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Katsuki Bakugou had survived villains, war, collapsing buildings, training exercises designed by sadistic pro heroes, and three years of living with the loudest idiots Japan had ever produced. Somehow, a dorm party was still pushing his limits.
The common room of the Heights Alliance dorms had been transformed from its usual semi-respectable student lounge into what Katsuki could only describe as a sensory assault. Someone had strung cheap colorful lights along the walls. Mina had dragged out speakers that were currently fighting for dominance against Kaminari’s off-key yelling. There were snacks on every available surface, pillows thrown across the floor, and far too many people crammed into one space. Class A was already bad enough, but then Class B started showing up, and Katsuki watched Monoma sweep into the room like he had personally been invited by royalty and immediately start running his mouth.
The room got louder, hotter, and more crowded with every new arrival. Tetsutetsu followed in behind Monoma, loud as hell and twice as broad, clapping Kirishima on the back hard enough to make the redhead stumble. Kendo trailed after them, already looking like she regretted whatever decision had brought her here. Katsuki scowled from his spot near the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He had not wanted to come down here in the first place. Well, that was a lie. He had not wanted to admit that he kind of wanted to come down here.
It had been a while since he had gone to anything that could be called a get-together. Between classes, training, internships, work studies, and the general hellscape that came with being a hero student, his free time had become something he guarded like a dragon with gold. Usually, when Friday night came around, he preferred showering, eating something with actual nutritional value, and passing out before any of the extras could bother him. Unfortunately, Denki and Mina had apparently decided his hermit era was bad for class morale.
They had nearly broken down his door earlier, pounding and yelling until Katsuki had ripped it open with sparks popping in his palms and murder in his eyes. They had not been intimidated in the slightest. Mina had hooked an arm around his waist. Denki had grabbed his wrist. Between the two of them and Kirishima cheering from the hallway, Katsuki had somehow been dragged from his room with only minimal explosions and one threat that made Kaminari hide behind Mina for a full thirty seconds. At the time, Katsuki had figured it would be fine. He would stand around for ten minutes, glare at people, maybe eat something, then disappear.
Now, watching Pony from Class B try to teach Hagakure some kind of dance while Kaminari whooped from the couch, Katsuki regretted every decision that had led him here. He pushed off the wall and started toward the kitchen.
“Going somewhere?” Kirishima called from where he was sitting on the floor, laughing with Tetsutetsu.
“Getting a drink,” Katsuki grunted.
“Grab me one?”
“Get your own.”
Kirishima grinned like that answer had somehow been affectionate. Freak.
Katsuki shoved his way through the crowd, dodging elbows, shoulders, and one of Mineta’s grape balls that had somehow ended up stuck to the coffee table. The music thumped against his skull, and the air smelled like chips, cheap soda, too many bodies, and whatever sugary perfume Mina had sprayed before coming downstairs. The kitchen was only slightly better, but it was quieter at least. The music was muffled enough that Katsuki could hear himself think, which was more than he could say for the common room.
The counters were covered in an impressive spread of snacks: chips, cookies, candy, fruit that someone had optimistically put out and no one had touched, and a few covered plates of baked goods. Katsuki knew some of his classmates had managed to sneak in alcohol. He was not stupid. He had seen Kaminari and Sero whispering like idiots earlier, passing a suspicious bottle between them before Mina stole it and vanished toward the laundry room with Jirou on her heels. He had also watched some of the Class B extras arrive with backpacks that clinked.
The teachers probably knew, too. Aizawa was either ignoring it until someone became a problem, or he was waiting in the shadows for the perfect moment to traumatize them all. Either way, Katsuki was not interested. It might have been the weekend, but he still had work study tomorrow. Unlike some idiots, he had no desire to show up hungover and get his ass handed to him by Mirko because he smelled like cheap beer and poor decisions.
He grabbed a can of soda from the fridge. A little processed sugar wouldn’t kill him. Probably.
He cracked it open and took a drink, scowling at the burn of carbonation before leaning back against the counter. His eyes swept over the food again. There were a few bowls of chips, something that looked like store-bought cookies, and a tinfoil-covered plate shoved near the back. Brownies peeked out from beneath the foil, and Katsuki stared at them for a second before deciding Sato probably made them. They did not look as neat as Sato’s usual desserts, but the lighting in the kitchen was bad, and Katsuki had already decided he deserved something for enduring this crap.
