I’m Okay….

Denki exhaled slowly, staring at the discharge papers in his hands, feeling the weight of weeks of recovery finally lifting. 

"You're officially free," the nurse said, grinning slightly, handing him the last of his belongings. 

Denki blinked, processing the words, the reality, the way it suddenly felt real. 

He was leaving. 

No more hospital bed. 

No more sterile walls. 

No more waking up to doctors checking his vitals. 

Just him. 

Walking out. 

For the first time since everything happened, he was going home. 

Jiro was waiting for him just outside the room, arms crossed, eyes sharp, watching him carefully like she wasn't about to let him fall on his way out. 

Denki smirked, nudging her shoulder as he stepped beside her. 

"Gonna miss watching me struggle every day?" 

Jiro rolled her eyes. 

"Gonna miss watching you almost fall on your face every day? Absolutely." 

Denki laughed, but deep down? 

He felt it. 

The relief. 

The weight lifting. 

The undeniable truth that he had made it. 

And as he stepped toward the exit—toward his friends, his life, everything waiting for him outside these walls—Denki finally, finally felt like himself again. 

The sun outside felt too bright.

Denki stepped through the hospital doors for the first time in weeks—his bag slung over one shoulder, Jiro at his side, and a familiar weight pressing into his ribs from the inside. 

Freedom. 

It should have felt like something louder. 

But instead, it was quiet. Heavy. Unsteady. 

He inhaled deep. 

Exhaled slower. 

"You're out," Jiro said. Her voice was calm, but her grip on his arm was just a little too tight to match it. 

Denki smiled—small, shaky. "Guess I am." 

They walked in silence for a moment, their steps syncing like they always did. But Denki could tell—she wasn't okay.

Not entirely. 

Jiro had seen it. All of it. 

She had held his hand in the ambulance, blood on her face, eyes wide with panic. 

She had waited outside the ICU, refusing to sleep. 

She had flinched whenever his heart monitor beeped wrong. 

And now, walking next to him like everything was fine—she wasn't fooling anyone. 

Denki stopped. Turned to her. 

She didn't meet his eyes. 

"Jiro." 

"...yeah?" 

He reached out, brushing her hair from her face. "I'm really here." 

She finally looked at him. Her mouth twitched, caught in a half-smile, half-sob. 

"I know. It's just—" She paused. "I kept thinking… what if I said goodbye without knowing? What if that was the last dumb joke we ever shared?" 

Denki's heart twisted. He pulled her in, holding her as close as he could. Her breath hitched hard against his neck. 

"You didn't lose me," he whispered. "You're stuck with me." 

She laughed, wet and raw. "Good. You're mine, idiot." 

(Meanwhile, from the back)

Bakugo stood a few paces back, arms crossed tight, eyes never leaving Denki. 

"You really think he's ready to leave?" 

Kirishima glanced his way. "The doctors signed off. It's time." 

Bakugo grunted. "Doesn't mean I'm not watching." 

He wasn't mad—not really. But seeing Denki limp out that door had his brain crawling with memories he didn't ask for. 

Sero chimed in from the side, softer than usual, "He still gets dizzy sometimes." 

Mina nodded. "We're not letting him out of sight." 

It wasn't about coddling him. 

It was about being there.

Because Denki had come way too close to slipping through their fingers, and none of them were going to let it happen again.

(That night)

The dorm was exactly how he remembered it. 

Same creaky steps. 

Same vending machines humming low in the hallway. 

Same crooked photo on the common room wall from that one group selfie where nobody had coordinated. 

It felt like home. 

And yet. 

Denki sat at the edge of his bed that night, hand curled tight around the comforter. Lights off, phone dark. Jiro had said goodnight already. She'd kissed him just under his jaw and smiled and said, "I'm glad you're here."

He had smiled back. He meant it. 

But now, alone in the quiet, the smile was gone. 

He stared at his hands for a long time. They didn't shake anymore—not from injuries, anyway. 

But his thoughts wouldn't settle. 

He remembered the way Jiro's scream sounded when he hit the ground. 

He remembered Kirishima's face—blood and panic, yelling his name. 

He remembered trying to breathe through the pain in his chest and the awful realization that he might not get up. 

He hadn't told anyone how that felt. 

He didn't plan to. 

Because they were scared enough already. 

He saw it in Jiro's eyes every time she looked too long. 

He heard it in the way Sero kept checking if he wanted water. 

