Chapter Text
The dorms at U.A. were alive with the usual evening noise—laughter spilling out of common rooms, the faint thud of footsteps racing down halls, and the occasional explosion from Bakugō’s room that nobody even bothered commenting on anymore. Kaminari Denki sat slouched across the couch in the lounge, controllers scattered around the coffee table. He grinned ear to ear, hair sticking up in every direction from static, as he tried to bait someone into joining his latest game.
“C’mon, guys! Nobody wants to face me? You’re all just scared of losing to the champ.” He waved the controller dramatically, striking a mock-hero pose.
From the corner, Shinsō Hitoshi leaned against the wall with his usual half-lidded stare, watching Kaminari’s antics with the quiet patience of someone who had already seen enough of this nonsense to last a lifetime. He hadn’t even been in the dorms that long—transfer student status still clung to him like a second skin—but he’d quickly realized Denki Kaminari was impossible to ignore.
“Champ of what?” Shinsō finally asked, voice low and even. “Short-circuiting before you even finish a match?”
A ripple of laughter moved through the room, and Kaminari’s grin faltered for half a second. He pointed at Shinsō with mock outrage. “Hey! That’s not fair. I can handle myself just fine.”
Shinsō raised a brow. “Sure you can.”
The jab was simple, almost lazy, but Kaminari felt it like a spark straight to his chest. He should’ve laughed it off—hell, normally he would—but the way Shinsō was staring at him, calm and deliberate, made his throat feel dry. There was something unnerving about the guy. Something heavy in the air when those violet eyes locked on you, like he was peeling you apart with a look.
“Don’t give me that scary villain vibe, man,” Kaminari joked, forcing a laugh. “We’re supposed to be on the same team now.”
“I don’t do vibes,” Shinsō replied. His tone didn’t change, but Kaminari swore he saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—half amusement, half challenge.
The room carried on, Mina dragging Sero into playing doubles with Kaminari just to fill the space. But Kaminari couldn’t quite shake the weight of Shinsō’s stare. He kept sneaking glances across the lounge, pretending to be focused on the screen, but his thoughts buzzed louder than the game’s soundtrack.
Why was Shinsō looking at him like that? Like he knew something Kaminari didn’t?
When the match ended (and, okay, maybe Kaminari did lose embarrassingly fast), most of the group scattered. Curfew was coming, and Mina had decided it was karaoke night upstairs whether people wanted it or not. Kaminari flopped backward against the couch, groaning, while Shinsō stayed right where he was, arms crossed.
“You didn’t even try,” Shinsō said.
Kaminari tilted his head, grinning again, though it felt shakier than before. “Nah, I was just going easy on them. Can’t crush all their hopes and dreams at once, y’know?”
“You’re full of excuses.” Shinsō’s voice was calm—too calm. Not teasing in the loud, obvious way his friends usually were. It was quieter, sharper. The kind of thing that made Kaminari squirm without even realizing why.
“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m a very respectable opponent.”
Shinsō pushed off the wall and walked closer. Kaminari felt his breath hitch before he could stop it. The lounge felt smaller with Shinsō standing over him, shadows stretching long across the room.
“You’re noisy,” Shinsō said.
Kaminari blinked. “Uh… thanks?”
“Not a compliment.”
Something in Kaminari wanted to snap back, to make another joke, but the words stuck in his throat. Shinsō’s gaze pinned him in place, heavy and deliberate, like Kaminari had just been caught in the middle of something he shouldn’t be doing.
“I think you hide behind it,” Shinsō continued. His tone was unreadable—not mean, not kind, just… assessing. “The jokes. The noise. Keeps people from looking too close.”
Kaminari swallowed. His cheeks felt hotter than he wanted to admit, and not just from embarrassment. “What are you, my therapist now?”
Shinsō leaned down, just enough that his voice was only for Kaminari. “Maybe.”
For a long second, Kaminari forgot how to breathe. He tried to laugh it off, shaking his head quickly and waving his hands. “Man, you really know how to kill a mood. You’re seriously intense, you know that?”
“Better than being a joke.”
That one stung, and Kaminari winced. He knew Shinsō didn’t say it cruelly—it was too measured for that—but it landed deep anyway. He tried to fire back, tried to pull up that easy grin, but all that came out was a softer voice than he intended.
“Guess we’re both trying to prove something, huh?”
For the first time that night, Shinsō’s expression shifted. A flicker of recognition. Maybe even respect. He straightened, stepping back just enough to let Kaminari breathe again.
“Maybe.”
And just like that, he turned toward the hallway, leaving Kaminari slouched on the couch with his heart pounding in his ears.
Kaminari scrubbed his hands through his hair, sparks snapping at his fingertips from the leftover charge running wild through his nerves.
“What the hell was that…?” he muttered to himself.
He wasn’t sure if Shinsō had just insulted him, challenged him, or… something else entirely. But one thing was certain: every time he thought about those violet eyes pinning him in place, a shiver ran down his spine.
And for once, it wasn’t just electricity.