He reached over, peeled the foil back a little more, and grabbed one. It was dense, chocolatey, and a little bitter, but not bad. He finished it in three bites and took another drink of soda. Fuck it. He grabbed a second brownie.
He was halfway through that one when Tokoyami walked in, his dark cloak brushing softly against the tile. Dark Shadow shifted behind him, peering toward the snacks with obvious interest. Bakugou nodded once, and Tokoyami nodded back, solemn as ever, before opening the fridge and grabbing something nonalcoholic.
Out of everyone in their class, Tokoyami was one of the easier people to tolerate. He was quiet. He minded his own business. He did not ask stupid questions unless there was a point to them, and he had gotten strong as hell over the last three years. Katsuki respected that. He guessed, if forced under threat of death or worse, under threat of Mina making him participate in karaoke, he might even call Tokoyami a friend. Not that he would ever say that out loud. Hell, at this point, he guessed most of Class A counted as friends. Trauma-bonded idiots, every last one of them. They had fought together, bled together, and nearly died together more times than Katsuki cared to count. Somewhere along the way, the annoying extras had turned into his annoying extras.
Disgusting.
Katsuki took another swig of soda and grabbed a third brownie without thinking. He was considering whether he could slip upstairs without one of his hound-nose classmates sniffing him out when Sero slid into the kitchen with an easy smile and one hand lifted in greeting.
“Yo.”
Katsuki grunted in response.
Sero’s smile stayed in place for half a second before his eyes dropped to Katsuki’s hand. His expression twitched, then shifted from casual to something alarmingly close to scandalized. Katsuki narrowed his eyes as Sero stared at the brownie like it had personally offended him. Then his gaze flicked to the plate. Then back to Katsuki.
Katsuki glared harder and took another bite.
“What?” he snapped around the mouthful.
Sero raised one eyebrow slowly, then pointed toward the plate. “Having a brownie?”
Katsuki swallowed. “You got eyes, don’t you?”
“You sure about that, man?”
Katsuki’s eyebrow twitched. He hated that tone. That careful, testing-the-waters tone people used when they thought he was doing something stupid but were not sure if telling him would get them blown through a wall. He took another drink of soda and said, “Just because I take better care of myself than you losers doesn’t mean I can’t eat junk sometimes too.”
To prove his point, he grabbed another brownie from the plate and took a large, aggressive bite. Sero’s eyes widened.
“Whoa, Bakugou,” he said, voice sharpening slightly. “How many have you had?”
Katsuki slowly turned his head. He could feel a spark pop at his palm, but before he could inform Sero exactly where he could shove his concern, Denki stumbled into the kitchen with his hair mussed, cheeks flushed, and grin crooked. He took one look at the scene and burst out laughing.
“I didn’t know Blasty was getting lit tonight.”
Katsuki growled. “Because I’m not. I have better things to do.”
Denki’s grin widened. “Well, then why are you eating our brownies?”
The way he said it made Katsuki pause. Not the words, exactly, but the tone. His gaze dropped to the half-eaten brownie in his hand before slowly moving to the tinfoil-covered plate. Now that he was actually looking, really looking, he noticed the uneven cuts, the slightly crumbly edges, and the complete lack of Sato’s usual neat presentation. His stomach sank.
He looked back at the brownie, then at Sero, whose expression had shifted from amused concern to actual concern, then at Denki, who looked like he was three seconds away from laughing himself into an early grave.
Katsuki’s voice came out low. “You’re joking.”
Sero reached forward and gently took the remaining half of the brownie from Katsuki’s hand. “You’ll probably be fine,” he said, then, like an absolute idiot, he ate it.
Katsuki stared at him. For one long, horrible second, all he could think about was whether forcing himself to puke would help. Then he said, eerily calm, “That was my fourth one.”
Sero choked.
Denki lost the fight entirely, doubling over with one hand braced on the counter as laughter tore out of him. Sero coughed into his fist, eyes watering, while still trying to wave like everything was under control. It was not under control. Nothing was under control.
Drawn in by Denki’s unholy cackling, Momo and Jirou appeared in the kitchen doorway. Jirou’s eyes immediately narrowed with suspicion while Momo looked between all of them with growing concern.
“What happened?” Jirou asked.
“Is everything alright?” Momo added.
Denki tried to answer, failed, slapped the counter, then tried again. “Kacchan,” he wheezed, pointing at Katsuki, “is about to be higher than a kite.”
