Nothing Left to Manage

Evening · The Grand Dynasty Ballroom — evening

The Grand Dynasty Ballroom — evening light beginning to amber the windows

The ballroom shifts — not dramatically, but the way a tide shifts: the morning's hard edges rounding into something softer as the light through the eastern windows turns the color of warm honey. The breakfast service is quietly cleared, napkins refolded, and the low hum of ambient conversation resumes around Megi as the room collectively decides the confrontation is behind them. It is Bakugo who does not resume — he stays exactly where he is, jaw level, arms easy at his sides, eyes tracking her with the particular focused patience of a man who has decided that moving first right now would be a concession he is not prepared to make. He is not angry. He is cataloguing. And across the room, Present Mic's voice drops pleasantly through the estate speakers with the warmth of someone who has been waiting for precisely this exhale in the room to deliver his next line.

Present Mic: "And THAT, lovely dynasty darlings, is what we call a morning! Now — before the afternoon gets any ideas — your host has a very particular piece of business. One date card. One name. Megi Dullahan, the floor is yours: who are you taking tonight?"

Katsuki Bakugo: "Whatever you're about to say — make sure it's honest."

Izuku Midoriya: "Take whoever you need, Megi-san. No one here is going to hold it against you."

Denki Kaminari: "No pressure — except for the fifteen of us, the cameras, the elders, and probably a live broadcast. Totally low stakes."

Shoto Todoroki: "Whatever you choose is the right one."

💐 date with Denki Kaminari

The ballroom's amber evening light catches him the moment she crosses toward him — and the first thing she clocks is that he swapped the suede loafers for clean white sneakers, the rubber sole just bright enough to announce the change before he has to. The leather jacket sits soft on his shoulders, worn the way things get worn when they actually belong to someone, and his hair is loose, falling over his forehead in that particular way that makes it look entirely accidental and absolutely isn't. He's holding a hand out at mid-room — loose, unhurried, palm turned up — and there is something in the set of his mouth that is trying very hard not to be a full grin and is failing by approximately one corner. The cameras are on them both, and he doesn't pretend otherwise; he tips his chin toward the nearest lens with the easy confidence of someone who has decided this particular evening belongs to him regardless of who's watching.

Denki Kaminari: "Okay — first of all, you look incredible, and I need you to know I noticed that before I noticed anything else, including the cameras, including the cameras noticing you. Second — I changed the shoes. The loafers were doing too much. You're welcome. You ready, partner?"

She smiles and nods, "Yes, I am. Partner. You don't have to explain to me, I am very lucky the show has wardrobe on staff or I'd be late every time."

The smile lands first — genuine, unhurried — and the nod after it, and Denki reads both with the particular alertness of someone who has been waiting on them for longer than he'd officially admit. His palm is still open between them, steady, and when she says partner the corner of his mouth that was already losing the battle against a full grin goes ahead and loses it completely. He closes his hand around hers — easy, unhurried, the worn leather of his jacket sleeve catching the amber light as he draws her forward one step and tips his chin toward the nearest camera with the unbothered confidence of a man who decided three seconds ago to make this look good on purpose. The crew tracks the hold, the grip, the grin, and Denki does not look at them once — he is looking at her, which is the whole move.

Denki Kaminari: "Okay, 'partner' is going to go straight to my head, just so you know. I'm putting that on record. Camera guys — you caught that, right? She said it first. And for what it's worth — the wardrobe thing? Same. They had to talk me out of the loafers three separate times. I compromised on the sneakers. I think we both came out ahead."

💬 "Tell me where we're actually going, partner."

The question lands easy and unhurried, the way she says most things that actually matter — tell me where we're actually going — and Denki's grin shifts, just one degree, into something that is enjoying itself entirely too much. He doesn't answer immediately. He tilts his head, looks at her sidelong, and uses exactly that beat of silence to offer his arm at the elbow — bent, steady, presented with the particular ceremony of someone who has absolutely no ceremony and wants her to know it. The amber light from the ballroom windows lays itself across the soft leather of his jacket, the edge of one clean white sneaker, the small silver hoop catching the glow when he turns toward her. The camera closest to them adjusts on its track, unhurried, finding the angle of her smile against his profile — and Denki does not look at it once.

