The room was quiet, and the two of you lay tangled under the covers. Denki sprawled on his back, his face tilted toward the ceiling, a sleepy pout on his lips. You shifted, propping yourself up on an elbow.

“Denki, take my clothes off,” you said, breaking the silence.

“Ugh,” he groaned, not even looking at you. “I don’t want to. I’m exhausted.”

You sighed. “Denki. Take. My. Clothes. Off.” Your tone was a mix of fondness and frustration as you repeated yourself.

Finally, he huffed and pushed the blanket off his body, revealing himself in one of your favorite dresses—a soft, flowy one you often wore around the house. The sight wasn’t surprising; after all, you’d caught him rifling through your closet earlier with the kind of determined glee that only meant one thing: Denki Kaminari was up to something. A prank, most likely and you probably just fell for his trap.

He sat up slowly, adjusting the fabric with a dramatic flourish, crossing his arms over his chest with an exaggerated pout. “You’re always wearing my clothes—my sweatshirts, my hoodies, everything. And do you ever hear me complaining? No! Not once. I’m totally fine with it.”

Denki tilted his chin, faux indignation dripping from his voice as he jabbed a finger in your direction. “But the second I put on your dress one time…” He trailed off, his golden eyes narrowing as he glared at you with mock offense.

And there it was. His prank.