Chapter Text
“So are you actually in Japan or are you crossfaded again?”
If hearing Sero’s mocking voice over the phone wasn’t frustrating enough, the wheels of Kaminari’s suitcase had gotten stuck in a crack in the floor yet again. He tugged hard twice to dislodge it before continuing his trudge down the hallway.
“It’s real,” Kaminari huffed, “I’m back in Japan.”
He glanced around for a chaste moment, hearing his booming voice echo through the airport’s silence. A few well-groomed businessmen had craned their necks to look at Kaminari and he swore he heard a mother tut.
“And it shows,” he said into the phone in a much lower voice.
If his careless breaking of the silence wasn’t telling enough, it would surely be the large New York stickers on his case that would give Kaminari away. Not only had he visited the States, he’d studied there for almost an entire year. His English had improved tenfold and he’d developed a rather unhealthy addiction to greasy, thin-crust pizza that even the best places in Japan could never replicate. But he could never shake the small desire he always held for his favorite takoyaki place next to his childhood home. And amongst all he’d brought back home with him, he’d no doubt adopted the loud and unapologetic nature of New Yorkers.
“So we’re going out for a drink tonight?” Sero asked.
“Nah,” Kaminari cooed, “I’ve got dinner with Eiji and Katsuki.”
“How’d they swoop you up before I did?”
Kaminari scoffed. The front doors of the airport grew larger and more in focus as he hauled his belongings towards it, “You called me twice in the past year.”
“I was busy,” Sero brushed him off.
“Busy being a shitty friend,” Kaminari bit back.
“Yikes,” he hissed, “you better shake that New York attitude before facing the pipe bomb himself.”
Kaminari slammed the side of his body into the doors push bar before tumbling into the crisp autumn air. Cars whizzed by on the road accented by beeping horns and shouting.
“No need,” he said, “I’ll have the expert diffuser at my side the whole time.”
“If you’re gonna put Eijirou to work like that, you gotta start paying him overtime,” Sero half-joked.
“Hey, as exciting as this phone call is, I have a cab to catch.”
Sero’s voice began to crackle over the receiver.
“It’s only three,” he whined, “just one drink.”
Kaminari peered at his phone. Two bars.
“Can’t,” he repeated, “I’m going to see Shinsou.”
“What? Shin—”
One bar.
“Shit,” Kaminari whispered to himself. He saw his cab parked only a few hundred feet away along the side of the road. He’d spent a few hours on the plane memorizing the cab number so he wouldn’t have to look it up amongst all the chaos. He checked for his belongings behind him once more and made a beeline for the patient vehicle.
“Yeah, I’m gonna just stop by his office,” Kaminari explained.
“Wai—Kami—I gotta tell y—”
As he neared the car, the driver popped the trunk. Kaminari thrust his suitcase into the back with an audible grunt. He slid his backpack off his shoulder and chucked it right on top.
“What?” He shouted into the phone.
“Shinsou—he—and—”
When he peered at his phone again, he was still at only one bar. It was no use.
“Sero, man, I gotta call you back,” Kaminari explained, “Reception is shit.”
He didn’t wait for Sero’s response, he was too busy climbing into the backseat of the taxicab. Kaminari ended the call with a swift tap of his finger and leaned over towards the plastic separator between him and the driver.
“Dark Horse Inc.,” he barked at the driver.
The portly, wrinkled Japanese man turned towards him slowly. Even through the distortion of the separator, Kaminari could sense the distaste in his features and the unsightly curl of his lip. He gulped his New York habit down the gullet and felt his lip tremble as he tried again.
“Dark Horse Inc.,” he said in a much sweeter voice, “please.”
The man’s face didn’t change, but he swiveled back around and put the car into drive before speeding off down the busy street.
The drive from the airport wasn’t too terrible. Kaminari would've enjoyed it more if he wasn’t so jet lagged. His tired eyes could only make out the general shapes of familiar buildings and landscapes; the orange blossoms dotting the bushes were tangerine spots atop green puddles and every store was a tan brick with a nondescript sign hung in front. Every time he tried to read an advertisement or a street sign, Kaminari’s head would hurt. In New York, it was the middle of the night, and there was nothing Kaminari wanted to do more than curl up in the backseat of the cab and take a long nap. He kept his brain occupied with watching the colorful curtains fluttering in the windows of the shops and spotting the occasional cat on the sidewalk. And the subtle anticipation in the pit of his stomach was helping, too. He hadn’t seen Shinsou since he’d left for the States and they didn’t talk once that entire year, despite them being good friends in the years leading up to it. They’d kept in touch after Shinsou decided to start his hero agency while Kaminari had gone to college instead, but the distance between New York and Japan just seemed too great. And after Shinsou had denied Kaminari’s drunken confession the night before he left, nothing seemed better than disappearing altogether for an entire year, hoping Hitoshi would forget. Maybe seeing each other again would rekindle the friendship and Kaminari wouldn’t be forced to hang out with the lovebirds all the time. And maybe he was hoping, just a little, that Hitoshi and Tokoyami weren’t together anymore so he’d have another chance.