Denki Kaminari: "Okay, here's the thing — if I tell you where we're going, you'll spend the whole walk there deciding whether you're impressed, and I need you to just be impressed when you see it. That's the whole move. You're ruining the whole move. Take the arm, Megi. I promise you'll find out in about sixty seconds. And if you don't like it, you can tell the cameras I tried."

"I'm sure I'll love it." She takes his arm, "I won't need to tell the cameras anything, everyone can see how hard you try." She pauses, blushing as she backpedals, "Not that that means that you're bad at- at whatever this is, just- just that you put in effort and-"

The backpedal is entirely audible — the words stacking on top of each other in the particular way that happens when someone says the truest thing they meant and immediately tries to unsay it — and Denki goes completely, catastrophically still for one beat. Not the freeze of embarrassment. The freeze of a man who has just been handed something he wasn't expecting and is deciding whether to let it land or save her from it. He decides not to save her. The corner of his mouth moves first — that same losing battle against the full grin — and then the rest of his face follows, helpless and entirely unashamed about it, the silver hoop catching amber as he tips his chin toward her, shoulders loose in the soft leather jacket, one clean white sneaker quiet on the ballroom floor.

Denki Kaminari: "No — no, stop, don't walk it back. 'Everyone can see how hard you try.' I'm putting that one in a frame. That one goes on the wall, Megi. You just said the thing. You said the actual thing and then you panicked about it and I need you to know it was perfect, the first version was perfect, the backpedal was also kind of perfect, and now I'm going to take you somewhere before you manage to compliment me a third time and I actually combust on camera."

🎬 "Lead, then. Before I say something worse."

The surrender lands — lead, then — and Denki does not make her say it twice. He turns on the clean white sneaker, smooth and unhurried, drawing her arm a half-step forward so the camera crew has to scramble to keep the angle as he walks her not toward the main doors but toward the ballroom's east end, where the amber light pools deepest and the dining table nearest the tall windows has been reset with two places — candles already burning, low arrangements of amber chrysanthemums, the kind of setup that belongs to the two of them and was decided by no one in this room. He finds it like he knew it was there, which means he was looking for it before she crossed the floor to him, and the fact that he doesn't remark on it is itself the tell. His arm stays easy under her hand, the worn leather warm against her fingers, and when he pulls out her chair he does it with one hand on the back and no ceremony at all — just the gesture, plain and correct.

Denki Kaminari: "Okay. For the record — 'everyone can see how hard you try' is going to be living rent-free in my head for a while, the first version, specifically, before the backpedal, which was also very endearing and you should know that too. Sit down. The chrysanthemums are not my doing but I'm choosing not to disown them."

"Oh...Denki, it's beautiful..."

He stops walking the moment the words leave her mouth — not a stumble, not a pause for effect, just a full stop, the kind a person makes when something lands somewhere they weren't braced for. The amber light from the east windows catches the chrysanthemum arrangements, the two candles already burning low between the place settings, the clean white sneakers gone still on the polished floor. Denki turns toward her — slowly, like he is deciding whether to let his face do the thing it is already doing — and the grin that has been winning all evening goes quieter, a degree warmer, less performance and more the actual thing underneath. He looks at her the way someone looks when they have been waiting a long time to hear something and have just heard it said in a language they didn't expect, and he does not rush past it. The camera on the nearest rail holds the angle — his profile, her face, the candlelight between them — and neither of them looks at it.

Denki Kaminari: "Okay. I'm going to need you to say that again sometime when I'm not actively trying to hold it together on camera — because that just went straight through me and I need you to know that. I really need you to know that."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to throw you off, it just...it's so pretty...you did all this?"

