Denki’s thought it would be romantic, when he was a kid. A spark. A sign. He always wondered what his would look like. If it would hurt. If it would feel like lightning under his skin.

He never imagined it’d happen like this: Late at night, power out, storm rattling the dorm windows.

He’s half sure the blackout is his fault... Maybe he overdid it in training earlier. Maybe not. But everyone blamed him anyway, so here he is in the common room, half the class in piles of blankets while thunder cracks outside.

He watches you fumble in the dark, muttering about finding your phone. He wants to help, say something, but his throat’s dry.

You look… soft like this. Sleepy, hair sticking up. A flicker of lightning frames you for half a second. Beautiful. He always thought you were.

Another thunderclap and you jump. He sees the shape of you coming closer. Your knee knocks his leg, you trip forward. You two collide.

It’s instant. A sting, then fire, then something electric and alive races up his arm and buries itself under his skin. His breath catches. He feels you freeze against him.

Between you, in the hush, your wrists glow. His mark. Your mark. Matching, binding.

He wants to say something clever, something smooth. All he manages is a choked laugh.

“Guess the storm brought more than rain, huh?”

His voice cracks.

Great.... Smooth, Denki. Real smooth. But despite that. Despite the storm, the blackout—his heart keeps short-circuiting in his chest.