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It ran through him like fire, one flame after the other licking the most tender parts of his muscles.
Kaminari wound up where he always did, curled up on a clinic bed after a long day of training, smoke curling from the ends of his fingers and little flickers of electricity sparking off of his skin. He’d had to wait for Recovery Girl to lay out the heat-resistant bedding before he could climb onto it and pull his knees close enough to his chest to mask at least a little bit of the pain.
It was always like this.
The pain had started somewhere at the beginning of his third year at UA. For a while, it was just uncomfortable tinglings at the ends of his fingers when he overused his Quirk but it had slowly morphed into the pain he now knew well. At his best, the pain was dulled and throbbing at the core of his body but, at his worst (like now), the aching was so unbearable he couldn’t even speak or swallow properly.
It was always like this—
excruciating.
The feeling would fade after a while, just enough for Kaminari to stand up on his own and lumber to the mess hall where a lukewarm meal would be awaiting him. He’d sit alone in the dark cafeteria since the lights in the common room were too bright. Because it wasn’t just the pain. It was the migraine and the nausea and the dry stickiness in his mouth that always followed. He knew he’d wake up feeling a bit better the next morning but, for the night, he’d have to suffer into restless sleep.
With his nose pressed firmly into the space between his knees, Kaminari thought of all the salves and medicines left on the nightstand. They were all rather experimental—it seemed to be something new every week that could finally be the “cure” to his ailment. UA was certainly sparing no expense in caring for him, but they were doing the same to keep it all under wraps from the public. If anyone were to get ahold of the truth that a student in excruciating pain was still training to be a hero—
“It’s for your own safety,” Aizawa had said.
Kaminari had nodded in agreement, though he wasn’t sure the action was very aligned with what he was thinking.
Would he ever be able to talk about it? Would he simply have to writhe in secret pain while hordes of journalists interviewed him after missions and rescues and such? Would he be then forced to trudge home and take all his stupid supplements and rub salve onto his own skin alone?
Kaminari’s shaking breath fluttered along the skin of his hands, too hot to the touch for anyone but himself.
The heat wears off after an hour or so, he reminded himself.
Until then, he was largely untouchable, hence why he laid alone in the clinic listening to the crickets chirp outside the open window. The night was cool and clear. The chances he’d catch Midoriya in the field doing his extra training were high. Kaminari wondered what all the other students were doing: showering, eating dinner, talking and laughing with one another as they did so.
Kaminari wanted to join them,
but it was always like this.
He groaned into his own body as another ripple of pain rushed through him, causing each of his muscles to clutch involuntarily. His breath hitched in his throat as he suppressed a low whine, knowing the mere sound would call Recovery Girl to his side. For now, he just wanted to be alone.
“Fuck,” he eventually did hiss as the pain dipped into a numb valley.
The clock ticked coldly on the wall. Voices trailed down the hall followed by clunky footsteps. The monitor next to Kaminari’s bed beeped. Sweat beaded on his forehead and mixed with the dirt and soot that had collected from training. He wanted to take off his jacket and apply his salve and take his stupid supplements, but he couldn’t move his arms. He couldn’t bring himself to even twitch a limb.
There was no point.
It’s always like this.
The door creaked, only slightly.
Kaminari huffed a sigh as he imagined the footsteps padding towards him to be Recovery Girl’s, probably the last person he wanted to see right now.
“I’m alright,” he muttered, “really.”
“You don’t look alright.”
The voice didn’t belong to Recovery Girl, it was far too deep and smoky to be her. In fact, it was familiar enough to make Kaminari turn his head and squint at the entrance to the clinic.
“Toshi,” he eked out at the sight of him.
Shinsou was stood in the doorway, his hair freshly washed and combed back and a damp towel slung over his shoulders. He’d forsaken his training garb for a loose black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that hit just above his socked feet. He seemed tired, the circles under his eyes deep and pronounced and a very obvious glaze over his eyes. It took a lot of focus for him to use his quirk, his eyes always seemed to lose their efficacy at the end of long sessions.
“Y-you don’t have to be here,” Kaminari whispered lowly.
Shinsou tched lightly before sauntering closer, one hand pulling the towel from around his shoulders.
“I know I don’t have to be,” he said gently, “I just want to be.”
Kaminari trailed Shinsou with his eyes as he sat at the end of the stiff, stark-white bed, the shift in weight slightly easing the pressure on Kaminari’s muscles. Shinsou cleared his throat softly before carding his fingers through the sweaty strands of hair that had matted themselves to Kaminari’s skull.
“Wait, my skin’s too hot,” Kaminari hissed.
Still, he felt Shinsou’s fingers press onto his scalp, into the pool of sweat and grime and blood.
