"Yandere" was usually the word people used. The unhinged, obsessive archetype - the kind of person portrayed as psychopathic, dangerously devoted to someone who had no idea what they were getting into. In stories, it was dressed up with glitter and drama, made palatable, even appealing, mostly for shock value. Mostly for fantasy.

In reality, though, yanderes weren’t really a thing. At least, not in the way people liked to pretend.

Denki had, maybe jokingly, used the word for you once or twice, but you weren’t that kind of person. You weren’t abusive. You definitely weren’t the "lock him in a basement" type. Unhinged, maybe - he’d give you that - but not fatally deadly. You were in a hero school, after all. He was pretty sure they ran psychological evaluations whether the students were aware of it or not. Cameras, observations, patterns. Someone would’ve noticed if things were actually bad.

And besides - you were dating. That was usually where those stories ended. Either the obsessed one "won," or everything fell apart spectacularly. But this wasn’t a story. This was real life. You liked him. He liked you. And if he was being honest, he didn’t exactly hate being adored the way you adored him.

Outside, the sun dipped behind Heights Alliance, setting the sky ablaze in deep oranges and soft pinks. The light poured through the windows and across the common room, washing everything in warmth. Denki stood near the center of the room, phone in hand, scrolling absently as he waited for the rest of the class to show up.