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sukiglycerin · 4 years ago

Text

dolce (sweetly, softly, gently)

* pairing: accompanist/violinist!katsuki bakugou x violinist!reader (gender neutral!) ft kamijirou

* genre: fluff, kinda angst, enemies to lovers, classical musician au hehe

* words: 9.5k (holy crap, this was a rollercoaster to write)

* warnings: swearing bc not only does bakugou exist, he is a prominent character, brief viola/second violinist jokes (reader’s words not mine), poor rosins being dropped :(

* a/n: SO this is very late for @prettysetterbaby‘s v-day collab!! pls check out all the other talented writers involved >< jj is an ANGEL for putting up with me being late T_T there’s some violin terminology in here but it’s fine if you don’t understand it! more notes at the end aha

* playlist (spotify in source link): violin sonata no.9, op.47 in a major “kreutzer” (beethoven) ; liebesfreud (kriesler) ; violin partita no.3 in e major (bach) ; duo concertante for 2 violins no.3 in d-sharp major, op.57 (beriot) ; clair de lune (debussy) ; duo for 2 violins in d-major, op.67, no.2 (spohr) ; 24 caprices op.1, no.24 in a minor (paganini)

* synopsis: being a soloist is not made easy by your new accompanist, bakugou. you step on each other’s toes when playing - but that’s alright, he’s just a pianist. you’re separated in your two worlds of musical instruments, until one day, you’re not. bakugou traverses over realms like a simple string crossing, and there’s a lot more he’s brought with him.

a double stop in violin is a technique in which two notes are played simultaneously. played correctly, one violin playing two notes should sound like two violins playing separate notes. if your life was a violin, you only needed double stops to play it. you'd perfected the art of being alone, playing the parts of two in your sad solo sonata. you were so, so sure you could compose and play for the whole orchestra - a symphony that would surely please the audience.

you were wrong. after all, a double stop has its limits as well, impossible to play with an interval of larger than a tenth. you were content with your double stops and playing by yourself. this was how you won countless competitions - what good would changing anything be?

you were born a soloist, or that's what your parents would say. you never followed the crowd, sticking to your own mind and doing what was true to you. you never worked well in an orchestra setting (and who knew what would become of you if you ever landed in second violin!). thus, you became a soloist, determined to keep the spotlight on you. it was you and your perfection that kept the eyes of the audience transfixed; you were desperate to keep their focus enraptured by every slight movement of your bow, every shift in finger position on the fingerboard. you wanted them to follow every dynamic and tempo change like their life depended on it, feel their emotion spark the moment your bow pressed a string. you were the only one on stage, an entertainer and an artist to the audience. you brought joy and sorrow through key changes and wonder through glissandos and held suspense with every tremolo. the audience was yours for an entire piece, for a story, for a lifetime.

oh, and there was the accompanist. what was his name again? batsugou? bakugou. the last part was a joke, of course. you'd never forget the man who ruined your first recital overseas.

katsuki bakugou was quickly made your accompanist after the previous one quit last minute and schedule clashes between any other potential candidates rendered them unable to travel with you. no one in their right mind would've come along on a plane to play a piano accompaniment for you. indeed, bakugou was not in his right mind. his name was prominent locally, an orchestral prodigy with the gift of perfect pitch since the tender age of thirteen. he never ventured internationally, though given the chance multiple times to do so. you could never understand why he never took any of the opportunities. you'd jump at any chance of expanding your musical horizons and performing for a larger audience, so it frustrated you to see someone with such potential to throw away possibly beneficial opportunities. not that you really paid much attention to him, anyway. bakugou was a pianist, and you were a violinist. you only cared about competition, not those with blessings you could only dream of achieving.

the months leading to your recital, bakugou had gone quiet. well, you didn't know him personally, so it was news of him that had gone practically radio silent. he was no longer featured in news articles or even pinned on bulletin boards for upcoming recitals. there were no updates from him on social media, too. not that you really paid attention, anyway. he was a prodigy, gifted naturally with talent, and you were a violinist.

an ambitious violinist, at that. you had dreams to perform anywhere out of the stifling air of japan. even to fly a short distance to south korea would be amazing, because it meant you'd be outside of japan. you worked towards this goal tirelessly. you dreamed of stepping on a plane, violin case in your right hand and your dreams in another, to fly to another country and perform. you wished to see the talent beyond your own bubble and feel the music resonate in an auditorium in a different way than it did in japan.

one day, that dream was realized. your violin case in one hand and dreams in another, you boarded the plane flying out of japan full of hope and the faith that good days were coming. while yes, you didn't expect to step out of that plane with anyone but your old accompanist, momo, bakugou's presence comforted you in the foreign atmosphere. for the first ten minutes, he said not a word to you but made it a point to speak to everyone else he could in what seemed like very convincingly fluent english.

to which you finally mustered up the courage to say, in japanese, "i thought you didn't travel internationally."

his japanese voice was a comforting sound. "i don't. this is my first time out of japan."

you stared at him like he just said he ate babies for breakfast (which seemed just as astronomically insane as him never stepping foot out of japan).

"but-" you stuttered. "your english is so good?"

"only because you can't understand it."

to be fair, he had a point. you could only say the basics, like, "hi," "how are you?", "i'm fine, and you?," and the ever-so useful, "do you speak japanese? my english is not good." he appeared to never use any of these phrases, so he was a god in english compared to you.

it was a miracle you navigated out of the airport with your luggage in hand and a general idea of how to get to the hotel you'd booked. you're not going to talk about the events in the hotel, though. sharing a bed with bakugou was a whole different story that consisted of him complaining about your phone usage at eleven pm and you complaining about his lack of sufficient english skills to be able to get the right hotel room (which he'd retort by saying "at least i speak english!").

the path to your first international competition was rocky, so understandably by the day of the performance, your metaphorical feet were sore and you only had water on your metaphorical mind. that is to say, you hadn't practiced with bakugou once until the day before the performance. said rehearsal was cut short due to misunderstandings as a result of bakugou's apparent not-so-fluency in english. you felt bad for him at this point.

and then you were up on stage, violin in one hand, bow in the other, and arms full of your childhood aspirations. also, definitely not prepared enough. you glanced once at bakugou before beginning and he looked confident enough. the lesson you learned that day was that looks can be deceiving.

something you could remember quite clearly was the way the spotlight shined on the varnish of your instrument as you held it, propped between your chin and shoulder. you focused on this shine before taking a deep breath, closing your eyes, and praying muscle memory would take over and you'd play the piece faithfully to the score.

you liked to think your playing was accurate. you, the soloist, were the main focus of the piece. the accompaniment made the piece richer and fuller, complementing the violin beautifully while keeping attention on said violin. the thing was, bakugou, like you, played like a soloist.

the performance was like a fight, and sadly not the graceful kind you'd see in a ballet. it was gory and a nuance to the ears, melodic tinkling of the piano becoming tears of a soldier dying in combat. at parts, you clashed by overshadowing the other by playing too loudly. sometimes it was you, and sometimes it was bakugou. it was a merciless game of tag; bakugou would be running to keep up with your playing; once achieving so, you were forced to start chasing after him. you can't exactly remember if he played well, though. for certain, he was not in sync with you, but you were mainly too preoccupied with your own playing to pay attention to his. listening to the recording of the performance, you were unable to evaluate his quality of playing properly, and thus, he remained your accompanist even when you returned to japan.

(actually, the biggest reason he stayed your accompanist was because of your classical musician friends' nagging. they were all in complete awe that the famous soloist, katsuki bakugou, had offered to be your accompanist, and begged for an autograph. of course, you declined.)

you figured that like you, bakugou was a soloist. he wasn't fit to assist your playing, far more suited to his own solos to entrance the audience with only his playing. being a soloist, he played like one too - that's simply how things worked. this understanding of him, though, still couldn't stop you from harbouring a small grudge against him for ruining your international debut.

and then there was the man himself, all standoffish and rough in words and persona. obscenities had no hesitation coming (thrust!) from his mouth. he yelled brashly and frequently and it astonished you that he was a classical musician, as most of your friends of the classical music profession were typically on the quiet, softer spoken side. those that were extroverts were optimistically so, in far contrast to bakugou, who you'd expect from looks alone to be playing in some heavy metal band. it was scary to hear his renditions of debussy's dreamy, serendipitous pieces when over your earbuds, he was yelling at some guy named "shitty hair" on his phone. you were curious how he looked recording the piece.

you didn't typically communicate, though. conversation, which only ever existed during rehearsal, was a question from you and a clipped grunt in response. there was nothing else to your relation; he played his part, and you played yours. sometimes you did this simultaneously, but it was as if you were playing two completely different things. performance, according to your friends, was now stilted. this was partially the reason you stopped listening to recorded performances. it wasn’t even like you’d ever derived pleasure from listening to them - you only nitpicked your mistakes.

your old accompanist, momo, on the other hand, was an absolute angel. she was kind, polite, and skilled on the piano, fingers dancing over the keys like a graceful ballet. you fit well with her; each performance was like a delightful conversation between friends, pleasant on the ears and twinkling with joy and laughter. with her, every performance felt like something resembling victory, even if it wasn’t a competition. to you, winning the audience’s gaze was enough.

then again, you didn't feel that you could judge quite yet. momo was your accompanist for years, and you could barely remember how the two of you sounded when you first started out. bakugou had been your accompanist for mere months (though it did feel much, much longer considering how frustrating he could be). you couldn't understand why he became your accompanist at all.

opposites. it was an accurate representation of your relationship with bakugou. he was a pianist, you weren't. he was a prodigy, you weren't. he was blessed with talent, you weren't. there was nothing to talk to him about, obviously, because of these dividing factors.

the longer you knew him, the more your disdain for the man grew. at rehearsals, it always felt like your performances were about him, him, and him. he was the star piano player, of course. he hadn't volunteered to be your accompanist as a sense of "stepping down"; no, no, rather, he was flaunting his piano playing with a violin playing in the background. he played perfectly. for a soloist.

as time passed, these frustrations with him became more and more apparent. you became acutely aware of how his performance would outshine your own, and it sickened you. slowly, the quality of your own performances took a nosedive. if the piece was originally pianissimo, you'd take it up to piano (then, if bakugou increased his volume, forte). if the tempo was andante and he was playing moderato, you'd play allegro. it was a competition at this point - instigated by him, of course. you were just upping the ante, even if it meant sacrificing your own artistry.

a lot of people warned you of what would happen, but you ignored them. the fierce competition you felt between you and bakugou caused your own downfall as a musician. slowly, gigs stopped trickling in, like a faucet being shut off. you blamed this on bakugou. ("i was international before him. now, i can barely get a gig in musutafu! why does everyone think he's so great?" you had fumed over the phone to jirou, your old roommate from university. she asked you if you had even listened to him play.)

you were scrambling for places to perform at this point. (“fire him,” the very unhelpful hagakure told you. you didn’t know what you were thinking when you asked her, a violist in a local orchestra. it wasn’t like she ever got a solo.) you’d seriously considered doing so, but came up empty when looking for another accompanist. online forums and friends’ connections could only do so much. they were all either unavailable during rehearsal schedules or inadequate in terms of adapting to the music given.

“you need to try working together with him,” jirou advised you one day over the phone.

“yeah, say that to yourself and kaminari,” you muttered bitterly under your breath. kaminari was a guitarist in jirou’s band who hadn’t quite gotten along with jirou well. jirou made fun of the lightning bolt streak in his hair. when you first met them, all they did was bicker day and night; now, according to the other guitarist, tokoyami, they still did this, though on a smaller scale.

she heard you. “well,” jirou said, slightly ticked off, “we get along better now. because of communication. look- i’m not saying you need to be best friends with bakugou or anything, but you need to talk to him about what’s working and what’s not. respect him as another musician, y’know?”

“i’ll… try,” you said begrudgingly.

you heard a muffled yell from the other side of the call. “kaminari, you idiot!” jirou called, voice a bit far. “what did i tell you about plugging in the amp? i said not to-” she cut herself off. “sorry, y/n, i need to go now. kaminari’s back to his normal antics.” she sighed, but it sounded more endeared than irritated. the call ended.

respect bakugou as another musician. you could do that. bakugou was only a pianist. you were a violinist. he was your accompanist. he was to support your playing. you’d forever be separated from him, doing your own thing. he, certainly, couldn’t understand the woes of being a violinist. not the intonation nor the techniques; you were sure that if you handed him a violin on the spot, he wouldn’t be able to even hold the bow properly. the notion of bakugou, piano prodigy, struggling to make a decent sound on the violin with a bow clenched in an ungainly grip deeply amused you.

these thoughts kept your relationship with bakugou afloat and restrained you from strangling him every time he stepped a toe out of line during rehearsals. ploddingly, with as minimal communication as you could manage, you tried to play with bakugou together, as a duet rather than as two soloists playing simultaneously. you swallowed your pride to play accurately to the music, patiently explaining any qualms you had with bakugou’s playing.

eventually, you found yourself building up your performances to the quality they had once been with momo. it was still far from the pristine playing that led you to an international invite - but it was an improvement, and that was all that mattered to you. innately, you were slightly ashamed of the thoughts that allowed you to keep working with bakugou. they were thoughts that told of your superiority to him, because he was playing piano for you. that’s all he was; an accompaniment to you. you told yourself that having these thoughts on the inside was better than fighting with bakugou.

somehow, along the strings of notes slurred together and shifts of fingers from one spot on a string to the next, you found yourself experiencing a strange joy gliding your bow against the strings of your violin. the rich sound of your instrument, withering and blooming with every stroke of vibrato you performed, fulfilled you unlike how it ever had before. up until now, you’d been playing for the audience, rather than yourself. the melody reverberating in the hollow body of your violin was never for your own ears to enjoy, it was for the audience’s satisfaction and listening pleasure. for it was their own enjoyment that won you competition after competition, playing with a blank face. on some occasions, you’d open your eyes during the applause to see some audience members crying, which ultimately confused you. how you were able to draw emotions from them with your playing when the music was unable to render you anything but indifferent?

you knew it in yourself, though, that the happiness you felt was hollow. delightful notes supposed to boast joy and love echoed in the rehearsal room, falling flat on your ears.

you were a soloist, though. you couldn’t let thoughts like these get to you. you could only play, for both your pride and your audience. these woes were for you to shoulder, on top of the violin you held between your chin and collarbone.

