Chapter Text
It was no secret to Denki that everyone thought he was stupid. It was a running joke in class 1A to make a big deal about his poor quiz scores, everyone teasing him with “better luck next time”s and “all that studying for nothing”s.
But Denki did study. He did! A lot! But there was always so much to do; so much going on. His brain was always buzzing with activity, no matter how many meditation tips he got online or advice on how to relax from Aizawa-sensei. While the doctors concluded that his overactive neurons were a result of his higher levels of brain electricity due to his quirk, Denki knew that his mind had never been as organized and sensible as everyone else’s.
Denki knew he was born destined to fail. And fail he did: tests, exams, social situations, athletic criteria. Everything and anything that involved above-average skills, Denki was horrible at. Even things everyone else was able to do, Denki was still bad at.
In grade school, everyone fit into the perfect groups of friends, cliques of like-minded children, categories of worthy peers. Young Kaminari, however, was always slipping between the lines, zig-zagging from crowd to crowd, forever buzzing and bouncing and jumping and changing, trying to latch onto something, someone, but never sticking, never lasting, never staying still. He was always too much. Too loud, too bright, too energetic, too stupid, too much. Denki Kaminari was too much. But he was also never enough. Not smart enough, not stable enough, not cool enough. He wasn’t smart enough. Not for his teachers, who always found reasons to complain to his parents that their son’s performance was less than adequate. Not for his tutors (and ex-tutors, for which the list was extensive), who were constantly exasperated by his seeming lack of interest in studies and inability to meet their expectations. Not for his younger self’s schoolmates who, for the most part, tried their very hardest to ignore his existence and reject any attempt at friendliness he offered them. Denki’s whole life was dictated by his failure to be what other people wanted him to. In fact, Denki’s whole life was a failure. He was a failure. At least, he was according to anyone whose opinion mattered to him. He learned not to expect much of himself either, allowing himself to fall into the background and never push too hard so as not to draw more unwanted attention to himself.
Upon his acceptance to UA, however, Denki finally found something of a friend group, and with it, a sense of accomplishment that gave him the ambition to chase for it more. He started trying again. He spoke, and allowed himself to be heard. He made jokes, and was on the receiving end of more than a few. He trained hard, and began to make progress with his quirk. He was living, succeeding, as himself. But still, no matter what he did, he never got any better at schoolwork. Despite hours of studying, nights spent lying awake at his desk, slaving over flashcards and worksheets and textbooks, Denki’s brain stayed as dumb as ever.
It was frustrating. Infuriating, even, for so much work to end with such discouraging results. With everything going on in his mind, none of it was ever anything useful. He never got any smarter, never learned how to do things right, never met average, let alone surpass it. It felt horrible, to always fall short. To fail task after task, even when his friends did their best to help him. In fact, it hurt more to fail when there was someone there waiting for him to succeed. It made his losses even more devastating to know he’d disappointed someone he cared about. Which was why, for the most part, Denki skipped out on the Tuesday night study sessions that the self-proclaimed Baku-squad had made a weekly event. As much as he ached to spend time with his friends, he could deal with their puppy-dog eyes and let down faces each time he refused them, while he wasn’t so sure he could put up with the inevitable jokes and disheartened shrugs that would come when he ultimately failed despite accepting help. Skipping out on such a meeting was how Denki found himself alone in his room, sulking over his latest quiz score and taking way too much Advil to fend off his impending migraine.
