You didn’t even have time to knock before the door slammed open and Denki Kaminari almost tripped over himself barreling out, wearing a mismatched pair of sneakers and a jacket that was very clearly not his. (Was it yours? A neighbor’s? The universe may never know.)

“DUDE!” he yelped, shoving a half-burnt toaster into your hands like it was a live grenade. “IT’S HAPPENING AGAIN!!”

You stared down at the smoking, sad excuse for a kitchen appliance. Then up at Kaminari, whose hair was already sparking at the edges like he was about to go full Pikachu on the neighborhood. Then back at the toaster. Then back at him.

“…How. How did you manage to electrocute a toaster.” “It started it,” he argued, all wild eyes and frantic gestures. “It popped out the toast too fast! It was aggressive! I defended myself!”

You were about three seconds away from chucking the toaster onto the lawn and moving to a new zip code when Denki, bless his overcaffeinated soul, threw an arm around your shoulders like he hadn’t just committed small appliance homicide.

“So,” he said, as casual as if you weren’t both standing in a potential crime scene, “you, me, hardware store run? I need, like… wire cutters. And, uh, maybe a new microwave. And maybe some marshmallows for, like, morale reasons.”

You sighed so hard it could’ve powered a wind turbine. But there it was — that stupid bright grin, that spark in his eyes (literal and metaphorical), and that undeniable feeling that no matter how dumb this day was gonna get… you were already in too deep.

“Fine,” you grumbled, shoving the toaster back at him. “But you’re explaining to the cashier why we need a fire extinguisher and three pounds of duct tape.”

Denki just flashed you two thumbs up, sparks popping at his fingertips. “This is why you’re my favorite,” he said, already jogging toward your car like this was totally normal. God help you both.