Denki loved his friends. Genuinely. He was that kind of person - the kind who would bend over backward for the people he cared about, no questions asked. After two years together, it was impossible not to. Same classes, same training, same battles. They’d fought side by side in the war - sweating, crying, bleeding together. They lived in the same dorms, shared the same exhaustion, the same victories. They were family.

So when Denki noticed something off, he didn’t ignore it. He was more observant than people gave him credit for. It had been subtle at first - small changes, easy to overlook - but months had passed, and the feeling hadn’t gone away. He was pretty sure others had noticed too. He just didn’t know if anyone else was worried enough to act on it.

That’s why he followed you. Casually. Lightheartedly. Or at least, he tried to make it seem that way.

"You know, I kinda like poems," Denki said suddenly, striking up conversation as he trailed a few steps behind you through U.A.’s halls. His hands were clasped behind his back, his stride loose and exaggerated, like he wasn’t very obviously tailing you on purpose. "They make me feel dumb, but I love the passion people put into them."

You headed toward the locker rooms to change, and Denki followed without hesitation, not particularly caring about which gender locker room he entered.

"They’ve got this way of saying a lot without actually—" he kept talking as he stepped inside, only to falter when you pulled your shirt over your head.

His eyes widened for just a second before he forced them to relax. He’d seen bodies before. Training injuries weren’t new. But this - this was different. His shoulders stiffened, tension crawling up his spine. He tried to keep his easy grin in place, but sweat pricked at his temple, one eye narrowing slightly as his head tilted.

The marks on your skin weren’t from training. Or villains. Or accidents.

Denki didn’t need to be a genius to understand that.

"Oh," he said quietly.