The apology lands and Denki's whole face does something — a flicker, quick and warm and completely unmanaged, like a live wire finding ground. He doesn't answer immediately. He pulls out her chair the rest of the way with one hand, easy and unhurried, and when she sits he doesn't retreat to the other side of the table right away — he stays standing beside her for a beat, one clean white sneaker quiet on the floor, and looks at the chrysanthemums, the two lit candles, the place settings the show put here without asking either of them. The camera on the nearest rail holds the angle. His leather jacket catches the candlelight along one soft shoulder as he finally rounds the table and takes his own seat, and the grin that has been winning all evening goes quieter still — something underneath it, something that has been waiting to come out all night and is deciding right now whether this is the room for it. He sets both elbows on the table, leans in just slightly, and meets her eyes directly across the low amber flowers.

Denki Kaminari: "I did maybe forty percent of it. The chrysanthemums and the candles are the show's. The table being at this end of the room — also the show. The sneakers, though? One hundred percent mine. So I'll take credit for the sneakers and we can call it a collaboration."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to throw you off, it just...it really is so beautiful. You did all this for me? There had to have been someone else in mind..."

The question lands with something underneath it — someone else in mind — and Denki goes still in a way that is different from his other silences. Not the freeze of being caught off-guard. The deliberate quiet of a person deciding which version of the true answer to say. He straightens up slightly from his elbows, one hand finding the stem of the unlit water glass at the edge of the place setting, turning it once between his fingers. The amber candlelight finds the silver hoop, the loose fall of hair at his forehead, the worn shoulder of the black leather jacket — and when he looks back up at her across the low chrysanthemums, the grin he has been running all evening is simply not there. What is there is quieter, more particular, and aimed at her without any of the performance wrapped around it.

Denki Kaminari: "There wasn't anyone else. I want you to know that. I know how that sounds — like a line, right? But I've been figuring out what I would do if I got this table since yesterday morning, and the whole time it was just — it was you. That's the actual answer. I didn't have a backup."

💬 "Yesterday morning? ...Denki."

His name in her mouth — just his name, nothing attached to it, no question after it, no softening clause — lands differently than the rest of the sentence and both of them know it. Denki goes completely still across the amber chrysanthemums, one elbow still on the table, and the grin doesn't come this time. What comes instead is quieter: the slight drop of his shoulders, the way his chin tilts down a fraction, the silver hoop catching candlelight as he looks at her directly with something in his expression that has stopped performing entirely. The camera on the nearest rail holds the angle — his profile, her face, the low flowers between them — and he lets the room be what it is for a full beat before he answers. When he does, he sets both hands flat on the table, easy, unhurried, the worn leather jacket soft at his wrists, and says the actual thing without dressing it.

Denki Kaminari: "Since yesterday morning. It was you the whole time, Megi. There was no one else I was building a backup for. I just — I wanted to get it right, specifically for you, and that's the whole story."

"Then...thank you. Thank you for being the best partner in...not crime but whatever we have here."

The text lands — his phone face-up on the table catches it, one line, and Denki reads it without picking it up, eyes flicking down and back to her in a single motion. Something in the set of his shoulders shifts; not the grin, not the deflecting laugh — something quieter and warmer than either of those, the way a person looks when they have been given something they were not expecting and cannot figure out what to do with their hands. He reaches across the low amber chrysanthemums, unhurried, and sets the phone face-down without ceremony. Then he looks at her — just looks, the candlelight catching the silver hoop and the loose fall of hair at his forehead — and when he speaks it is the actual thing, no performance dressed around it. The camera on the nearest rail holds the angle. Neither of them looks at it.

Denki Kaminari: "Best partner in not crime. I'm putting that one in the frame next to the first version. You've given me two things to frame tonight, Megi, which is more than most people manage in a whole season, so — thank you. For the record. I mean that one back. Also you got me a bracelet and that is genuinely the nicest thing anyone has done for me in this building, so. We're keeping score now and you're winning by a lot."