It was getting dark, but Denki still had hours left before getting through all of the day’s class notes. His body was achingly tired, but his head was still torturously active. He wondered what his friends were doing. They were probably having fun, laughing, joking. Were they thinking about him? Probably not. Though he didn’t like to think so, Denki knew he didn’t add much to the friend group. He wasn’t a leader like Bakugou, or everyone’s favorite person like Kirishima. He wasn’t as quick-witted as Sero or good-natured as Mina. In fact, his role in the group was mainly as the butt of a joke; something to keep the others in good spirits. His own feelings didn’t matter; Denki had learned long ago that protesting his own intelligence never worked out in his favor, and it was better to just laugh it off. Still, that didn’t mean the words didn’t stick with him each time they were casually thrown his way. Sero’s teasing from just that morning reminded him that, despite his fatigue, he had to keep working if he wanted any chance at passing the next day’s test
Kaminari yawned and dragged his attention back to the review packet in front of him, staring idly at the questions while thoughts ricocheted and collided in his head. He subconsciously bounced his leg as he read the same sentence over and over, unable to focus entirely on his work. Part of him really wanted to give in and go downstairs, even if the happiness of being surrounded by his favorite people in the world was only temporary and would definitely have not so great academic consequences.
Still, he persisted, even when it was a struggle to keep his eyes open and he had to keep hitting himself in the face with his pencil to stay awake. He had to study. He couldn’t fail tomorrow. God, he was so sick of being a failure. If he could just stay up a little longer…
…
Denki woke with a start to the incessant banging of someone’s angry fist on the door to his room. He sat up abruptly, tweaking his neck and falling out of his desk chair in the process.
Wait, his desk chair? Denki realized with a groan that he had fallen asleep while studying, leaving him entirely unprepared for the test as well as aching all over from the shitty sleep position.
“Oi! Dunce face! The hell are you doing in there still, it’s time for breakfast!”
Dunce face.
The nickname didn’t go unnoticed by the sleep deprived blonde, but he didn’t have the energy to think about that right now. Instead, he clambered up from his position on the ground and moved to open the door to reveal a grumpy-looking Katsuki Bakugou.
“Fuckin’ took you long enough,” the cranky blonde grumbled before taking a moment to assess the other’s appearance. “Did you sleep in yesterday’s clothes?” he observed, an unimpressed eyebrow twitching to attention.
“No!” Denki denied, though he couldn’t mask the embarrassed tint of red that rose to his neck and ears at the remark. “I just got dressed,” he lied.
Bakugou scoffed and turned back to the stairwell, calling over his shoulder as he left, “Right. Well, get your ass downstairs before the extras eat everything, cause I ain’t making seconds!”
Kaminari took a second to finger-comb his bed head into relative tameness and stuff his unfinished work into his bag to be dealt with later before trampling down to the common room for the so-called most important meal of the day.
“Morning, Denki-kun!” Midoriya chirped from where he was writing furiously in one of journals from his position on the couch. Denki had always been jealous of his ability to be so focused on writing that he could get lost in his own world, yet still so attentive to those around him. It was one of the many things Denki envied about the boy, along with his intellect and his relationship with Bakugou. Even though the two weren’t outwardly that close, they had known each other since they were kids, and sometimes acted like an old married couple. The prospect of being married to Bakugou was definitely something Denki should not be thinking about, let alone be jealous of; especially since they were friends and just friends, and Bakugou wasn’t even gay, he didn’t think. And even if he was, it wasn’t like he saw the younger blonde as anything other than an idiot nuisance worthy of a nickname like dunce face.
Dunce face.
“Mornin’ Midoriya,” Denki replied, face aching as his cheeks made their way into a smile. His head was fuzzy with exhaustion and sticky staticy thoughts that whizzed around faster than he could comprehend them.
There were a few rounds of greetings from the others sitting at the table, enjoying the delicious-smelling ohitashi with rice and miso soup that Bakugou had prepared. He was something of the mother hen to the group, which meant that in addition to being the leader, he looked after most of their well-beings by supplying nutritious meals and making sure they woke up in time. It was one of the many things about his friend that made Denki feel warm inside, warm and cared for, but he knew better than to say anything about it for risk of getting an explosion to the face. With a simple appreciative nod to the serving Katsuki handed him, Denki went to join the others at the table. Mina and Sero were huddled around the latter’s phone, likely entranced in some new mobile game, while Shoto sat quietly beside Tsuyu, wordlessly sipping his soup while the frog-like girl went on about something insignificant. Iida was speaking loudly with Eijirou at the counter, the two sharing a box of protein bars. Uraraka and Jirou were giggling while watching Bakugou angrily interrupt Kirishima’s conversation to penalize him for eating “shitty processed garbage” and not his home-cooked meal. It was all strangely domesticated and familiar, and Denki recognized how everyone’s individual roles in the group fit together, how they all had something to offer to the equation. The melty happiness that came from being surrounded by the people that mattered most twisted coldly with the unwelcome thought that Denki’s brain happily supplied:
What do I have to offer?