“you’re here early,” bakugou commented one day, opening the door to your shared rehearsal room. tucked under one arm was his folder of sheet music. he caught you in the middle of practicing one of the pieces for a gig - liebesfreud, by fritz kreisler.

it was true. the morning sun basked the window sill and laminate flooring, warming the particular spots it shone through. you’d arrived an hour or so early. pleased by the bright nature of the morning, you pulled up the blinds. typically, you ran late, arriving ten minutes after bakugou’s text of “you’re late again, idiot” with a coffee and a bagel in your hands. those mornings, you were really grateful for having a case with backpack straps. if you hadn’t the time to eat your bagel on the way to rehearsal, it was cold and hard by the time you had a lunch break.

thankfully, today was not one of those days. whether it was the sun or the title of the piece (“love’s joy,” how wonderful), you’d woken up and decided that today, you’d have a warm and soft bagel for breakfast. you had a coupon for a free coffee and surprisingly, the commute to rehearsals was more punctual than usual. thus, you arrived an hour early, a smile on your face as you opened the door. you opened your case with extra care and rosined your bow with extra zest, humming a tune you heard playing on the radio. bakugou would’ve had a heart attack had he saw you then.

you ignored his entrance, only peeping one eye open at the man and nodding your head toward the piano as you continued on with the piece. you allowed yourself to become immersed in the music, following the soft pace bakugou set in his playing. closing your eyes, you saw the audience before you and felt your fingers sliding and pressing the strings. time flew while playing the piece; you’d barely noticed that the piece was nearing its end, playing its familiar melody one last time before opening your eyes. a glance at the rosin dusted in between the bridge and fingerboard of your violin satisfied you, like salt on caramel. you surely played just as sweet, smooth and saccharine like the gooey texture of a caramel confection. you relished in the sunlight streaming through into the room, ignoring the shuffling of papers behind you (from bakugou, no doubt). that was how you should play.

“something’s off,” you blearily opened your eyes to the sound of bakugou’s gruff voice. he was frowning, eyebrows furrowed in a not atypical manner.

“what,” you said flatly. “it sounded fine to me. i didn’t mess up or anything.”

“no,” he replied, deep in thought, crimson eyes darkening a shade. “we don’t have proper… emotion in the music.”

“huh?” you felt a comical question mark rising out of your head. “i played it perfectly to score. it conveys the composer’s emotions to a t,” you said, getting annoyed with the pianist. your grip tightened on your violin’s neck.

“well- yeah,” he gritted his teeth. “but what about your emotions?”

“who cares about my emotions?” you said. “all that matters is that my playing is perfect. the audience feels the emotions, not me.” why else had you been plucked into violin lessons when you were five? surely not for your own enjoyment.

“idiot, that’s definitely not how it is.”

“it’s just violin playing!” you snapped. “it’s not complicated with- with emotions! it’s the same as anything else!”

“you’re wrong,” bakugou coldly answered.

“what would you understand?” you seethed. “you’re just a damn pianist. you follow my lead.”

he ignored your remarks. “why do you play a fucking instrument, then? why bother to enter competitions or recitals?”

“to win, like any other normal person!”

he let out a clipped, exasperated breath. “fuckin’ explains it, then.” he didn’t elaborate. dismissing the topic, he said, “whatever. play the piece from the top. actually try to look at me this time, so we can stay together. put more emphasis on the downbeat at the start.”

“it’s not like you even heard me play the beginning,” you retorted, but made sure to accent that note even more during the replay. pianists. they always were on their high horses.

something you looked forward to every year was the valentine’s recital. the organizers, an old couple, had known you since you were a child, and thus developed a soft spot for you. you were a shoo-in for the event, relied on to learn the music on a short deadline. last year, you played preludio, from bach’s partita for violin no. 3. this year, though, the catch was weird.

“the letter says it’s a violin duet?” you said to jirou while video calling her. “i don’t have a violinist on hand, just a pianist. it’s not like bakugou can suddenly master violin.”

jirou looked at you with a surprised expression. “you don’t know?”

you stared back at her. “know what?”

“he plays violin, too.”

“huh?” you must’ve misheard her.

she nodded. “he’s pretty good, too. have you not seen the videos?”

“videos?" your eyes widened as you soon realized the implications of bakugou harbouring an aptitude for violin. "i’ve… i’ve got to go.”

“he’s as good as you, y/n,” jirou said with a knowing smile. you were quick to press the hang up button.

five seconds into teenage bakugou’s rendition of one of paganini’s caprices, you exited youtube.

the next day, you kicked open the door to the practice room.

“you,” you pointed a finger at bakugou, who sat at the piano midway through a piece.

“what is it now, dumbass? you’re late again.”

“shut up,” you grumbled. “that’s beside the point. you- you play violin?!”

he shrugged, not avoiding your piercing gaze. “i’ve dabbled in it, yes.”

you shut the door behind you. “and why did you never tell me?!”

“tch. you never asked, did you?”

“you’re my accompanist, i should know these things!”

“you know i play piano, and that’s enough,” bakugou said stubbornly. “i only play piano with you.”

“not anymore.” setting your violin case down, you shuffled through the pocket that held your sheet music. flipping out a packet of sheet music, you thrust it in bakugou’s direction. “here.”

he grabbed the sheets from you, skimming the title. “duo for two violins in…. fuck,” he muttered. “why didn’t you just say no? who even is this from?”

“valentine’s recital. the pay’s good, bakugou, and we need it.”

“you need it,” he mumbled bitterly, holding the sheets out for you. “i don’t.”

“it’s not like i’m happy about it either. since when were you a violinist?”

“since when was it any of your damn business?”

"you're supposed to be my pianist! not anything else!"

you didn’t understand how he could be so musically inclined. you blinked, and your sight smeared, blurring the sight of your feet with the laminate flooring. this wasn't right, you thought as you felt a telltale heat creeping up you. why were you crying now?

if there was one thing you prided yourself on, it was your violin playing. it seemed to be the only thing you were good at as a child when academics and athletics failed you. sure, you hated it at first (as most children did when their parents forced them to do something), but as time went on, the applause of the audience and the title of "winner" rewarded you enough. you were no prodigy, so you worked endlessly every day to prove yourself worthy. you never understood how you'd worked so hard only to be in the shadows of others so naturally gifted who surely would never understand how much you practiced to become better.

when it came to bakugou, he was never supposed to be better. he was your pianist, talented in a completely different musical realm than your own, so he could never be superior to you - and now he wasn't. he never was. here you were for the past year or so, looking like a fool in bakugou's eyes. on the days you struggled so hard with fourth finger vibrato, he was probably laughing at your inadequacy at violin. as easily as he played the violin, katsuki bakugou played you like a fool.

everything collided when you stepped out of the room, leaving a particular golden haired boy alone to stare at the sheet music you tossed him. your head throbbed with the groggy sensation of almost-tears and anger coursed through your veins.

you couldn't back out of the recital now. you couldn't.

you couldn't stand to look back into the vermillion eyes of katsuki bakugou now. even more so now, you couldn't.

your solution?

"hey, what's up?" jirou's collected voice filled your ear, your phone pressed to it.

"hey, kyo, i… kind of did a bad thing," you said, feeling jittery as you sought a commute home. you'd already made up your mind that your sorry-ass wouldn't be able to look bakugou back in the face for the rest of the day.

"...again?" she asked, tone concealing a hint of surprise. "don't tell me it was with bakugou. don't you usually practice now?"

"...usually, yes…" you sheepishly shuffled your feet, standing outside on the sidewalk. "i'll be resuming it again, 'course, when i get home…"

"why aren't you with bakugou right now?"

"that's… that's a long story," you laughed nervously.

"i can wait," jirou coolly replied. "kaminari got his foot stuck in his guitar case - don't ask - so i have time."

you considered asking about kaminari, then thought better of it.

"you know about the valentine's day recital they have every year? well, this year…" you recounted the events that led you to now, standing outside on the phone with jirou.

"where are you going to find a violinist?"

a silence found itself opportune as jirou waited for an answer. "i'm, uh, not…?" you said, deflecting the question back to jirou.

"well, you can't play both parts in the duet, can you? actually, don't answer that. i know you'd try. didn't you try that one time in-"

"what's done in uni stays in uni," you hushed her before she could recall that one time you tried to play a sonata with a recording of yourself. "aren't you going to tell me to try to make amends with bakugou?"

"no," she said thoughtfully after a pause. "you've tried before, and it's not working for you. i don't think you should be forced to do something you obviously don't want to do. i just think," she continued, "you need to find someone to do the duet with, if you don't want to work with bakugou. but objectively, he's your best bet."

as jirou always was, she was right. you thanked her for her advice not before hearing a distraught kaminari shouting for jirou in the background, and then she ended the call.

you repeated her words in your head once you got home, sliding your bow back and forth on your small block of worn rosin. the score for the duet was spread next to you on the floor. it wasn't that you didn't want to work with bakugou. or was it? had you been that selfish all along, sabotaging other performances because you didn't like him? if even jirou had noticed it, had bakugou noticed it too?

your sigh let out a thousand burdens piled up in your mind, blowing air out like dust accumulating on your tribulations. you picked up your violin and bow thoughtlessly, testing out the strings and plucking a couple with your left hand.

was it really only you with the contempt for working with bakugou? you'd assumed mutual hatred with him after your international debut, but had it really been so? had you been the only one picking fights during the time you'd worked together? as you backtracked, your fingers slipped into a familiar position. you began a piece you knew positively by heart, an absolute favorite of yours for years. you played mindlessly, serenading yourself with familiar notes and string fingerings as you thought long and hard about bakugou. how much shit had you given bakugou? he hardly complained, too, but why? why hadn't he quit after you'd been so ceaselessly difficult with him?

why were you so angry at bakugou, a gifted prodigy since childhood? the answer found itself as the composition descended into an array of complicated fingerings and string changes, sounding like an incoherent chaos somehow strung together by the music. you pretended you didn't know the answer.

it was much, much easier to leave bakugou as just a pianist. respectable in his own field, and incomparable to you. it was too good to be true, obviously. all your life, you played to win, and couldn't allow anyone else to surpass you. violin was about winning, winning, winning. how were you supposed to cope when all those hours of practice were easily overcome by someone with innate talent?

the piece eased your tension with a fermata, drawing out your vibrato to think. bakugou's perfection infuriated you, you concluded. knowing this, though, didn't help with anything. you almost screeched the last note as the composition came to an end, unsettled by thoughts of bakugou. you really couldn't stand him.

in an attempt to distract yourself from your dilemma, you decided to start practicing the recital composition. you pulled out an old portable music stand, bending the parts into place and stacking it up. carefully, you placed the sheets on the stand and skimmed over the music, bringing your violin up to your collarbone.

your eyes followed one measure ahead of what you were playing as you sight-read the piece. ahead, ahead, was all you could think as your fingers fumbled the notes, eyes moving from the score to the fingerboard. bakugou was far from your mind as you caught up to the music, too preoccupied with the sharps and flats you'd forgotten and the time you had to keep. you were busied by the shifts and the repeat signs in the music over anything else. your priority lay here for the time being, after all. the sight-reading was almost enough to make you forget you only play one half to a duet. there was still still an emptiness that lurked between the rests and the redundant beats that even your stilted practice couldn't mask. you tried not to worry about that, though.

time floated by as you repeated the piece over and over, playing for accuracy first. it wasn't enough, but you pretended it was. the metronome on your phone ticked away like time, endless and impatient, until you couldn't stand it anymore and packed away your violin.

the proceeding day was filled with more of the same practicing, working on tweaking hesitations and polishing up your playing. it was kind of convenient, practicing at home rather than waking up early to practice with bakugou. you missed the bagel the most.

you were definitely not playing your best, and it was clear by the way your bow occasionally screeched and how you fumbled the fingerings when you were particularly negligent. the piece just didn't sound right without the second part. (bakugou was definitely not the second part missing. not at all.)

by the third day you gave up and admitted to yourself that yes, bakugou was the second part missing. you were only a little bit miserable buying your usual bagel and coffee and rushing to rehearsals fifteen minutes late, aware that you'd be unable to eat it before practice. you were substantially less miserable than how you were the day previous, practicing alone.

you weren't surprised to see bakugou already there, sitting on the piano bench and tightening his bow hairs. he acknowledged you with a grunt as you set down your breakfast and beverage.

"showed up, huh?" he said finally, voice rough. he stood up, setting his sheet music on a stand. you stared at him, awed by his nonchalance. he picked up his violin and bow (which, by the way, looked super expensive) and propped his violin up by his chin. it felt so foreign to see him in position to play violin, fingers already expertly in first position and wrist beautifully curved, yet it inexplicably clicked. the scene in front of you looked like he'd done this everyday, as it was always supposed to have been, his back confidently straight. his fingers arched over the fingerboard and his bow appeared mathematically parallel to the bridge, held delicately between his fingers. you'd never carefully watched him play piano (probably due to your distaste to him and lack of knowledge about the percussion instrument), but he made the violin look like an instrument of the gods. he hesitated, though, bow moving a centimeter then back. he frowned at your idle silence and turned back to you. "well? are we doing this duet or not?"

"oh," you reacted intelligently. "yeah. yeah." it kicked in what you were doing by the time you'd started tuning your violin, first bowing your a string. after tuning your violin (with the help of a tuning fork and none from the perfect-pitched bastard bakugou, who appeared to be watching you with a triumphant gleam in his eyes as you struggled to tune your violin properly), you set your sheet music next to bakugou's.

"ready?" you asked, as if you'd been the one waiting for bakugou all this time.

"ask yourself that," he snorted. "i'll do the count."

you nodded.