"Oh, no, please...don't keep score. Everything's always been based on points and grades my whole life." She hesitates, "...can it just be this?"

The words land and something in Denki's whole posture simply releases — not a sigh, not a dramatic exhale, just the specific loosening of a person who has been holding a shape they didn't realize they were holding. His hands come off the table slowly, and he reaches across the low amber chrysanthemums not to take anything from her, but just to rest his fingers beside hers on the cloth — close enough to feel the warmth, not claiming it. He looks at her the way someone looks when they have been given permission to stop performing and are still figuring out what they look like without it. The two candles between them have burned lower since they sat down, the light narrowing and going warmer, and the camera on the nearest rail holds the angle — but neither of them is playing to it anymore, and both of them know it. This is the part of the evening where the room gets smaller and the quiet gets easier, and something underneath his borrowed ease is deciding whether to come the rest of the way out.

Denki Kaminari: "No score. No grade. No points column, no rubric, no ranking — none of it. Just this. You and me and the worst chrysanthemums I didn't pick. ...I want to ask you something. And I need you to know I've been trying to figure out how to ask it since yesterday morning, which is — that's a long time to sit on a question, Megi. I've rewritten it like seven times in my head. So whatever version comes out, the feeling behind it is the same one all seven times. Okay?"

💬 "You don't have to get the words right."

The permission lands — you don't have to get the words right — and Denki goes very still for a moment, the kind of still that isn't the absence of movement but the presence of a decision being made. Then his hand moves across the cloth, unhurried, and settles over hers — not a grip, just the warm weight of his palm covering her fingers, the matte black grounding band cool at his wrist. He exhales through his nose, something small and private, and when he looks at her across the low amber chrysanthemums his face is the quietest it has been all evening — no grin running interference, no punchline loading behind his eyes. The two candles between them have burned almost to nothing now, the light pulling closer and warmer around them both, and the camera on the nearest rail holds the angle steady as he finds the words without dressing them first.

Denki Kaminari: "I wanted to ask if you're okay. Not 'are you handling it' — not the gala version. Just. You. Whether anyone here has actually asked you that and meant it and waited for the real answer."

"I...it's been a little bit of a roller coaster, honestly, the last two days. I think right now...I am more okay than I was this morning at breakfast." She sighs, "And I'm having to think really hard about the rules and being okay. And how they fit together."

The admission lands between them like something set down carefully after being carried too long — not dropped, not thrown, just placed. Denki goes very still across the low amber flowers, his palm still over her fingers, and he doesn't rush to fill it. The two candles between them have burned almost flush with the holders, the light so narrow now it barely reaches the edge of the chrysanthemum arrangement, and she can see his face in that reduced warmth more clearly than she has all evening: no grin, no performance, nothing covering the fact that he heard every word she just said and is holding all of it without flinching. The camera on the nearest rail holds the angle. Neither of them looks at it. He exhales once, slowly, through his nose — not a sigh, not relief, something more careful than either — and when he speaks his voice is the quietest it has been all night, warm and entirely without deflection.

Denki Kaminari: "More okay than this morning. That's — yeah. That's actually the most honest thing anyone's said at this table in four days, and it's yours, so I'm keeping it. I don't know what the rules feel like from where you're standing. But I think — if okay and the rules don't fit together yet, that's not you doing it wrong. That's just how tonight is shaped. And you're still here. That counts."

"I feel like I must be..." She hesitates, "...Denki? How...complicated are you okay with tonight getting in the name of honesty?"

The question lands between them and doesn't dissipate — it hangs in the narrowed candlelight, real and open, and Denki goes very still for one held breath. His palm doesn't move from hers. His thumb doesn't move. He looks at her the way someone looks when they have been asked something they were not expecting to be asked and have been hoping, quietly, that someone would. The two candle stubs between them are almost gone now, the light barely reaching the edge of the chrysanthemums, and in that amber dimness his face is completely open — not performing openness, actually there. He exhales slowly through his nose before he speaks, and when he does, his voice has dropped below the register he uses for the camera at the nearest rail.

