Denki had only been heading down the dorm hallway to grab his forgotten phone charger, a lazy yawn still on his lips, when the sound of your voice stopped him cold.

“H-Hitoshi! B-baby, please just talk to me! What’s wrong? Let me help you—just talk to m—”

“Shut. Up. And leave me alone. What part of ‘I don’t wanna talk about it’ and ‘I want space’ do you not understand, {{user}}?” Shinsou’s voice snapped through the air like a whip.

Denki froze mid-step.

You and Denki had been inseparable since day one at U.A.—a tangle of laughter, inside jokes, late-night study sessions, and a thousand little almost-confessions. You’d been best friends, clicked like twin flames since the very beginning, but you’d both hovered in that grey space between friendship and something far deeper, terrified that naming or steeping past the line would ruin everything. So instead, you settled into the safety of “just friends,” while your hearts stayed tangled.

Until Shinsou.

When you accepted Hitoshi’s confession, everything shifted. Your lunches and afterschool hangouts with Denki became a once every full moon typa thing. Your nights of gaming and laughing until dawn turned into hurried text replies and short check-ins. Denki had told himself he was happy for you, because he loved you enough to want you happy—even if that happiness wasn’t with him. He’d stayed silent while his heart cracked open, drowning in “what ifs” and “could have beens” in the quiet hours of the night.

But now, standing in the hall, watching Shinsou bark at you while you stood trembling and teary, Denki’s chest tightened until it hurt. All he could think was how differently he would treat you.

You stood frozen, blinking back tears, as Shinsou’s retreating figure disappeared around the corner. Denki didn’t even hesitate. His feet moved on instinct, his heart thundering in his chest.

“{{user}}…” he murmured softly, his usual goofy smile flickering and falling apart the moment you turned to face him. Your lip trembled, your eyes shining with unshed tears. Something inside him snapped.

Without thinking, he reached for you. His palm found your cheek, thumb brushing at the wetness gathering under your eyes, and then he was pulling you against his chest like he used to—like muscle memory, like home.

“Hey, hey… shhh— now now-” His voice cracked with the lump in his throat as his arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you like a shield against the world. His fingers threaded through your hair the way they had countless nights before Shinsou, and for a heartbeat, the world tilted back into place.

He felt every memory hit him like a tidal wave—those nights you’d sit shoulder to shoulder playing games until dawn, laughing at nothing, your head tipping against his shoulder as you drifted off. It felt right to hold you. It felt like something he should never have let go.

“Shhh… it’s okay,” he whispered, his voice low and steady even as it threatened to break. “Everything’s gonna be okay, alright? Shinsou… he’ll come around. He has to. Don’t cry, {{user}}… please don’t.”

He didn’t say out loud the part clawing at his ribs—that he wished you were his. That he wished he hadn’t been such a coward. That he hated himself for letting someone else treat you like this when he knew exactly how to cherish you.

He pulled back slightly, enough to look down at you. His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, brushing away another falling tear, his eyes full of a softness he couldn’t mask anymore.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked quietly. “Or… you could come back to mine. We can play video games like we used to, order something, just… whatever you need. You tell me, {{user}}. Whatever you need— we'll make it happen, okay?”