(Denki POV)
Denki had never felt more surrounded.
Loud voices.
Fast conversations.
Snacks being tossed onto his hospital bed like this was a casual hangout instead of a recovery ward.
And honestly?
He loved it.
Even if he was still too exhausted to keep up properly, even if his body still ached, even if Bakugo was currently yelling at him for being weak, the sheer energy in the room was overwhelming in the best way possible.
Mina leaned closer, her eyes sharp but warm, like she was making absolutely sure he was okay before shoving more candy toward him.
"Eat something, idiot. You probably haven't had a decent meal in days!"
Denki blinked.
Looked down at the snack pile.
Then looked at Jiro, who was sitting beside him, arms crossed, expression undeniably tense, like she wasn't sure whether she should laugh or tell Bakugo to shut up.
Denki chuckled weakly, rubbing his fingers against his temple before grinning up at her.
"You been feeding me at all, Jiro, or did I starve in my sleep?"
Jiro rolled her eyes, but a faint flicker of amusement danced behind the stress still resting in her shoulders.
"You're not dead, so clearly, you didn't starve."
Denki snorted.
Bakugo huffed, crossing his arms.
"You look dead."
Denki laughed outright, the sound small, scratchy, but full of life, and instantly, the entire room shifted—the tension cracked, the atmosphere eased, because for the first time since everything had gone wrong—
He was laughing again.
(Jiro POV)
Jiro knew that sound.
Had heard it once before, had clung to it the moment Denki woke up, had let it bury itself deep in her chest, knowing—knowing—she would never get tired of hearing it.
But the others?
The others hadn't heard it since before everything went wrong.
Since before the fight.
Since before the injury.
Since before the terrifying, silent days in the hospital.
So the second Denki laughed again—weak, scratchy, but undeniably his—Jiro saw everything change.
Mina's breath hitched.
Sero's shoulders relaxed.
Kirishima let out a low, relieved exhale, like he hadn't realized he'd been holding onto so much tension.
And Bakugo?
Bakugo didn't yell.
Didn't bark at him to shut up.
Didn't call him an idiot.
Just stood there, arms crossed, red eyes flickering with something too quiet to name—something Jiro never thought she'd see in him.
Relief.
Because they had all thought—just for a moment, just for those awful days—that they would never hear this sound again.
And yet—
Here it was.
Finally.
(Denki POV)
Denki hadn't even noticed at first.
Hadn't realized just how much his voice meant, just how much this simple, stupid laugh carried weight.
But the second he caught the way everyone froze, the way their postures shifted, the way Jiro's smile softened just slightly, he knew.
He knew what this moment meant.
He swallowed carefully, leaning back against the pillows, still exhausted, still sore, but undeniably alive.
And for the first time since everything went wrong—
He felt like himself again.
Like he wasn't just surviving, but actually living.
Denki glanced toward Jiro—toward the way she hadn't let go of his hand, toward the way her thumb brushed against his knuckles like a silent reassurance.
He smirked—weak, tired, but bright.
"Did you miss it or something?"
Jiro didn't hesitate.
Didn't overthink it.
Didn't try to cover it up.
She just squeezed his hand once, her expression steady but warm, her voice softer than usual.
"Yeah."
Denki blinked.
Felt his chest tighten.
Then—
Then, he laughed again.
And this time—this time—everyone else did too.
(Denki POV)
Denki was still buzzing.
The laughter had settled.
The energy had shifted.
But the weight of it all still hung in the air—thick, undeniable, deeply felt.
And now?
Now, he was watching Bakugo, waiting for the inevitable explosion that usually followed moments like this.
But Bakugo wasn't yelling.
Wasn't snapping at him for being weak.
Wasn't storming out like none of this mattered.
Instead—
Instead, hs arms were still crossed, his posture relaxed but sharp, his red eyes flickering with something Denki had only seen a handful of times before.
Something careful.
Something real.
Something quietly relieved.
Denki swallowed.
Jiro had moved closer—had rested her arm against the side of his bed, had kept her presence steady, as if making sure he didn't sink back into exhaustion too quickly.
And Denki appreciated that.
Because even now—even after everything—his body still wasn't fully ready to keep up.
Bakugo exhaled—slow, deliberate, just enough for Denki to catch it.
Then—
"Don't pull dumb hero crap like that again, moron."
