**JIROU'S POV**
Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Jirou stared at her guitar, the familiar weight of it somehow foreign in this moment. Behind the stage curtain, she could hear the crowd gathering...voices overlapping, footsteps on grass, the general buzz of anticipation that made her stomach twist into knots.
'This is stupid,' she thought, adjusting her grip on the neck. 'I've played in front of people before. Why is this different?'
But she knew why.
Because this song was different.
Personal. It was about connection and understanding and feelings she couldn't put into words, so she'd put them into music instead. And somewhere in that crowd was the person who'd inspired every note.
"You're on in five minutes," a staff member called through the curtain.
Five minutes.
She could do this. She'd practiced for weeks, knew every chord progression, every lyric by heart. The song was ready.
She just wasn't sure she was.
Jirou peeked through a gap in the curtain, scanning the crowd.
There—toward the back. Ryuu stood with Mina and Ochaco, his blonde hair catching the afternoon sunlight.
He was smiling at something Mina said, relaxed and unaware of how much this performance was about him.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
'Just play the song. Don't think about the rest.'
But that was impossible. Because the song *was* the rest. It was everything she'd been feeling for weeks, distilled into melody and lyrics that said what her tsundere pride wouldn't let her speak aloud.
The staff member appeared beside her. "Miss Jirou? You're up."
She nodded, throat too tight for words.
The curtain parted. Afternoon sunlight seemed to be directed towards her alone.
The crowd noise swelled, then gradually quieted as people realized the performance was starting.
Jirou walked to center stage, her legs feeling disconnected from her body. She positioned herself in front of the microphone, plugged her guitar into the amp with hands that still trembled slightly.
Then she looked up at the crowd.
Hundreds of faces. All watching. Waiting.
Her fingers found the guitar strings. Muscle memory took over, playing the opening chord progression she'd practiced a thousand times. The sound was clean, clear, exactly as it should be.
But something felt wrong.
The song needed two voices. She'd written it that way intentionally...a call and response, a conversation in music form. Playing it solo would work technically, but it would lose the heart of what she was trying to express.
Her fingers stuttered on the strings. The chord progression faltered.
The crowd shifted, uncertain murmurs rippling through the gathered people.
'You're screwing this up. Just play. Just—'
Her eyes found Ryuu again in the crowd. He was leaning forward slightly, concerned expression visible even from this distance. Mina had noticed her distress too, her hand on his arm.
And suddenly, Jirou made a decision.
Probably a stupid one. Definitely impulsive. But the only one that felt right.
She stepped back from the microphone.
"I need someone," she said, her voice amplified across the festival grounds. "This song... it's a duet. It needs two voices to work properly."
The crowd murmured again, confused. People looked at each other, wondering if this was part of the performance or if something had gone wrong.
Jirou's eyes locked onto Ryuu.
"You," she said, pointing directly at him. "Kazama Ryuu. Come up here."
---
Author's Note: I would fold and call it a day if I were him...
**RYUU'S POV**
For a moment, Ryuu was certain he'd heard wrong.
But Jirou was still pointing at him, her expression simultaneously terrified and determined. The crowd was turning, hundreds of faces searching for whoever she'd called out.
"Oh my god," Mina breathed beside him. "She wants you on stage."
"I can't—I don't know the song—"
"Then you'd better learn fast," Ochaco said, already pushing him forward. "Go!"
The crowd parted as Ryuu moved toward the stage, his mind racing. What was Jirou thinking? He wasn't a performer, didn't know music theory, could barely carry a tune in the shower.
But when he reached the stage and climbed the steps, Jirou's expression stopped his protests cold.
She looked vulnerable in a way he'd never seen. Her usual defensive walls were down, replaced by raw hope and barely contained panic.
"I can't do this alone," she said quietly, low enough that only he could hear. "The song needs... I need you up here with me."
"Jirou, I don't know how to—"
She thrust a microphone into his hand. "You don't have to be good. Just hold my hand and sing when I tell you to. Please."
The desperation in that last word made the decision for him.
"Okay," he said. "What do I do?"
Relief washed over her face. She positioned him slightly behind and to the left of her, so they were both facing the crowd but she remained the primary focus. Then she reached out, offering her hand.
"Just hold on," she said. "And trust me."
Their fingers intertwined.