"one, two, three, f-"

"wait, wait," you said, squinting at your music. "isn't it supposed to be a bit slower than that?"

"it says allegro," bakugou said, tapping his foot. "need an italian lesson? lively, briskly."

"i know what allegro means," you gritted. "seems too fast, when paired with dolce."

"maybe for you," he smirked.

you narrowed your eyes at him. "and that means what, exactly?"

he opened his mouth to reply some smug, smart-ass answer, but you stopped him.

"nevermind," you said. "do the count again, at the same tempo. i can do it."

you were bluffing, of course. since when was allegro this fast? you wondered as the opening notes sped by you in a musical blur. already familiar with the melody, you messed up dynamics the most. of crescendos and diminuendos? it wasn't like bakugou would notice, too preoccupied with his part.

the ending of the piece took your breath away, storming toward you in a whirlwind. adrenaline filled your veins as you raced to the last measure of the music, overcome by the tempo and the music. this time, full of energy and exhilaration, the piece felt complete. your and bakugou's sound surrounded the two of you, overflowing the room with a saccharine melody. it felt right simply standing beside him playing a two part piece, chest heaving from the piece's energy. you could only hear your breathing, a gentle encore to your playing.

"your playing is sloppy," bakugou said bluntly. he leaned over to your sheet music, starting to point at dynamic markings.

you swatted his hand away before he could say a word. "yeah, well, i just got the music three days ago," you interjected.

"you also had two of the three days off, so i'd say you're not doing enough." he glanced back down at your score. he pointed at a measure. "this is a crescendo, moron, why didn't you get much louder?"

"just- pay attention to your own music!" you said. "besides, it's dolce. i can get away with playing softer."

"that wasn't very dolce to me," he argued. "nothing sweet, soft, or gentle about that," he mumbled.

"i can be sweet, soft, and gentle if i want to!" you retorted.

he raised a brow, as if a challenge, scarlet eyes glinting in the light. "tch. i'm sure you can, but your playing damn can't."

“it can, too! listen,” you said, impetuously raising your violin and bow again. you slowly started to play a d major scale, impatiently scrunching your nose and squeezing your eyes shut to concentrate on making the music soft and gentle, tampering with different degrees of vibrato and bow pressure.

“... that’s just piano,” bakugou said, moving to you as you bowed an a. your bow came to an abrupt halt, making an unpleasant squeal, as bakugou positioned himself behind you. you felt his body warmth radiating behind you as a sweet, homely scent wafted around you. he brought his arms around you, hands overlapping where you held your violin and bow.

“you need to be,” he murmured into your ear, gentle tone almost slurring the words together, "fragile when you play dolce." he angled your bow slightly, moving your hand. "bow closer to the fingerboard." the smooth baritone of his voice resonated within you, becoming lost within the violinist's embrace.

"most of all," he said, dropping an octave to an intimate tone, "you need to feel it. you can attempt to play it, but without feeling, it's fuckin’ meaningless."

"feeling?" you repeated blankly. “the audience’s, you mean.”

he stepped away, a gesture that made you breathless, and shook his head. he crossed his arms over his chest, unintentionally accentuating their volume. “your damn feelings. what do you feel when playing the piece?”

there’s a pause for perhaps a second too long, as you mulled over different answers in your head.

“tch.” his eyes don’t leave you, gaze a laser burning into you. “‘s what i thought. why do you play violin?”

you held your tongue from answering my parents. “to win. i play to win,” you stated.

“and that’s the damn problem,” bakugou said, releasing a breath of frustrated air. “you win to play.”

“that means…?” you were starting to get impatient with the man, who seemed to be stalling and dragging out your limited time.

“you win competitions to play more.”

you almost scoffed, but his words were plausible. “what’s the purpose in playing more if not to win?”

he made a scratching noise in his throat, cool demeanor shifting to that of the bakugou you knew. “l-l-” he coughed, “love.”

“love?” you repeated, the word a surprise to swallow.

he nodded, gagging on his reply. you couldn’t see bakugou as the romantic type - the same bakugou who called all of his friends demeaning nicknames and could barely say the word love out loud. he was explosive, maybe, and talented, sure - but acquainted with love? you pursed your lips at the stuttering man trying to advise you.

“whatever,” he dismissed, voice oddly hoarse. “just play it from the top. fix the dynamics.”

weeks passed in a blur, though bakugou’s advice was left unforgotten. it had, for the most part, faded from your mind but lingered like a ghost in an abandoned attic, stirring up dust in complete silence. it was valid criticism on bakugou’s part, but the problem was that it was criticism you couldn’t digest. it was a ghost that you could not rid of, whispering and lurking until your music played over it.

four weeks before the performance, you had the piece almost entirely memorized other than a few flukes here and there. you managed most of your dynamics, playing in sync with bakugou by your side. three weeks and the piece was mostly smooth, foregoing all sheet music and practicing in the middle of the room with bakugou tapping out the tempo on the honeyed floor. any mistakes were recovered from quickly, and you were pleased to say that the amount of bakugou’s slip-ups equated to yours. at two weeks, though, he brought up the pest bugging your mind.

“play with more emotion,” he sighed exasperatedly, letting out a huff as you played for him. “start on f sharp again.”

you’d tried time and time again, but the longer you’d replayed the same few measures (followed by his criticism for the nth time), the only emotion you felt was frustration. your bow would push too hard or your vibrato would lay on thick, immensely irritating bakugou. you didn’t know why he even tried.

the air felt stale and the lights shone obnoxiously bright. the pads of your left hand fingers had hardened by now, indented with a pair of parallel lines from your unforgiving violin strings. you inhaled rosin dust and occasional bow hairs miserably dropped to the floor. your arms were tired, sore, and sick of playing; your ears painfully endured the same tune again and again, the originally fluid and sweet notes becoming high frequency static.

“i can’t do this.” you were tempted to flop onto the ground, hopelessness pouring over you.

“you can,” bakugou insisted stubbornly. “you just need to try harder.”

“harder?” you would’ve snapped (and you were surprised your e string didn’t already by the repetitive motions on it) if you weren’t so exhausted from rehearsing.

he nodded like it was obvious. “try harder.”

you shakily inhaled, trying to smooth your voice over. “i’m sorry i can’t be a prodigy like you.”

he stiffened, tense to the point of trembling. “whatever,” and it was a strained word pulled from his mouth. it was very atypical for him to give up like this, but you didn't care. you avoided his eyes as you restarted the piece, unable to bloom anything from it.

outside of your rehearsal time, you practiced. arguably, your solo rehearsals were more rigorous. you forced yourself to add emotion to the piece, sometimes playing for jirou. she agreed with bakugou (though was a great deal less irritating), stating that your playing was somewhat hollow. (you restrained yourself from knocking on the instrument and saying that yes, indeed, violins were hollow.)

"how… how do you get any emotions from playing?" you asked jirou at one point, watching one of her band's rehearsals. they were on a break, chatting idly and taking sips from their water bottles.

“well…” jirou started, glancing back at her band members. “i think about the feelings i want the audience to feel because of my songs. i think about how the song makes me feel, then i put that into how i play.”

“how do you…” you shifted uncomfortably, “know what to feel?”

she looked at you, taken aback, but replied easily. “you don’t. it just… happens.”

her response was vastly different than what you’d been taught a child. emotions? sure, there was perhaps a time where playing evoked a feeling in you, plucked something melodical from your heartstrings. it was when you were a child, though, so it was irrational and erratic, an outburst in the middle of your otherwise level playing. your violin teacher didn’t approve when you’d follow how the music made you feel. she said it made you stray too far from the original piece and would make you lose competitions. no matter how you pushed back against her, her advice haunted you over and over every time you got anything other than first place.

your performance is the audience, she’d told you. you didn’t understand what she meant at first, but she made sure you did while practicing for your next rehearsals. the audience, she quipped with thin lips under her sharp eyes, is everything. if the audience wasn’t satisfied, your performance was worthless, no matter how well you played technically. you play for them and you win - it was that plain. there was nothing more than you wanted but to win, at the time. you wanted a trophy, a medal, a certificate stating that you were better than most. it was palpable evidence that you were good enough - for your parents, your peers, anyone. like that, you practiced, a servant for approval. you weren’t a prodigy, but you sure as hell would try to play like one. her advice worked for over a decade, soundly racking you up with countless awards that filled your otherwise desolate self-esteem.

you didn’t say anything else to jirou about it, instead thinking about the bits and pieces of human feeling you could extract in between your piece’s accidentals and eighth notes. perhaps there was a possibility, through the phrases of notes and dynamic markings, you’d find a word that said love. a renewed interest sparked itself when jirou’s band continued their rehearsals, finding yourself to be a normal audience member (maybe even crying at the end. maybe).

you returned home to practice, practice, practice, coercing any hidden message in the music to vibrate in your violin and echo around your room. you watched other renditions of the piece to find something you were missing, but imitating them didn’t seem right. this continued for the following weeks, hiding any potential development from bakugou (or trying to, at least). you knew you’d be disappointing him if you failed after trying so hard. it was only safe to play what you knew, secure in the written parts of the composition and keeping it at that.

by the time the performance came around, you were glad bakugou never found out about your secret efforts. if he had, you knew he’d be sorely dispirited by your lack of tangible progress, your sound just as hollow as the soundbox of your violin. you failed, you knew, and as crestfallen as you were on that cold february morning, the show must go on.

the performances were held in an auditorium, warm compared to the snowy wonderland outside. it was typically couples comprising the audience, all romantic and pepped up in the spirit of valentine's day (white day was no different). some arrived early, finding seats in the empty auditorium and chatting amongst themselves (or sometimes making out, which made you want to throw your violin at them and gag). bakugou’s and your performance was last; it quite the heavy honor to play the finale to the recital.

backstage was a vast contrast to the hushed atmosphere settled over the assemblage. hovering over the staff and performers for the day was a sense of panic, hurry, and hecticness. bits of rosin were scattered on the ground where you prepared for your rehearsal, some belonging to your block and others not. your pack of extra strings lay next to you on the sofa you sat on, arm resting on the side of the seat. similar to your violin's strings, spun tightly over pegs to be kept in place, you felt high-strung. the buzz of energetic excitement flitted in your head, knee bumping up and down and jerking your violin in the same motion. it was hard to calm when you tuned your violin to absolute perfection, relying on bakugou's perfect pitch to do so. the fine tuners on the end of your strings probably hadn't had a harder time in the years you'd owned your violin.

"you're shaking the entire sofa, idiot," bakugou deadpanned next to you. “some of us are trying to rosin our bow, unlike you.” he glanced at the floor, where amber shards of rosin lay amidst white dust (also made of rosin).

“to be fair, most of those aren’t mine,” you pointed out. you reached into your violin case, finding the rectangular case of rosin and opening the top. "mine's only chipped in a couple corners, and the rest is just worn on the edges from my bow."

you leaned over to look at bakugou's rosin, two stubs in its case. "and i'm the one dropping my rosin?"

his ears turned a deep red, matching the velvet curtains on stage. "that's different," he muttered, putting the lid on his rosin and putting it away.

"you ready?" you watched him swallow before speaking, not looking at you. you could hear one of the presenters speaking, introducing the first piece to be played (an ever-so romantic rendition of clair de lune), but the voices felt distant and muffled over the sound of your own nervous heart beating.

"yeah," he replied. he turned to look at you, scarlet eyes meeting your own. "what, you're not scared now, are you, dumbass?"

you gulped. "no… just excited," you said. in truth, you felt disappointed in yourself for being unable to find any emotion in your playing - thinking about the piece, you were devoid of anything but the measures and the notes. what was the piece trying to say in the white space between staff lines? after the clef at the beginning of the music, where did the emotions start and everything else end?

quiet notes, twinkling from the piano on stage, met your ears. you took a deep breath. how did they make you feel?

…not very good, because this pianist was certainly a beat or two off tempo. a large hand on your knee startled you out of your trance. its warmth was surprisingly comforting. you followed the arm connecting to the hand to meet bakugou's concentrated face, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched.