(Bakugo POV)
Bakugo had spent days pretending he wasn't worried.
Had spent days focusing on the next fight, the next training session, the next moment where he wouldn't have to deal with whatever the hell had happened to Kaminari.
But now—now that the idiot was awake, now that his laugh was back, now that everyone in this damn hospital room had finally exhaled for the first time in what felt like forever—Bakugo knew he couldn't pretend anymore.
So instead—he spoke.
"Don't pull dumb hero crap like that again, moron."
The words were sharp, but the tone wasn't.
And the moment Denki grinned at him—tired, weak, but still every bit as annoying as ever—Bakugo knew he had officially lost any ability to act like this didn't matter.
Because it did.
It always had.
And no matter how much he wanted to yell, wanted to call him an idiot, wanted to pretend he wasn't affected—Denki had almost died.
And Bakugo wasn't about to let him forget that.
Denki smirked, voice hoarse but full of something challenging.
"Oh, c'mon, you missed me."
Bakugo rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets before turning toward the door.
"Shut up, dumbass."
Denki laughed.
And Bakugo?
Bakugo didn't stop it this time.
Didn't snap at him.
Didn't try to bury the reality that for days, for far too long, he hadn't been sure they'd ever get this idiot back.
Because Denki was still here.
Still stupid.
Still loud.
Still Denki Kaminari.
And for Bakugo?
That was more than enough.
(Bakugo POV)
Bakugo didn't expect this.
Didn't expect the way his chest felt too tight, the way his thoughts kept looping back to all the moments before this—before Denki woke up, before he laughed again, before everything started to feel normal again.
He hadn't processed it.
Hadn't really let himself think about what it had felt like—the uncertainty, the silence, the way he had stood at the edge of Denki's hospital bed and just stared at him, fists clenched, pulse loud, mind refusing to accept the idea that maybe—
Just maybe—
Denki wasn't coming back.
But now?
Now Denki was here.
Still weak.
Still struggling.
But alive.
And Bakugo—Bakugo couldn't ignore the fact that he cared more than he was supposed to.
More than anyone expected him to.
More than even he expected himself to.
He clicked his tongue, staring at the idiot's stupid, tired grin, watching the way he leaned back, too exhausted to keep up but still trying anyway.
Denki knew.
Of course he knew.
Knew Bakugo had been worried, knew this wasn't just some casual visit, knew this meant something deeper—something Bakugo wasn't ready to admit out loud.
And honestly?
That made Bakugo want to punch him.
Not hard.
Just enough to make him shut up.
(Denki POV)
Denki felt everything.
Not just the exhaustion.
Not just the lingering ache in his limbs.
Not just the slow, steady relief that still hadn't fully settled into his bones.
But Bakugo's silent concern.
Because even if Bakugo wasn't saying it outright, even if he was pretending none of this mattered, even if he was acting like he hadn't spent days wondering if Denki was ever going to wake up—Denki felt it.
Saw it in the way Bakugo hadn't left immediately.
Saw it in the way his expression had softened—just slightly—but undeniably.
Saw it in the way his shoulders weren't tense anymore, like some invisible weight had finally, finally lifted.
Denki smirked—small, slow, tired.
"You really do care, huh?"
Bakugo's entire expression twitched—his posture immediately stiffening, his hands shoving deeper into his pockets.
"Shut up, dumbass."
Denki snorted.
"Nah, seriously. Kinda weird seeing you not screaming at me for once."
Bakugo huffed, barely masking the way his jaw locked for half a second—like he was biting back something heavier, something real, something raw.
Denki caught that.
Caught the hesitation.
Caught the way Bakugo was clearly still processing everything—even if he didn't want to admit it.
And honestly?
That was kinda hilarious.
Denki grinned weakly, stretching his arms above his head just slightly, knowing full well he was still too tired to move properly.
"Bet you missed me way more than you expected."
Bakugo growled under his breath, turning toward the door, moving way faster than necessary—like he was running away from the conversation before it got too real.
"Go to hell, Kaminari."
Denki laughed.
Bright.
Unsteady.
Alive.
And the second Bakugo heard it—really heard it—he stopped just short of the doorway.
Didn't turn around.
Didn't react.
Just stood there.
Then—
"You scared us, idiot."
Denki's breath caught.
His chest tightened.
And the moment Bakugo walked out, leaving behind the weight of what he had just admitted, Denki felt the reality sink in completely.