The knot forming in his stomach having ruined the moment, Denki took a seat beside Sero to watch the boy rapidly swipe and tap at the screen, maneuvering his character’s avatar to perform fantastic swings and jumps and kicks, landing punches and hits on the obvious villain character to build up a score in the upper corner of the display. It was interesting enough to watch, and Denki tried to allow himself to relax, to let go, to quit thinking so much for just a moment and be absorbed in the meaningless game like his peers could. But he couldn’t. His mind was always bouncing around, always dashing from place to place, thought to thought, this to that. He wished he had an off switch, something to just turn off his mind so he could release and just be, even for a moment, without having to toggle his attention forever back and forth and back again.
The off-button idea was something Katsuki had said in an off-hand comment after Denki had been bothering him with company for too long. It wasn’t meant to be memorable, just a one-off thing to bring happy agreements and teasing laughter from the others, but like everything, it stuck in Denki’s mind. Everything stuck in Denki’s mind. Every moment, sound, observation, brief exchange of words, everything. It fizzed and sparked between his overactive neurons to be processed and processed again and brought up and burned into memory and thought about and forgotten only to join him on the late nights where he’d lie awake in bed and overanalyze, overthink, too much, never enough, not right, not good, not smart, not smart, STUPID.
Dunce face.
Kaminari placed his used dishes in the sink to be dealt with later and dug through his bag for last night’s notes. It was dumb to fall asleep like that, especially before test day. Denki was dumb. He was stupid. And now he was going to fail. Again. Of course. Just like always. As idiotic as he was, nothing was more foolish than hoping for progress. For thinking that he could ever, would ever, succeed. Denki Kaminari always fell short. But he never learned his lesson.
Hot black coffee burnt his tongue as he eagerly chugged it down, praying that the caffeine would do something, anything, to fend off how drained he was. This was also a painfully stupid decision. Coffee did not go well with Kaminari’s already abundantly energetic brain, and it never ended well on the rare occasions that he decided to have a mug of the liquid. But he was just so, so tired, and didn’t think nor care enough to find healthier ways to cope with his fatigue.
The drug took effect immediately, shocking Denki’s system into hyperdrive until he felt like he was vibrating all over, like he could bounce off the walls, like he could stay awake for class. His teeth chattered, clicking and grinding and wiggling in his gums, and he took another sip just to feel them dancing in his mouth.
“Hey, Sparkplug, the fuck are you drinking coffee for?” came the unhappy grumble of Bakugou. Denki was too overloaded to register the concern in his tone, instead tentatively placing the mug on the counter and turning to face the taller blonde with a grin.
“Don’t worry, bro. Just a little liquid energy before the big exam!”
You sound stupid, he knows you’re lying, he can tell how stupid you are, everyone knows it, it’s so obvious, so stupid, so STUPID.
Bakugou gives him a disdainful once-over before rolling his eyes and turning away. “Yeah, whatever, dumbass.”
Dumbass.
Denki blames the stinging in his stomach on nerves and decides to go over the unit review once more before class, so everything will be fresh in his mind.
Like that will help.
His brain is still fizzing, bubbling, frothing, flinching, and he can’t sit still, can’t find his off switch, can’t stop moving, no matter how aware he is of his bouncing leg annoying his classmates. His thoughts are crashing through his head like a tornado, like a hurricane, like a tsunami, like everything destructive and wild and untamed and it’s all trapped inside his skull, spinning and popping and breaking and jumbling, threatening to burst out in an explosion of words and pain and stupidity and it takes all that he has to keep his limbs from launching around, shooting every which way, thrashing in horribly disorganized ways, making everyone aware of how fucked up his brain is, how fucked up he is, how STUPID.