“S’not too bad,” he muttered in response.
Shinsou shifted his fingers slightly. Kaminari’s body shuddered in response. His nails were grazing gently along the hot surface of his skin in a way that made the throbbing in his head start to melt away. He pulled lightly on the mats to untangle them and pull little rocks out of the masses. Kaminari tried to even his breathing so it wouldn’t be so apparent how much pain he was in, but he couldn’t help but suck in a gasp as Shinsou’s finger’s moved to the space where his head met his neck, the central point of most of his pain.
“I’m sorry,” he huffed out as a twitching shudder wracked his entire body.
His knees had been dislodged from his grip at the mere touch. Kaminari’s face burned momentarily in embarrassment. He hated being seen like this, especially by Hitoshi.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Shinsou whispered, his hand still ghosting over the spot.
“I know, I’m just—” Kaminari eked out.
“Here.”
As he spoke, Shinsou reached across Kaminari’s curled body and reached for something on the nightstand. He grabbed one thing which rattled, then another which made no such sound. Kaminari gulped as he prepared himself for what he knew was next.
“Do you need my help sitting up?”
It was humiliating. Kaminari wanted to lie, but he knew he couldn’t.
“Yes,” he replied.
Shinsou’s hands were quick and sure, planting right beneath Kaminari’s armpits without dislodging the comforting clenching position he had them in. Slowly, he lifted him up and placed him gently beside his own body, allowing the bulk of Kaminari’s weight to now press into his side. Kaminari sighed shakily through the little bits of pain that rattled through him as he moved but found a spot of relief when he was finally upright.
“Thank you,” he hummed.
Shinsou replied with a soft chuckle. The clock still ticked coldly on the wall and the crickets had not yet ceased their song, but everything felt different now—warmer, perhaps.
Shinsou’s fingers were gentle and light against Kaminari’s body as he pulled his jacket off to reveal one scar-filled arm, then the other. Though it felt like the ridges were throbbing with pain, they looked rather still on the surface of Kaminari’s skin. It didn’t seem fair that the pain was so invisible yet so real. He could never find the right words to describe it to his friends and it wasn’t like he could show them how badly it really hurt. They were kind and understanding anyhow, but he always wished they could know. Truly know.
But, as always—
like this.
He felt Shinsou’s breath brush along his neck as he shimmied closer, the smell of pungent salve filling the little clinic room.
“God, this stuff reeks,” Shinsou groaned.
Kaminari huffed out a small laugh.
“Does that mean I reek?” He asked.
Shinsou’s eyes flickered up to his face for a moment, then back to his hand which was already knuckle-deep in the salve.
“Oh, absolutely.”
Kaminari mustered the strength to roll his eyes as he finally felt the icy-cold cream hit his skin, Shinsou’s fingers providing a moment of warmth after the cool application. He shuddered a bit, but mostly from relief as the salve began its work immediately. It could never approach the root of the problem which had something to do with Kaminari’s nerves, but it could manage the pain temporarily and make falling asleep that much easier.
Shinsou was well-trained in its application. He knew to take a good-sized glob and rub it slowly and gently into the skin. His fingers ran between the valleys of Kaminari’s lightning-shaped scars, and his palms grazed along the blonde hairs now slicked back with gel. Kaminari sighed instinctively as his muscles began to loosen and the throbbing slowed. His eyes fluttered closed as he could finally focus on the sensation of his body without wanting to die.
“You’re bulking up,” Shinsou joked, “you’re gonna have to use more and more of this stuff.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Kaminari chuckled.
Shinsou’s mouth stretched into a small smile, the kind that awoke the butterflies in Kaminari’s stomach.
They weren’t dating—
yet.
‘Yet’, of course, being the operative word. They hadn’t talked about it, neither of them really knew where to start. All they knew was the magnetic pull of their bodies and the inherent closeness of their thoughts. They couldn’t bring themselves to put all the feelings into words, so they compensated with moments like these, silent stroking of skin and chaste glances of longing. Kaminari couldn’t tell which hurt more, the mystery of it all or the pain rippling beneath his skin.
“Still wrapping?” Shinsou asked.
Kaminari nodded and affirmed with a hum while Shinsou reached over to the same nightstand to grab a fresh roll of sterile wrappings.
Even in the quiet nature of their togetherness, there was a certainty between them, a sureness that there would only be each other and no one else. In their one attempt at really talking about things, Shinsou had muttered something about wanting to graduate first. Kaminari had refused to look him in the eye. It was all too much, they concluded. Kaminari was mocked for his ‘ball-less’ approach to the whole thing by his friends, but he hadn’t told them about all the times they’d kissed in secret or that they’d even kissed at all. That was Kaminari’s secret, something for him alone.
