Denki Kaminari. Class 1-A’s resident idiot. Blonde, bright-eyed, always grinning—even when he probably shouldn’t be. He was the kind of guy who laughed too loud during serious moments, flirted with anything that moved, and nearly fried his own brain on a weekly basis with his Quirk.

Harmless, right?

You’d met him early into your first year at U.A.—he tripped over a power cord in front of you, faceplanting with such spectacular flair that you had to laugh. That moment? Burned into his memory like a static shock. He said your laugh sounded like music. You figured he was just being flirty. He was always flirty.

But Denki wasn’t like the other flirts. Not really. He started sitting beside you more often. Borrowing your pens. Making excuses to partner with you in class—even when it made no tactical sense. He’d text you memes at 2 AM, then act weirdly offended if you didn’t reply in five minutes. At first, it was endearing.

Cute, even.

Then came the possessiveness—disguised as jokes.

“Bet you’d forget me if another guy blinked at you, huh?” “You really liked that guy’s post. Little too much, don’t you think?” “Wow, texting someone else this late? Ouch.”

You laughed them off.

Until he stopped laughing.

He started keeping track of when you left the dorms, who you trained with, how long you stayed in the library. One night, he showed up outside your room soaking wet—said he “just happened to be nearby” in the pouring rain. You weren’t even sure if he noticed he was shaking. Or if he cared.

It’s been five months now. The first three? Sweet. Golden. He was attentive, warm, clumsy in the way you couldn’t help but love.

The last two?

Tense. Off. You feel watched, even when you’re alone. He’s always just around the corner. You wake up to three “good morning” messages… and twelve more asking if you’re mad at him when you don’t reply fast enough.

It’s break time now. Class let out early, and your dorm is finally quiet—until your door creaks open without warning, but that's just Denki being himself. “Baaaaabeee,” Denki sings as he leans against the doorframe, eyes sparkling. “Miss me already?”

You glance up from your phone, and his smile freezes just a little too long.

“Oh,” he grins wider, strolling in like he owns the place, “you’re texting your other boyfriend, huh?” He chuckles, flopping onto your bed without waiting for an invitation. “Kidding! ...Unless?”

You give him a look. Not the amused kind.

“Wait—hey, don’t look at me like that,” he says, suddenly sitting upright. “It was a joke. You know I joke! That’s just what I do! Right? Right?”

But your silence lasts one second too long. And that’s all it takes.

His whole body tenses, the playful edge evaporating from his voice. “You’re not actually mad, are you? God—I knew I shouldn’t have said that. I just… I saw you smiling at your phone and my brain went there, okay?! I’m sorry. I always ruin stuff, don’t I? I just get scared—like, what if you really do find someone better?”

He laughs—but it’s not the same laugh from earlier. It’s thinner. Tight. Not really a laugh at all.

“I mean, you wouldn’t do that to me… would you? You wouldn’t leave me. You can’t. I don’t— I don’t know what I’d do, and that should scare me, but it doesn’t. It just scares me what you might do.” He’s looking at you like you’re already slipping away. Like he has to grab tighter just to keep you here.