"don't shake your knee like that. also, why are you so damn cold?" he moved his hand away, leaving an imprint of heat on your knee. you hadn't noticed the physical manifestation of your nerves prior to bakugou's words.

you left his question unanswered, staring at your violin in your lap. you traced the patterns in wood, fingers following the shape of the f-hole and thumbing circles on your chin rest. how were you supposed to be able to pull living, breathing life in the form of emotions from an inanimate object? what sorcery were you supposed to manage to satisfy yourself and the audience?

you thought back to bakugou's words. what was it had he said you were supposed to be playing for? love, the irrational and sentimental flaw of life - somehow expressed from the symbols on a sheet of paper and through strings on hollow wood. what sort of miracle was bakugou creating with his music?

what was violin, if not just a task to do everyday? what was it, out of competitions and tests of skill? what was the sound reverberating within its vacant body, recording every shift of fingers on the fingerboard?

you looked past your violin to the rosin on the floor. friction, your violin teacher had explained to you. you put rosin on your bow so it creates friction with the strings, and thus creates sound. it was strange how friction caused the smooth sound of a violin. too much friction, added by pressure on the bow, made a creaky sound on the strings. without rosin, the bow would be too smooth on the string and make no noise at all. the happy medium of not too much and not too little created the familiar rich tone on the strings.

a happy medium, you mused. in between too much friction and none at all. maybe that was how you were supposed to feel, in between trying too hard and not trying at all. that's what feelings were in the end, right? a natural human instinct, spurred by life. could you breathe life into the music?

the stage seemed almost too big for the two of you, spotlights centering you on the wide, wooden platform. the crowd's eyes were on you and your fellow violinist, some watching with drooping eyelids. they felt far, distant under the shadows. even so, the question still besieged you - would you please them?

you teared your eyes away to bakugou, who started the count. everything was silent until he nodded to you, your cue to start the piece. it felt too fast when you began but it was the same allegro you’d been practicing with. muscle memory took control now, your fingers finding their places easily.

your fingers and bow took all your attention. everything else fell away - the lights, the crowd, the stage - until it was just you, your violin, and the music. you could practically see the score in your head, playing the notes you'd come to know so well.

you heard your music echo and resound off the walls, but that's all it seemed to do. it touched everyone in the room, looking for a place to stay, and diminished in an empty space alone. it frustrated you that it wouldn't resonate - where was the love bakugou had so told you of? this auditorium was no different than your room, where sounds bounced off walls and landed nowhere. you weren't reaching anywhere or anyone, lacking emotion and any true substance.

love - what was love if not a hindrance? how could bakugou expect so much out of you? love - had you ever felt it for the violin? dolce told you to play sweetly, softly, and gently, but what was sweet about the violin? what was so sweet about the imprints of strings on your fingers, fragmented rosin at your feet, and bruises on your neck from long hours of practice? what was gentle about the arduous replaying of the same measure, the ringing in your ears after playing to master a simple phrase? what was soft about the forte that rang in your head, the fortissimo that filled a performance and clouded your senses?

dolce filled you like an epiphany, euphoric in your eyes that finally opened and awakened. dolce was in bakugou's eyes, soft velvet like the crimson curtains onstage, downcast at his violin. dolce was in his sound as his bow skittered near the fingerboard, in his fingers sliding back and forth on his a string. dolce was in his grasp of his bow and violin, in the very essence he played the violin with. dolce contradicted everything you knew, reminding you of bakugou's soft hands over yours, guiding your fingers and bow. dolce was the morning light streaming into the practice room as you argued with bakugou over tempos and notes, the light glinting on shattered shards of rosin as you anxiously rosined your bow. dolce was the curve of your violin scroll, the bend of your fingers over your bow's frog. dolce was the white space in between staff lines on your sheet music and through half and whole notes. dolce was everything in between the rough of your violin experience, the laughter and smiling gone forgotten during sleepless practice sessions and violin evaluations.

what was dolce, if not a rebellion? what was it, if not a rebellion from the years of work and pain you'd endured in the name of musicality? what was it, if not laughing in the face of your violin instructors and the strict score you adhered to?

when you opened your eyes to meet bakugou's, whose carmine eyes dripped with a burning passion and the essence of souls, you finally felt. it was the so-sought over love, scorching every note and stroke of your bow and bursting life in every movement, breath, and echo of your performance. it was exhilarating, living through every slur and chord you played. when you finally met his eyes he understood, a satisfied smile tugging on his lips as his gaze never left yours. this was it - this was dolce, humming sweetly, softly, and gently in your ears and reflecting in the audience's heart. this was dolce, making you realize that you never wanted to play violin alone again.

you picked up a rose that had landed at your feet at the end of your piece, holding it next to bakugou's confused face. in doing so, you reached your second epiphany of the day - perhaps the more important of the two. bakugou's eyes bloomed redder than the rose, deeper than the lowest note on a double bass, and maybe it was he that was the true dolce you were looking for.

notes!!

if you’re reading this, congrats !! this is my longest fic on my account (the record will be broken soon), so i really appreciate you reading this :> (spare a reblog, perhaps?)

first, explaining the playlist:

beethoven’s kreutzer - this was played in the anime, “your lie in april,” and i simply think it fits the “fight” reader and bakugou have. this was played at reader’s first international recital that did not go so well.

kreisler’s liebesfreud (love’s joy) is in the same series as his piece called liebesleid (love’s sorrow), also featured in “your lie in april.” i personally really like the piece. of all of these listed, i think you should listen to this one the most.

beriot’s duo concertante was the other contender for reader and bakugou’s duet piece!

debussy’s clair de lune is simply a favorite of mine. it’s the first piece played at the valentine’s performance (and i like to imagine reader’s listened to bakugou’s recording of the piece)

spohr’s duo for 2 violins is the piece reader and bakugou play! it’s the second part of the duo in allegro, and i once tried to listen to it while following the sheet music. i was so confused every time i did so; i’d get lost and such, and figured my musicality was declining. nope. i was reading the wrong part. so, i started freaking out because oh god the dolce is in the first part, not the second, and thankfully, there’s a bit of dolce in the second part too! however, it did take me a while to decide whether to use the first part instead.

also, spohr invented the chinrest on the violin! crazy :D

paginini’s 24th caprice is considered the hardest out of all 24 caprices. imagine,,, teenage bakugou playing this,,, doing the left hand pizz and all T^T pain

there’s a lot i wish i could cover in this! a lot of reader’s own flaws (ahem, viola jokes) and development were something i couldn’t cover. bakugou’s arc as well! he had an arc a bit before this story takes place :)) tl;dr i’m very tempted to pick my violin up again and start playing

the frog of the bow does not, sadly, go ribbit. it’s the part violinists hold the bow by!

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed this :)

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou fluff #bnha fluff #katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha x gender neutral reader #bakugou angst #bnha angst #luna's writing #violinist bakugou

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kawaiijellymonster · 4 years ago

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So I’ve got a note in my notes app called “Fanfic lines that should be in a hall of fame” and it’s gotten pretty long so I figure I’ll toss it on here so yall can enjoy it, most of them are: mha, zukka, miraculous ladybug, harry potter, and I think one is from a comment on a hannibal amv, But here you go:

Stain sold papers because he just had an aura about him that drew people in, like people who slow down to look at car crashes.

“The Rumor Come Out: Does Todoroki Shoto is Gay?”

Izuku spent the next week going to his normal martial arts classes, studying, and drinking gallons of coffee. Not healthy but he could deal with it. His body was never meant to be permanent.

So no one was watching when Mei placed her forehead against his, breath fanning across his face as she spoke. "Wake up Loki… the world needs you."

“No probs ‘lil listener!” Hizashi said, striking a dramatic pose. “I’ll be your DJ all through the night, bringin’ you such rockin’ hits as safety, security and sweet dreams!”

“This is stupid! Screw the waiting and screw these stupid butterflies. They're not paying rent, the little shits--”

Experimenting with unstable genetic mutant abominations is more of an art than a science, really."

Several looks pass across both their faces. “No flying for a month,” Sirius declares. That sucks, actually. But he’s also a hundred percent certain he can get them to cave on that in two weeks tops. “Okay. Is that for the breaking into the Ministry, destroying the Department of Mysteries, making a bargain with Voldemort, or bringing all my friends with me?” “It’s for recklessly endangering your own life again,” Remus says, “and while the punishment very much doesn’t fit the crime, we’re a bit at a loss for what else to do.” “It wasn’t reckless!” he protests. “We had a plan and everything, and we even brought an adult! An adult Order member! Also what else were we supposed to do, let Snape die?” Sirius takes a deep breath, but Remus steps on his foot before he can put it in his mouth. “Which is why you’re only getting flying privileges taken away and not thrown in a cell in Azkaban for our sanity and your safety.” As if any cell could hold him. “I accept your terms.”

“Who’s Theophania?” Sirius asks. Harry hesitates. Perhaps bringing her up was his smartest decision, strategically speaking. “If I tell you you’re not allowed to throw me in Azkaban. Or ground me.” “This isn’t a negotiation,” Sirius repeats. If Blaise has taught him anything, it’s that everything is a negotiation. “She’s a friend.” “And?” Sirius repeats. Remus suddenly grabs onto Sirius’s shoulder, “Wait. Petrifying - during your second year - is Theophania - she’s not the basilisk.” “No, they killed it,” Sirius says automatically. Harry remains silent. “Harry!” He rubs his nose. “It turns out I’m not that good at killing things. Unkilling things, however? My specialty.”

“It’s okay,” Nanaia says, “you don’t know. What do you do when you don’t know something?” “Try something you do know and hope it doesn’t make everything worse?” For some reason, Horace looks sad at that answer, and Dumbledore shifts from one foot to the other. “No,” she says, “you ask for help.” Oh.

“It’ll piss off your son,” he answers bluntly. “Fuck that kid,” Riddle Sr. says

“You played me!” “Like a cheap kazoo”

Batman sighed, before speaking in a voice that was so unlike his usual growl that most of the other League members almost fell out of their chairs. Diana and Clark seemed to be used to it. “Damian,” he started. His voice was still deep, but a regular-deep, instead of I-just-swallowed-six-buckets-of-gravel deep.

“She loved James too,” she assures, and the confidence she says that with allows him to breathe, like someone has let go of his lungs. “It is possible to love more than one person at the same time. She loved your father with the type of love that’s – that was like a shooting star, burning and bright and touching everyone around them. Her love for Severus was different, and in the end it wasn’t the type of love either of them could handle.”

You’re better at it now then many people are after leaving a full apprenticeship, and you’ve only had a year of lessons a couple of times a week instead of years of intensive study. Do you know why that is?” “Luck?” he offers weakly. For some reason, he doesn’t like the direction this is going in. “No,” she says. “To be good at healing, the way you are, the way I am, you need a certain combination of things. Intelligence, power, control, but more than that. Stubbornness, a tricky balance of flexibility and inflexibility, and a constant, brutal assessment over your own skills. And something else.” “A propensity towards poor life choices?” he suggests. Poppy shakes her head, not taking the bait. “No. You have to care. You have to care about everyone, even people you dislike, and you have to care so much that if feels like it’s killing you, you have to care and that care has to hurt, until the only thing that hurts worse than caring is not caring. To be good at this, you have to let it hurt you.”

“You two shouldn’t have bothered dressing formally for Albus, he’s a bitch.” Harry doesn’t have any idea what’s going on, but he’s loving it.

“It was on the syllabus,” Zuko whispered conspiratorially to his mother. Sokka gasped. “You know I don’t read those!” “This is your own fault then.” “I like to be surprised. The procrastination keeps me humble.”

sometimes you remind me of the stars youre gorgeous and happy and can always brighten me on the darkest days and even when youre dampened you can guide me home

“imagine you are the only person who loves to play chess more than anything but nobody else in the world has ever heard about chess. and then you see a person holding a chessboard. it’s like your whole world was reborn”

"I wanted to be a stripper in middle school," Izuku said. Yup, that's a good cover.

What you’re asking for isn’t fair or right. You can’t ask a person for more than they’re willing to give

In Mei’s words, “You have about five minutes of ‘fuck that one thing in particular.’ Make them count.”

“Mei, let me introduce your new best friend. This is Momo. She has a Quirk that lets her make anything as long as she knows its composition inside and out. All you have to do is buy her dinner,“ Izuku said,

The cameras were looped. The bots were hacked. It was a good day to be a villain.

“None. The alarm never left the building.” “Really? Why is that?” “Mei finished first and decided to do you a favor. However, you've got the fire alarm just starting to go off and that's on a different circuit. Take a fast way down.” “Understood,” Hitoshi drawled. A moment later he was looking back at the crew. “Ladies and Frenchman. We take the express.”

Quinn is talking like that actually answers his question when it really, really doesn’t. “If you don’t start making sense, I’ll cry.”

“You’re one of my best students,” ze says. “You should understand the importance of timing. Speaking of, you’re late for your next class.”

Fuck, he totally is. “Thank you for that very confusing answer. I’ll think of you while crying myself to sleep.”

He’d wondered if that was what bravery was, to be quiet even when you were hurting so much you wanted to scream.

maybe bravery was also running screaming at the thing that nearly killed you, to keep it from killing someone else.

“Apologies are not difficult. Good apologies revolve around three basic points. One, I acknowledge what I did was wrong. Two, I regret that you were harmed. Three, this is how I plan to make sure it does not happen again. That’s all. Apologies are easy.” Then she’d glanced at them all again, evaluating. “And if you become very, very good at your job... they will be the absolute hardest thing you ever do.”

“Even though we’re a bunch of migraine-inducing hellions who are smart enough to know when something is a bad idea and stupid enough to still do it?”

“You’re like the nice china that Al only brings out for Christmas. Except Bruce just realised that I stole it, and chipped it. Maybe it’s time I give it back before I shatter all the pieces.”

she won’t co-parent my perfectly reasonable and well-behaved children.” Clark snorts. “Damian’s trying to stab Tim, right now.”

"Oh, my knight in shining armour. What would I do without you?" the teen droned, placing a dramatic hand on her head.

"I think you mean 'knight in shining leather', M'Lady. And without me, you would be left alone in this kingdom of lies.”

"It's a kingdom, alright. It'll topple sooner or later." "That's the spirit!" Adrien laughed.

Here’s something that a harbinger of tragedy would never find the courage to admit: there are moments in between the bitter self-hatred and the visceral, tangible consequences of your sins in which you almost think you’re worthy of forgiveness; of second chances; of a life beyond your greatest regrets. It’s a unique brand of pain,

“Go directly to horny jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.”

“You can’t wait around for him to be sorry,” Izuku says. He’s quiet now. This isn’t something that’s meant to be shouted. “Maybe he’ll never be sorry. Maybe he doesn’t know he did anything wrong, or he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter.” Cautiously he takes a step forward. “You can’t depend on the people who hurt you to be the ones to make it better, or it’s never going to get better. They’ll only disappoint you, or hurt you even worse, and then they’ll be gone and you’ll be waiting forever.”

Midoriya may be strong as hell, but that just means looking out for him has to be a team effort.

How would his new adoring fans react if they knew he raised a villain? He's no All-Might. His pillar's made of toothpicks, and it's not gonna take much to crack it.”

Tensei approaches Rei, “Okay, this plan is childish, unprofessional, and a discourtesy to this school's reputation. That being said, when do we nail the little twat?

Hinata is dead. Deceased. Passed away, laid to rest with a headstone that reads Here Lies Hinata Shouyou, Killed By A Wink And A Blown Kiss.

It’s dangerous to be a bad father when you have life insurance

#long post #fanfic lines that deserve to be in a hall of fame #fanfic #rambles #lol

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im-just-having-fun-karen · 5 years ago

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✨Febuary Dances

Heya everybody! This is a Aoyama x reader! Basically UA has a dance and you and Aoyaoma bith want to wear dresses so you decide that both should! No one said you both couldnt wear dresses together! Also i dont his backstory so im making it up so please dont be mad or offended.- Author-san

Aoyama x reader

Gender neutral reader and nonbinary Yuuga Aoyama

Quirk: light dance, you can manipulate the light when you dance such as making it shine in certain places or making it burn someone, this can also cause you to glow when flustered or excited

Warnings: mentions of high heels and dancing

Begin!