In how Bakugo hadn't snapped at him once since he walked through the door. 

They were trying to act normal for him. 

So he'd act normal for them. 

Denki let out a shaky breath and dragged the blanket over his shoulders. 

"I'm okay," he whispered to the empty room, eyes closed, voice soft. "I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay." 

Because if he said it enough, maybe it would stick. 

And tomorrow? 

He'd wake up, smile, crack a joke, and be the Denki they needed him to be. 

Even if the pieces of him still felt like they were putting themselves back together, one heartbeat at a time.

It started with the smell.

Metallic. Sharp. Blood in the air.

Denki stood in the middle of a broken hallway—walls scorched, lights flickering, smoke curling in from a place he couldn't see. His heart pounded. His legs felt like jelly. His ears rang.

And then— 

The villain's eyes met his again. 

Cold. 

Cruel. 

Smirking like he already knew how this ended. 

Denki tried to move— 

tried to scream— 

tried to warn someone— 

But his voice wouldn't work. His body wouldn't respond. 

And then came the flash. 

Pain. Blinding. 

Straight through his chest. 

He was falling—slow, endless— 

Jiro's voice echoing somewhere above the ringing in his skull. 

Kirishima yelling. 

Sero's footsteps—too far away. 

He hit the ground. 

Hard. 

Air gone. 

Vision fading. 

Silence folding over him like a curtain. 

And in the last second before everything blinked out— 

He thought, Is this it? Did I really just leave them like this?

Denki jolted upright, heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted out.

Chest rising and falling way too fast. 

The dorm room was quiet. 

Still. 

Safe. 

He blinked hard, sweat clinging to his forehead, the blanket tangled around his legs like it had tried to hold him down. 

A dream. 

That's all it was. 

But his shirt stuck to his skin like memory. 

His throat burned. 

And somewhere in the dark, Denki clenched his fists. 

"I'm still here," he whispered. 

Because that was the truth. 

And no matter what his nightmares said— 

he wasn't leaving again.

The sunlight streamed through the curtains like a soft promise. A new day. A clean start.

But Denki didn't move.

His eyes blinked open, unfocused, and the warmth of morning didn't touch the cold knot sitting in his chest. His limbs felt heavy—not from pain, but from something deeper. Something quieter. 

He had woken up. 

But he hadn't slept. 

Not really. 

The dream still clung to him, ghosting around his thoughts like static in the air. That hallway. That moment. His body breaking before the light cut out. 

He turned his head slowly, staring at the wall beside him, the same posters and photos, the same cluttered desk. Everything exactly where he left it. Everything exactly as it should be. 

And still, it felt distant. 

He listened to the sounds beyond his room—showers running, doors closing, faint laughter in the common area. Normal morning things. Life going on. 

Denki sighed. He didn't want to worry them. 

Not when Jiro had only just started smiling again. 

Not when Bakugo was finally breathing easier. 

Not when Kirishima laughed without that hesitation in his voice. 

So he pushed the blanket back. Swung his legs over the edge. 

His feet met the floor. 

Solid. 

And though his chest still ached, and his mind still buzzed with memory, Denki whispered—just for himself— 

"You're fine. You're okay. It was just a dream." 

Because whether he believed it or not, he was going to carry it like a truth. 

And today? 

Today he was going to smile. 

Even if his ribs still remembered what it felt like to stop breathing.

The second Denki stepped into the hallway, he heard them. 

Rapid footsteps. A shuffle of urgency. Whispered voices turning sharp. 

Then— 

"Denki!" 

Jiro reached him first, eyes scanning him like she expected something to be broken. Her fingers hovered at his sleeve but didn't touch. Not yet. 

"You okay?" she asked, voice steady but urgent. 

Denki blinked—once, twice—before cracking into a grin. "Whoa, guys, I'm just getting breakfast. Not getting attacked again." 

Kirishima was there next, hand on his shoulder. "You just looked... a little off." 

Denki laughed. "That's just my normal face now—ultra mysterious and tragic. Chicks dig the haunted look, right?" 

Sero chuckled weakly, but his brow stayed creased. Mina bit her lip. Bakugo said nothing, but his eyes were locked in—watching Denki's posture, the slight stiffness in his movements, the way his eyes didn't quite match his voice. 

Jiro stepped in closer. "You didn't sleep again, did you?" 