Kaminari shook the thought from his head. He had to find something else to focus on. The bright purple billboard? That one cloud that looks like a baby head being eaten by a spider? Perhaps if he just pressed his fingers together hard enough, all his nervous energy would fall right out of them.
Maybe I could use a drink right now, he thought.
But in the next moment he began to search, the front doors of Dark Horse Inc. came crashing into view. No matter where his eyes focused, they were all connected to the hero agency of a very old friend. Kaminari swallowed something sour as the driver pulled up to the front of the building around the cul-de-sac. He felt his body swing towards the front seat as the driver braked hard, obviously still prickly from Kaminari’s rude introduction. Clutching his sweaty hand around a wad of carefully counted cash, he shoved the handful through the small opening in the plastic separator. The driver turned just like he did before, a grimace pasted permanently on his face as he grabbed the mess of money from the boy’s hand. Kaminari’s eyes darted everywhere in a desperate attempt to avoid the man’s judging stare and once he felt all the money leave his palm, he made a break for it. Kaminari darted out the car door and raced around to the trunk which the driver popped so he could grab all his things. With as much haste as he could muster, Kaminari collected his belongings and pulled the hood of the trunk down with an echoing clunk. He’d never been more relieved to see a taxi drive off into the distance and disappear around the corner.
With his weighty backpack slung over his shoulder and his fingers gripping the handle of the suitcase firmly, Kaminari started yet another trudge up to the door of the agency. The entire building looked like one big block, five stories one on top of the other. Kaminari had gone to the ceremony after Shinsou and Tokoyami bought the building, so the sight of it wasn’t new, but he never quite got over how massive it truly was considering that they had just been students only a few years before. If the pair hadn’t had such a unique idea for an agency, they never would’ve stood a chance at their age in trying to start their own business with no experience and no ties to hero society. Through the windows, Denki watched figures shift in shadows behind shut curtains and blinds hang at half-mast to allow the late autumn breeze to infiltrate the office. It was all quiet until he clamored through the front doors like a bull’s first time in the china shop.
The secretary glanced up worriedly from his work at the sound of Kaminari’s clattering belongings against the metal doors. Kaminari cringed at every bang and clunk as he forced his suitcase and backpack through the door simultaneously. Though he’d gotten thinner and leaner in the States, he’d bought more shirts than one man knows what to do with and it was bulking up his backpack to an alarming degree. The secretary slipped his round metal-rimmed glasses down to the end of his nose as he peered at the disruptive man. Once fully through the doorway, Kaminari glanced down at his baggy gray sweatpants that were hanging low on his hips and his black t-shirt that had ridden up with his backpack, exposing his belly button and the neon green hem of his briefs. Absentmindedly, he tried to shift his body to pull his shirt back down or cover the exposed area with his jean jacket, but his shoulder was starting to ache. With a decisive thud, Kaminari dropped the heavy sack onto the floor and brushed the hem of his shirt down over his lower stomach. Beads of sweat dripped from his hairline down to his brow as he met the secretary’s judging gaze.
Maybe the taxi driver wasn’t all that bad.
“Hi,” Kaminari huffed out, not realizing how out of breath he really was, “I’m looking for—”
He had to take a breath or he wasn’t going to make it.
“I’m looking for Shinsou,” he repeated, “Shinsou Hitoshi.”
The secretary’s burning gaze melted quickly. Kaminari wasn’t great at reading expressions, so he couldn’t find out what he was thinking no matter how hard he studied the man’s down turned eyes and slightly opened mouth as if he was shocked by Kaminari’s request. The man glanced down to the neat stacks of paper he had on the desk before glaring quizzically at him.
“We haven’t seen Shinsou in a while,” the secretary said, “it’s been many weeks, I believe.”
“What?” Kaminari asked, his brow furrowing, “w-well where is he?”