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Y/N PoV

"-there will also be a Febuary dance to celebrate all of your successes as coming this far in your training. It will be on Febuary 13th an begins at 7:30. I hope to see you all there" the class 1B teacher said. Febuary dance? Huh, sounds fun i guess... I began to think of who to take with me when the bell rang and everyone got up to leave and head to lunch. "Bonjour Y/N! Would you like to sit with me?" Aoyama asked as i stopped walking to let them catch up. "Huh? Sure!" i smiled with closed eyes before continuing to walk with Aoyama.

"So, you hear about the Febuary dance Y/N?" i looked up at Jiro with confusion for a moment, "huh? Oh! Haha yeah, not sure who im gonna bring though.." i said as glaced over at Aoyama who was currently talking with Midoriya at the other end of the table. "Really? Well I heard Kirishima was going with Bakugou so thats new!" Kirishima and Bakugo? "Really? Good for them! Im glad they finally decided to come out about their relationship!" i genuinely am happy they came out and that they're going together, i wish i had that confidence with Aoyama. I still remember when we were little and how they were so much less confident back then.

3rd person PoV

Two small kids one with short blond hair and the other with (your hair length and color), both just sitting on the young blonds bed talking. "Its flashy but its useless if i cant use it for more then a second" the young Yuuga said as their eyes began to fill with tears. "Then you'll just have to train more! That way eventually you'll be able to use it as long as you want!" a young Y/N spoke with such determination that it almost convinced the young Yuuga, "b-but I'll never be as strong as you! I'll never be a good hero!" young Yuuga shouted crying at this point, But of course our determined little Y/N wasnt having it. "Of course not with that attitude!" young Y/N spoke with determination as they stood above their best friend, "You cant give up without even trying! Would almight give up!? No! So why should you! We'll train together and both become great heros! No matter what happens we'll always stay together! I'll make sure you become a good hero!" the young Y/N spoke with so much power that Yuuga swore that day to be as confident as them..

Y/N PoV

"Y/N??? Yyyyyy/nnnn! (your full name)!" "eep!" i squeaked as i was suddenly supried out of my spaced out state. "What! What happened!?" i said as i looked around frantically. "Haha! Calm down! Nothings wrong you just spaced out is all" Jiro said as i calmed down and sighed. "So who are you gonna bring to the febuary dance?" "dude i already said i dont know yet." i said with a dead panned look sighing, "well how would you like to go dress-" "or tuxedo!" "yes, or tuxedo shopping with us?" Momo asked as Hagakure interrupted. "Sure, sounds fun."

(time skip because i still cant write you walking to places)

"So wich one do think looks better?" Mina asked me as she showed me two similiar pink dresses. "Hmm, the second one i guess"

I said as she smiled and went to go put the other back.

"Dont forget to get something yourself Y/N!"

I nodded and began to look around for a bit before finding one i really liked. It was long and a bit flowy, it was a beautiful golden yellow with yellow tinted clear fabric covering the legs and beautiful swirly accents, it was a bit open on the sides but it had orange accessories on the belly, legs and upper arms. It had an light orange bra like top with a yellow lace cover and soft yellow clear fabric. The sides, back, and middle front of the dress were a silky soft fabric with a yellow orange gradient. It had a golden orange neck peice like the ones female Egyptians used to wear along with one gold triangle earing on one of the ears.

"..woah.."

I said as i reached to touch it, the fabric was so soft.

"Find one you like y- woah! Thats stunning!"

Mina said as she was awwed by the dress

"I can get it for you Y/N"

Momo said as she walked over to us and smiled

"H-huh!? But its so exspenisive! I-"

She cut me off,

"Its fine Y/N! Really! I dont mind"

I stuttered an ok and she pat my head

"You should try it on Y/N! I wanna see how good you look in it!"

Mina said as she jumped,

"S-sure"

I stuttered as i grabbed the dress and left to the changing room, a bit later and i walked out in the dress staring at the ground.

"Well? How do i look?"

I heard a few gasps and suddenly i was hugged by Jiro, Mina and Ochako

"YOU LOOK AMAZING!!"

(Again i really need to learn this)

"Well we're here!"

I heard Mina shout as i got out of the car and began to walk to the doors with her and Jiro next to me. I walked over to the benches to sit and look for Yuuga, see they asked me to go with them about two days before the dance and right after i picked out my dress.

"Bonjour Y/N! You look absolutely stunning darling but if i knew we were both wearing dresses i might have said something!"

I hear them laugh as i turned around to look at them, they were wearing a wonderful dark blue dress with a light blue cover that had sky blue swirls and dots. It had a cream colored ribon tied into a rose with greyish blue outlines, neon blue dots on the bottom and white swirls on the chest piece, it had a blue neck piece with a small white rose keeping it together, they had black gloves and a beaded arm piece on one arm. It was flowy and long like mine but the bottom split to show their legs and black rose vine heels with blue roses.

"You look amazing Yuuga!"

I blushed as they laughed and saw that they were wearing soft yellow lipstick, i was wearing dark blue. We really fit together,

"Well thank you! Care to dance?"

They asked holding out their hand.

"Of course!"

I grabbed their hand and we went to the dance floor, i put my hand on their waist and they put their hand on my shoulder, our other hands locked together and we begun to move to the song.

I nearing the end of my fourth year

I feel like ive been lacking, crying to many tears

Everyone seemed to say it was so great

But did i miss out? Was it a huge mistake?

I spun them a bit and we moved faster

I cant help the fact i like to be alone

It might sound kinda sad, but thatd just what i seem to know

I tend to handle things usually by myself

And i cant ever seem to try and ask for help

We clapped and they spun me our movements faster, one foot after the other i danced with them

Im sitting here, crying in my prom dress

I'd be the prom queen if crying was a contest

Makeup is running down

We laughed a bit and contuined

Feelings are all around

We blushed as we looked at each others eyes

How did i get here? i need to know

I guess i maybe had a couple expectations

Thought id get to them

I begun to dance away from them without realizing, my quirk was activating nad the light followed a pattern around me as i danced

But no i didn't

I guess i thought that prom was gonna be fun

But now im sitting on the floor and all i wanna do is run

I realized what i was doing when i felt everyone staring at me, i looked around scared before seeing Yuuga looking at me wide eyed.

"....i-i im sorry!....."

I ran out of the building in fear, i cant believe i did that! I kept running until i made it back to my dorm, i knew it was a bad idea to go to the dance.

(a few hours later)

*Knock knock*

"Hello? Darling its me"

I heard Yuuga through my door

"Darling im coming in.."

I heard the door open and saw them close it behind them

"..hey.."

I mumbled a "hello"

"..Yknow i thought your dance was amazing darling."

I looked at them with shock,

"Really?"

They nodded

"I'd still like to finish our dance if you dont mind.."

"Here?"

They hummed a "no"

"Not here, somewhere special. C'mon get cleaned up and we can go"

"...alright...thank you"

They hummed a response and waited outside while i fixed my makeup and put my shoes back on.

"Alright, where are we going?"

"You'll see"

(Wow so many of these in one story like damn)

Thousands of colored lights shined below us, we were on a grassy cliff aith a few trees.

"....woah this is....amazing.."

I felt Yuuga hug grab my hands with theirs and turn me around to face them

"So, wanna dance?"

I nodded glowing a soft gold

One foot after the other we danced slowly and calmly, it was peaceful and quiet besides the hum of the city below us.

We stared into each others eyes, the soft glow of the lights below us illuminating our faces. Closer amd closer our lips touched and our eyes closed, it was soft and a bit longer then a peck but it was amazing. Softs gasps as our eyes and lips parted,

"I...love you"

They sighed a bit

"I love you too Y/N.."

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Done! I really hope you all enjoyed because it took me a week to finish this, again none of the art or music in this is mine, Yuuga Aoyama belings to Horikoshi. I tried hard to make this longer and im glad it came out with over 1,000 words! Its the longest one ive written so far! Im proud of myself and again i hope you all enjoyed, if you have any tips feel free to send them to me as im always open to criticism - Author-san

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angstytieflingbard · 5 years ago

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Hero’s Journey: Chapter Four - A New Friend

Summary: Link makes a new friend, and gives a bit of an explanation of his quirk.

