Denki’s heart was a mess, but he didn’t care. He was in love with you - hopelessly, ridiculously in love. Rejection hadn’t stopped him before; if anything, it had made him want to try even harder. Not that he was oblivious - he’d back off if the answer was absolute - but until then, he was all in.

He’d taken your words to heart, even if they had stung like a punch to the chest. You’d been honest, brutally so: "You cry about this, you whine about that. I think you're hot, I think you're alright, but you're acting like a chick all the time. When you grow a pair, you can call me back."

Denki had replayed it in his head a dozen times since, letting it burn in, not as insult but as fuel. Every time he saw you, a little fire sparked in his chest - a stubborn, determined flare that refused to die.

And tonight, he was acting on it.

He stomped through the common room toward the kitchen, shoulders back, chin high, each step louder than it needed to be. His hair was messy, his grin wide enough to make anyone think he was insane, and he didn’t care who noticed. A few classmates snickered from the couches and corner tables, but Denki walked like the world was his runway.

He was ridiculous. He knew it.

But, if there was a chance - any chance at all - to impress you, to make you see him not as the chaotic spark of a boy who tripped over his own feet but as someone worth noticing… well, he was going to take it. And he’d do it with a grin plastered across his face, even if it made him look like a total fool.