A/N: This was written in response to a kamijirou request on tumblr. It took me AGES to write this and it wasn't until the recent bnha chapters that I finally felt that I could properly write this. I do ship kamijirou but I guess since we haven't had too much focus on the two of them until recently is what made this so hard to write. But in the end I'm pretty happy with it! Please read and review!

Summary: Jirou gets amnesia after an accident and Kaminari tries multiple methods to help her get her memories back. - "Every day Kaminari faintly wondered which was crueler: to be the one who forgets or the one who is forgotten? Perhaps both were just as terrible. Perhaps it didn't even really matter. Either way, he smiles for her."

Disclaimer: I do not own Boku no Hero Academia, Kohei Horikoshi does. Also, the song Edge of Desire by John Mayer is mentioned in this fic.

Kaminari doesn't love Jirou.

He doesn't love her on the first day they meet, her half-lidded and indifferent gaze locking with his as the towering arch of the UA campus gate loomed above their heads. Of course he doesn't love her. He barely knew her at the time. And yet the moment their eyes had met – violet splashing with gold like watercolor spilling across a canvas – it was if this very moment had happened before. As if he had spent a lifetime drowning in her eyes, as if this wasn't the first time she would steal his breath away nor would it be the last.

But he doesn't love her.

He doesn't love her on the day of their first cultural festival. Even though when she had sung he could feel her voice slice though him like the wind, could feel the reverberations of her guitar rattle his bones and shake the earth beneath his feet; none of those things meant that he loved her.

He really doesn't love her! He adamantly let Kirishima and Sero know of this fact after they'd caught him staring at her profile for too long and teased him for it. So what if his heart quivers every time she looks at him? So what if her smile makes him melt? So what if she's the last thing he thinks about before he sleeps and the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up?

So what?

.

.

.

They're 21.

They're 21 and she's with another guy.

She's with another guy and what crackles inside of him isn't just electricity. It's the rage of a storm, the wrath of the gods. He can feel the shock of Zeus' thunderbolts angrily blasting down his spine and shaking the very marrow of his bones. When they kissed, his heart slammed against the bars of his ribcage, pounding with all the sound and fury of Thor's hammer.

Ok, so…maybe he was a little jealous…

And maybe he was a little happy when they finally broke up…

But that doesn't mean he loves her!

He's 24 and he still doesn't love her. He dates around but it's not because of her. He doesn't try to forget her in another's person's kiss. He doesn't hold another person in his arms and wish that it's her. He doesn't dream of violet eyes, of hands with calluses formed from guitar strings, or earlobes in the shape of headphone jacks.

He doesn't love her!

He doesn't.

He…doesn't…

He…does…

He…loves her…

He loves her.

He loves her!

He's 25 and he's racing across town like an excited child. His feet take him to the one person his heart has always called home. Puddles splash underneath his feet. The air is muggy and the clouds are plump and grey with rain but he loves her and he has to let her know!

He winds the corner to her apartment complex and everything is red.

The red of the flashing ambulance lights. The red of her crumpled car. The red of blood splashed on the pavement. The red of Kirishima's hair as he approaches him. Kirishima's hands are on his shoulder and his face is pale, lips pulled back into a fanged frown.

"Don't…don't panic, ok?" Kirishima tells him but his voice is far away, dulled and disjointed, barely reaching Kaminari's ears.

I love her, he thinks as a stretcher is carried into the ambulance. The person on the stretcher is hidden underneath a blood-stained sheet, but dangling earlobes in the shape of headphone jacks tell him who it is.

I love her, he thinks as tears drip from his eyes and shatter against the ground.

I love her, he thinks once he's at the hospital and as the doctors surround him and barrage him with an onslaught of complex medical terms that he can't wrap his head around. Words like, "retrograde", "anterograde", "edema", "angiogram" and "amnesia" make his head spin and his knees hit the floor.

The doctors leave him and he's alone.

I love her, he realizes and his heart breaks.

I love her, he cries out with a sob.

I love her, he thinks, but I never got to tell her.

Kaminari carries their memories in a bag.

He stops at the doorway of her hospital room and immediately Jirou levels a suspicious gaze on him. Even underneath all the gauze and bandages and tubes and needles, she is a force to be a reckoned with. There is a storm churning in her violet gaze, an intimidating force that roots his feet at the doorway.

"Excuse me," she demands with a frown, "but…uh…who are you?"

His heart leaps into his throat. He can hear his voice crack the moment he starts to speak. "The name's Kaminari Denki," and then he clears his throat with a cough, "I'm…uh…a friend."

"A friend?" She repeats, eyebrows lifting incredulously. "And how long have we been friends?"

How long had they been friends, he wonders? It felt like they'd known each other all their life. Maybe even longer than that.

"10 years," he answers, finally gathering the courage to step into her room and pull up a chair by her bedside.

