MHA-Voltage & Verse

Bakugo had just finished plating the rice when he heard them.

Footsteps.

Slow. Unbothered. Too comfortable.

He turned.

And there they were.

Shigaraki. Dabi. Toga.

Three nightmares wrapped in casual dorm attire, wandering into the kitchen like they'd always had access to early-morning miso and leftover curry.

Bakugo froze mid-stir.

His brain short-circuited just long enough for the rice to start burning.

"Are you—kidding me?" he growled, flipping the heat off like it owed him an apology.

Aleasha peeked up from her spot on the couch, blinking in confusion. "Oh hey! Villain parade's early today."

Bakugo whipped around. "You're not even supposed to be in Class-A's common room!"

Aleasha shrugged, turning another page. "Oops. I forgot I'm under strict moral supervision. Guess I'll just sit here and reflect."

Dabi strolled in, flames flickering lazily around his fingertips as he grinned at the chaos. "Mmm, smells like explosive breakfast tension."

Toga skipped behind him, grabbing a juice box from the fridge like she'd lived there for years. "Oooh! Baku-kun made rice again~ You're so domestic!"

Bakugo's eye twitched.

But it was Shigaraki who truly broke the scene.

He walked in like a breeze.

No words.

No glare.

Just a slow step toward the cabinet, pulling out a box of off-brand cereal like it owed him normalcy.

He poured it into a bowl. No milk. Just crunch.

Everyone watched.

Bakugo stared. "Are you serious? You don't even blink and just help yourself?"

Shigaraki didn't respond.

He took a bite.

And then, around dry flakes and disinterest:

"Where's Darkcreasa?"

Bakugo blinked.

Aleasha paused mid-sip.

Even Toga tilted her head.

It wasn't threatening.

It wasn't kind.

It was curious.

And for a moment, the room held it—held that strange, unsettling beat of domestic weirdness where cereal and trauma mingled in the air like steam.

Dabi finally exhaled. "Well… rehab breakfast, huh?"

Bakugo growled. "I need a second kitchen."

Darkcreasa entered the kitchen just as Bakugo slammed the fridge door shut, rice now sizzling at a socially acceptable intensity.

She didn't expect a parade.

But she got one anyway.

"Toga-chan—!" was all she managed before—

"Darkcreasa-chaaaaaaan!!"

Toga launched from the juice shelf like she'd been spring-loaded, arms locking around Darkcreasa's neck with bone-defying joy. It wasn't subtle. It was Toga.

Darkcreasa returned the hug—because that's what she did now. Smiles. Polite warmth. Mask on. She let it land soft. Let it mean just enough.

But then—

Toga leaned in. Whispering against her ear:

"Shiggy-kun was wondering where you were."

Darkcreasa blinked.

Just once.

But that flicker in her chest?

Unexpected.

Shigaraki… wondered?

She turned her head slightly, just enough to catch him chewing dry cereal in the corner like a cryptid with existential baggage. No gaze. No acknowledgment.

Just presence.

She swallowed. Held the smile.

Smiled through it.

---

Meanwhile, in the hallway outside—

Denki rounded the corner too fast, hoodie half-zipped, still fried from morning bench emotions and not ready for—

Collision.

Aleasha stepped right into his path, hands full of tea packets and toothpaste.

He saw her.

She saw him.

Boom.

A burst of static flared at impact—a spark, nothing damaging, just enough to jolt both of them like their hearts skipped for separate reasons.

"Ahh—Sorry!" Denki gasped, pulling back, blinking as his hair briefly poofed.

Aleasha stuttered, wide-eyed, palms lifted, eyes ping-ponging between tea and brother.

"I—ha ha—totally normal run-in! Definitely no secret sibling tension or dramatic electricity symbolism happening here!"

Denki froze.

Aleasha grinned.

That grin.

That "definitely don't have secrets" grin.

He raised an eyebrow. "Do I… know you?"

Aleasha waved a tea packet like a flag of deflection. "Nope! Not unless you read minds. Which would be crazy! Gotta go! Tea time!"

She vanished around the corner with the elegance of a guilty squirrel.

Denki stood still.

The spark hadn't faded yet.

And somewhere, something had begun to hum.

—-

Denki spotted her the moment he stepped back into the lounge—Jiro, curled up in the armchair, sleeves swallowed by that Pikachew hoodie. The one that made her look like she'd been plucked right out of his favorite childhood dream and dropped into his present.

She was blinking groggily, hair a little wild, one earbud dangling.

He couldn't resist.

He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss onto her sleepy lips, warm and feather-soft, the kind that made her eyebrows knit and her fingers instinctively reach for him before her brain caught up.

"Morning, voltage queen," he whispered.

Jiro smiled, hazy and blush-bright. "You're cute when you pretend you slept."

He chuckled, planting himself beside her. "And you're lethal in electric-themed hoodies."

From behind the couch came a dramatic gasp.

Mina.

Mina who absolutely witnessed everything and was halfway to combusting with squeals.

"Oh. My. GOSH. You two—so disgustingly adorable I might scream into a pillow!"

Denki turned toward her, just in time to catch Kirishima slide up, lift Mina off the ground with zero effort, and plant a kiss on her temple like it was game on.

Denki narrowed his eyes, dramatic finger point engaged. "You dare challenge the spark of romance?!"

Kirishima flexed. "In the name of manly affection—I rise to the occasion!"