The words on the page in front of him are running and shaking and darting around, their dark forms mixing and becoming deformed on the stark white contrast, painful to watch, painful to look at, but he has to. He has to read the sentence, make sense of the characters, comprehend what is asked of him, and hopefully hopefully get it right. He has to get it right. Because Denki Kaminari is so fucking sick of being a failure, but the chaos in his brain isn’t getting any easier to deal with.
The test is over and Denki didn’t even finish. He couldn’t even make a guess on half of the problems. He was stupid and he was hopeless and he was a lost cause. Because no matter how hard he tries, Denki Kaminari is a failure. He knows he is. Everyone knows he is. It’s hilarious. It’s so funny. It’s such a joke that he can never do anything right. He’s such a joke. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t. It’s not painful, it’s funny.
“How’d you do, Denks?” Sero casually asks, leaning playfully against his desk and smirking in anticipation.
It doesn’t hurt.
Kaminari smiles, because it’s funny. “Oh, I aced that for sure. I think Aizawa-sensei is making these a little too easy, for sure.”
Sero snorts. “Yeah, right. Have you ever aced anything in your life?” It doesn’t hurt. “Did you get to the second page? I’m pretty sure I got everything right in the first half, but I got a little stumped on the multiple choice relating to the word problem from the first part.” The dark haired boy took one look at Denki’s perplexed expression and burst into a fit of loud laughter. “What am I doing asking you about this? You’re lucky if you got your name right, let alone any of the questions!”
It doesn’t hurt. The stab in his stomach is just remaining adrenaline. Sero’s kidding. Because it’s funny. It doesn’t hurt, it’s funny.
Mina finds her way over, swatting at Hanta’s head in a light-hearted fashion. “Don’t be mean, ‘Ta. I’m sure Denki did just fine.” She gives the electric boy an eye roll and slight smile, which ever so slightly dulls the gnawing in his gut. The coffee and its side effects are finally fading, and he feels his bone-aching tiredness catching up with him. The faint threat of a headache prods at his skull, causing a preemptive sheen of sweat to coat his forehead as he tentatively touched his pencil to his temple. The static buzz that forever hums in Denki’s head intensifies as a surge of pain washes over it. Damn. He forgot to take Advil this morning.
Stupid.
The class ends, bringing with it a feeling of dread at the thought of training being the next period. He was already tired enough, and with the imminent migraine quickly approaching, Kaminari knew he wouldn’t be anywhere near peak performance today. He’d be lucky if he received an adequate score at all, and the thought just caused another wave of nauseating pain to throb through his head. He was already ready for this day to be over, so he could sleep, so he could briefly escape his ceaseless thoughts, so he could be rewarded with the peace of unconsciousness.
Still, he couldn’t let his weariness get control of him, and he let a few brief shocks zap at his eyes as class 1A made its way to the training grounds. He couldn’t give in to the pull of rest. He couldn’t let himself fall behind any more than he already had.
In the locker rooms, he was reminded of his physical shortcomings, as his eyes lazily grazed over the bodies of his classmates. They were all impressively built, muscles large and bulky, jaws square and hard, towering over his measly size and thin limbs. Unlike the other heroes-in-training, Denki’s muscles were less prominent and more lean, not building any more mass no matter how many gym sessions he joined Kirishima and the others with. In one of the odd occasions where Denki found himself with Mineta, the boy had casually referred to the blonde as a “twink”. The label still lingered in his mind, even after such a long time, and brought with it the familiar uncertainty of his sexuality.