Momo’s mouth fell open slightly before her face softened with the kind of pity Katsuki hated more than insults. “Oh, honey…”
Katsuki’s eye twitched so violently he was surprised it did not detach. “Don’t you oh honey me!” At least, that was what he meant to say. What actually came out was a slurred, furious noise that did not form proper words.
The kitchen tilted. Katsuki blinked hard. The floor had not moved. Probably.
He pushed himself off the counter, deciding immediately that the best course of action was to go upstairs, lock his door, drink three bottles of water, and sleep until his body stopped betraying him. He took two steps toward the door. On the third, his balance vanished, and the world tipped sideways.
“Shit—”
He stumbled directly into Sero. For half a second, they almost went down together, but Sero made a startled noise and caught him around the shoulders, feet sliding against the tile before he managed to steady them both. Behind them, Denki absolutely lost it again.
Katsuki tried to shove Sero away, but his hands did not seem interested in listening to him. They landed weakly against Sero’s chest and stayed there. Sero looked down at him. Katsuki looked up. The kitchen lights had halos.
That was new.
“Oh, you are gone gone,” Denki said delightedly.
“Shut up,” Katsuki said, except it sounded less threatening than he wanted.
Sero adjusted his grip on Katsuki’s shoulders. “Okay. Couch. We’re getting you to the couch before you blow something up or pass out standing.”
“I’m fine.”
“You just tried to fight gravity and lost.”
“Gravity cheated.”
Jirou snorted, and Katsuki glared at her. Or tried to. His face felt weird and heavy, like his expression had to travel through mud before it reached his skin. Sero turned him carefully toward the common room, and Katsuki wanted to protest. He wanted to plant his feet and tell them all to back off. He wanted to stomp upstairs on his own and pretend none of this was happening. Instead, his body moved like it belonged to someone else.
Sero guided him by the shoulders, steering him out of the kitchen and back into the chaos of the party. The music hit him like a physical thing, deep bass rattling through his bones. Lights blurred at the edges of his vision. Voices stretched strangely, too loud and too far away all at once. Someone shouted his name. Someone else laughed. Katsuki had no idea who. The room felt impossibly big and impossibly small at the same time.
“Move,” Sero called, half-laughing and half-panicked. “Coming through.”
Katsuki’s knees buckled the moment they reached the couch. Unfortunately, the couch was not empty.
“Oof!”
Uraraka’s startled voice puffed out beneath him as Katsuki landed half on the cushion and half on top of her. For a moment, no one moved. Katsuki was vaguely aware that his shoulder was pressed against something soft, his knee was twisted awkwardly, and Uraraka’s arm was trapped somewhere under his ribs. Then Uraraka made a confused little sound.
“Bakugou?”
Katsuki stared forward. The room was still moving. Not spinning exactly. More like breathing. He tried to push himself up, but his arm gave one pathetic twitch and that was it. That was all he had.
Sero, traitor that he was, started laughing under his breath. Denki, still behind them, gasped, “Oh my god, he rag dolled.”
“I will kill you,” Katsuki muttered, though it came out muffled against the couch cushion.
Uraraka shifted carefully beneath him. “Um,” she said, voice strained but amused, “is there a reason Bakugou is laying on me?”
Katsuki closed his eyes. He could feel every person in the room staring. He could also feel the exact moment his dignity packed a bag and left the country.
Denki’s voice rang out, bright and delighted. “He ate four special brownies.”
The room went silent.
Then Mina screamed, “HE ATE FOUR?”
Katsuki opened one eye. Across the room, Kirishima shot to his feet so fast he nearly knocked Tetsutetsu over.
“Bakugou, bro!”
Katsuki tried to lift his head. It did not happen. He sighed into the cushion and muttered, “I hate all of you.”
Uraraka patted his shoulder carefully. “Sure you do.”
Katsuki felt paralyzed.
He knew, distantly, that he wasn’t. He could still feel his fingers against the couch cushion, still feel the bend of his knee hanging awkwardly off the edge, still feel Uraraka underneath him where he had basically collapsed like a dead weight. His body was technically responding. It just felt like every single movement had to be dragged through wet cement first, like someone had strapped weights to his arms and legs and then politely told him to figure it out.
