little vulnerable. A little radiant.
"I mean," he said quickly, eyes on the horizon, "not the screaming. Or the hoodie thing. But the part where... I get to be yours. Out loud. Even if it's messy."
Jiro didn't speak right away.
Then she leaned in, bumping her shoulder gently into his.
"You're already mine," she said. "Whether it's whispered or shouted or completely misinterpreted by half the dorm."
Denki flushed.
Rain tapped gently on the edge of the roof.
And for once... neither of them felt the need to fill the silence.
Because it wasn't empty.
It was theirs.
The rooftop was still.
Jiro had drifted to sleep sometime after the last thunderclap, her head resting gently on Denki's shoulder, her breath slow and steady against his collarbone.
And Denki—he just sat there.
Eyes open. Heart full. Mind loud.
The storm outside had softened, but inside?
It hadn't stopped.
He stared out at the gray skyline, the flicker of raindrops catching the light. Everything was quiet.
Exactly like that moment.
The silence in the hospital.
The machines. The white.
The faint beep-beep-beep that was too slow, too fragile.
The stillness right before the pain came back.
He could still feel it.
And he hated how that silence followed him. Lurking in corners. Slipping into conversations. Creeping into jokes he cracked too fast, and the smiles that came too easy.
Jiro murmured something in her sleep and curled closer.
He didn't move.
He wanted to tell her. To tell someone. That it still hurt. That the memory didn't just sting, it stayed. That some nights, when the lights were off and his phone was quiet, it felt like he'd been left behind in that room again, pulse faint and nothing left to say.
But they were hurting too. The Bakusquad. Jiro. All of them.
He couldn't unload his weight onto people already carrying their own. That wasn't fair. He was the one who made people laugh. The one who bounced back. The one who survived.
So he smiled. Acted fine. Let them believe it wasn't heavy anymore.
But yesterday…
Aizawa had seen it.
Had sat with him, not as a pro hero or teacher, but as someone who understood what it meant to carry pain alone.
Denki swallowed hard.
"I didn't say thank you," he whispered, barely audible. "Not really."
Jiro stirred, but didn't wake.
He let his fingers drift across hers.
"I should've said it. I should've told him what it meant—to have someone stay. Someone who didn't look away."
A beat.
"I'll tell him. Tomorrow. I'll… try."
He turned his head, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Jiro's hair. She relaxed under his touch.
And for the first time since the hospital, Denki didn't feel like the silence was winning.
He was still here.
And tomorrow—he'd speak the words that had been sitting in his chest like lightning waiting to strike.