The man’s eyes widened in an even greater shock. Had Kaminari missed something? He’d spoken about Shinsou’s absence as if it was self-explanatory, like Kaminari should already know why he’d been out for more than a month.
“Home, probably,” said the secretary sourly.
“Home?” Kaminari asked in earnest.
With a falling brow, the secretary’s face hardened even further. Kaminari had definitely missed something.
“Yes,” he hissed.
Kaminari nodded subtly. His palms had started to ache from keeping his suitcase upright and there was nothing he wanted more than to throw his hefty backpack to the ground and take a well-deserved nap on the waiting room couch.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Kaminari began.
The secretary definitely looked like he minded.
“Is he still at the same apartment?” he asked, “The one around the corner from that ramen place?”
He seemed surprised at Kaminari’s deep knowledge of Shinsou’s whereabouts, especially considering the manner in which he’d entered the office lobby. Kaminari had watched the man’s hand twitch towards the phone a few too many times in between conversational pauses. It was just as well, who wouldn’t look like a madman after such a long flight?
“I believe so,” he said curtly.
Kaminari let his cheeks puff with a deep exhale. He rolled his free shoulder around to relieve a sudden ache before hoisting all his belongings back towards his body.
“Thanks so much,” he muttered to the disgruntled man as he turned his back on the whole situation.
Dare he call another cab?
Maybe Bakugou could come pick him up...
“Hmph, as if,” Kaminari whispered to himself at the comical thought.
He’d rather be stared down by a million cab drivers than get in the passenger seat of Katsuki’s car ever again. He had a crude living will typed up in his Notes app to remind him of that fact.
Shinsou was never one for luxury. Instead, he always seemed to appreciate things that were “just enough”. He never aimed to be the best hero, simply being one was always satisfactory. He refused proposals from the prettiest girls because they simply didn’t interest him like they interested every other boy in Class A. And when it came to his apartment, he didn’t look out of place at the discreet little concrete complex bordered by a convenience store and a liquor shop. The street was incredibly quiet. Kaminari could almost imagine Shinsou touring the complex and taking a chaste moment to listen and make sure it was as quiet as he liked it to be. The building, though simple, still towered over Kaminari’s form. Beneath its tilting structure, he must’ve looked like a toy surrounded by small bags and cases that consisted of absolutely everything he owned. He hadn’t mustered the courage to reach back down and take them in his hands, too busy enjoying the lack of weight on his bones. If he left them in the middle of the street, it’d surely get stolen. So, with a little whine, Kaminari slung the backpack over his alternate shoulder and pulled the handle of the suitcase towards his body once more. Making headway towards the front doors of the apartment lobby, Kaminari wracked his brain for memories of the only time he’d ever visited Shinsou's apartment.
Which floor was it?
The fourth floor, right?
Why do I remember that?
As he knocked himself into the glass doors and swung his body and things towards the elevator, Kaminari continued to flick through files in his brain that would help him find the right apartment. The lobby smelled faintly of mothballs and old perfume—like a nice old woman.
Why did he remember the floor number so well?
Like a cartoon, the ding of the elevator coordinated with his realization. Kaminari couldn’t help but crack a small smile as he threw himself into the rickety elevator and jabbed the fourth-floor button with his thumb.
420.
Shinsou lives in apartment 420.
That’s why Kaminari remembered it so well.
His smile remained as the elevator moved swiftly to the proper floor and dinged open to reveal a long hallway lit with sterile ceiling bulbs and adorned with stained green carpet flooring. Kaminari pulled all his things out of the moving contraption and stomped down the hallway with certainty as he perused for apartment number 420. Each door was painted an identical eggshell shade and the apartment numbers were identified with little gold plates right beneath the peephole. It still smelled like mothballs and perfume, but the former had almost overtaken the latter completely. If Kaminari had asthma, he’d be in bad shape right about now.
Though it’d been years and the joke was long dead, seeing apartment number 420 still elicited the smallest of chuckles from Kaminari Denki. The door looked no different from the others, bar a small set of scratches along the paint where a drunk Hitoshi had probably struggled to stick his key in the keyhole late one night. A paper advertisement was stuck in the crack of the door with great precision. At the angle he was standing, Kaminari couldn’t read what it was for. As he lifted his free hand to knock, a pressing voice appeared in Kaminari’s head.
What if this wasn’t the right apartment?