The room was too much. Too much light, too much sound, too many bodies shifting in and out of his vision. Every time he tried to focus on one thing, three more things moved, and his brain lagged behind like a shitty old computer trying to load too many tabs at once. Mina’s pink blur crossed the room. Kirishima’s red hair bobbed somewhere near the coffee table. Denki’s laugh kept cutting through the music like a spark popping too close to his ear. Eventually, Katsuki decided the only reasonable solution was to stop looking.
He closed his eyes.
That helped a little. Not enough, but a little. The lights went away, at least, leaving him with the muffled chaos of the party and the deep pulse of the bass vibrating through the couch and into his bones. He could hear people talking around him, but the music swallowed half the words before they reached him, turning everything into broken pieces of conversation. Someone asked if he needed water. Someone else said not to crowd him. Denki said something that made Jirou smack him. Kirishima’s voice hovered closer than the others, worried and warm, but Katsuki couldn’t make himself latch onto the words.
Then fingers touched his hair.
It was hesitant at first, barely a brush through the messy blond strands near his temple, like whoever was doing it expected him to snap awake and bite their hand off. Katsuki should have snapped. He should have opened his eyes, grabbed their wrist, and demanded to know who the hell thought they had permission. Instead, the touch sent a slow, pleasant shiver down the back of his neck, and before he could think better of it, a low hum slipped out of his throat.
The hand froze.
Katsuki made an irritated noise at the loss and turned his head slightly, nudging into the touch until the fingers were back in his hair. They resumed carefully, combing through the spikes in a way that should have been annoying but absolutely was not. His scalp tingled. His shoulders loosened. Somewhere above him, someone gasped like they had just witnessed a murder.
“Uraraka!”
Katsuki felt the body under him shift with the vibration of her voice before he fully registered her words. “What?” she said, sounding defensive and a little delighted. “He never lets us this close!”
That was probably true. Katsuki would have had several things to say about it if his tongue hadn’t decided it was too heavy to operate correctly. He caught bits and pieces of the conversation that followed, enough to understand that Mina was scandalized, Kirishima was trying to be respectful and failing because he kept making soft emotional noises, and Denki was apparently trying to take a picture before Jirou threatened to shove his phone somewhere painful. Katsuki tuned them all out after that. The fingers in his hair kept moving, and the couch was warm, and for a while, time became a stupid, stretchy thing he had no interest in measuring.
At some point, an unknown amount of time later, the body beneath him began to wiggle. Katsuki made a displeased sound as Uraraka carefully worked herself free from under him, and without her there to prop him up, he slid into the empty space she left behind. His back hit the couch cushions with a soft thump, his legs still planted on the floor, and the sudden change in position made him open his eyes with an immediate glare.
Uraraka stood over him with both hands raised, smiling like she was trying not to laugh. “Sorry, Bakugou. I have to pee.”
He stared at her.
She gave him a little wave and walked away.
Traitor.
Katsuki turned his head slowly, because turning it fast sounded like a terrible fucking idea, and noticed Kirishima sitting on the other side of the couch. The redhead was watching him with a slightly worried smile, one elbow propped on his knee. When their eyes met, Kirishima’s face softened, and he gave Katsuki a thumbs-up like they were in the middle of a training exercise and Katsuki had just successfully not died.
Katsuki blinked at him.
Then, because it seemed like the right thing to do, he smiled back and returned the thumbs-up.
Kirishima looked like someone had handed him the meaning of life.
Katsuki didn’t have enough brainpower available to figure out why that mattered, so he let his hand drop back to the couch and looked around instead. The room seemed quieter than before, though that might have just been his head adjusting to the noise. A bunch of people had gathered around the coffee table now, with Mina, Hagakure, Todoroki, Jirou, Sero, Denki, Kendo, and a few others sitting in a loose circle. More people were still scattered behind the couch and near the kitchen, talking in smaller groups, but it felt less like the entire dorm was trying to crawl under his skin.
Maybe he had fallen asleep for a bit. He didn’t feel like he had, but his sense of time was currently about as reliable as Kaminari with a full battery and no supervision. He did feel like he had more energy, though, or at least enough energy to be annoyed that everyone else was doing something without him. The realization hit him with sudden, offended clarity.
He was being left out.
Katsuki sat up fast.
Bad idea.
The entire room leaned hard to the left, and Katsuki froze with both hands braced on the couch, eyes narrowed as he waited for his balance to catch up. Several heads turned toward him. Kirishima sat up straighter immediately, already reaching out like he might need to catch him, but Katsuki held up one hand in warning.