"I did," Denki replied. He smiled wider. "Just not, y'know... well." 

Their faces didn't change. 

He felt like they were all holding their breath, waiting for him to crack. 

So he pushed ahead, throwing his arms over Mina and Sero's shoulders like this was any other morning. 

"C'mon, what are we standing around for? There's cereal to fight over." 

He started walking, dragging them with him, keeping the smile on his face like it was armor. 

Because the truth was still clawing at his ribs. 

Because every step reminded him of how close he'd come to disappearing. 

Because last night he didn't sleep. 

Because he was still so, so afraid. 

But if he said that out loud, they'd worry. 

And Denki wasn't ready to see that fear in their eyes again. Breakfast smelled too good for how early it was.

Denki rubbed his eyes and shuffled into the dorm kitchen, determined to act like the weird hollowness in his chest was just leftover sleep. He grinned at Sero, high-fived Mina, dropped into a chair between Jiro and Kaminari-shaped confidence.

He could do this. Today was normal.

Kirishima was already at the stove, humming a little tune and plating scrambled eggs with a level of joy that was honestly suspicious. Mina leaned over the counter, grinning about something.

And then—

It happened.

Without even thinking, Kirishima scooped Mina's plate, turned to her with a beaming smile and—

He kissed her cheek.

Not just a casual brush. 

Not a quick peck.

A lingering, soft, completely instinctual kiss.

The entire kitchen froze.

Forks mid-air. 

Cereal spilling over the edge of bowls. 

Denki slowly rotating in his chair like a glitching NPC.

Kirishima blinked. Realized. Froze.

Mina's eyes went wide. "Oh my—"

Bakugo's spoon clanked against the side of his bowl. "The hell was that?"

Sero dropped his toast. "Wait. WAIT—"

Mina turned bright red, hands flailing. "It's—it's not what it looked like!"

"You kissed her!" Hagakure gasped from somewhere by the fridge.

"No I didn't!" Kirishima blurted. Then stopped. "Wait. No, yeah. I—okay. I did. I definitely did."

The room exploded.

Mina covered her face. Kirishima looked like he was about to dive into a sink. Denki just buried his face in his arms and laughed until he could barely breathe—because finally, finally, the spotlight was off him.

Bakugo rubbed his temples with both hands like this was his villain origin story.

"You two absolute idiots. You had ONE job."

Jiro muttered under her breath, "This is gonna be all anyone talks about for the next week."

And Denki?

He grinned into his arm, heart still heavy, ribs still echoing last night's pain. But right now, surrounded by this chaos, he didn't have to pretend.

Not for a few minutes, anyway.

Kirishima was trying to backpedal. Mina was muttering excuses faster than her brain could form them. Sero was already filming, whispering to Jiro, "This is gold, don't stop them." 

Jiro didn't even blink. "I told you there was something going on." 

Denki leaned his head against his hand, grinning like a kid who had just watched someone trip during dodgeball. "You guys seriously thought you could hide that?" 

"Dude," Kirishima said, looking half-terrified, half-resigned, "I just... I was giving her eggs! I forgot!" 

"You kissed her like you do it every morning," Sero said, zooming in slightly with his phone. "Do you do it every morning?" 

Mina covered her face again. "We were waiting for things to feel normal again! You know—after Denki... you know... almost died." 

The room went silent for a second. 

Denki's stomach flipped. 

He waved a hand quickly, still smiling. "Yeah, let's, uh... not make that the tone of this roast session." 

Kirishima looked apologetic. Mina winced. But the energy quickly rebounded as Hagakure gasped, "Wait—how long has this been going on?" 

"You two shared one sleeping bag during that survival camp, didn't you?" Shoji rumbled from the doorway. 

"Sneaky!" Mina pointed at him. "You never say anything, but when you do it's like a mic drop!" 

Bakugo groaned loudly from behind his cereal. "I swear to god, if I see PDA before 10 a.m. again, I'm dropping both of you." 

"Aw, Bakugo," Denki said, nudging him with a shoulder, "maybe you just need a good kiss." 

Bakugo turned slowly, death in his eyes. "Try it." 

Denki laughed, bright and easy. He felt lighter than he had since leaving the hospital.

The ache in his chest didn't vanish. 

The memories didn't go away. 

But for a moment, his friends were loud and chaotic, and their teasing filled in the silence that had kept him up all night. 

And honestly? 

He needed that more than anything.