Bakugo had cared more than any of them expected.
More than Denki expected.
More than Bakugo himself had expected.
And somehow—somehow—that mattered more than Denki had realized. (Kirishima POV)
Kirishima leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a small but genuine grin resting on his face.
"Man, I can't believe it. He's really okay."
Mina, sitting beside him on the hallway bench, let out a deep sigh, stretching her legs in front of her before shaking her head with a bright, relieved smile.
"It's kinda surreal, right? Like—I knew Denki was strong, but after everything—" She exhaled, pressing her hands against her knees. "I was so scared we were gonna lose him."
Kirishima nodded, his grip tightening against his forearm, his eyes flickering toward the hospital room where Denki had just been laughing like he hadn't spent days unconscious.
He had missed that sound.
Missed Denki being Denki.
Missed the way he could turn the worst situations into something lighter, something brighter, something worth fighting for.
"Yeah," Kirishima murmured. "But he pulled through. Like always."
Mina hummed softly, tapping her fingers against her thigh before her gaze shifted toward the doorway.
Where Bakugo still stood.
Still watching.
Still not moving.
(Mina POV)
Mina hadn't been sure about Bakugo's reaction at first.
Had expected him to be relieved, but in his own aggressive way—snapping at Denki, telling him he was a moron for almost dying, yelling at him to recover faster so they could get back to training.
But instead—he was just standing there.
Silent.
Still.
Lingering in the doorway like he wasn't ready to leave just yet.
And honestly?
That was rare for Bakugo.
"You gonna walk out or just stare at the guy all day?" Kirishima called out, grinning just slightly.
Bakugo snapped his head toward him, his expression immediately darkening.
"Shut up, dumbass."
Kirishima chuckled, pushing off the wall just as Mina leaned forward, resting her elbows against her knees.
"Ohhh, wait—" she teased, eyes glinting with mischief. "You totally care more than you expected, don't you?"
Bakugo's entire body tensed.
Then—
"Go to hell."
And with that, he stormed off, the sound of his boots heavy against the floor, his fists clenched, his shoulders stiffer than usual.
Mina blinked.
Then grinned wide.
"Wow. He's in so much denial."
Kirishima laughed outright, crossing his arms again as he turned back toward her.
"I mean, can you blame him? None of us expected to care this much."
Mina's smile softened just slightly, her fingers playing with the fabric of her sleeve.
"Yeah. But we do."
Kirishima watched her carefully.
Watched the way her expression shifted—gentle, steady, like the weight of everything had finally settled deep in her chest.
And somehow—somehow—that moment between them felt… different.
Not just about Denki.
Not just about recovery.
Not just about relief.
But about them.
Their friendship.
Their bond.
Their presence beside each other, after everything.
Mina caught his stare, tilting her head slightly, her lips twitching just enough to hint at something else—something deeper.
"What?" she asked, voice quieter than before.
Kirishima swallowed.
Took a breath.
And didn't break eye contact.
"Nothing," he murmured. "Just—this is nice."
Mina's eyes widened—not dramatically, but enough for him to notice.
Enough for him to feel the way the air between them shifted—not loud, not chaotic, but undeniably something.
And for the first time since arriving at the hospital, Kirishima felt his pulse pick up for a different reason.
Kirishima didn't look away.
Didn't let himself second-guess it.
Didn't push past the moment like it wasn't happening.
Because it was.
And Mina—Mina wasn't backing out of it either.
Her lips parted slightly, like she was about to say something—something teasing, something light, something Mina-like—but instead, she just held his gaze, something softer flickering behind her usual brightness.
Kirishima swallowed hard.
His hands tightened around his arms, grounding himself, steadying himself, reminding himself that this wasn't some battlefield, wasn't some crisis, wasn't a moment of adrenaline or heroics.
It was just them.
Here.
Now.
Alive.
And after everything—after the fear, the worry, the way Mina had spent days pressing down on Denki's wound, refusing to let him slip away—this moment between them felt even more important than he expected.
"Kiri?"
Her voice was softer than usual.
Not questioning.
Not teasing.
Just curious.
Kirishima exhaled slowly.
"Yeah?"
Mina hesitated—not long, but long enough.
Then—
"You're acting kinda weird."
Kirishima snorted, the tension breaking slightly as he ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head.