“I’m good,” he said.
It came out mildly slurred, which pissed him off, but not enough for him to do anything about it. He waited another second, decided the room was probably done trying to betray him, and then slid off the couch to the floor. He heard Kirishima make a startled noise behind him, but Katsuki ignored it and crawled forward with all the dignity of a man who had temporarily misplaced most of his motor skills.
The group around the coffee table watched him approach with expressions ranging from concern to open delight. Mina’s eyes went huge. Hagakure’s floating sleeves lifted like she was covering her mouth. Denki looked like he was about to vibrate out of his skin with excitement.
Katsuki shoved his way between Mina and Hagakure, hip-checking his way into the circle until there was space for him. Then he slapped one hand down on the coffee table, leaned forward, and smirked at the group.
“So what’re we playin’?”
For one long second, nobody spoke. Then Mina made a noise that was almost a squeal and slapped both hands over her mouth.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “He wants to play.”
“I said what’re we playin’,” Katsuki snapped, although the sharpness was ruined by the slight drag in his voice.
“Right, right, okay,” Mina said quickly, grabbing the stack of cards in front of her like she was afraid he might change his mind. “It’s easy. It’s basically a most-likely-to game. You draw a card, read it to yourself, and then give it to the person you think fits it best. But you don’t say what the card says unless it’s yours or unless the person tells people.”
Katsuki stared at her.
Mina stared back, smile bright and hopeful.
The explanation went into his ears, bounced once against the inside of his skull, and dissolved. Katsuki nodded anyway.
“Got it.”
“You absolutely do not got it,” Jirou muttered.
“I got it,” Katsuki said, louder, because that made it more true.
“Sure,” Sero said, grinning into his soda. “Let him cook.”
Katsuki squinted at him suspiciously but decided he didn’t hate the support. The game continued, and he figured he would understand it better by watching. Probably. Mina drew a card from the pile, a pile Katsuki was almost positive had not been on the table a second ago, and read it silently. Her face lit up with a grin, and without hesitation, she passed it across the table to Todoroki.
Todoroki accepted the card and looked down at it. His eyebrows lifted by approximately one millimeter, which, for him, was basically screaming. A few people around the table made curious sounds.
“What does it say?” Hagakure asked.
“Yeah, Mina, give us a hint,” Denki said, leaning forward.
Mina tapped her chin like she was thinking very seriously about it, but the smile on her face said she did not care at all about keeping the mystery alive. “The card said prettiest.”
Todoroki looked down at the card again like he was reassessing the information.
Katsuki snorted. “Yeah, alright.”
Todoroki’s eyes flicked to him. “Do you disagree?”
Katsuki stared at him, then waved one hand vaguely in his direction. “No. S’just annoying when you know shit.”
A strange, pleased little silence followed that. Todoroki blinked slowly, and Mina pressed her lips together like she was physically holding back a scream. Sero’s gaze snapped to Denki, Denki’s snapped to Jirou, and Jirou looked at the ceiling like she was asking for strength. Katsuki had no idea what their problem was. He had given an accurate assessment. Icy Hot was annoyingly pretty. That was just a fact. Everyone knew it. Moving on.
Todoroki drew the next card. He read it, paused, and then lifted his eyes directly to Katsuki. There was no hesitation at all as he reached across the table and passed the card to him.
Katsuki took it, squinting down at the words because the letters were doing a very subtle swim across the paper.
Most likely to cause property damage.
Katsuki’s head snapped up, and he glared at Todoroki with immediate betrayal. “Bullshit. Deku is way more likely to than me.”
Todoroki shrugged. “Historically, you are both strong candidates.”
“That’s not a defense, half-and-half!”
Mina smacked Katsuki’s shoulder lightly. “You aren’t supposed to say anything! Only the card giver can give hints about the card.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes. Or at least he attempted to. The motion felt a little too loose and dramatic, and it made his vision wobble at the edges, so he stopped and set the card down in front of himself like that had been his plan all along. Nothing happened for another moment, and he frowned at the table, waiting for someone else to do something.
Mina nudged him again. “Your turn. Take a card.”
Heat crawled up the back of his neck before he could stop it. “Oh.”
A few people laughed, not meanly, but Katsuki still shot them a halfhearted glare as he grabbed a card from the pile. He brought it close to his face and read it slowly.
