It's Okay To Be Sad Sometimes

Kaminari Doesn't Handle Depression Well

Denki knew he should start on his homework. It took him so long to do, and if he didn't start it now he'd never finish it all by tomorrow. There's the logarithmic function homework for math, the essay for literature, a recording of a conversation for English-god, he can't even remember it all.

And yet, he can't seem to get out of bed. The ceiling tiles were so mesmerizing, and he didn't want to get up. Getting up means becoming a part of the world again. Getting up means checking his social medias, texting his friends, taking care of himself, being happy-it meant acting like he cared. When could he just give up already? He keeps telling himself, 'not yet, maybe tomorrow', but it's never tomorrow.

So he stares at the ceiling. A ding brought him back from the dissociation. He pulled his attention to his phone, but it seems like too much work to go get it. It's not like it's across the room-just on his dresser. He can't make himself pick it up anyway. He turns his attention back to the ceiling.

Another ding. He sighs, stretching out his hand for his phone. It's the class group chat. Someone uploaded a video. Great. He pulls it up, dread in the pit of his stomach.

It's him. It's a video of him after a particularly hard training session, in which he had short-circuited. It's of him, desperately putting up two thumbs so everyone thought he was okay, even as he was unable to feel anything but pain. Short-circuiting hurt, okay? It felt like overstimulation and sensory deprivation, all at once. Everything was muddled, the light hurt, his head hurt, his classmates' voices hurt. He felt like he was fumbling around in the dark, and the lack of control of his body scared him. The lack of everything scared him.

But it was funny to everyone else. "Oh look, dumb Kaminari overused his quirk again". They think he's weak-maybe he is. His Mom used to tell him how powerful he was, made him feel on top of the world. "How many people can do what you do? You can discharge over a million volts- you only need 50,000 max to kill someone." But here he's the bottom of the class, the liability. He feels weak.

The messages kept pouring in. It was all things they had said to his face before, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. He hates the nickname Dunceface, He hates that they took videos while he was vulnerable and laughed at his weakness, and he hates that no one thought to help.

Why is he even trying to be a hero if he needs help? His eyes return to the ceiling, phone falling out of his hands, What was he thinking about before? Oh, homework. What's the point? He's going to fail anyways, why does it matter?

He gets out of bed anyway, silently picking up his bookbag and pulling out his materials. Start with the essay, he thinks. He read the book, he should know what he's doing.

He doesn't know what he's doing. On his tablet, he can make the text as big or small as he wants. He can change the font, the screen brightness. If he's having trouble, he can just play the audiobook instead. But that doesn't work for paper assignments. He feels stupid. He knows the book! He read it and understood it. In fact, he had read it for fun earlier in the year! So why was this so hard?

He knows why it's hard. The letters switch positions, the words fly off the page, and the sentences never make sense to him. He reads it again and again, trailing his finger under the words as he goes like he's in kindergarten again. He reads it in smaller groups. By the time he gets to the end, he's forgotten the beginning again. He tries not to cry. His leg bounces, and his eyes drift off again, but he snaps them back to the paper. He wishes he could ask for help, but his classmates have gotten frustrated enough with him to ban him from study nights.

Change subjects. Come back to it. Math, yes. He had a good day today, and actually took notes. He doesn't understand them, of course, but he could try. But again, the equations seemed impossible. Was the base x, or was it 2? No, the base was 5 of (x-2). Wait, does that even make sense? What is he trying to solve for anyway? His eyes blur again. He feels like crying. He doesn't understand how he even made it into U.A., with grades like his.

He pulls out his phone. English. He may suck at on-paper stuff, but he's fluent in English. Maybe he could gain some sympathy from Shinsou or Midoriya, and they could help him. It does call for a partner, after all.

He heads downstairs to see his squad hanging out in the commons. Without him, again. He pastes on a smile, and waves. He doesn't stop.

He finds Midoriya in the kitchens, furiously writing down any information Yayorozou could give him about her quirk. He pulls Midoriya away, begging for help with his English. He could see the hesitation behind his eyes, but Midoriya nods anyway. They head back up to Kaminari's room, where he pulls out his phone, starting the conversation off with a simple greeting.

As the conversation drags on, he can tell Midoriya is surprised with his accuracy. It's no secret Kaminari is failing English, and yet he seems to be having no problems with it at all. They go off on an embarrassingly long tangent about the effects of people's quirks on personality together, and Kaminari has to remind Midoriya to speak up and slow down. He actually wants to hear his thoughts, thank you very much. And he might not be smart, but he has his own thoughts on the subject as well.

Midoriya mentions Bakugou's temperament perhaps being a product of the effects nitroglycerin has on his heart. Kaminari implies that Aizawa is grumpy because his quirk likely gives him a headache when he uses it, same with Shinsou. They then get into a discussion about how quirks affect societal views and how that affects personality (particularly in the cases of Shinsou and Bakugou), and devolve from there.

The discussion, which was only supposed to be a simple twenty minute long conversation, becomes two hours long. It only officially stops when Kaminari's phone dies, but they don't notice that until ten minutes later. Midoriya asks why Kaminari isn't this inciteful all the time. Kaminari feels all the happiness of the past couple of hours drop from his face.

So he changes the subject. Like he always does. He quickly charges his phone with his (weak) quirk, then asks Midoriya for a favor. He presses the record button again, and has Midoriya read off all the instructions for all of the rest of his homework. Then he kicks him out again. Midoriya can read it on his face, knows not to push. He leaves without a fuss, for which Kaminari is grateful.

Then he stares at the ceiling. He isn't dumb. He knows he is, but not in the same ways as others are. He's thought about it a lot. He's come to the conclusion that his quirk isn't made for him like others' quirks are. His hurts him, makes him short-circuit. It makes it hard for him to focus, it makes it hard for him to read things. It makes it hard for him to be anything other than a walking phone charger.

So Kaminari gets back up from where he flopped on the bed. He starts his English again. He finishes his math, he moves on to other subjects. It takes him hours, and he feels the sun warm the back of his neck by the time he is done. The dorm is no longer quiet and peaceful, but filled with the noises of his classmates getting ready for the day. He thinks his homework is easier this time, having Midoriya read it for him. He won't do it again, he knows Midoriya didn't want to do it in the first place, he knows it was a stupid request. Still, he finished it all. He hasn't done that in a while.

He flops down on his bed. He stares at the ceiling. He snoozes his alarm until he doesn't have enough energy, and then he just lets it blare. He knows Iida might come lecture him about it soon, but he doesn't care. He waits until he's going to be late, and the dorms are silent again. Iida didn't come after all. He doesn't know whether to be happy about that or not. He gets up again, getting ready and looking in the mirror by the door.

His uniform is dirty, his hair is greasy, and he doesn't know when he last ate. He also doesn't care. He dreads going to class, but his classmates will worry for him if he doesn't show up.

He goes anyway, finding himself hating the never-ending dull life he's found himself trapped in. He no longer naively wishes for it to get better. It's not the worst life a person could have, but he doesn't feel happy. 'Not yet, maybe tomorrow', knowing he feels like he's already giving up and just going through the motions.