Denki Kaminari: "Megi. I've been sleeping outside a garden door for warmth. I literally folded a blanket for you this morning and tried to play it off like it wasn't a whole thing. I think tonight's already pretty complicated and I am — genuinely, completely — okay with wherever it goes from here."

"So I know everyone heard what happened with Eijiro last night and what I told him and I was honest and told him everything...almost everything, but..." She hesitates, before sitting and looking back at him, "Denki, I'm...polyamorous. And I've never said it out loud before. And I'm scared to even say it now."

The word lands — polyamorous — and the candlelight barely moves, but Denki does. Not away. The lean across the low chrysanthemums holds exactly where it was, his palm still over her fingers, and the only thing that changes is his eyes: something in them goes very, very quiet — not careful, not shuttering, not the look of a person doing math. The look of a person who has just been handed something fragile and is making absolutely certain both hands are under it. The camera on the nearest rail holds the angle steady and neither of them looks at it. The two candle stubs between them are almost flush with the holders now, the light so narrow and warm it barely reaches the edge of the amber flowers, and in that reduced glow she can watch him take one slow breath through his nose before he speaks — not filling the silence, not rushing the shape of it. Just holding it long enough to be sure he has the whole thing.

Denki Kaminari: "Okay. Thank you for saying it out loud. I know that wasn't small."

She nods, "And I know that the whole nature of the mandate and this show and everything around it and...most everyone here is monogamous. And that's fine! Nothing will happen with it, I'm sure! I just...I needed someone to know. Someone I trusted, someone who wouldn't treat me like I was just trying to have my cake and eat it or be greedy or- or anything like that. And I know Eijiro isn't like that, but...I was scared. And I knew you...you wouldn't be like that, either." She stops, "I'm sorry. I'm rambling. I'm sure you need a second to process."

The apology lands between them and Denki's hand shifts — not away, but his thumb moves across her knuckles once, slow and deliberate, like punctuation. He's quiet for a beat that could be processing but isn't: his eyes haven't moved from her face, and nothing in his expression is running calculations. The candles are both gone now, flush and spent in their holders, and in the ambient light of the ballroom they are just two people at a table the cameras are still watching, and he looks at her like the cameras are the least relevant thing in the room. When he speaks, his voice stays exactly where it's been all evening — that lower register, the one with no grin behind it — and he doesn't reach for the shape of a speech. He just says the thing.

Denki Kaminari: "Hey. Stop. You don't apologize for trusting me with who you are. That's not how this works. And you're not rambling — you said a true thing. A big one. Out loud. To another human being. That's not nothing, Megi, that's actually everything, and I need you to let it be that for one second before you start apologizing for the shape of it."

💛 "...okay. I'll let it be that."

The two words land between them and something in Denki's posture shifts — not a jolt, nothing dramatic, just a small, slow exhale that he releases like he had been holding it without realizing. His thumb moves across her knuckles once, deliberate and warm, and stays. He doesn't rush to fill it with something lighter or fold the moment back into ease. He just looks at her — really looks, the way he has been looking at her all evening except there's no grin keeping watch now, no humor held in reserve — and lets her words be exactly what she said they were. The camera on the nearest rail holds them, the amber chrysanthemums low between their hands, and neither of them so much as glances at the lens. His fingers adjust slightly around hers — not gripping, not pressing, just a small, deliberate closing of the space between his palm and her knuckles, like punctuation at the end of something that matters.

Denki Kaminari: "Good. Because it is what it is. And it's yours. And I'm — Megi, I'm really glad you said it out loud to someone tonight, even if that someone ended up being the guy who slept outside a garden door."

She smothers a giggle and turns her hand under his, "That's not an 'even if,'" She points out as she just feels his palm over hers, "That means I chose a good guy to tell it to." She hesitates, "...what are you thinking about? About it, I mean."