Who could most likely pick you up at a bar?
A laugh burst out of him before he could contain it. The question was stupid. The whole game was stupid. Everyone sitting around the table was stupid. Still, Katsuki looked around the circle with narrowed eyes and a slow smirk, suddenly very invested in making the correct strategic choice. Mina leaned forward, practically vibrating. Hagakure whispered something to Jirou. Denki wiggled his eyebrows like an idiot, clearly expecting the card to come to him.
Katsuki ignored him.
His gaze landed on Sero.
He lifted the card, pointed it at him like a threat, and slapped it into his hand.
Sero’s goofy smile widened at first, clearly pleased to be chosen for something, but then he read the card. His face flushed so fast Katsuki could practically see the heat climb up his neck. Sero whipped his head toward Katsuki, eyes wide, then slapped the card facedown on the table like the words had personally attacked him.
The reaction was so funny that Katsuki laughed, loose and mean and delighted, and leaned into Hagakure’s side before he could tip backward. Hagakure made a tiny squeaking noise but immediately braced herself like holding up an intoxicated Bakugou was now her sacred duty.
“What is it?” Mina demanded.
“Sero, what did it say?” Denki asked, trying to reach across the table.
Sero slapped a hand over the card. “Nope.”
“You have to give us a hint,” Jirou said, looking far too entertained.
“I absolutely do not,” Sero said, though the flush on his face had not faded.
Katsuki grinned at him. It felt lazy on his face, easier than usual, like his mouth had forgotten how to hold its normal scowl. Sero looked back at him and raised an eyebrow, still a little pink.
“Really?” he asked.
Katsuki just kept grinning.
For some reason, that made Sero sit up a little straighter, shoulders puffing with visible pride like he had just unlocked an achievement. Katsuki didn’t really get what was happening there, but he liked that Sero looked pleased, so he decided not to question it.
Denki, unfortunately, was way too curious to leave it alone. Before Sero could stop him, he lunged across the table, snatched the card from Sero’s pile, and scrambled backward with it clutched in both hands.
“Denki,” Sero warned.
Too late. Denki read the card, gasped like Katsuki had committed a personal betrayal, and slapped a hand over his chest.
“You would go home with Hanta before me?”
The table erupted. Mina shrieked. Hagakure made a scandalized sound. Jirou choked on her drink, and someone behind Katsuki said, “Oh my god,” in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Deku. Sero made a strangled noise and tried to grab the card back, but Denki held it out of reach, still staring at Katsuki like he had been mortally wounded.
Katsuki was not bothered in the slightest. He leaned heavier against Hagakure, lifted his hand, and winked at Sero.
“What can I say?” he drawled. “Sero just has better rizz.”
The laughter got louder. Sero put both hands over his face, but Katsuki could still see the tips of his ears going red. Mina had fully collapsed against Todoroki’s shoulder, shaking with silent laughter, while Todoroki looked between them with the faintest crease of confusion.
Jirou wiped at her eyes. “I cannot believe Bakugou just said rizz.”
“I can’t believe he used it correctly,” Kaminari said.
Katsuki pointed at him without looking. “I’m high, not stupid.”
That only made them laugh harder.
Denki recovered enough to sit up, still clutching his chest with exaggerated heartbreak. “You’d be lucky to get me.”
Katsuki scoffed, dragging his gaze up and down Denki with absolutely no shame. “Nah. You’re too twink for me anyways.”
The room exploded.
It was not just laughter this time. It was a full-body reaction from nearly everyone around the table, a collective realization crashing over the group all at once. Bakugou was not just relaxed. Bakugou was not just participating. Bakugou was, for possibly the first time in the entire history of Class A, being both brutally honest and completely non-threatening.
Mina slowly lowered her hands from her mouth, eyes shining with dangerous excitement. “Oh,” she said softly. “Oh, this is a gift.”
“No,” Jirou said immediately, though she was smiling too hard for it to be convincing. “Do not get that look.”
“What look?” Mina asked innocently.
“The look that says you’re about to make this everyone’s problem.”
“It is everyone’s problem,” Denki said, still pretending to be wounded while also looking thrilled. “My honor was just destroyed in front of witnesses.”
“Your honor was on life support already,” Sero said, finally stealing the card back and tucking it under his knee where Denki couldn’t reach it.