While he was sure none of his friends really cared about who he was attracted to, Denki wasn’t sure he could face it if anyone started acting weird around him- especially his friends of the same gender who, for the most part, didn’t talk much about relationships or crushes or anything like that. Sure, there had been several late-night “guy talks” when Sero came to the others for advice during the brief period when he and Jirou dated. In the end, they decided they were better off as friends, and still had a healthy relationship. During pride month, Kirishima had said something about how manly the celebration of non-heteronormative sexualities was, but Denki was sure that was just Eijirou being an amazing human being and hadn’t read into it too much. In general, Denki was bad at reading people, especially when it came to his gay-dar. Unless they were parading around with a rainbow flag, the boy really couldn’t tell anything about their sexuality at all, let alone how they would feel about him revealing his. Really, the only person whose opinion on his homosexuality mattered to him was a certain emotionally constipated Pomeranian. So many times Denki had watched the boy, stared at him, even before he realized his feelings for the other blonde. Because not only was Katsuki someone he admired sexually, he was someone whose word was held higher than any other in the electric boy’s head. If it somehow got out that Kaminari was gay and Bakugou disapproved of that, there was no way Denki would be able to go on. Which was why he kept his guard up whenever anyone brought up the subject of significant others; he didn’t need the possible homophobic comments from the others, and he especially didn’t need anything from Bakugou that would destroy any remnants of security that Denki had about himself.
When they were finished changing into their hero uniforms, everyone gathered together on the edges of the fighting matts to be paired up. Today they were working on hand-to-hand combat, which was good for Denki, since he wasn’t sure he would be able to last long putting his energy into his quirk. This way, he’d be able to focus more on strategy and being quick on his feet without having to worry about deflecting others’ quirk-powered attacks. He always was better at close combat, and that knowledge gave him enough confidence to go against Sero. Despite the other boy being taller, they had similar body composition and were on equal levels of ability. However, Kaminari was already pretty tired, which caused him to move more heavily. Hanta quickly got the upper hand, using his friend’s sluggish reflexes to land several contacts on his lower body and knock him to the ground. Despite his struggling, it wasn’t long before Denki was defeated, having been pinned to the ground for a three second duration and tapping out, letting Hanta know that his hold on the smaller boy was becoming painful and that he gave up. The defeat left a twinge in Denki’s stomach, but they were quick to go again, and Kaminari was more careful to pay closer attention to his opponent’s movements, which ended with their second match a relative success. By their third go at it, Denki was awake with sweat and heavy breath. Exhaustion no longer clung to him like it had been that morning, and he was beginning to feel better. By the time training was winding up, Denki had even won a few rounds, and the staticky buzzing in his brain was quieting down. Overall, things were feeling up for Denki once it was time to shower and prepare for lunch.
After rinsing off, Denki joined his friends for the meal, a content feeling of self-satisfaction finding its way into his core. Bakugou had prepared some chicken katsu for the group, and Denki happily shoveled rice and crispy meat into his salivating mouth. He couldn’t help but groan at the pop of flavor and warmth exploding across his taste buds. If he hadn’t closed his eyes in ecstasy, he would've seen the flush of color that rose to the chef’s face at the sound.
“So,” Mina began, speaking around a mouthful of shredded cabbage and tonkatsu sauce, “what do you guys think of Todoroki?”
There was a resounding groan from the others of the group, who were all used to the pink girl’s habit of finding a new guy to obsess over every week. The laughter at her protests warms Denki in a familiar, comfortable way that comes with being with his friends. The light-hearted topics and casual banter satiated Denki’s busy mind and leveled his spasming thoughts. As much racing disarray his friends caused in his mind, they also soothed him and brought relative order to the torturous organ in his head. The level of trust the yellow-haired boy had in these four people was greater than any he had with others, which was good when he needed consoling, but bad when he was feeling particularly sensitive and took the teasing to heart. Denki knew his friends cared about him. Of course they did. But it was harder for him to tell sometimes, when he got into his head and let their words swirl and spike, twisting their meaning until his insecurities were validated and the boy he left feeling hollow and confused. His own mind was his undoing. But then, it had always been that way, hadn’t it.
