Kaminari is not a runner. Now’s kind of a funny time for him to realize this. Well, not funny, per say. Nothing about the situation was funny.
In fact, Kaminari Denki was sobbing while he ran. He was fucking scared. Scared, and sad, and angry, and disappointed - he didn’t really know what to feel. He hadn’t expected his parents to react so adversely to the news that he was already so nervous to share.
He’d already known his parents were anti-LGBT. It wasn’t put on blast, but the scoffs and eye rolls about legalizing gay marriage, the annoyed groans whenever something pride related showed. It wasn’t displayed, but the hate wasn’t covered especially well either.
He’d expected to be yelled at, maybe. His parents were pretty non-confrontational people. Or so Kaminari’d previously thought. They’d never been one for physical altercations, but the raising of a fist sure did seem like the beginning of one. A hand across his cheek, leaving a red mark that would probably last for a little longer than Kaminari would’ve liked.
So he’d gasped and looked for a way around his mother and to the open door pushing her hand back with one of his own. She’d given him a wide berth, letting him frantically unlock it and scurry outside.
Stay out! Don’t want one of you in my damn house, son or not.
That was it. The last things his own mother had called out to him when he was running from their home. The severity of the situation hadn’t really hit his until he’d run a couple blocks.
A faggot. His own parents had called him that so freely. There wasn’t an ounce of guilt in his father's voice when he’d asked Kaminari if he was “really one of them.” When he’s nodded, his father had just put his head in his hands. Disappointed. He looked so thoroughly beaten that this was the son he gets. So threw slurs at Kaminari's back as he ran down the block.
Speaking of his back, the rain was really starting to soak it through. The way the fabric clung to his heaving figure wasn’t comfortable in the least. Hey - at least nobody could tell he’d been crying. At least until they looked a his red rimmed eyes.
In his stupor, he didn’t realize another figure had been sauntering down the sidewalk. He crashed hard, stumbling and landing on his hands and knees. The burn of pavement against his palms was almost welcome. It snapped him out enough for him to look up.
Above him was a very sorry looking Shinsou, his eyes crinkled up in concern. “Sorry man. Wasn’t looking where I was go…”
His voice trailed off when he met Kaminari’s bloodshot gaze, his lips still trembling and the red flush across his face. “Shit, Kaminari. What happened?”
He really wasn’t too keen on answering that question. He guessed the message was easily read, because soon Kaminari was on his feet and walking with an arm sung around his shoulders.
“Where are we going?”
“Uh… to my house? I already said.”
Oh. Well now he just felt stupid. He felt the familiar sting of tears prick at his eyes. Of course, his luck was just fucking fantastic. He felt his own shoulders shake, the heaving motion of them pushing against Shinsou’s arm.
Here he was, looking absolutely pathetic, with his crush who he barely knew (this is simply not the truth. He’s been in class 1-a for nearly a month. Anyhow,) having a literal mental breakdown. He sobbed as they walked, Shinsou awkwardly rubbing circles into his arm. This wasn’t exactly the way Kaminari’d imagined this happening.
“Are we close?”
“I dunno. You tell me.”
Kaminari didn’t move his eyes from the ground when he heard Shinsou fishing for his keys. Stupid. He’s been so stupid. Maybe if he’d waited a little longer, or if he just hadn’t said anything at all. There were plenty of people who’d just never come out before.
The familiar grumble of his teacher’s voice echoed through his head. Tonight was really just shaping out to be something else, huh? His crush, his teacher - who was next? Who else would get to see his facade completely broken?
At least it was dry in here. At Mr. Aizawa’s request, he was given a clean set of clothes by Shinsou. They hung loosely around his frame, probably accentuating just how pathetic the situation was.
He sat on the couch, head hung low. He couldn’t bring himself to look anyone in the eyes. He must look so bad.
“Kaminari, can you look at me?”
He expects to see his teacher’s typical expression - half lidded eyes, mouth presses into a tried scowl. But when Kaminari meets his eyes, he sees unexpected emotion threatening to bubble over. A frown pulls at the corners of his mouth. His eyes are soft and inviting, and Kaminari feels the tears breaching for the third time that night. Well, no. He wasn’t sure if he ever stopped crying. But he felt the overwhelming wave of emotion and the wetness of his face reach a new high.
So he cried on his teacher’s couch until the floodgates slowed to a trickle. When he was finished, he looked up once more. His teacher was sitting more comfortably on the couch, legs swaying over the edge. The look on his face was deeply troubled.
“I need to know what happened if I’m going to be able to help you.”
He spoke slowly, the tired, husky drawl wrapping around Kaminari’s skull.
“I - my parents, they,”. He took a long, hitching breath, steadying himself. “I told them. That I was…not straight. and they, uh. They didn’t like it so much.”
He didn’t cry when his teacher’s solid arms slid around him. The grip was strong, and warm, and comfortable. Maybe it was tiredness, or the cold of the rain catching up to him, but Kaminari melted into the touch. His eyes grew heavier and heavier with each passing moment. The grayness of sleep prodded at the corners of his vision. Kaminari lets it, the uncomfortable and cold hands of sleep fully subduing him.