Warnings: None this chapter

A/N: So, this will be the last introduction chapter. I have pretty much all the set-up I need regarding Link’s personality, quirk, and friendships, so next chapter I’ll be moving on to USJ! That arc will also include our first semi-introduction to Ganon, though considering the nature of the USJ arc I won’t be able to do a lot of exposition about that just yet. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and don’t be afraid to drop me an ask telling me what you think!

~~~

The next few days at school were surprisingly quiet.

Link knew it was probably because of the break in. Between how seemingly easily the press had gotten past the gate, and the panicked reactions from even the older hero course students, the incident had left people with much to think about.

The tense, stifled atmosphere made his skin crawl, and so he’d started roaming the grounds during lunch, taking in particular to a small wooded area dotted with pretty blue and white flowers (silent princess, he remembered, though he didn’t know why he knew). The place became more of a haven for him each day he returned.

Today he was spending lunch in the branches of a particularly sturdy looking tree, laying on his back with an arm under his head and soaking in the warm sun and cool spring breeze as his eyes started to slip shut of their own accord. It was peaceful out here, the air filled with the sounds of leaves rustling and birds singing, nature unbothered by his presence within it.

“Yo, are you dead?” A voice called up to him from the ground, and he was jolted out of his near-asleep state. Instinct took over, and he jumped from the tree like a startled cat, landing on the ground in a crouch and fixing the newcomer with an impassive stare as he rose to his feet.

The boy, for his part, seemed more than a little surprised, though the effect of Link’s attempt at an intimidating stance was somewhat mitigated by the fact that the boy was both taller and broader than him by a fair bit. There was a moment of silence.

“So… Not dead, then.” He nodded to himself, and Link softened slightly, relaxing and looking him over curiously. He seemed tired, with dark bags under his eyes and wild, unkempt purple hair. There was another beat of silence, and the purple-haired boy sighed in annoyance, expression twisting into a sort of grimace.

“I’m assuming you’ve heard about my quirk already then? Disappointing, but not surprising. I guess even the great U.A isn’t immune to judgemental wannabes.” He sneered. Link blinked once, twice, confusion finally taking over his somewhat blank expression.

He did recognize the tone, though, it was a reaction he’d grown used to, though admittedly he usually only heard it from adults. Link frowned as he pulled out his introduction card again, as well as a second card, one he hadn’t had to use since coming to U.A.

‘Hi, my name’s Link. I don’t talk, but I’m fluent in sign language. Nice to meet you!’

‘I’m sorry, I’m not very good at social cues sometimes. If you could explain what I did wrong, I can try to fix it.’

He handed the cards over and watched the boy read them. Aryll had written them for him originally, having a much better eye for tone than he ever had, and he’d never been more grateful for them than in these exact types of moments. Meanwhile, the purple haired boy’s expression morphed, quickly turning apologetic. He also seemed uncomfortable somehow, like he’d just realized something terrible.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He said with a sigh. “I’m… I’m Shinsou. I shouldn’t have, you know, assumed you were… Yeah.” For what felt like the hundredth time, an awkward beat of silence passed between the two, before Link pulled his notepad from his blazer pocket and flipped it open, pulling the pen from where it was tucked in the spiral.

‘It’s alright. I’ve had worse. You’re not even top ten, probably.’ Shinsou read it, chuckling at the last sentence.

“I understand the feeling.”

‘I can imagine. You said something about your quirk…?’ Shinsou frowned at the message thoughtfully, as though considering. He took a deep breath before responding, form tensing slightly.

“My quirk… it’s called Brainwash. Basically, if you respond to something I say, I can control you.” He paused, gauging Link’s reaction, though the blonde just continued to watch him with rapt attention.

“It doesn’t affect you though, since it has to be verbal. And it doesn’t work over the phone, either…” Link nodded at this.

‘It wouldn’t affect my classmate Koda, either. The only time he speaks out loud is to animals.’ Shinsou hummed thoughtfully, the odd, almost stressed expression from earlier flitting across his face momentarily.

‘If you don’t mind me asking, what brought you out here, anyway? I didn’t even hear you until you said something to me.’ Link wrote, thinking back to the beginning of their conversation. Shinsou was strangely stealthy considering he hadn’t actually been trying to sneak up on him.

“Oh, one of my classmates saw you from the cafeteria window. She got it into her head that you were probably dead, and the others worked themselves up about it so I decided to come out. Just so they’d calm down, you know.” Shinsou explained, gesturing up to a window on one of the upper floors, a fondly exasperated expression on his face.

‘I see. Well, I’m alive.’ As soon as Shinsou looked up from the response, he did a dramatic bow, putting one foot behind the other, one hand over his heart, and moving the other in a wide sweeping arc to the side as he bent at the waist, coming up just as Shinsou started laughing.

“I can see that. Are you always this dorky?” He asked through soft chuckles, and Link grinned wide.

‘I’ve picked up a few things from my classmates. The bow was all me though.’ Shinsou shakes his head, a smirk of his own settling on his face.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Anyway, if you’re alive, then…” He shrugged nonchalantly, taking a couple steps backward towards the school. “I’ll see you around, Link. Have fun with your whole ‘playing dead in a tree’ thing.” He gave a mock salute, finally turning on his heel and heading towards the school in earnest.

Even knowing Shinsou couldn’t see him, Link raised up a hand and waved at the boy’s back with a soft smile. He was actually kind of proud of himself. Even with the initial miscommunication on both their parts, he hadn’t fumbled too much after. It was progress.

And, he thought as he gathered his things at the base of the tree, Shinsou was fun, for the brief conversation they’d had. More relaxed than most of his classmates, with the notable exception of Kaminari, Mina, and Sero. His quirk was also pretty interesting. The thought brought another smile to his face, imagining how Midoriya would have reacted to it. Probably with plenty of awe, compliments, and questions, considering how excited he’d been even for Link’s own, admittedly kind of boring quirk.

‘Basically, my quirk is that I know how to use basically every weapon, as well as a couple of martial arts, and a few instruments, oddly enough.’ He’d explained to Midoriya, who nodded and started to scribble in his journal at near breakneck speed. Or break-hand speed, he supposed. They were at lunch, a few days before the press break-in, Link sitting across from the greenette, Iida, and Uraraka, with Momo and Tsuyu on either side of him, close enough to watch him write without making him feel closed in.

“You said basically? What weapons can’t you use?” The forest-haired boy asked, pen stilling as he waited for a response. Link considered the question for a moment, before gesturing for him to pass over his journal. Midoriya hesitated, but slid it across the table, and Link grabbed his own pen and started to write, going slow to write more neatly than his usual scrawl.

‘I know how to use most weaponry to the point of it being essentially instinct, with the notable exception of certain modern weapons, guns specifically. I also know some basic martial arts techniques, though I’m unsure of what style they are. Among instruments, I know ocarina, flute, harp, and guitar.’ He wrote, separating and bulleting each point. He slid the journal across the desk, and Midoriya read it over with an expression of only growing curiosity.

“I wonder why you can’t use guns…” He murmured. “Also I can’t help but wonder what about those specific instruments makes your quirk let you use them? And how exactly the knowledge and skill comes to you, considering how difficult it would be to maintain that kind of mastery over so many different things, so is it really just a quirk that adds to your instincts? And what if-” Midoriya continued to mutter rapidly, starting to scribble in his notebook again with a concentrated look on his face.

Link had enjoyed the brief conversation on his quirk, as well as helping his friend feed his ever growing curiosity. Midoriya was one of a kind, that was for sure. Things gathered, he made his way back into the school building, eyes focused on the carpeted floor of the hallway. He really did think Shinsou would like Midoriya, though he wasn’t sure how the tired boy would react to his friends’ more… odd habits, just thinking back to that day alone.

“There he goes again…” Uraraka said quietly, giggling softly at the boy’s dedication to his note-taking.

“His drive and work ethic are admirable, though the muttering can be a bit… unsettling.” Iida added, giving his customary little chop to the air to emphasize his words. Link nodded thoughtfully. He didn’t personally mind, but he could see how others might think so.

“Maybe, but it’s outweighed by how polite and sunshiney he is, you know? He’s too nice for the mumbling to really put anyone off.” Link nodded his head again at Tsuyu’s words, eyes narrowing appraisingly at the teen, who was still somehow oblivious to their conversation.

‘I would die for him.’ Momo sighed as she watched him write it, and he turned it around for the other two to see. Iida frowned, though he didn’t make a comment, and Uraraka let out a short laugh, eyes shining with mirth even as she shook her head in faux exasperation.

“You’ve known him for two weeks, Link.” Tsuyu pointed out, and Link gave a solemn nod of his head.

“It’s almost impressive how he hasn’t noticed us talking about him this whole time.” Momo commented, finally reaching across the table and gently tapping the hand not holding his pen. Midoriya looked up finally, surprise and a little embarrassment entering his expression at seeing everyone staring at him.

“Oh… Sorry, was I bugging you guys?” He asked softly, and his expression turned to confusion as Uraraka started giggling.

“You’re fine, Midori.” Tsuyu said over the sound, and Link smiled reassuringly at him, eyes shining with mirth at the situation.

“Midoriya, we should go over the student council meeting notes before class starts. We have to explain the main announcements, remember?” Momo informed the boy.

“Oh! Right. I almost forgot about that.” He chuckled sheepishly. “We can head back to class now, then? It’ll give us a bit of time to talk.” He offered, and she nodded, standing and starting to grab her things. Midoriya rushed to do the same, and after a quick goodbye they were heading out of the cafeteria.

Link pushed open the door to his classroom, ignoring Bakugo’s typical obnoxious grandstanding to go to his desk (also ignoring the way the explosive blond’s eyes locked on him as he passed), giving a little wave to his neighbor as he did. The bichromatic teen only glowered at him, and he pursed his lips somewhat uncomfortably as he sat down, only relaxing once the boy had finally looked away. Todoroki, as he’d learned, wasn’t exactly the most friendly sort, sometimes actively rebuffing any attempt Link made to be nice to him. He was trying to be optimistic about it, though admittedly that cold glare made his hackles rise in a way even Bakugou didn’t.

“Hey, Link.” Tsuyu called as she approached, face as impassive as ever. “You look like you have something on your mind.” Link paused for a moment, but smiled up at her, pulling his notepad out.

‘I met someone pretty cool today during lunch. I was thinking about maybe introducing him to Midoriya sometime. His quirk sounded really interesting from what he told me.’ Tsuyu hummed a short acknowledgement, considering the idea.

“Well, if you think he’s cool then he can’t be too bad. And Midori wouldn’t pass up the chance, for sure.” She finally stated, and his smile widened slightly, pleased by her conclusion.

Just then, Aizawa slumped in through the door, burrowed in his sleeping bag as always (Link didn’t have a clue how he managed to move around like that) and already giving the students an annoyed glare, wordlessly prompting them back to their seats. And with that, class began.

Link settled in to work, listening to the lecture with rapt attention. Unfortunately for him, he also missed the appraising stare of a certain peppermint colored classmate.

#loz #legend of zelda #botw #breath of the wild #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero acadamy #midoriya izuku #uraraka ochaco #iida tenya #momo yaoyarozu #tsuyu asui #bakugo katsuki #shinsou hitoshi #todoroki shōto #aizawa shouta

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kumeko · 6 years ago

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band practice

Prompt: new kid au

Character/Pairing: jiro, Yaoyorozu

A/N: Written for the Bnha BB. : ) A little late in posting because I was sick but here it is now. The pacing in this is a mess since I rewrote it so many times.

Summary: Yaoyorozu did say she wanted to make more friends in her new school. She just didn’t mean via tutoring Jiro.

...

“I’m copying your homework,” a confident, imposing voice ordered.

Jiro looked up from her sheet music, unsurprised to find it was Kaminari. There was that dopey look on his face again, the sign that someone had been spending a little too much time sniffing highlighters. She raised an eyebrow, not bothering to pause her playlist. This wasn’t even worth removing her earbuds. “No.”

His bravado vanished immediately and he slumped forward. Hands clasped, he bowed his head and begged. “Please?” When she remained silent, he pleaded, “I’ll do anything.”

A tempting offer. Highly tempting. She took in his teary eyes, his nervous smile, and shook her head disapprovingly. “No.”

“Come on!” Switching tactics, he crouched next to her desk and gripped the edge. “You do this too!”

“Never to you,” she snapped, flicking each of his fingers. “You.” Flick. “Never.” ��Flick. “Help.” Flick. “Back.”

“Ouch!” Kaminari recoiled, cradling his hands. He shot her a grump glare. “What’s that gotta do with anything?”

“Everything.” She rolled her eyes. They’d known each other since middle school and she was tired of this old game. “Get someone else.”

“Boo.” Pouting, he looked furtively at the rest of their gang.

Jiro almost wished him luck. He’d need it—she followed his train of sight to the rest of her friends. Sero was chatting excitedly with Kirishima about last night’s wrestling match. Despite how fake the whole affair was, they both got really into it. They’d cheer when the face appeared, boo when the heel came out, and it was almost like watching a drama unfold when there was a match. Sero was almost as straight-laced as she was, on that border between rebel and normal. His uniform was on properly, each button properly closed, and if it weren’t for the constant mischievous grin on his face, you’d be forgiven for thinking he was a good student. Kirishima, on the other hand, might have the heart of a model student but you couldn’t tell that by looking at him. His red hair was always in disarray, as were the rest of his clothes. A wild style, but his easy-going grin and friendly nature made him popular with the class despite that.

Then there was the last of them, Bakugou, moodily sitting at his chair with a perpetual scowl on his face. He only had two modes at school: angry and angrier. After class, there was the rare third mode: when they managed to coax a smile out, an amused snort and a cocky retort.

To be honest, if there was any reason they ended up with a bad rep, it was him.

A bell rang and Kaminari sat on her desk. Sero came up to her. “I’ll trade math for English.”

“Deal.” She smirked broadly as she swapped homework with Sero, ignoring Kaminari’s indignant glare. “See, that’s how it’s supposed to work.”

Sero looked up from the sheet. “What, was he trying to leach off you again?”

Before Kaminari could respond, the door swung open.

“Class.” Their teacher, Aizawa, gave them a flat stare as he slouched toward his desk. A sloth would have looked more energetic. Dressed in black dress pants and a striped sweater, it was as though he had tried to wear his uniform and gave up halfway. Still, it was better than the other times it looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. Hell, he even looked stylish for once. When he’d reached his desk, he gestured to the door. “We have a new student.”

In walked a princess. Ok, not an actually princess, but Jiro was pretty sure she was close to the real thing. There was something about dignified about her, with her neatly coiffed hair and proud expression that belonged more in a movie than in real life. Even Iida, the class president, who sat as though he had a rod taped to his back, didn’t walk as straight and tall as she did. Reaching the center of the blackboard, with a dainty hand she scrawled a name on the board. Even her letters were neat—who in the world could actually write nicely on a blackboard? Turning around, she bowed to the class. “I’m Yaoyorozu Momo.”

Her eyes scanned the room and when they landed on hers, Jiro’s hand involuntarily went up to wave. She couldn’t stop herself. Behind her, Sero whistled.

“She’s cute.” Kaminari muttered.

“Why are you two not seated yet?” Aizawa’s words came out in a drawl, little power or force behind them, but both Sero and Kaminari flinched and quickly went back to their seats. When everyone was seated, he pointed to a seat on the right, next to Asui. “That spot’s free, it’ll be your desk.”