The squad finished lunch in high spirits, chatting and joking and poking fun. Kaminari was feeling calm and secure, unconcerned, spirits free of his previous anxieties. However, said anxieties came rushing back with a horrible feeling of dread at the sight of the graded tests waiting at the students’ desks. The boy actually physically froze, blocking the doorway to the classroom momentarily as his heartbeat picked up, his breathing became shallow, and the acidic threat of bile rose to the back of his throat. His previous headache came roaring back with newfound power, and Denki’s vision blurred for a moment at the pure shock of the pain. It was like someone had whacked him across the skull with a hammer, and he dizzily made his way to his desk already feeling horrible.
Eijirou, the perfect guy that he was, softly elbowed the blonde. “All good, Denks?”
Unable to fully register anything, the boy in question simply nodded and forced the lump in his throat back down. Getting grades back was possibly his least favorite part of school, aside from taking the tests themselves.
He made his way to his desk feeling disconnected, not noticing a certain pair of crimson eyes watching him with concern. He didn’t notice anything, in fact, except for the glaring red mark scratched on the front of his test. Every mark was like a bloody gash in his efforts, a reminder that he would never be good enough no matter how hard he worked. The dark mindset took over his thoughts as he finally arrived in front of the accused paper, and he couldn’t tell if he wanted to cry or throw fists.
Sixty-two. A measly sixty-two percent. After hours of studying, reviewing, practicing, thinking, slaving, torturing himself. He couldn’t even get a goddamn passing score.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Alright, brats. As you can see, I very kindly sacrificed my lunch, and with it precious sleep, to finish grading this week’s unit test. As we move on to our next major topic this semester, I expect a few of you-” with this came a pointed look in Kaminari’s direction, “-to focus a little more on class work and try harder. I know being a teenager in the modern day is draining and such nonsense, but being a hero isn’t just about coming in and beating up a bunch of villains. Now, if you’ll turn your attention to the worksheet from Monday…”
The bored-looking hero continued his rant, but Denki heard none of it, eyes fixated on the evidence of his stupidity lying on his desk.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, STUPID.
A jab to the shoulder pulled Denki’s attention to a curious looking Kirishima. “Seriously, bro, you good? You seem kind of-” stupid, “-distant.”
Denki smiled because it was funny. “Yeah, I’m fine. How was training?” He smiled because it didn’t hurt. His head was swimming. It didn’t. Hurt.
“Great! Bakubro and I ended up partnered, and I worked on that new spin-kick I was telling you about- the one Midoriya suggested? Something about a low center of balance and such.” Of course Midoriya had great suggestions for his friends’ fighting techniques. The boy was seeping with knowledge and effortless wisdom; Denki bet he had no trouble with the test at all. No trouble with any tests, in fact. Because he wasn’t like Denki. He didn’t struggle with simple tasks. His mind wasn’t in a constant state of disarray, bordering on manic with the amount of energy coursing through it on a daily basis. No, Izuku wasn’t like Denki. He wasn’t…
Stupid.
“Oi, dumbasses, you gonna start the assignment or what? Can’t spend all fuckin’ day waiting for your tiny brains to catch up. Human Caterpillar said we gotta be in groups and I sure as hell ain’t partnering with any of those extras, so I’m stuck with you idiots.” Denki didn’t have to turn around to know that the abrasive words belonged to the one and only Katsuki Bakugou.
He was joking. Denki knew he was joking. Right? Of course he was. That was just his personality. He was like that with everyone. The grump was always saying things he didn’t mean. And he didn’t mean it. Did he? Or was he serious? Did he really think of Kaminari that way? The words might have been true, but it felt so much worse hearing them from the very person Denki wanted to see him differently. But he was joking. Was he? He had to be. Because it was funny. So Denki smiled. Because it was funny. And it didn’t hurt.
“You got it, Kats!” he piped.
Already starting on the work, Bakugou only offered an annoyed growl at the nickname, the blush that rose to his face masked in his hunched position. Both blondes were too preoccupied to notice the knowing smile dawning the redhead, all too familiar with the two’s banter.