The sun was sinking when they said their goodbyes outside the station.
Momo gave them both a warm wave before heading off in one direction, Hagakure bouncing beside her, chatting a mile a minute about a perfume sample she liked. Jirou gave a small nod and turned the other way.
Kaminari lingered a beat, then caught up beside her.
“Well,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head, “today didn’t end in fire or screaming. I call that a win.”
Jirou snorted faintly. “Low bar.”
“Hey, I’ve been electrocuted twice this week. My standards are fried.”
She shook her head and kept walking.
After a few steps, he asked casually, “Want me to walk you home?”
“I’m good.”
He glanced at her, eyebrows up. “I know. Still gonna walk you.”
Jirou rolled her eyes, muttering something about persistent idiots, but didn’t argue.
The streets were quieter this time of day. The kind of calm where the city exhaled, soft lighting, long shadows, the occasional distant siren or barking dog.
They walked in a companionable, uncertain silence for a bit.
“So,” Kaminari said, “that store with the glitter socks? Full crime scene, right?”
“Absolutely. And that mannequin with the fish hat? Haunting.”
“You’d think a hat couldn’t feel smug. You’d be wrong.”
Jirou cracked a smile. Just barely, but it was there.
He nudged her arm lightly with his elbow. “Hey, so... your music stuff. You, like... compose, right?”
She blinked at him. “Uh. Yeah. Sometimes. Mostly just mess around.”
“That’s so cool. I couldn’t even handle chords. Tried guitar once... my hands weren’t made for it. Felt like I was trying to play spaghetti.”
A dry laugh escaped her. “That’s... vivid.”
“Right? I think I still have a blister from tuning wrong.”
She shook her head, amused. “Maybe you just needed a better teacher.”
“Oh? You volunteering?”
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“Only if you agree to suffer.”
He grinned. “Deal.”
The conversation flowed a little easier after that. He asked about her favorite genres, and she rambled just enough for him to catch the shift, the way her voice relaxed when she got into the weeds of sound design and layered vocals. She looked more alive when she talked about things she actually cared about.
“You’re really cool when you talk about this stuff,” Kaminari said.
Jirou faltered mid-sentence.
“...That was weird,” he added quickly. “I just meant, like. You know. You light up a little. It’s nice.”
She didn’t say anything right away. Just looked ahead and shoved her hands deeper into her hoodie pocket.
“...Thanks,” she muttered eventually.
They turned onto a quieter residential street.
It wasn’t long before they reached a modern-looking two-story house with clean lines and subtle lighting. A small plate near the gate read JIROU in crisp metal lettering.
Jirou slowed down. “Well. This is me.”
Before she could say more, the front door creaked open.
A woman stepped out, humming something under her breath. She had glasses, hair in a loose bun, and the exact same expression Jirou wore when Kaminari said something stupid in class.
“Oh! Are you a friend of Kyouka’s?”
Kaminari straightened instinctively. “Uh... yes, ma’am. Denki Kaminari. Class 1-A.”
She smiled warmly. “Thank you for walking her home. That’s very sweet of you.”
“Mom,” Jirou groaned under her breath, turning slightly away.
He scratched the back of his head. “Wasn’t a big deal,. I just... yeah. Anyway. Nice to meet you!”
“Well, thank you all the same,” her mom said, and ducked back inside.
Jirou let out a slow exhale. “She’s gonna be annoying about that later.”
“Annoying how?”
“Like... ‘oooh, do you have a boyfriend now?’ kind of annoying.”
Kaminari blinked. “Wait, do you?”
“Go home, stungun.”
He grinned. “Right, right. Mission complete.”
He turned to leave but before he got far, she called out, voice just a little too sharp.
“...Hey. Thanks.”
He looked back over his shoulder, smiled, and gave a lazy salute.
“Anytime.”
Then he wandered off down the street, the fading light catching his stupid spiky hair just enough to make it look like it was glowing.
“Boyfriend,” he muttered, shaking his head with a faint laugh.
Not that he was offended. Just... no. Jirou was cool and sharp and weird in that way where she probably had opinions about reverb settings or vintage amps. She had rhythm in her bones, and he was mostly made of static and questionable decisions.
She didn’t look at him like that. And he didn’t think of her that way either. Not really.
It was just her mom messing around. Probably a musician thing... dramatic flair, always trying to turn everything into a song lyric. He’d seen that kind of vibe before. His cousin played in a ska band and had once tried to matchmake him with someone named “Galaxy.” It didn’t take.
Nah, this was just a nice walk. A nice day. A rare day that didn’t end in explosions or homework disasters.
He smiled to himself.
Still. He didn’t mind when she talked more. That was kinda cool.
The train ride was quiet, just a couple of exhausted commuters and a guy sneezing into his elbow every five seconds. Kaminari leaned against the window, watching the blur of city lights smear past. His feet hurt. His brain felt kind of fuzzed out in a not-bad way.
By the time he made it home, the sun was fully gone. The apartment was dim and still when he unlocked the door and stepped inside, dropping his shoes by muscle memory.
“Yo, I’m back,” he called out automatically, even though he already knew.
No answer. Just the faint hum of the fridge.
He flipped on the hallway light. Kitchen table was the same as always, clean except for one neatly packed bento box, still warm in its thermal wrap. A small folded note leaned against it, written in sharp black ink:
“Work again. Proud of you. Don’t forget to actually eat.-Mom”
He smiled, soft and involuntary, and set his jacket down on the chair . Popped open the bento just to peek: grilled fish, rice, some of those weirdly perfect pickled veggies she liked to make when she had time.
Still warm.
Kaminari pulled out a chair, sat down, and dug in.
It was quiet. But not the lonely kind.