The moment their skin made contact, Ryuu's Resonance activated. He felt Jirou's emotional state flood through the connection—nervousness overlaid with determination, fear battling hope, and underneath it all, something tender she'd been hiding for weeks.
But more than that, he felt her *music*.
Her quirk, Earphone Jack, was designed for sound. And with his amplification flowing into her, every frequency became crystal clear. She could hear the ambient noise of the crowd, the rustling of leaves, the subtle harmonics in the wind itself. The world became a symphony waiting to be shaped.
Jirou's eyes widened. "Oh," she breathed. "That's... that's incredible."
"Can you work with it?" Ryuu asked.
"Yeah." A small smile tugged at her lips. "Yeah, I can definitely work with it."
She turned to face the crowd, guitar ready, his hand still gripping hers. They must look strange up there—an odd duo with their fingers intertwined, her with the guitar and him just holding a microphone.
But when Jirou started playing, none of that mattered.
The opening progression was beautiful. Clean notes that seemed to hang in the air, each one perfect and deliberate. But it was more than just technical skill—the music had *feeling* embedded in every chord.
Then she started singing.
Her voice was strong but tender, carrying across the festival grounds with unexpected power. The amplification was working, not making her louder but making every note more *present*, impossible to ignore.
The lyrics spoke about hearing someone without words. Understanding through connection rather than conversation. Finding harmony in unexpected places.
It was about him. Ryuu realized it halfway through the first verse, recognition hitting like a physical blow. Every line, every metaphor, every carefully chosen word—this was Jirou's way of saying things she couldn't speak aloud.
His throat went tight.
Then she paused, the guitar continuing but her voice stopping. She squeezed his hand, looked at him meaningfully.
This was his cue.
Ryuu lifted the microphone, having no idea what words were supposed to come next. But somehow, with his Resonance flowing between them, he felt the shape of the melody. The emotional weight of what needed to be said.
He sang.
It wasn't bad.... Not even particularly well. But the words came anyway, pulled from somewhere he didn't quite understand.
Answering Jirou's verse with his own understanding of connection and care and the way music could say what words couldn't.
His voice found harmony with the guitar. With her lingering notes. With the emotional resonance flowing between their joined hands.
The crowd had gone completely silent.
---
## **JIROU'S POV**
'He's actually doing it.'
Ryuu's voice wasn't trained, wasn't polished, but it was *real*. And with her amplified hearing, she could hear every nuance—the slight catch when emotion threatened to overwhelm him, the warmth when he sang about understanding, the gentle strength underlying each note.
More than that, she could feel his emotions through the same Resonance he was using to enhance her quirk. His genuine care for her. His protective instinct toward all of them. The quiet appreciation for who she was beyond her defensive walls.
It was overwhelming and perfect and terrifying all at once.
The chorus approached. This was the moment she'd worried about most—when both voices needed to intertwine, creating something neither could do alone.
She met his eyes, and understanding passed between them without words.
They sang together.
Their voices weren't perfectly matched. Hers was trained and practiced, his was raw and uncertain. But somehow that made it better. The contrast created texture, depth, emotional complexity that a polished duet would have lacked.
The guitar solo came next. Jirou closed her eyes, letting the amplified sound guide her fingers. Every string vibration was perfectly clear, every harmonic resonating exactly as she intended. Her hands moved across the frets with precision she'd never achieved before.
This was what music was supposed to feel like. Not struggling for every note, not second-guessing every choice. Just... being. Letting the song flow through her the way it existed in her mind.
The solo built to its peak, then softened again for the second verse.
This time, Ryuu sang first. His confidence had grown, voice stronger now that he'd found his footing. The words came easier, the melody more natural.
She answered him, their voices trading back and forth in musical conversation. Question and answer. Call and response. Two people finding harmony despite being completely different.
The final chorus approached. This was it—the culmination of everything the song had been building toward.
They sang together again, but this time neither voice dominated. They balanced, supported each other, created something that was more than the sum of its parts.
The last note hung in the air, sustained and perfect.
Then silence.
Complete, absolute silence from the crowd.
Jirou's heart plummeted. They'd hated it. The performance was too intimate, too raw, she'd been too selfish asking Ryuu to join her on stage—
Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa!
The applause started like thunder.
It wasn't polite clapping or appreciative acknowledgment. It was genuine, enthusiastic roaring approval from hundreds of people who'd just witnessed something unexpected and beautiful.