A reasonable person would’ve checked some other source or at least thought about it for another moment, but Kaminari’s impulsivity had only strengthened during his time in the States, so his knuckles were rapping against the door before he even knew it. The knock echoed loud through the hallway and the adjacent apartment. Kaminari leaned towards the door. He listened intently for any sort of shuffling or rustling that would indicate the Shinsou was nearing the door, but there was nothing. Only silence followed the hollow call of his knock.
Should he knock again?
With the same spirit of impulsivity, Kaminari lifted his knuckles and tapped on the door again, a tad louder this time. Still, nothing. Not even a footstep or a hesitant breath against the peephole. What if Shinsou wasn't the only one who lived there? Could he and Tokoyami had moved in together? What would Kaminari even say if he opened the door? "Hello, I'm here to see your boyfriend in a very platonic way". Yeah, right. The excitement that had been bubbling in Kaminari’s chest during the cab ride started to trickle down to his stomach. He felt a little sick and woozy, probably from the jetlag. It’s not like he needed to see Shinsou, it just would’ve been nice. He could be anywhere right now: the grocery store, the convenience store, the liquor store (which was about to become Kaminari’s next stop). Kaminari gulped and tried to reposition his body so he wouldn’t feel so dizzy anymore, but right as he was about to knock once more, the soft click of the neighboring door startled him.
“Oh!” Kaminari called out, pulling his hand back towards his body.
When he glanced over, Kaminari saw an old, wrinkled woman poking her head out through the gap she’d created between the door and the frame. A small pair of wire-rimmed glasses sat upon the end of her flat nose and her frizzy gray hair was pinned up in a tiny bun atop her head. Kaminari couldn’t see the rest of her body, but she was considerably shorter and smaller than him, probably just as startled to open the door to such a large man.
“Are you looking for my neighbor, dear?”
Her voice was low and crackly. She spoke slowly almost as if she was taking a small breath in between every few words.
“Depends,” Kaminari said, “who is your neighbor?”
The woman smiled a bit.
“Mr. Shinsou lives there,” she said meekly, “he’s a nice young man.”
The sick feeling in Kaminari’s stomach subsided a little bit at the mention of his name. I mean, at least he had the right apartment.
“Do you have any idea where he is right now?” Kaminari asked gently.
She pursed her lips. Her brow fell heavy over her eyes, the edges nearly kissing the tops of her glasses.
“Mr. Hitoshi doesn’t go anywhere,” she said, “he hasn’t left the apartment for a while.”
“How do you know that?”
Kaminari felt the question tumble off of his tongue; he resisted the urge to interrogate the woman for anything she knew.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, “I’ve been tucking his mail under the door for weeks. I noticed it was piling up, so I’ve been pushing it under whenever he gets something.”
Kaminari sighed. His eyes trailed down to his things and his now wrinkled outfit. He must’ve looked as haggard as he felt.
“Such a shame what happened to the poor boy,” she said softly.
Kaminarii’s glance shot back up to the old woman.
“What happened?” He asked.
As the words escaped his lips, the woman’s face softened, a glimmer of sadness painting her eyes for a brief moment. Her lips parted slightly in preparation, but she didn’t say anything, choosing instead to hold her composure and her tongue.
“Maybe he should tell you himself, dear.”
Kaminari pursed his own lips. He clenched his free hand to try and channel some frustration through his fist. So, he had missed something. Something big. Something that would put Shinsou in his apartment for countless weeks with endless, piling mail. He still felt incredibly stupid.
“Thanks,” Kaminari muttered to the old woman who nodded and disappeared behind her closed door in the very next moment.
His gaze trailed back up to the gold number plate and the peephole on Shinsou’s door. If Hitoshi was in there, why wasn’t he answering? Was his neighbor lying to try and get him to go away? In some ways, Kaminari felt like he’d stepped off the plane into some other place entirely. It didn’t feel like home; at least, not yet—and it felt even less like home as he teetered back and forth on such a large mystery.
What happened to Shinsou Hitoshi?
Before he had the chance to even consider knocking again, just for good measure, Kaminari’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He dug around for the thing and checked the caller ID.
“Hey, man! Where are you?”
Kirishima’s bright voice cleared the thick tension that had settled in the poorly decorated lobby. The sound let Kaminari breathe a real sigh of relief for the first time that day.
“I’m at Shin—” he stopped himself, “I’m at the corner where that ramen shop is, the old one we used to go to with Class A.”
“Oh, perfect!” Kirishima exclaimed, “We’re in the car passing by there in just a few minutes, do you want us to pick you up? It’s on our way home, anyways.”