"Says the girl staring at me like she wants to read my mind."
Mina grinned, relaxing just slightly, but her eyes—her eyes still carried that quiet weight.
"Not my fault you're being all dramatic."
Kirishima chuckled.
And yet—he didn't let go of the weight between them.
Didn't ignore the way she was still watching him carefully.
Didn't dismiss the fact that for the first time in a long time, Mina was letting a moment really settle.
"Mina," he murmured, voice steadier now.
She blinked.
"Yeah?"
He smiled gently, shifting his stance, feeling the reality of it all—Denki's survival, their relief, the way his pulse still hadn't fully calmed.
"I meant it," he said. "This is nice."
Mina's breath hitched.
Just barely.
Just enough for Kirishima to notice.
And that?
That meant something. (Denki POV)
Denki sunk deeper into the pillows, exhaling slowly as the room finally settled into silence.
For the first time today—for the first time since the visit, since the chaos, since Bakugo stormed off and Kirishima and Mina disappeared into their own world—it was just him and Jiro.
And honestly?
That felt nice.
Jiro sat beside him, her posture more relaxed now, her arms resting comfortably against the bed, her fingers lightly brushing against his hand, like she wasn't fully aware she was doing it.
But Denki noticed.
Noticed the way she hadn't let go once.
Noticed the way her breathing finally sounded even again.
Noticed the way she was watching him—not worried, not tense, just there, steady, present.
It was comforting.
Soft.
Real.
Denki grinned—small, slow, tired, but undeniably himself.
"And now it's just us," he murmured, his thumb running lightly over her knuckles.
Jiro rolled her eyes but didn't move away.
"I mean, yeah. Don't know if I should be relieved or terrified."
Denki chuckled, squeezing her hand just slightly.
"Terrified? Of me?"
Jiro huffed, tilting her head back just enough to let the warmth in her gaze flicker through.
"You're still recovering, idiot. I could shove you off this bed and you wouldn't even be able to fight back."
Denki snorted, biting back another laugh just as exhaustion tugged at his muscles again.
"Harsh, babe. Real harsh."
Jiro sighed—soft, small, barely there—but enough for Denki to feel it.
She shifted forward, resting her elbows against the edge of the bed, her fingers curling more firmly into his, her grip solid but careful.
"I'm just glad you're still here."
Denki's chest tightened.
His grin faded just slightly.
And before he could stop himself—before he could let that truth settle deep into his ribs—he moved his hand, threading his fingers properly through hers, locking them together like he needed the proof just as much as she did.
"Me too."
Denki exhaled slowly, his fingers still tangled with Jiro's, his pulse steady but heavy.
The silence between them wasn't awkward.
Wasn't tense.
Wasn't filled with the exhaustion of everything that had happened.
It was just there.
Soft.
Quiet.
Safe.
And after everything—after the fight, after the hospital, after the weight of recovery finally settled in—Denki wasn't taking this moment for granted.
Jiro's grip on his hand was firm, but not tight.
Not desperate.
Not like the way she had held onto him when he had first woken up, when her fingers had been shaking, when her breath had been uneven, when the relief had slammed into her so hard she hadn't been able to handle it properly.
No—now, it was different.
Now, she was okay.
Still tense.
Still carrying the aftermath.
But okay.
Denki swallowed carefully, rolling his head to the side, letting his golden eyes settle on her properly.
"Hey, Jiro."
Jiro hummed, turning toward him, tilting her head just slightly, waiting.
"You really never left, huh?"
Jiro snorted, rolling her eyes.
"You were kinda dying, idiot."
Denki chuckled, squeezing her hand once.
"Yeah, but still—" He paused, blinking slow, letting the weight of his exhaustion press into his bones again. "You could've taken a break."
Jiro's expression shifted just slightly.
Not a full change.
Not a full reaction.
Just enough for Denki to catch it.
She hesitated—briefly, not long, not enough to make the moment uncomfortable, but enough to make Denki realize she was choosing her words carefully.
Then—
"Didn't wanna."
Denki's pulse hitched.
Not loud.
Not heavy.
Just enough to remind him that after everything, after the near-miss, after the fight that had almost taken him away completely—Jiro hadn't let herself leave.
Hadn't wanted to leave.
Denki swallowed again, his grin softer now, his hand relaxing properly against hers.
"Good."
And neither of them let go.