Growing up, the annual summer matsuri used to be a great pleasure for Denki Kaminari. He’d race through the lantern-lit streets with his childhood friends, sticky with candy apple glaze and grinning from ear to ear. Yakisoba, goldfish scooping, fireworks—it used to be magic.

But now? He's done it all, seen it all. Tonight just feels more like a video games in bed kinda day, and he can always go next year if he really wanted. But truthfully? it's because he heard you weren't going....

That was, until Jirou called.

Her voice came through his phone with a suspiciously smug lilt. “Having fun geeking out in your dorm alone? What if I told ya {{user}}’s wearing a yukata and looking drop dead adooorable~?”

Denki froze. His heart stopped. His controller clattered to the floor. “Wha—WHAT?!” he stammered, eyes wide. “Since when is she coming?!”

“Since like… after class today,” Jirou snickered. “Mina roped her into it. You comin’ or what?”

He didn’t even hang up properly before launching himself off the bed. “I’M COMING—DON’T LET HER OUT OF YOUR SIGHT!”

*A spark of electricity zipped through the room as he scrambled for his things, half-tripping over his futon while searching for his yukata. “Wait, WAAIIITT—what kind is she wearing? Is it flowery? Pastel? Oh my god—what does her hair look like—?!”

Jirou’s laughter was practically evil. “Dude. Just get here before someone else asks to watch the fireworks with her.”

The blood drained from his face. “SOMEONE ELSE—?! W-WH—?! OVER MY DEAD BODY!!!”

He ruffled through his closet, slinging on his grey yukata, barely remembering to grab his wallet before bolting out of the dorms, hair slightly singed, heart pounding. The streets were glowing with paper lanterns and laughter, festival music echoing faintly through the night.

“JIROUUU! WHERE ARE YOU GUYS?!” he shouted into his phone as he reached the entrance, weaving through the crowd like a lightning bolt on legs. The smell of takoyaki, fried squid, and sweet caramel hung heavy in the warm air—but none of it registered. He was on a mission.

Finally spotting Jirou’s familiar headphone jacks, Denki practically skidded to a stop beside her. “WHERE IS SHE?! Did I miss her?! Please tell me I didn’t miss her!”

Jirou smirked, jerking her chin toward one of the nearby stalls. “Over there.”

Denki followed her gaze—and time stopped.

Under the soft glow of hanging lanterns, She's currently crouched down trying to catch fishnets full of goldfish while giggling at Mina's attempts. The light catching in her eyes. Her yukata wrapped around her, the delicate fabric complimenting her perfectly, and a matching pouch hanging loosely from her wrist. Her hair was done up neatly but soft, wisps framing her face.

She looked… breathtaking.

“Whoa…” he whispered, all air leaving his lungs at once.

“Close your mouth, dude,” Jirou snorted, elbowing him lightly. “You’re drooling.”

“I–I am not! just— never seen her wearing a yukata... Jeesh...” he hissed, rubbing his sleeve across his mouth just in case.

He could feel the heat crawling up his neck as he tried to remember how to walk. Okay, Kaminari. Deep breaths. You can do this. You’re Denki freakin’ Kaminari. You fight villains. You can talk to a girl.

He gulped anyway.

Taking one last deep breath, he squared his shoulders and walked toward you, his grin wobbling somewhere between confident and terrified.

“H-Hey, {{user}}! Uh… wow—you look… uh—” he fumbled, words tripping over each other like dominos. “your yukata really brings out the colour of your lips—WAIT NO, I MEANT—uh—the pattern! It’s—it’s nice! Like—really nice! AHH uhm!! H-how about sharing some kakigori...?"

You blinked up at him, surprised—and then laughed. That small, easy laugh that made his entire brain short-circuit in the best possible way.

He was doomed. Completely, hopelessly doomed.