“Thank you.” Even her voice was elegant.

Not that this was the time for that. Aizawa was still paying attention to her group and Jiro had to discretely copy homework and take off her earbuds without getting in trouble. Judging by Aizawa’s stare, it might already be too late.

-x-

“I’ll take you around.” Asui—Yaoyorozu was pretty sure her name was Asui—stood in front of her desk, a helpful smile on her face. A short girl with a frog clip in her hair, she stood slightly hunched over.

Yaoyorozu resisted the urge to correct her posture. She’d found people rarely wanted that kind of advice, at least not on the first day. “Thank you.”

“I’ll help too!” Another girl skipped to the pair, her short brown hair curling around her head like a mushroom. When she reached Yaoyorozu’s desk, she peered down at her notes in surprise. “Did you write all that?”

“Yes?” She looked down at her notes herself, wondering if she made a mistake. Their last class was English; perhaps she had made a grammatical or spelling mistake. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no, definitely not.” The girl’s eyes were wide as she continued to stare at the notebook. “I can’t believe you managed to actually write it all down!”

An ineloquent “Huh?” escaped Yaoyorozu’s lips before she could stop it. Judging by the impressed expression on both girls faces, this school might be a little different than her old all girl’s school. Around her, her other classmates perked up and started to pay attention. Scratch that, this place was very different.

“I’m terrible at English.” The girl sighed, drooping. “Like really, really bad.”

Asui patted her on her back comfortingly. “We can study together.”

“Yes, I can help if you want.” Yaoyorozu nodded, pushing her fingers together nervously. “I should have my old notes somewhere if you want to look at them.”

“Really?” Overjoyed, the girl clasped Yaoyorozu’s hands gratefully. “Thanks!” Then, as though remembering herself, she let go and sheepishly rubbed the back of her head. “I’m Uraraka—probably should’ve done that first.”

“Uraraka,” Yaoyorozu repeated. “I’m Yaoyorozu—nice to meet you.”

“Nice to…” Asui cocked her head, tapping her chin as she considered the phrase. “You’re kinda formal when you speak.”

“Formal?” Perplexed, Yaoyorozu stared at her classmate. “How so?”

“Like that!” Uraraka nodded her agreement, once more clasping Yaoyorozu’s hands. “We’re friends! It’s ok to relax a little.”

“Relax.” Yaoyorozu frowned, mulling it over. Certainly, this school was a whole different animal than her old one. Gingerly, she formed her next sentence. “I’ll attempt to?”

Judging by Uraraka’s face, she’d missed the mark. “Close enough!”

“Anyways, we need to show her the school before lunch is over.” Asui gently tugged Uraraka’s hands away.

After Yaoyorozu put away her notebooks, the trio left the classroom. The school was not as grand as Yaoyorozu’s old one, certainly lacking in funding in terms of size and even quality and quantity of goods. The library was not only smaller, but the books had a musty smell and looked older than her parents. There were several classrooms, near identical, on each floor, with a few special rooms for special classes—the art room, geography, music. Eventually, they were nearing the end of the corridor for the final and third floor when Uraraka could faintly hear music escaping from underneath one of the doors. They couldn’t afford proper soundproof rooms then either. “What is that sound?”

“What?” Uraraka looked around before Yaoyorozu pointed at the door. Following her line of sight, she laughed. “Ohhh, that! They’re the Back Rows.”

“The back rows?” Yaoyorozu’s brow furrowed. No matter how hard she thought it through, the meaning didn’t get any clearer. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“It’s the name of Jiro—right, you haven’t met them.” Asui bit her lip. After a moment’s consideration, she approached the door and gestured for them to follow. “They’re a band.”

“A band?” Yaoyorozu had heard rumours of bands, playing with guitars and screaming instead of singing. Nothing at all like the magnificent orchestras or even the graceful quartets. Still, this would be a good time to get some firsthand information. Quietly, she peeked through the door’s glass window.

A blonde boy jumped, strumming a guitar as electric as his grin. A black chord bounced around him like ribbon, miraculously not tangling around his legs. Near him a second guitar rang out, a tone deeper. A toothy boy played the instrument, its shape an oddity compared to the first. His foot tapped to the beat. A beat played out by the giant drum kit behind him. Surrounded by drums and cymbals, the angry boy from their class was furiously banging out a tempo. His hands jumped from place to place, dragging the band along his pace.

And leading the group, singing her heart out into a microphone, was a short-haired girl, the girl who’d waved at her this morning. They were all from Yaoyorozu’s class, she realized. All of them. The singer was clutching the stand, hunching over it as she shouted something unintelligible into the head. While not entirely soundproof, the room blocked out enough noise that Yaoyorozu couldn’t make out most of the song. Only that it was loud. How much louder did it have to be inside?

For a moment she forgot to breath. This was no confused mess, no unharmonic discord. It was…it was…

“Amazing,” Yaoyorozu exhaled.

“It is, isn’t it!” Urara whispered, excited. “They’re a club, sorta, and they’re gonna perform again at the festival. This is a new song.”

“Let’s go—Bakugou gets pissed whenever people watch them practice,” Asui whispered, tugging on their sleeves. At Yaoyorozu’s confused look, she added, “He’s the drummer. Kaminari’s on the guitar, Sero’s on the bass, and that’s Jiro singing. Kirishima joins them sometimes, but he’s more like a club manager than a band member. They’re all in our class.”

Bakugou. Kaminari. Sero. Kirishima. She repeated their names to herself as they walked away, taking one last look at Jiro. Her cheeks red from exertion, she looked like a thing of fire as she danced around. Yaoyorozu had never seen anyone look so alive before. Passionate. She wondered when was the last time she’d looked like that. Her fingers twitched involuntarily, tapping along to the music. It stayed with her, even through their afternoon classes, even after she had cello practice and did her homework and all the other activities her parents had arranged.

When she closed her eyes, all she could see was that band performing, all she could hear was that beat, as though it were her own heartbeat.

-x-

There were few things that scared Jiro. Conversely, there were many things that annoyed her: Kaminari, her hippie parents, Iida when he went hardcore, Kaminari, attention, Mineta, and did she mention Kaminari? Even horror movies weren’t any issue generally, good for a few chills and scares before ultimately being forgotten.

However, the piece of paper in front of her terrified her. Scrawled on the top was a red 60%. An almost failing grade. It was blood curdling to stare at it and she suddenly felt very cold. Her parents would have no issue with this, she knew, as long as her music grades were good. No, the school, on the other hand, would very much have problems with this. The only condition her band had for using the school to practice and even perform was that they all passed their tests.

And a sixty percent generally ended up going even lower and lower. Shakily, she turned to look at Kaminari. His face was as pale as hers as he looked up from his test. Turning the other direction, she saw that Sero looked only slightly disappointed, though next to him Kirishima’s million-watt smile was down a few degrees. The only person she didn’t have to check was Bakugou —despite his attitude, his grades were nothing to laugh at.

Well, fuck. They were screwed unless they came up with something fast. The moment class was over, she grabbed Kaminari’s test before he could hide it. It was worse than she’d expected. “Fifty percent? Seriously?”

“Hey!” Reaching up, he tried to grab the test from her. When she smoothly dodged, he sighed and sat back down. “Yeah, yeah, still a pass.”

“Barely. I don’t even know if this counts as a pass even—Aizawa definitely won’t like this.” To emphasize her point, she hit the paper with the back of her hand. “And I thought my grades were bad.”

“What’d you get?” Grumpy, he reached over and tried to grab her test, only for her to yank it away as well. There were a few downsides to sitting next to Kaminari, but his predictability was never one of them.

“Much better than you.” Concerned, she turned to Kirishima. He’d wandered over, still a little downtrodden. “How bad is it?”

“54. Sero’s fine at least.” Kirishima sighed before roughly rubbing his head with both hands. After a few minutes, he clapped his cheeks. “Ok! I’ll figure out how to fix this. A man has to clean up after his own mess.”

“It’s nice I can count on you.” Jiro gave Kaminari a pointed glare. “What’re you gonna do?”

Disgruntled, he rested his cheeks on the desk. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Will you? Really?” Jiro stared at him incredulously, wondering if it was more unbelievable that he said it or that he believed it.

Clenching his jaw, Kirishima crossed his arms. After a few seconds of humming, he suddenly beamed. “We just need help.”

“Help?” Kaminari glanced at him disinterestedly, still slumped over his desk.

Energized, Kirishima merely grinned before heading to Bakugou. As they watched, he slammed his hands on his desk, earning an irate glare from Bakugou. “What.”

It wasn’t even a question. Jiro shivered, a chill running up her spine. Despite the years they’ve known each other, on some level Bakugou would always be scary. “He’s going to get himself killed.”

“Yep.” Kaminari swallowed, nodding slowly. He clasped his hands together, as if in prayer. “I’ll remember him.”

“Should I…” Trailing off, she gestured helplessly at the tableau in front of them.

Grabbing her hand, Kaminari shook his head sadly. “He’s as dead as our band.” He gave a small salute and Jiro whacked him.

“Our band is not dead,” she snarled, turning back to the scene. Whatever Kirishima had said, she’d missed. Somehow, he was still alive. So far. Judging by Bakugou’s expression, it wasn’t for long.

“Why.” Again, another not-question. It was almost impressive for an artist that he was able to convey so much anger with so few words. If they ever went into the heavy metal genre, they were set.

“Come on, we can’t perform otherwise.” The easy smile didn’t slip off Kirishima’s face, his arm wrapped around Bakugou’s shoulder now as he crouched next to his chair. Jiro faintly feared that he’d lose the arm. “It’s just math and English.” When Bakugou glared at him, he laughed awkwardly and scratched his chin with his other hand. “And maybe a few more.”

“I could beat it into you,” Bakugou growled, looking practically demonic.

“That works too.” Fearlessly Kirishima gave them thumbs up. “See you Saturday.”

“Mad man. He’s a mad man.” Kaminari stared blankly at the scene for a moment longer before turning back to her. “I can’t believe Bakugou’s tutoring.”

Bakugou. Tutoring. All Jiro could picture was a torture chamber. Did Bakugou even know how to teach? There were values like patience or compassion or not yelling that were definitely needed for this task. Shaking her head, she looked at the rest of the class. Choice aside, Kirishima had the right idea. A tutor. She just had to find someone who didn’t look too busy and also looked like a good teacher.

Well at least it wouldn’t be hard to look for someone smart. Their class was oddly full of them.

-x-

How odd. When Yaoyorozu had hoped she’d get closer to her classmates, tutoring hadn’t been her first idea. Or even her second or a remote third. Yet when Uraraka had come forward with an awkward Jiro, she couldn’t refuse. Especially not after hearing about her plight—if she could help, she wanted to.

And to be honest, she wanted to get closer to Jiro. Just a little. Despite how alive she’d looked in front of the mike, Jiro was practically apathetic in class. Even her humour was more on the dry side. There was little of the singer inside the student and Yaoyorozu couldn’t wrap her head around how one person could have two very different sides.

“I’m fine with most subjects,” Jiro informed her honestly, pulling out a notebook onto the table. It was Saturday and they were in Yaoyorozu’s house. It was a little more modest than her old place. A traditional house, it was spacious enough to accommodate most of their furnishings, leaving only a few pieces in storage. The grounds not as grand as she was used to, but Jiro had complimented it all the same when she’d arrived. Fortunately, they were not expecting any other guests that day and Yaoyorozu had arranged for them to use the living room for their session.

“Then what do you need help with?” Yaoyorozu asked, settling herself on the other side of the table.

A maid knocked and entered, carrying tray of tea. “Where shall I leave it miss?”

“On the side table is fine.” Yaoyorozu gestured to the table next to the chaise. With a soft clink, the tray was set down and the maid departed with a bow. “Want some tea?”

“Tea?” Jiro rubbed her wrist, her expression strained. “What kind of tea?”

“We have several blends—I requested a simple one for today, a green tea.” Yaoyorozu slowly poured some tea into a small cup and offered it to her.

“Green tea? That sounds…normal.” Jiro nodded, accepting the cup.

“Gathering the leaves was the hard part, there were so many different regions to choose from.”

Holding up her hand, Jiro shook her head. “I don’t really want to think about that. Green tea. Let’s leave it at that.”

“If you’re certain.” Yaoyorozu poured herself a cup, uncertain as to how that knowledge could ruin Jiro’s enjoyment. She inhaled the fragrance, a touch milder than she was used to, before slowly sipping. It warmed her instantly, spreading through her body like a blanket.

“Not bad.” Jiro sipped her tea slowly, examining the room. Her expression brightened when her gaze landed on the grand piano. “A piano? Can you play?”

“Hmm?” Following her line of slight, Yaoyorozu stared at the piano for a long moment. “I have taken lessons for years.”

And yet, oddly enough, she never looked at that instrument the way Jiro had. Nor had she ever played it the way Sero or Kaminari or even Bakugou had played theirs. It existed, an item more for showing off than for enjoyment. A status symbol.

“Wow.” Jiro looked at her impressed. “What level?”

“I’m at…I’m not all that great at it.” Yaoyorozu lied, rubbing her shoulder.

“That’s ok.” Jiro shrugged. “I’m not the best either.”

Somehow, that easy line made her want to play even less—there was a difference, Yaoyorozu was sure, between them. A difference in how they played, in how they looked when they played. Even a difference on what they thought was good. “That’s not why we’re here today.” She tapped her notebook. “What subject do you need help in?”

“Math.” Jiro grimaced, opening her math notebook. “It’s just not clicking. At all. My other grades are decent enough, but I almost always fail that course.”

“Math.” Yaoyorozu pulled out the textbook, checking exactly what this class had learned in comparison to hers. It was fairly similar—calculus, some trigonometry, and a slow introduction into more complex equations. Her class had been ahead, but that was to be expected of a top class private school versus a public one. Confident she was ready, she looked expectantly at Jiro. “What sections should we go over?”

“…all of them,” Jiro admitted slowly, her cheeks tinting a faint red. “Just…yeah, all of it.”

“All of it,” Yaoyorozu repeated, looking down at textbook once more, at the helpful sticker Uraraka had placed to indicate the class’s current spot. A quarter of the book, fortunately. Their next round of tests was a week away, unfortunately. “There’s nothing that you understand?”

Jiro gave a wry look. “Nothing.”

Well. This was certainly shaping up to be a longer day than Yaoyorozu had expected. “Very well then, we will start at the beginning.”

-x-

“So?” Sero leaned forward conspiratorially. “How’s it going?”

“How’s what going?” Jiro looked up from her sheet music. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she was adjusting their song. Bakugou was late, oddly enough, though she suspected Kirishima had something to do with that. Miraculously, he had survived the weekend of hell and even managed to get Bakugou to help out beyond that.

If he managed to pass the tests with his body intact, she’d dedicate a song to him.

“The princess.” Kaminari waggled his brow and someone had been spending too much time with Mineta again. “She’s teaching you, right?”

“Yaoyorozu?” Jiro tugged her ear. Princess, huh? It was near impossible for Yaoyorozu to hide her rich roots, even if she wanted to—almost every move she made exuded the aura of wealth. Her mannerisms, her speech, even their identical uniforms seemed different somehow. “She’s really good at it.”

“Maybe she can help me too, then.” Sero sighed.

“Science?” Jiro asked, knowing all too well his weakness. She stood up, brushing herself off.

“Chemistry,” he corrected. He was better at engineering and practical work than the theoretical sections. Unfortunately, they were only tested on theory.

“And you?” Jiro didn’t really need to ask, Kaminari’s flinch said everything. “Iida’s helping you, right?”

The second she asked, she instantly regretted it. As though given permission to break down, Kaminari grabbed her shoulders and looked at her with watery eyes. “It’s a boot camp for devils. It’s torture. It’d actually be better with Bakugou.”

Sero covered his mouth, trying to stop his laughter. It didn’t work; she could still hear his snorts even as he tried to speak. “Bakugou? Really?”