“Denki, you know if I could—”
Shinsou’s voice dripped with a subtle sort of longing, the kind you can’t taste until after the food has already gone down your throat.
“I know,” Kaminari interrupted him.
He knew what Shinsou was going to say because he always said the same thing: some variation of the pain being his instead of Kaminari’s or if they could share it. It was a nice thought, but Kaminari knew it was a wish that would never be granted. He would feel this way for a very, very long time, and he was the only person that could truly feel it.
But even so, the thought tied itself into a knot in the center of Kaminari’s throat. Shinsou’s gentle wrapping of his arms was no help, especially as the rough tips of his fingers trailed down his wrist, tracing the aching tendons. Kaminari tried to gulp down the truth, savor what good was left for him, but it was too thick and viscous, a bite he could never swallow.
“Hitoshi,” he whispered, the first syllable sounding like a sigh.
Shinsou’s eyes flicked up just as he reached the end of the wrapping, his hand sliding down to interlace with Kaminari’s fingers.
“It—”
Kaminari choked on his own words, his own guttural confession.
“It hurts—so bad.”
The knot unraveled quickly into tears, little gasps for air as the paper mâché of his body began to fold in on itself, upheld only by Shinsou’s strong presence. It was true, it hurt worse than anything else in the world, but Kaminari knew that it wasn’t the reason he was crying into Shinsou Hitoshi’s shoulder.
He was crying because it was always like this.
Always,
just like this.
Though he’d thought his body to be void of the energy to even cry, Kaminari was proving himself wrong over and over, only able to nudge his nose further into the bone of Shinsou’s shoulder and try to siphon whatever warmth he could physically give off. Shinsou gripped tighter onto his hand and carded the other one through the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck, his palm pressing gently into the source of all the fiery aches. Kaminari could hear his own soul rattling around in the vacant lot of his body, it echoed through him.
The clock ticked on the wall.
The crickets chirped outside.
Shinsou Hitoshi had his lips pressed to the crown of Kaminari’s head (he was afraid to let go).
“I know,” he whispered into Kaminari’s hair.
Sometimes, Kaminari laid in his bed and imagined how life would be different if he wasn’t so sick. He imagined doing all the things he enjoyed as a kid: hiking, running, all those things. He always imagined doing them with Shinsou.
Instead, each day was a new hand of cards, and he was forced to play with that which he was dealt. Some days were better than others, some worse. Some days he doesn’t leave his bed and on others, he does so purposefully. And he hated to be an inconvenience. He and Hitoshi could never plan anything because the chances Kaminari would wake up unwell on said day were too high.
And Shinsou was always so accommodating, it made Kaminari feel like shit. He wanted to be better. He wanted to be loved. He wanted—
“What am I gonna do when you’re not around to take care of me?” Kaminari eked out, half-jokingly.
He wiped the snot from below his nose with the back of his wrist and let out a watery chuckle. Shinsou didn’t say anything for a moment, and Kaminari’s stomach became a heavy rock.
“Who says I’m not gonna be around?”
His voice reverberated through his body, Kaminari could feel it through the side of his face he still had pressed into Shinsou’s shoulder. He furrowed his brow and thought about the question over and over.
Who says I’m not going to be around?
Kaminari lifted his head slightly, fully aware of his puffy red eyes and snotty nostrils.
“What?” He whispered.
Shinsou looked at him so matter-of-factly that there was no way he was joking. Kaminari’s chest grew warm, his heartbeat began to quicken at the sight of Shinsou’s pale-pink cheeks.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
Kaminari pulled his lips between his teeth.
Does he mean it?
Gently, Shinsou pulled up the hand which was still interlocked with Kaminari’s, bringing them both into view.
“You and me,” he said gently, “always—like this.”
Kaminari’s eyes shifted from their hands to Shinsou’s face.
“Always?” Was the only word he could think to eke out.
A small grin stretched over Shinsou’s face.
“Just like this,” he affirmed in a gentle whisper.
And perhaps he would be right many many years down the line. Perhaps the same vicious ropes of pain would wrap around Kaminari’s muscles on some innocuous day. Perhaps he’d need all his old salves and supplements and wrappings to make life somewhat bearable. Perhaps he would live and die feeling just like he did in this moment.
But it wouldn’t simply be that. Because he had Hitoshi.
He had someone to slip the supplements between his lips and follow it with a slow kiss. He had someone to hold his hand after rubbing in the nasty-smelling salve to make sure Kaminari’s palms were really protected. And he had someone who would understand the little utterances, the silent cries for help.
It didn’t need to be said, the words everyone seems so obsessed with.
Because as long as they were like this,
it was obvious.
Always, Kaminari reminded himself.
Just like this.