Jirou balks at the number. "Well," she seems to grow shy, any earlier pretense of trying to appear intimidating melting away with a blush, "if you're really my friend then you must've heard."

He had heard. More times than he could bear.

"That's not why I'm here," he assures her with a toothy smile and sets down the bag and guitar he had been carrying. "I'm here because I wanted to see you."

Doubt and suspicion floats in her eyes but she doesn't respond. She finds it hard to understand the point of meeting somebody who couldn't remember you but she is polite enough not to question it, even if he is just a stranger to her.

"You brought some stuff?" She nods to the bag on the floor and Kaminari reaches into it, pulling out a thick photo album. "Just some pictures," he hands her the album, "thought maybe it might help jog something."

The doubt is still clear in her eyes but Jirou takes the album and places it on her lap. "A photo album? Even I know this is super retro." She lets out a low whistle and flips to a random page. "What's this picture of?"

It's the picture from their first year cultural festival. The five of them – Bakugou, Tokoyami, Jirou, Momo, and Kaminari – were lined up on stage. Bakugou had shoved his way to the middle, two drum sticks held high in the air in his clenched fist. Momo and Jirou gazed at him warily from the side, Tokoyami looked brooding with his arms crossed and eyes closed while Kaminari held up his fingers in an enthusiastic V sign and smiled for the camera.

"It's from the cultural festival in our first year! We performed for everybody that year!"

"And this little girl?" She asks and Kaminari follows her finger pointing at the little girl also in the picture, smiling and looking up at Jirou with stars seemingly sparkling in her eyes.

"Oh, that's—!"

"Eri?" Jirou finishes for him. Kaminari can feel the air whoosh from his lungs as he nods dumbly.

"Exactly!" He smiles with swelling excitement, fishing through his pockets before pulling out his smartphone. "Listen!"

He taps on the screen and a flute-like voice fills the air, a beautiful soprano lifting like a flock of birds in the breeze. The song ends and Jirou's expression is bright with awe.

"She has a beautiful voice," she whispers.

"It's all because of you! She'd heard you sing at the festival and said she dreamed to become a singer just like you!"

A blush burns across Jirou's cheek and she ducks her head down, suddenly too embarrassed to look at him. "I'm not a singer," she mumbles, and then turns the page, eager to change the subject. "What about this picture?"

"That's from our second year cultural festival!" Kaminari leans in and answers.

The sun rises and falls as they spend the rest of the day repeating this process. She flips a page, points at a photo and Kaminari paints a picture of the memory, laughing and smiling throughout in all of his golden-eyed enthusiasm. She nods and speaks up whenever a memory comes back to her, her expression relaxing as she remembers him more and more.

"This?" She asks.

"Our second year internship!"

"This?"

"Our graduation ceremony!"

And just like this, he maps out everything that had happened in their 10 years together. The school trips, the internships, the festivals, the dates that weren't really dates, their side-kick jobs, their foray into the professional hero world, their first apartments, everything.

"Whenever you're free you usually go to perform at the Hyukoh Bar!" His voice climbs with excitement as they land on a picture of her performing at a local bar. The hope inside of him is almost palpable. He can feel it churning inside of him like the sea. "They love you over there! You've even got a couple offers to quit the hero business and switch to music! But every time they ask, you tell them the same thing—!"

Kaminari leans back in his chair, crosses his arms and attempts to create Jirou's usual nonchalant demeanor, his eyes half-lidded and lips curved into an unimpressed frown. "Heroes save lives and music saves the soul. I don't plan on giving up on either!"

Jirou spits out in laughter, nearly dropping the album. "I said that?!" She chuckles in disbelief. "I sound so lame!"

"Lame? Are you serious? It's the coolest thing I'd ever heard!"

Jirou snorts. "You said that back then too," she starts and then stops. They both grow quiet, acutely aware of the weight of the words she had just said. He can see the memories floating in her gaze, disjointed fragments slowly coming together to form a full picture. Hope quietly blooms inside of him, tender and soft like a spring flower. But he's also afraid because hope…hope was such a terrifying thing.

Jirou swallows hard, her awkward gaze shifting away from him to the guitar on the floor. "You play the guitar?" She asks, breaking him from his thoughts. Kaminari nods, his blonde hair flopping with the motion as he picks up the guitar up and sets it on his lap.

"You were the one who really taught me though." He strums a chord and smiles.

"Didn't you want to give up a couple minutes into the lesson?" Jirou teases and Kaminari flushes in embarrassment, his ears glowing red.

"The strings hurt, ok?! Besides, I've gotten way better now!"

Jirou hums doubtfully, her lips pulling back in a snarky grin. "If you've gotten so good then how about you play something?"

"I-I will!" Kaminari accepts the challenge. He twists the tuning pegs and plucks at the strings, adjusting the sound until it was just right.

"Ok," he says once he is satisfied and strums.