Katsuki snorted and reached for a soda, not really caring whose it was. He accepted it as one of the universe’s rare acts of kindness, choosing to ignore Tetsutetsu’s wine. The can was cold against his palm, grounding in a way that helped him sit up a little straighter. He took a drink, made a face at the sweetness, then kept holding onto it.
Kirishima had moved closer at some point, sitting on the floor near the arm of the couch with his knees pulled up and his worried expression fighting a losing battle against amusement. “You doing okay, man?”
Katsuki looked at him. Kirishima’s hair looked even redder under the cheap party lights, and his face was doing that soft, open thing that made Katsuki’s chest feel weird on a normal day. Tonight, with his brain floating somewhere three feet above his body, the feeling was almost unbearable.
“Yeah,” Katsuki said. Then, after a second, he added, “You’re nice.”
Kirishima froze.
The table went dead silent.
Katsuki frowned at all of them. “What?”
Kirishima’s face turned a shade of red that had nothing to do with his hair. “Thanks, bro.”
Katsuki nodded seriously. “S’true. You’re nice. Like a big dog.”
Denki made a strangled sound.
Kirishima looked like he might cry.
“Oh my god,” Mina whispered, looking close to tears herself for an entirely different reason. “He’s complimenting people.”
“I compliment people,” Katsuki said, offended.
Jirou raised both eyebrows.
Katsuki narrowed his eyes. “I do.”
“You once told me my new amp had ‘less shitty feedback than usual,’” Jirou said.
“That was a compliment.”
“It kind of was,” Tokoyami said from the loveseat, appearing in the conversation so suddenly that Katsuki forgot he had been sitting there.
Jirou pointed at him. “Not helping.”
Katsuki leaned back on his hands, looking around the table with heavy-lidded suspicion. Everyone was watching him too closely now, like he was some rare wild animal that had wandered into camp and started doing tricks. Normally, that would have pissed him off enough to send sparks crackling over his skin. Now, it just made him huff and nudge the card pile with two fingers.
“Keep playin’,” he demanded. “You’re all makin’ it weird.”
Mina looked like she was actively biting back six different questions, but she obeyed, mostly because Jirou was glaring at her like she would personally end the night if Mina pushed too hard. The next few rounds passed in a blur of cards, laughter, and increasingly suspicious glances at the deck. Katsuki was beginning to realize that Mina had definitely not explained the full nature of the game on purpose. The first few cards had been normal enough, but now they were drifting into territory that made people choke on their drinks and suddenly become very interested in the carpet.
Hagakure got “most likely to have a secret admirer,” which caused an immediate uproar because she gasped so dramatically that her sleeves flew up to her face. Mina started demanding names, Jirou accused her of already knowing something, and Hagakure swore she had no idea what anyone was talking about in a voice that made it extremely clear she had at least three ideas. Todoroki, with the face of a man discussing weather patterns, pointed out that an invisible person would be very difficult to secretly admire from afar, which somehow made Hagakure laugh so hard she fell sideways into Kendo.
Denki got “most likely to accidentally send a flirty text to the class group chat,” which everyone agreed on so quickly that he looked personally wounded. “Wow,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “No debate? No discussion? No faith in me at all?”
“You once sent ‘miss you, pookie’ to the training schedule chat,” Jirou said.
“That was one time!”
“It was yesterday,” Sero added.
Katsuki snorted into his soda. “Dumbass.”
Denki pointed at him. “You don’t get to judge me, Mr. I Would Let Sero Pick Me Up At A Bar.”
Sero made a strangled noise from across the table. “Can we not make that my full legal title?”
“No,” Mina said immediately. “That is who you are now.”
Todoroki drew the next card and, after reading it, silently handed it to Momo. Momo blinked at the card, then went very still. Her cheeks turned pink in a way that made everyone immediately sit up straighter.
“Oh?” Mina said, voice dangerously bright.
Momo cleared her throat with as much dignity as she could salvage. “The card is not inappropriate.”
“That means it absolutely is,” Jirou said.
“It says,” Momo began, then paused like she was considering whether reading it aloud would violate several school policies, “most likely to give the most romantic confession.”
The table exploded into teasing noises. Momo covered her face with the card, Kendo started asking if she had confessed to anyone and when, and Todoroki looked genuinely puzzled.
“Is that scandalous?” Todoroki asked.
Momo somehow turned pinker. “It is fine.”
Katsuki leaned toward Hagakure, mostly because she was still conveniently holding him upright with one invisible shoulder. “Icy Hot’s got no survival instincts.”
