Love, According to Denki

II

       All at once, there's a myriad of thoughts rushing into Bakugou's brain like water through a broken floodgate. They tug his heart and mind in all different directions, playing upon his emotions like an instrument; the music is discordant and not cohesive in the least, but through the chaos there is a single word that he can decisively pin down:

       Fuck.

       Bakugou swears he can feel his heart lodge itself in his throat. The hand holding his phone trembles; the letters in Kaminari's name blur together, unreadable, in front of hollow scarlet eyes. Almost too quickly Bakugou reaches for the Decline Call button, but a nagging thought in the back of his mind brings his fingertip to a halt just above the screen. Kaminari's caller ID stares him in the face like an unholy truth he'd rather ignore. Bakugou swallows hard, willing the lump in his throat to go away.

       He presses Accept.

       "Kat-suki." Kaminari's voice chimes through the speakers like a gentle chorus, syllables drawn out by a lazy tongue. He's sleepy; Bakugou can tell. He's become far too familiar with the sound of Kaminari's tired voice.

       "The hell do you want? For fuck's sake, it's way too early for this, Denki," Bakugou grumbles into the phone. He brings a hand up to his forehead, massages his temples with his thumb and index finger.

       "Just listen, just listen!" Bakugou rolls his eyes as Kaminari's laughter crackles through like static; he's certain whatever he's going to hear next is going to be another delirious statement about love. Such has become the norm. "Okay, so, so... I was thinking about something in class today while I was doodling. Love is weird, right? Like, Christmas Island weird. When I look at you, my heart opens like... a bloom of crabs. Christmas Island crabs, specifically. They're the best. And I know what you're thinking right now: you don't get me, or the way I think. So, hum... wanna find out?"

       Bakugou forces himself not to sigh audibly. "Denki. It's—" He pauses, glances to his alarm clock: 3:15 A.M., "—a quarter past 3 in the fucking morning. Jesus. Couldn't this wait?"

       Silence falls heavy on the call. Bakugou can almost imagine Kaminari pouting at his phone, but for his own sake, he tries not to. "Kacchan! No. For once in your life, really listen to me. I want you to go out with me. I want you to learn shit about me." Kaminari's voice is no longer wavering, Bakugou notices, and the groggy undertones have faded away into the background. He is articulate, pronounced. Intrepid, even. Bakugou isn't sure he likes this side of Kaminari--either that or he isn't sure it suits him. It's so invariably different from anything he's ever associated with that stun gun monstrosity before.

       The authority in his voice chills Bakugou's blood.

       Kaminari apparently takes the ensuing silence as Bakugou acknowledging his demand, for he continues as if he has the other's approval. "You're smart as hell, 'Suki, you know that? Ah, jeez, of course you do, who am I kidding—so be smart now, why don'tcha? Go out on a limb. Go out with me. And here, I'll sweeten the deal—if you don't think this ends up as a life-changing event, just tell me and I won't pester you again. 'Kay?"

       "I know you, shit-face. You can't promise that," Bakugou snorts.

       "Of course I can't. I could say it a million-zillion times and you wouldn't believe me. But you gotta trust me. Okay? Trust me. And if you do, then I'd say to put some comfy clothes on and meet me outside my dorm room."

       The line clicks dead. Bakugou listens to the resulting tone, hollow like a flatlining heart monitor, and turns over his options in his head countless times. He's already awake, so it would make the most sense to just suck it up and go—but then that would mean Kaminari's won, and Bakugou doesn't want to give him the satisfaction. Then again, it would be simpler just to stay in his room and try to sleep, he tells himself—but in his heart he knows sleep will not come easy to him tonight. Kaminari's words have unsettled him too much. There's a seed of curiosity cultivating in the tar black of his heart. He wants to know. He needs answers. Trust me, Kaminari's voice tells him, creeping around the recesses of his mind like shadows in the streets. Trust me. Does he?

       He finds himself rising to his feet, rummaging through drawers, donning sweats and a hoodie. Trust me. He slips his phone into his pocket, ruffles his hair up a bit. Trust me. His fingers shake as he ties his shoelaces—loop, loop, pull. His door looms before him like a wrought-iron gate, the only thing protecting him from his own emotions. Trust me.

       He steps out into the corridor and shuts the door to his room behind him. Trust me.

       He does.