The twinkling cascade of the guitar's acoustic tones fill the room like warm sunlight. He can feel the vibrations in his chest, the deep, oaken sound echoing around them with each note. His fingers strum the way she had taught him and if he closes his eyes he can even remember that day. He remembers the electricity buzzing underneath his skin –- unlike anything he'd ever felt – as her fingers had led his to the appropriate fret. He remembered her lavender scent filling his lungs as she'd leaned closer, the warmth of her breath as she mumbled "idiot" with a soft smile on her lips every time he messed up.

He opens his mouth and tries to sing the way she does, with eyes shut and voice loud, completely immersed in the music. His voice is nowhere as trained as hers is but he's been practicing and the effort is clear.

"Don't say a word just come over and lie here with me." His fingers begin to slip and fumble with the strings and he struggles to correct himself as a rush of tears blind his vision. A lump rises in his throat and it's difficult to breathe – let alone sing – but he presses on. "Cause I'm just about to set fire to everything I see."

He wonders if she can hear the timpani beating of his heart, keeping time with the song. She probably could. She had always been so attune to other's feelings, despite the nonchalant pretense she tried to maintain, and he had always been such an open book to her.

"I want you so bad, I go back on the things I believe."

Kaminari looks up in wide-eyed surprise as her sunlight-warm and husky voice joins his. Her eyes are closed and her cheeks glisten with tears. She is more than beautiful and his lips curl up into a watery smile as he continues to play.

"But there," she continues singing, her voice soft and low, "I just said it."

He finishes with her, "I'm scared you'll forget about me."

After they're done singing, they sit in silence, chests heaving and tears falling.

"I remember," Jirou whispers, breaking the silence. She lifts her lavender gaze to meet his, tears trembling in her eyes and dripping down her cheeks like the rain. "Kaminari, I remember!"

Kaminari sets the guitar down and smiles. A sad and quivering smile.

It had been 16 days since her accident. He'd been coming to the hospital every day for those 16 days and this wasn't the first time he'd hear say these words.

On the first day he'd done what he had just done: brought her a photo album and played her a song, and she had looked at him, starlight in her eyes and tears running down her face, as she had whispered, "I remember! Kaminari, I remember! I could never forget you!"

On the second day, he had finally learned what the doctors had meant by "retrograde" and anterograde". She had forgotten the past – everything after 15 years old — but she also couldn't keep any memories of the present. As soon as she slept, her memories of him would disappear like a plume of smoke and by tomorrow morning she'll be 15 again and he would be nonexistent to her.

On the third day, he'd realized that despite the grim diagnosis he still wouldn't – couldn't – give up.

But every day Kaminari faintly wondered which was crueler: to be the one who forgets or the one who is forgotten?

Perhaps both were just as terrible.

Perhaps it didn't even really matter.

Either way, he smiles for her.

"That's great, Jirou!" He wipes away the tears and shoots her a beaming, toothy grin. "I'm so glad!"

"Idiot," she chastises him, quickly wiping at her eyes too, "look at you, you're crying," and he lets out a watery laugh, more tears slipping out as he points at her.

"You're crying too!" He announces and she looks away, her red cheeks puffing with a pout. "I guess that makes us both idiots, huh?"

"Don't put me in the same group as you!"

They look at each other, snort, and then crack up with even more laughter, the hospital room filling with the warmth of their shared joy. Soon their laughter dies down and they grow quiet, quietly looking into each other's eyes before Jirou sets the album aside and lifts the white sheet of her hospital bed in invitation for him to join her. He slides in next to her, complaining about how she took up the whole bed and getting a headphone jack to the nose in retaliation, before he pulls her into his arms in a tight embrace.

He wants this moment to last forever. He wants to be selfish. He wants to tell her to stay awake, to never close her eyes and to never leave him. To never forget him. But instead he places a hand on her cheek, his thumb rubbing circles against her skin as he smiles at her and tells her to rest.

She leans into his touch, her lips brushing his palm and sending goosebumps giggling across his skin.

"I love you, Kaminari," she swears with a whisper, eyelids fluttering with drowsiness, "do you love me?"

The question is so open and so vulnerable, asked with a childlike innocence that makes his heart ache and fingers tremble. He thinks of all those years he had spent trying to convince himself that he didn't love her, that he couldn't love her, that he didn't deserve to love her, and how if he could go back in time, he would take back all those wasted seconds, minutes, hours, and days just to let her know how much he cared for her.

"I always have," he tells her with a kiss and a smile, "I always will."

When he wakes up the next morning he's lying on his back on the floor and Jirou is standing over him, the headphone jacks of her ear lobes poised to strike him like a threatening cobra.

Her violet eyes flash dangerously, with no hint of familiarity or warmth in her gaze.

"Excuse me," she starts and his heart breaks, "but uh…who the hell are you?"