Work it Out - KiriKami

25 ~ Almost There

image cred: sfonsecan

The courtyard was louder than Denki remembered.

Not in a bad way — just full. Voices overlapping, footsteps scuffing against concrete, the faint buzz of someone's quirk sparking in the distance. Afternoon sun warmed the benches, the trees casting uneven shadows across the paths students crossed in lazy clusters.

Denki stood just inside the edge of it all, backpack slung over one shoulder, fingers hooked into the strap like he needed the grounding.

Eijirou was beside him, mid-sentence about something Katsuki had said earlier — loud, probably — when Denki stopped listening.

Not because he didn't care.

Because he was thinking.

I could.

The thought came quietly. Not as a challenge, not as pressure. Just a statement.

He could feel the old reflex stirring — the instinct to keep space, to angle his body away, to make sure nothing about them looked too obvious. It was familiar, automatic, and for the first time, Denki noticed it as something separate from himself.

A habit. Not a rule.

They reached an open bench near the edge of the courtyard. Eijirou sat first, stretching his arms back along the top slat, relaxed and open in a way Denki still found unfairly endearing.

Denki hovered for a second.

Then he sat — closer than usual.

Not pressed together. Not dramatic.

Just close enough that their shoulders brushed.

The contact sent a spark up his arm. His breath hitched, the echo of fear flaring instinctively — eyes, judgment, memory — all threatening to crowd in at once.

Denki inhaled slowly.

I'm here. This is now.

Eijirou didn't move. Didn't tense. Didn't make a big deal of it.

He just... stayed.

They talked about nothing for a while. Homework. Training. A stupid movie Mina wanted to watch later. Denki focused on the feel of the bench beneath him, the sun on his skin, the fact that nothing bad was happening.

Then, without really planning it, he let his hand rest on the bench between them.

Palm down. Fingers loose.

Another small thing.

Another choice.

The fear didn't vanish — it pulsed, sharp and familiar — but it didn't spike. It didn't take over. Denki let it exist without obeying it.

Eijirou glanced down, noticed the hand, then looked back at Denki's face.

No questions. No hesitation.

After a beat, Eijirou shifted just enough that his pinky brushed Denki's.

Denki's heart jumped.

He almost pulled away. Almost.

Instead, he let his finger curl — barely — around Eijirou's.

The contact was light. Easy to break. Something Denki could undo at any moment if it became too much.

It mattered because he hadn't.

They sat like that for a while, fingers loosely hooked, surrounded by noise and sunlight and people who didn't know — and didn't need to.

Eventually, Denki spoke, voice quiet.

"I'm not... ready for everything yet."

Eijirou nodded immediately. "I know."

Denki swallowed. "But I wanted to try this."

Eijirou's grip tightened just a fraction. "Thank you for telling me."

Denki leaned back against the bench, still holding on.

He wasn't proving anything. He wasn't conquering fear. He was practicing trust — in himself, in the moment, in the fact that healing didn't have to be all or nothing.

When they finally stood to leave, Denki let go first.

And that was okay too.

°•. ✿ .•°

The office smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and old paper.

Denki sank into the familiar chair, backpack resting at his feet, fingers worrying the zipper out of habit. The room felt quieter than usual today — or maybe he was. Less static buzzing under his skin. Less bracing for impact.

Makoto-san settled into her chair across from him, notebook resting on her knee. She didn't open it right away.

"How have things been since we last met?" she asked.

Denki exhaled slowly. "Different."

"That's not a bad word," she said gently.

"No," he agreed. "I don't think it is."

He stared at the carpet for a moment, following the pattern with his eyes. He could feel the urge to minimize, to deflect with humor or vagueness — the old instinct to stay just out of reach — but it didn't take over.

"I've been... choosing things," he said finally. "Small things. But on purpose."

Makoto nodded, inviting him to continue.

"I used to think healing would feel like something happening to me. Like one day I'd wake up and just... not be scared anymore." He gave a small, self-aware huff. "Turns out it's more like deciding what I do with the fear."

"That's an important distinction," she said.

Denki shifted in his seat. "I sat next to my boyfriend yesterday. In public. Really close."

Makoto's expression stayed neutral, but her eyes sharpened with interest. "How did that feel?"

"Terrifying," Denki admitted immediately. Then, after a beat, "And fine."

He frowned a little, like the contradiction bothered him. "Both at the same time. I didn't dissociate. I didn't spiral. I noticed the fear, but it didn't... run me."

Makoto smiled softly. "That sounds like progress."

Denki nodded. "I think so too."

He hesitated, then added, quieter, "I think I might be getting ready. For more."

"For what?" she asked, already knowing — but letting him name it.

"For PDA," Denki said, the words landing without shaking his voice. "Not because I owe it to anyone. Not because I'm 'supposed to.' But because... I want to be able to exist with him without feeling like I'm doing something wrong."

Makoto leaned back slightly. "What makes you think you're ready?"

Denki thought about it.

About the bench. The pinky. The way he'd let go when he decided to.

"I don't feel like I need to prove anything anymore," he said slowly. "And I don't feel like I'm doing it to fight my past. I just... want to be with him. Where people can see. Because that's real."

Makoto nodded. "Readiness doesn't mean the fear disappears, Denki. It means you trust yourself to respond if it shows up."

Denki let that settle.

"I don't think I'm ready for everything," he said. "But I think I'm ready to start."

Makoto smiled — not wide, not congratulatory. Just steady.

"That's all healing ever asks of us."

Denki leaned back in his chair, shoulders relaxing.

For the first time, the idea of holding Eijirou's hand where others could see it didn't feel like a test.

It felt like a choice he was almost ready to make.