It was sibling-level chaos.

Jiro giggled.

Mina squealed.

Kirishima grinned.

And Denki?

He smiled—fighting the tremble behind it.

Because he was pretending. Still patching together pieces. But moments like this… they helped him forget where the cracks were.

---

Later, wrapped in warm laughter and leftover rice, Denki leaned close to Jiro.

"Okay, weird story," he said. "I bumped into this girl—Aleasha. Literally. She kind of exploded from the collision. Said some cryptic, awkward stuff. Definitely doesn't have secrets, she said, which obviously means she has secrets."

Jiro raised an eyebrow. "Aleasha from Class-C?"

He nodded. "Why is she always in our common room?"

Jiro shrugged. "I've seen her around. She's skittish. But nice. Maybe she likes being near you."

Denki blinked. "No way. I mean… I didn't even spark her! Okay, maybe a little. But she didn't freak out."

Jiro leaned into his side. "You're charming. Who could freak out over static kisses?"

He grinned, but it slipped slightly—just a whisper of worry.

Across the room, Bakugo froze.

He'd just plated breakfast, turned his back for a second, and now—

Aleasha was gone.

The villains had crowded the kitchen. Burnt rice. Shigaraki cereal crunching. Toga dramatizing breakfast hugs. Darkcreasa finally present.

All distractions.

And now?

Aleasha. Missing.

Bakugo snatched a plate with surgical rage. "She didn't eat."

That wasn't breakfast.

That was a search warrant.

He stepped out, scanning the hallway, dish in hand, expression calm but eyes storming.

Because wherever she ran off to—

Bakugo was going to find her.

The competition continued in the common room.

Denki launched corny puns.

Kirishima responded with feats of strength.

Mina was thriving in the chaos.

But someone else had clocked a different spark—

Torū Hagakure.

Classic Invisible Girl™.

Feet light. Curiosity armed.

She watched from the doorway as Katsuki Bakugo—Dawn Warrior, Prince of Cookery Rage—grabbed a plate of food and walked out of the room with intense purpose.

Now, Bakugo didn't serve breakfast.

He dealt it like a judge issuing sentences.

Yet here he was, carrying a lone plate, eyes narrowed like he was hunting ghosts.

Torū blinked.

Then gasped (silently).

"Wait a second... is he… worried someone didn't eat?"

She tiptoed forward.

Still invisible.

No one noticed.

Her mouth curled in a smirk so mischievous it deserved theme music.

"No way—Bakugo caring? Is this a moment? Is this emotion?! And is he looking for—Aleasha?!"

Suspicion level: Sparkling.

Torū glided down the hallway behind him, barefoot, silent, practically giggling to herself.

Bakugo turned a corner.

She hovered behind.

He muttered something—too low to catch—but his eyes scanned every alcove like finding her mattered.

"Well well well," Torū whispered, "I've stumbled into a romantic subplot AND a sibling mystery in one morning. My invisible journal's gonna be packed."

She followed quietly, a living camera, determined to uncover whatever this was—

Because if Bakugo was showing care?

It was worth writing poetry about.

Denki stirred his cereal with absent finesse, the spoon tracing slow circles through the milk like he were doodling thoughts he couldn't say out loud.

Jiro sat beside him, sleepy smile tucked into her hoodie collar, hair a little wild from sleep but still shining like she'd been kissed by static clouds. She nudged his foot gently under the table, just enough to say, Hey, I'm here.

But both of them were watching.

Across the room.

Darkcreasa—flanked by clinging ghosts.

Toga was practically wrapped around her arm, cooing something giddy.

Dabi lounged nearby, eyes flicking between commentary and combustion.

And Shigaraki?

Stillness incarnate. Spoon crunching through cereal like it owed him a truth.

Denki tried not to stare. But the tension crawled through him.

They looked like a crew.

A fractured, twisted one—but cohesive.

Darkcreasa sat still beneath the weight of their closeness. Her smile was polite, her posture taut.

But her eyes?

They flicked toward Denki more than once.

And he didn't know why it twisted something in his chest.

Then—

Shigaraki stood.

No threat. No motion sharp. Just shifting. Walking his empty bowl to the sink like any civilian.

But that motion—

That simple act—

Snapped something in Denki.

The bowl in his hands jerked—

A spark shot through his fingertips—

And—

ZAP.

Static exploded across the table.

Cereal crackled.

Milk sizzled.

Spoon launched like a rocket.

Jiro flinched.

Denki gasped.

"Oh—NOPE. That wasn't on purpose!"

The room froze.

Then—

Dabi laughed.

Loud.

Unexpected.

Borderline wheezing.

"You fried the milk, Sparky!" he cackled, clapping once, flames flickering at his fingertips like celebration. "What is that—breakfast PTSD?!"

Denki flushed hard. "It was—reflex! Stop calling me Sparky!"

Shigaraki turned slightly at the sink, still holding the bowl, blinking once like someone who genuinely did not understand what just happened.

He wasn't offended.

Just confused.

Denki squirmed. "It's not you. I mean—it kind of was. But it wasn't, like, you-you."

Jiro rubbed his back. "You short-circuited your Cheerios. Want to switch to toast?"

Dabi kept laughing.

Toga tilted her head.

Darkcreasa didn't smile.

She just stared.

Because Denki wasn't afraid of them.

He was afraid of what they represented.

And this breakfast?

Yeah.

It was officially electric.