Kaminari shot him a glare. “Yes really.”

Brushing his hands off her, Jiro rolled her eyes. “It can’t possibly be that bad.”

“Worse. It’s even worse,” Kaminari grumbled, crouching to the ground. His hand drew circles on the floor as he mumbled, “Not all of us are lucky enough to get a princess.”

“She’s…” The word strict died on her tongue—Yaoyorozu wasn’t all that bad, actually. She was smart and stern when it came to her lessons, but she was also fair about it. If anything, it was more fun than she’d expected.

Not that she’d ever admit it.

“See.” Kaminari narrowed his eyes and squinted up at her and really, he had been spending way too much time with Mineta.

“You’re gonna pass though, right?” Resisting the urge to argue with him, she sat down and went back to their sheet music. Before Kaminari could answer, she added, “Otherwise I don’t think he’ll leave you alone.”

Kaminari went white. “Oh god, you’re right.”

-x-

“So, this is my house.”

Yaoyorozu stared at the main hallway, amazed at the compactness of it all. The house was small, almost as big as one of her family’s sheds. Or maybe garage. Either way, it was amazing a person could live in it, let alone an entire family. There was something cute about it all, like living in a doll house. “It’s a nice place.”

Jiro stared at her for a long moment. Her tone was a bit dry as she replied, “Right.”

“No, really, it’s quaint,” Yaoyorozu complimented as she pulled off her shoes.

“We could just do this at your house again,” Jiro suggested, tugging her ear nervously.

“No, no, this is good.” Yaoyorozu quickly shook her hands in front of her. When was the next time she’d get to see how the other half lived? Ever since she moved, she got to try coffee shops and movie theatres and honestly, it was a lot better than she’d expected. Following Jiro to her room, she tried not to stare too much as they walked but everything was so new and interesting.

Even Jiro’s room was an oddity, covered from wall to wall with posters of singers and bands Yaoyorozu couldn’t recognize. All she knew was that they were all rock bands, that there was something about a heavy beat and an electric guitar that made her heart sing where classical music could not.

In a corner, several guitars hung on a stand and Yaoyorozu almost floated toward them. “Are these all yours?”

“Huh?” Surprised, Jiro could only nod. “Yeah.”

“Wow!” Yaoyorozu leaned forward to examine them all. Their shapes were all so different and she reached out to touch them. “Could I try?”

“You know how to play?” Jiro stood next to her now and she was surprised before, she was incredulous now.

“Oh, no, not at all.” Yaoyorozu rubbed her shoulder, withdrawing from the instruments. “They just…they look…” It all sounded stupid now that she was trying to say it aloud.

“Cool, right?” Jiro gave a half-smile, the most she’d ever given to Yaoyorozu. Her fingers grazed the varnish on one of them.

No, you’re the cool one, she’d almost blurted out but if her words for the guitars sounded silly, this was downright idiotic.

“After we’re done studying.” Jiro tugged her ear, looking away now. “If you want, I could teach you a little then.”

“Teach me?” Yaoyorozu stared at her and then back at the guitar. That was so much more than she’d expected, so much more than she’d hoped for. She felt so light she could float, a well of happiness overflowing within her. Almost hugging Jiro, she pulled back last second and nodded eagerly. “Yes, please!”

“You don’t have to be so formal.” Jiro shook her head, going back to their bags. “It’s nothing.”

“No, not it’s not.” Yaoyorozu looked back at the guitars one last time before getting ready to teach. The faster they went through the material, the faster they could get to it.

-x-

“Wow.” Yaoyorozu stood stock still in the entrance to the McDonald’s, gazing in wonder at the whole establishment. By expression alone, it was like they were standing at a rock concert or in front of the Mona Lisa.

Jiro had to resist the urge to rub her eyes, to confirm that this was actually a McDonald’s and they hadn’t accidentally entered some fancy restaurant. Cheap wobbly chairs, check. Dirty tables, check. The smell of greasy, fried food, check. “What is this, your first McDonald’s?”

It was a joke but Yaoyorozu nodded, still clearly enamoured by the restaurant. “I always wanted to go to one of these fast-food establishments, but I never could find the excuse or time.” She took a step in, her hand lightly brushing a table, and Jiro wondered if she should warn her about the germs. “It’s exactly how I pictured it.”

This is what you pictured? Jiro almost asked, because who imagined what a McDonald’s looked like and why even imagine this? A strained smile on her face, she led the way to the counter. “Come on, let’s order something.”

Yaoyorozu slowly followed after, craning her head as she tried to look at all the pictures hanging on the walls. When they reached the counter, her jaw slacked as she stared at all the menu items. “This is an impressive selection! Far more items than I expected!”

“It’s a normal amount,” Jiro scoffed, not sure how she should be reacting to all this. Laughter? Ignore it? Taking it seriously? “And most of them are almost identical.”

“That’s true.” Her eyes widened as she scanned the different burgers. “That one’s just adding a patty and that one cheese—what should I get?” Jiro stepped back when Yaoyorozu turned her, excitement rolling off her in waves. Then, as though remembering herself, she straightened her posture and her smile dropped a notch. “I mean, is there anything you could recommend?”

The good rich girl act was back. It was funny to see how different she was when she was relaxed and when she was in public. Jiro wasn’t sure if Yaoyorozu even noticed the difference herself. “Umm…I guess one of their desserts?”

“Desserts…” She bit her lip, eyeing the burgers once more. “I suppose I can try one.”

“��or you could just take their burger combos.”

Yaoyorozu’s smile came back, and she nodded. “That is the best course to take.” Sitting at a table, she waved at the cashier. “Hi! Could I have one of your…” She looked up at the menu board again, and her lips formed a small ‘O’. “They can come with toys? I will try one of those. And a dessert.”

The cashier stared at her. “Huh?”

“One second!” Jiro quickly dragged her off, her ears red with embarrassment. When they were in a corner, she hissed, “That’s not how you order here.”

“Really?” Yaoyorozu’s face flushed a dark red and she covered her face with her hands. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”

“Very bad.” Jiro ran a hand through her hair. “Look, I can order for you.”

She peeked through the cracks between her fingers. “Really?” When Jiro nodded, she smiled, revealing her face. “Could I have one of those toys then?”

“Those are…” Jiro cut herself off, not really wanting to destroy her smile again with the news that those were for little kids. “Sure, why not?”

-x-

“So, I think you almost understand the formulas,” Yaoyorozu whispered, scanning the practice questions Jiro had finished. For once, the number of rights overtook the number of wrongs, and maybe their lessons were finally having their intended effect. She flipped the page and almost gasped at the sight, a full row of checkmarks. “Wow, you did so well here!”

Jiro didn’t respond, instead settling her head on Yaoyorozu’s shoulder. At the unexpected weight, she stiffened. They were in a library! The school library! This was improper! Furtively, she scanned the room. After school, there were only a few students here, most of them heavily engrossed in a book or chatting in low voices with one another. None of them were looking in their direction and she sighed with relief. Quietly, she hissed, “What are you doing?”

No response again. After checking the room once more, Yaoyorozu looked down at her pupil only to find her asleep. Asleep. Irritation rose up within—were her lessons really that boring?

No, that couldn’t be the case. She glanced at the sheet again, at the row of right answers. Jiro had been paying attention, had been working hard. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to let her rest a little. Peering down again, she watched the slight rise and fall of Jiro’s chest, her mouth slightly open as she softly snored. Asleep, she looked more delicate than usual and Yaoyorozu looked away, not sure why her cheeks felt so hot.

Just a little, she’d let her sleep just a little and then they’d get back to studying. They only had a few more days, after all.

-x-

“Pass the papers down to the person behind you,” Aizawa ordered, giving them all a grumpy look. “Though by now you should know the drill.”

The test. Jiro stared at the paper in front of her, at the hand waving them so she’d take them. It was judgement time. Next to her, she could hear Kaminari freaking out and her pulse shot up. The idiot was going to make her panic and she almost chucked her eraser at him.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in. This was no time to freak out. Slowly, she reached out and grabbed the papers. She had this, she had this—oh who was she kidding? She definitely—

Ahead of her, Yaoyorozu flashed her a thumbs up and Jiro quietly released her breath, picking up her pencil.

She had this.

-x-

“I passed!” Jiro almost collapsed on her desk when they got their most recent test results back, the red pen at the top marking a 75%. Maybe not as high as Yaoyorozu would have wanted, but it was amazing for Jiro. Especially for math.

The band was safe. The concert was safe. And it was all thanks to Yaoyorozu. Turning to her right, she asked Kaminari, “Did you pass?”

“65%.” Kaminari swallowed, a little ashen. “Do you think he’ll leave me alone with this?”

Oh. Right. Iida. Jiro glanced at their class president, very proudly explaining answer to Uraraka and their other classmates. There was nothing about him that indicated he was the type to accept a passing mark. “Not a chance.”

“Thought so.” Kaminari sighed.

“But you passed, which is good enough.” Besides, Iida’s dogged determination had some uses—Kaminari would need the help for the next test. And any other test. Maybe it was a good thing he’d never be rid of him—Kaminari would never fail again.

A test was shoved in front of them, a bright red 70%. Behind it, with a wide grin, was Kirishima. “Got it!”

Kaminari grabbed it, staring back and forth from the test to Kirishima. “Wait, what?” He glanced at Bakugou, still in his default glower. “He actually taught you stuff?”

“Beat it into me.” Kirishima puffed his chest with pride and Jiro wanted so badly to point out there was nothing to be proud of. If anything, it was a worrying concept. But a pass was a pass and if Kirishima was fine with it, she’d keep her mouth shut.

“Seriously?” Kaminari bit his lip, peeking at Bakugou once more. “Think maybe I—”

“No.” Jiro immediately cut off, shaking her head. Kirishima might have survived, but he had always been a special case. Bakugou would either murder Kaminari for asking or just murder him while tutoring him. Hell, even she wanted to do it sometimes.

Kaminari looked like he was about to argue but thought better of it. “Nah, you’re right. Got the music ready?”

Jiro grinned, pulling out the sheet music from her bag. “All adjusted, finally.”

“Ohhhh.” Kirishima gazed at it curiously. He couldn’t read the notes, barely understanding anything about music, but his enthusiasm wasn’t dampened at all. “Neat!”

“More than neat!” Kaminari whistled as he flipped through the pages. “Amazing! How’d you find time to do it?”

“Well, Yaoyorozu’s really good at explaining, so our lessons didn’t last too long.” Jiro shrugged.

Looking up from the sheets, he squinted at her. “How good at explaining?”

“…I don’t think she’ll teach you.” Jiro paused, then corrected herself. “You want a tag team of her and Ida?”

He frowned, mulling it over. “Princess and Ida, or just Ida…hmm…”

“Why is passing not even an option?” Jiro sighed. It wasn’t a realistic option, sure, but he didn’t even consider it.

“You’re the only one left with a tutor, huh?” Kirishima teased, a wide grin plastered on his face. Humming, he carefully folded his test. “Bakugou’ll be fine with this.”

Oh, she should show hers to Yaoyorozu too. Looking across the classroom, her eyes met with Yaoyorozu’s and she quickly gave her a thumbs up. Yaoyorozu looked surprised and shot back two thumbs up. They could meet after class, as usual, and Jiro could already picture the smile on her face as she read the mark.

And then—and then what? Tutoring was over. They didn’t have to meet anymore. Jiro would go back to band practice, to hours after class locked up in a class room, singing her heart out. There would be no more afterschool lessons, no more practice tests.

For some reason, she didn’t feel as happy about that as she thought she’d be.

-x-

It was a little strange. Yaoyorozu listened to Uraraka and Asui as they walked to the courtyard, nodding and laughing where needed. There was nothing unusual about this, she had been doing this for the past month or so. They’d have their lunch together, trading stories about procrastination and dates gone wrong and unbelievable strokes of luck.

There was nothing unusual about this and yet it felt strange all the same. Two stories above them, Yaoyorozu could hear a guitar, the clash of cymbals, and a faint voice screaming through the instruments.

Not too long ago, that voice had been worrying about math homework, looking at Yaoyorozu for reassurance.

Not too long ago, it had been too easy to meet Jiro and now it seemed too hard. There was no reason not to, no reason to do so, and Yaoyorozu balanced on the rope, swaying between going and not going. Longing, this was longing, she realized, remembering the word from her trashy, five-dollar romance novels. She missed Jiro.

She missed Jiro. Now that she admitted it, the word felt right, and everything made sense. Yaoyorozu missed Jiro. It was irrational, they saw each other in class every day, but the feeling lingered still.

“I’m sorry, but I have to do something.” Yaoyorozu stood up, shooting an apologetic smile at her two friends. “I’ll see you in class.”

“Huh?” Uraraka stared at her before nodding slowly. “Ok.”

“See you,” Asui croaked out, a knowing smile on her lips, and she tried hard not to read into that.

Waving goodbye, she quickly headed to the music room, to the music that had always been out of reach. Her fingers remembered her few guitar lessons, the feel of a chord between her fingers, the heat of Jiro’s hand on top of hers, gently correcting her movements. It had been over a week since they’d last had one. The class bell rang as she reached the room but for once, Yaoyorozu disregarded it. This was more important. Far more important.

Just as she was about to turn the handle, it opened on the other side. Jiro stared at the girl in front of her, surprised. “Yaoyorozu?”

Exactly who she wanted to see. “Can I talk to you?”

“Uh, sure?” Jiro tugged her ear, a nervous habit she had noticed long ago. “After class, I guess.”

Yaoyorozu shook her head. “Now.”

“But the bell rang?” Jiro brow furrowed, concerned. “Are you feeling ok?”

Around her, her friends streamed out of the door, leaving only the two of them there. Yaoyorozu stepped into the classroom herself, taking a seat. “Now,” she repeated insistently, firmly. If she didn’t do it know, she was afraid she’d lose her courage.

“But…” Jiro sighed, rubbing her head furiously. “Alright, fine.” She plopped down on the chair next to her. “Yes?”

Now that she was here, Yaoyorozu wasn’t sure what to say. Jiro was staring at her and her words, her hastily thought up speech, all of it flew away. Tongue-tied, she searched the room for something to say and landed on the guitar cases propped up against the wall. “Guitar lessons.”

“Huh?” Jiro blinked, surprised. “What?”

Yaoyorozu could just hit her head against the wall, it was such a stupid way to start. Still, it was something and she latched onto it. “We haven’t had a guitar lesson in a while.”

“Oh that.” Jiro tugged her ear again. “I thought you were just doing that to get me to learn.”

“Never.” Yaoyorozu shook her head vehemently, clutching Jiro’s hands. “Please teach me again.”

“S-sure.” Jiro stared at their joined hands, flustered by the desperate appeal. “If you really want.” After a moment, she adjusted her hand, gripping Yaoyorozu’s hand back. “I didn’t think you liked that much.”

“I loved it.” Yaoyorozu took a deep breath, gathering her courage once more. “No, I…that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Okay.” Jiro looked even more confused, if possible. After waiting a moment, she prompted Yaoyorozu. “So what did you want?”

“I…” She focused on their hands, on the calluses on Jiro’s fingers. Her own were there as well, fresh and newly formed. “Could we meet again? ‘Hang’ out as you called it?”

“Slang, coming from your mouth.” Jiro looked amused. She nodded eagerly. “And definitely, I…” She tugged her ear with her free hand, awkward and uncertain. “I kinda missed it.”

“Me too.” Elated, Yaoyorozu squeezed Jiro’s hands. “I really missed it.”

“Cool.” Jiro smiled, a brief thing, and Yaoyorozu wondered if she could make it happen again. Make it happen longer. Suddenly, she looked up at the time and stood up with a shout. “Shit, we’re really, really late.”

Yaoyorozu looked at the classroom clock and almost fell out of her chair. She had never been late for anything before and this late? “We have to go.”

“Yeah.” Jiro looked terrified, already at the door. “Aizawa is going to kill us.”

“He wouldn’t—”

Jiro looked her dead in the eye, shaking her head furiously. “It will be a fate worse than death.”

She swallowed. “Oh dear.”

With a sinking feeling, Yaoyorozu knew that it would be a while before they had another guitar lesson.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #momo yaoyorozu #jirou kyouka #fanfic #mine

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