Kaminari grinned.
“Yeah,” he said softly, “I’ll meet you there.”
“Great!” Kirishima said.
If he listened closely, Kaminari could hear indiscriminate Bakugou grumbles trailing from the passenger seat of the car.
“Aaand Bakugou is very excited to see you,” Kirishima joked.
The last thing Kaminari heard before the line disconnected was a tense shout from a familiar friend and an expletive that Kaminari couldn't repeat with the old woman just one door away. As much as he didn’t want to endure the pair that night, the thought of not carrying all his things around anymore was enough to get him through it. And after another trip in the rickety elevator, Kaminari was more than pleased to see Kirishima’s bright red truck parked out front from which Bakugou’s beefy arm hung out of the open window. Kirishima appeared from behind his partner who refused to look Kaminaei in the eye. Despite Bakugou’s failing attempt at aloofness, Kaminari pasted on a smile and bounded towards the vehicle, leaving his prior fears and worries at the apartment complex’s doorstep. As he heaved the cover off the truck bed, Kaminari listened to a familiar 80s glam rock song blasting from the radio out the rolled-down windows. When they’d first started dating, Kirishima and Bakugou would fight constantly over what music to play in the car, so they’d curated a playlist together of their favorite songs to shuffle while they drove. Since then, whoever’s music played had been left up to fate. It was good, actually, considering that they both put Bohemian Rhapsody on the playlist without the other’s knowledge. What was even better was the vivid memory Kaminari had of their drunk performance of said song at karaoke some years ago.
Once he’d secured his belongings in the covered truck bed, Kaminari hopped energetically into the backseat. Kirishima turned to him with the brightest smile, his overlapping crooked teeth shining in the orange glow of the sunset.
“Bro!” He cried.
“BRO,” Kaminari replied.
Kirishima extended his hand to engage Kaminari in a hearty handshake. The bubbly excitement from his first cab ride returned to Kaminari’s stomach as he gazed at his friend and inhaled the familiar leather scent of his truck’s interior.
“Jetlagged?” Kirishima asked.
“You know it,” Kaminari huffed as he buckled his seatbelt.
“Hmph,” Bakugou grunted from the passenger seat.
Kaminari grabbed the edge of Kirishima’s headrest and pulled himself up in between the pair.
“Aww,” he mocked in a pouty baby voice, “is Bakugou mad that he didn’t get to drive?”
Bakugou’s jaw hardened. His crossed arms tightened and wrinkled creases into his nice brown jacket.
“As romantic as it would be to die together,” Kirishima placed a soft hand on the crease of Bakugou’s elbow, “I’m not sure I’d like it to be some fiery crash. So, I’m driving.”
Kirishima’s hand had a calming effect on the boy sitting beside him, but he was still plenty angry, as far as Kaminari could tell. As Kirishima put the car into drive, the cool autumn breeze flew swiftly through the windows. Kaminari leaned his elbow onto the sill of the door and stuck his head out into the world just slightly, enough to feel the wind’s fingers card through his hair and swoosh up his nose. There was something intoxicating to him about the slight choking feeling he’d get when too much air traveled through his slightly parted lips; it would all collect at the back of his throat and feel like death until he mustered the strength to swallow it all down. He kept edging his own breathing like this as his head hung out the window like a happy dog. His ears were so caught in the swell of wind that he almost didn’t hear Kirishima speak.
“The flight was good?” He asked.
Kaminari pulled his head back into the warm truck.
“I guess,” he said, “I’m still getting used to things again.”
“What kinds of things?”
Kaminari furrowed his brow, “Japan—things.”
“Makes sense,” said Kirishima plainly.
Reaching his arm back over, Kirishima placed a confident palm on Bakugou’s mid-thigh.
“Hey,” he began, “remember when we went to the States for our honeymoon and you got banned forever from that—that one chain store?”
Kaminari’s eyes widened. This was news to him.
“What was it called—” Kirishima tutted, “Oh! Walmart, right?”
From Kaminari's field of vision, he could see only a sliver of Bakugou’s reddening face. It was enough for him to read the boy like a book.
“It was a stupid store anyways,” he grumbled lowly.
“He speaks,” Kaminari teased.
“Well,” Kirishima reasoned, “you fought that greeting guy for trying to give you a sticker. Sometimes ya gotta roll with the punches, right Kat?”
