Chapter Text
Denki had the words in his mouth for most of the afternoon.
They sat there, half-formed, barely understandable every time he tried to bring them up and then retreating just as fast when Jirou laughed at something on her phone or leaned into him on the couch like she always did.
It wasn’t even a bad day. Patrol had been slow, the sun was out to warm the mild spring and dinner was already in the pressure cooker. Her boots were kicked off by the door, guitar case propped in the corner like it belonged there.
It was all so…domestic. Normal. Easy.
The truth is, everything had been stagnant in their lives for so long. Normal and easy, but stagnant. He was on patrol earlier in the week and saw a new bridal shop that had opened up maybe a block or two from their agencies. It wasn’t something he spent more than 5 seconds maybe-glancing at, he had more pressing matters to deal with than looking at cheesy wooden signs, but it had been singed into his brain since.
His leg bounced against the plush carpet, fingers tapping the arm rest of the couch. Denki Kaminari wasn’t known for his focus but this somehow was all he could think about. It was like a 14 year old girl took over his body the way he’d been scrolling on Pinterest and looking at cake decorators in the area.
He took an earbud out of his ear, clearing his throat, “So,” he said, finally.
Jirou hummed in response, not looking up.
Denki stared at the ceiling, then at the ring-shaped indentation his empty glass left on the coffee table, then anywhere but her face.
“I’ve been thinking of…future plans.”
She spared him a small nod and a laugh but didn’t look up, “That can never be good.”
“This is serious stuff,” he said with his own huff of laughter and a slight elbow to the ribs, “It’s been taking up serious brain space for a while.”
Jirou looked up then, a smile forming. She gestured for him to continue.
“Alright so it’s mainly…okay well so it started Monday when—”
At that moment, the pressure cooker went off.
Jirou startled, phone nearly slipping out of her hand, “Shit—”
She stood quickly, hurrying into the kitchen, already pulling a towel off the counter. Steam hissed softly as she twisted the lid, “Sorry, you were saying?” She called from the kitchen.
Denki watched her move around the space like she’d memorized it. Like this was permanent.
“It’s nothing,” he said, grimacing to himself.
They’d been dancing around this topic for what seemed like the past year. Denki would try to bring something up, and just before he could say it…an interruption.
She hummed, putting on a pair of oven mitts, “Good. Because I almost forgot—I’m heading to Tokyo next week.”
His leg stopped bouncing.
“Tokyo?”
“Yeah,” she said easily, “Just to catch up with Uraraka, Momo, maybe Tokoyami if he gets a chance to chat. Gang Orca also opened up a new branch there so may check out what’s keeping the old man kicking y’know?”
He stood, “Oh yeah you were talking about…uh…”
“Expanding! Maybe…nothing’s set in stone. If I could get some tips while I’m there that’d be nice but it’s more exploratory if anything.”
He set the cups in the sink, turning on the faucet to rinse them off as Jirou leaned down to get the salmon, “How long are you gonna be gone exactly?”
“Three weeks. Maybe two if everyone’s schedules line up properly,” she set the tray down and closed the oven door with her leg, “I booked my train ticket for Sunday so I can beat the rush so travel time should be good too—”
Jirou’s pager went off on the dining room table. She groaned, throwing off her mitts on the counter in front of her and rushing to answer it, “Are you serious, just when we were gonna have dinner uninterrupted…”
“I still think it’s ridiculous you own one of those things.” Denki called after her, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching how she sped through the apartment.
Ever since becoming pros, the work seemed to be non-stop. Maybe it was because they lived in such close proximity to their work, but sometimes it seemed to consume them. For the majority of heroes it led to burnout. In worse cases it led to a subtle underlying resentment that flared up whenever they got a call off hours or when they had to wake up early. For Jirou it just seemed to fuel her further.
“I’ll try to not be long,” she said before giving him a light peck and grabbing the keys from the key holder, “Save me the crispy part!”
And just like smoke she was gone again. Denki stood with his hand in a frozen wave goodbye, supportive smile slowly slipping off. He sighed and turned back to the now empty kitchen that seemed a lot less warm than what it was minutes prior. He spooned rice onto his plate and cut the salmon in half.
Now sitting at the table, Denki stared at the extra plate like it had personally wronged him.
The rice cooled faster than he expected. The salmon lost its shine. He picked at the crispy edge like she’d asked, then stopped, setting his fork down. The apartment was too quiet without her. No music bleeding through earbuds, no humming from the office or the living room or the— no commentary about whatever she’d just seen online.
He needed a distraction, something to fill this silence. He checked his phone, anything to get his mind off of what he was missing out on.
Nothing.
Denki scrolled through his contacts and clicked on Kirishima. He typed out a message before he could overthink it.
Heyyyy man, just seeing if you were up for drinks or something tmr—
He hovered, then deleted it. He exited the chat and clicked on Sero’s. Tried again.
You up to hang out tmr?
Deleted.
He leaned back in his chair, running a hand down his face. This was the problem, this had always been the problem. Every time he tried to reach for the future, it slipped sideways. Turned into jokes, or logistics, or the dreaded later. There was always a next patrol, a next trip, the next interruption that continually seemed to prolong his…longing.
Three weeks wasn’t that long. He knew that. Hell, they’d gone months longer without seeing each other before.
So why did it feel like something had already gone missing?
Denki stood and rinsed his now clean plate, and wrapped the other half of the salmon in foil for later. He left her plate untouched.
When he passed the couch, he noticed her guitar case, still propped in the corner, tipping slightly. He nudged it back into place with his foot, careful. Like if he wasn’t, something else might tip over too.
The words came back then—uninvited, heavy in his chest.
Marry me.
They felt stupid now. Too big. Too late.
Denki flicked off the kitchen light and let the apartment fall into shadow, the echo of the pressure cooker still ringing faintly in his ears.
Sunday wasn’t that far away.