Jirou's fingers were still on the guitar strings, Ryuu's hand still gripping hers. She could feel his shock matching her own through their connection.
"We did it," she whispered, barely audible over the crowd noise.
"You did it," Ryuu corrected gently. "I just followed your lead."
"No." She looked at him directly. "We did this together. That's what the song was about."
His expression shifted—understanding dawning, realizing the deeper meaning behind every lyric. The vulnerability she'd been trying to express through music instead of words.
The applause continued, people on their feet now. Someone was shouting for an encore. Others were taking photos, recording videos, capturing the moment.
But Jirou barely noticed. All she could focus on was Ryuu's hand in hers and the connection still humming between them.
"Thank you," she said. "For being up here. For trusting me."
"Always," he replied simply.
The word settled in her chest, warm and certain and terrifying.
She released his hand, the amplification fading as their physical connection broke. Reality crashed back—the crowd, the stage, the fact that she'd just publicly performed a song that was basically a confession disguised as music.
Her defensive walls tried to slam back up. "We should—we should get off stage. Before this gets weird."
"Too late," Ryuu said with a small smile. "Pretty sure we passed weird about five minutes ago."
Despite herself, Jirou laughed. "Yeah. We really did."
They took a bow together, the crowd's enthusiasm never wavering. Then they walked off stage side by side, the afternoon sunlight feeling somehow brighter than before.
---
## **RYUU'S POV**
The moment they were behind the stage curtain, away from the crowd's view, Jirou grabbed his arm.
"Don't say anything," she said quickly. "About the song. About what it meant. Just... don't."
"Jirou—"
"I'm serious." Her expression was defensive again, walls rebuilding at record speed. "It was music. That's all. Don't make it weird."
But the way her hand trembled slightly on his arm told a different story. This mattered to her—the performance, the song, the things she'd tried to express through melody instead of words.
"Okay," Ryuu said gently. "I won't make it weird."
Relief flickered across her face. "Good. Thank you."
They stood there for a moment, neither quite ready to rejoin the festival chaos. Through the curtain, they could hear people still talking about the performance, excitedly discussing what they'd just witnessed.
"That was incredible," Mina's voice announced as she and Ochaco appeared around the corner. "Like, actually incredible. You two were amazing up there!"
"The harmonies," Ochaco added, her eyes bright. "The way your voices worked together. It was beautiful."
Jirou's cheeks colored. "It wasn't that good."
"It really was, ribbit."
Tsuyu had joined them, her large eyes blinking thoughtfully. "Very moving performance. The emotional honesty was powerful."
"It was just music," Jirou insisted, but her voice lacked conviction.
"If you say so." Mina's knowing smile suggested she understood far more than Jirou wanted her to. "But seriously, that was special. You should be proud."
"I..." Jirou looked at her guitar case, at the stage curtain, at anywhere except directly at the people offering praise. "Thanks. I'm glad it worked out."
Her fingers found Ryuu's wrist briefly, squeezing once before letting go. Through that brief contact, he felt her gratitude, her relief, and underneath it all, the affection she was still too guarded to voice.
"We should get back to the booth," Tsuyu said practically. "The afternoon rush will be starting soon, ribbit."
"Right," Ochaco agreed. "Festival isn't over yet."
As they walked back through the grounds, Jirou fell into step beside Ryuu. She didn't say anything, didn't acknowledge what had just happened between them on stage. But the small smile on her face was genuine, unguarded in a way it rarely was.
"You know," she said quietly, low enough that only he could hear, "if you ever want to do that again... the duet thing... I wouldn't be opposed."
"Yeah?" Ryuu glanced at her. "I thought you said not to make it weird."
"Shut up." But she was still smiling. "I'm just saying, you're not as terrible at singing as you think. That's all."
"High praise from you."
"Don't get used to it."
They rejoined the others, slipping back into the comfortable rhythm of the festival. There was still work to do, more customers to serve, the evening wind-down to navigate.
But something fundamental had shifted. Jirou had opened a door she usually kept locked, and Ryuu had stepped through without judgment or pressure.
The song had been about connection. About understanding someone without words. About finding harmony in unexpected places.
And standing there in the afternoon sunlight, surrounded by people who cared about each other despite—or because of—their differences, Ryuu understood exactly what she'd been trying to say.
The music was just the medium.
The message was what mattered.