He patted his hand a few times on his partner’s thigh, but he kept it there for a little while longer. There was something endearing about the mindless circling of Kirishima's thumb against Bakugou’s jeans. Kaminari tried to think about the last time he’d been touched like that. Besides a few hookups and a one-month relationship during his time in the States, he couldn’t remember with certainty when he was last touched with love that expected no favors. Discreetly, he interlaced the fingers of his right hand with those of his left and tucked them between his knees. An onlooker would think that he was simply sitting politely with folded hands, but they’d never see the tender circling of Kaminari’s own thumb over the soft skin of his hand to try and simulate some sort of touch. It would be nice to hold a hand. It would be really really nice.
And I know just whose hand I want it to be.
Kaminari pressed his eyelids closed as the intrusive thought darted into his mind. He cocked his head a little to the right in an attempt to shake the words out of his head, and it was surprisingly successful. In the past few years, he’d started getting these thoughts, these terrible little thoughts that, on occasion, would make him fear for his life. It was part of the reason he went to the States, but the only thing he couldn’t escape while there was the very root of the problem. All he wanted sometimes was for his brain to shut up so he could get some real sleep or make friends like he used to. His preferred method was dulling it all by drowning the thoughts in any kind of alcohol he could get his hands on. But he couldn’t tell anyone. He especially couldn’t tell Kirishima and Bakugou.
Still, his mind whirled with the terrifying thought of wanting something that might still belong to someone else. If Shinsou and Tokoyami were still together, then he had a thought which would seek to ruin that. But he didn’t want to ruin it. But if he didn’t want to ruin it, why would his brain even think it? He must inherently be a cheater if he thought something like that so readily.
“You’re staying with us, right? Until you find a place?”
Kirishima’s voice tore Kaminari from the center of his whirlwind thoughts, and he was eternally grateful for the act.
“If it’s still cool,” Kaminari’s heart raced a little at the thought of sleeping on the street again.
“Absolutely!” Kirishima exclaimed, “We’ve had this empty guest room for ages, it’ll just collect dust if no one uses it.”
“Does this mean that your moms won’t be hanging around all the time now?” Bakugou asked gruffly.
“Yes, Katsuki,” sighed Kirishima, “my moms won’t be able to stay with us for a little while.”
A small grunt of contentment fell from Bakugou’s lips.
“Invasive in-laws?” Kaminari asked after hauling himself back in between the couple.
“Overbearing, moreso,” Kirishima cut in before Bakugou could say a word.
The blonde scoffed again, one arm lounging back out the open window beside him.
Kirishima groaned, “They just care, okay? They care a lot.”
“And they only have one child,” Bakugou grumbled.
“Exactly,” his partner affirmed.
Another tense moment of silence fell over the trio. Though it’d only been a year since they’d seen one another, it was still weird as they tried to navigate a newly unfamiliar pattern of conversation. While Kaminari might’ve liked to think that not much had changed in his absence, he couldn’t even assure himself of that.
“What were you doing at that building, anyways?” Bakugou asked.
In the elevator ride down, Kaminari had concocted a believable lie about apartment-hunting or something that wouldn’t make the pair suspicious. The entire plan hung heavy on the tip of his tongue as Kirishima cut in once more.
“Isn’t that where Shinsou lives? I think that’s where we went for the housewarming party a few years ago.”
And just like that, Kaminari’s entire plan was shot. He had no choice other than to tell the truth, at this point.
“I was going to see Shinsou, actually,” he admitted, “I stopped by his office first, but they said he hadn’t been in for a while. I knocked on his door and he never answered, but then his neighbor said he didn’t leave his apartment anymore, so I knew he was in there. Weird, right?”
In scary unison, Kirishima and Bakugou shared a veiled look of concern. Kirishima’s mouth hung open for a few moments like he wanted to say something. Bakugou hardened his brow and turned his attention back to the busy road ahead of them.
“He’s still with Tokoyami, right?” Kaminari asked through a dry mouth.
His heart rate picked up again as he waited expectantly for Kirishima’s answer. But his mouth just hung slightly agape like before. Kaminari watched his eyes focus dutifully on the blue sedan in front of them at the traffic light, swimming with a knowing that Kaminari would kill to also have.
“Right?” he pressed.
Once he’d braked the car completely, Kirishima turned his head towards the backseat just a smidge. His face had fallen further, it positively dripped with a subdued sorrow Kaminari had never seen before. It was more creased than the secretary's and the old woman's expressions combined. Kaminari couldn't resist the sick feeling that started to burn the sides of his stomach.
"Kami," Kirishima said, "Tokoyami died."