Hagakure giggled. “None.”
Mina went next and drew a card that made her entire expression transform. Her grin spread slowly, wicked and delighted. She turned toward Kirishima with theatrical slowness. Kirishima blinked, then immediately looked nervous, which only made Mina’s smile sharpen. She placed the card gently in front of him like she was bestowing a sacred honor.
Kirishima picked it up with obvious suspicion. The second he read it, his whole face went red. Not a little pink. Not embarrassed in a cute, subtle way. Red. Nearly the same shade as his hair. He made a strangled sound and tried to put the card facedown on the table, but Mina slapped her hand over it first.
“Nope,” she said brightly. “You have to accept your truth.”
“What truth?” Denki demanded, already trying to lean over Sero to see.
Kirishima pulled the card closer to his chest. “It’s nothing.”
Katsuki narrowed his eyes from where he was leaning against Hagakure. “What’d you get, shitty hair?”
Kirishima somehow got redder. “Nothing, man.”
Mina put her chin in her hand and smiled sweetly. “The card said most likely to be boyfriend material.”
The table erupted instantly. Denki threw both hands in the air like he had been waiting his entire life for this moment, Hagakure made a delighted squealing sound, and Sero started laughing into his drink. Even Momo looked amused, though she politely covered her smile with her hand.
Kirishima groaned and dragged both hands down his face. “Mina.”
“What?” Mina said innocently. “I’m right.”
“You are right,” Todoroki added calmly.
That only made the laughter worse.
Katsuki looked Kirishima up and down with heavy, thoughtful eyes, then nodded like he had come to some deeply serious conclusion. “Yeah. Makes sense.”
Kirishima lowered his hand to his chest, with a smile on his face. “That’s Manley, bro.”
Katsuki waved him off, suddenly more interested in the soda can in his hand than the way everyone was staring. “Don’t make it weird.”
“Oh, we would never,” Mina said, sounding like she was absolutely going to make it weird.
Kirishima groaned, but the grin tugging at his mouth ruined the effect. He still looked embarrassed from the “boyfriend material” card, cheeks red and shoulders slightly hunched, but there was no hiding how pleased he was. Katsuki noticed, because of course he noticed, but his brain was too fuzzy to decide whether he wanted to make fun of him or stare at him longer. He settled for squinting at him over the rim of his soda like that was somehow less suspicious.
“Your turn, Kiri,” Hagakure said, sounding way too pleased with herself.
Kirishima reached for the deck with the cautious energy of someone approaching a wild animal. “Alright, alright. Let’s see if this one is less dangerous.”
“Nothing about this deck is safe,” Jirou said.
“That’s the point,” Mina replied brightly.
Kirishima drew a card and looked down at it. Almost immediately, his mouth twitched. He looked like he was trying not to laugh, which instantly made everyone lean in closer.
Kirishima looked around the circle like he was weighing his options, but his eyes kept flicking back to Katsuki. That alone was enough to make Katsuki sit up a little straighter, mostly because he could feel trouble coming and his survival instincts were apparently only half functioning. Kirishima’s grin widened, and then he passed the card directly to him.
Katsuki snatched it from his hand. “It better not be stupid.”
“Too late,” Sero said.
Katsuki ignored him and squinted down at the card.
Most likely to pretend they hate attention while clearly loving it.
Katsuki stared at it.
Then he slowly lifted his head and glared at Kirishima.
Kirishima immediately lost the fight and started laughing. “I’m sorry, bro, but it’s true.”
“It is absolutely true,” Mina said, pointing at Katsuki like she had been waiting years for this exact moment. “You act like attention burns you, but the second people stop looking at you, you get mad.”
“I do not.”
“You crawled off the couch to join the game because you felt left out,” Jirou said.
Katsuki whipped his head toward her, then immediately regretted it when the room did a lazy little tilt. He froze, blinked hard, and pointed at her with as much dignity as he could recover. “That’s unrelated.”
“It feels very related,” Todoroki said.
“You stay out of this, pretty boy.”
Todoroki blinked. “Alright.”
Mina slapped both hands over her mouth. Denki made a noise like a deflating balloon, and Sero leaned back so hard he almost tipped over.
“Did you just call Todoroki pretty boy?” Hagakure asked, delighted.
Katsuki frowned. “Did I?”
“You did,” Kirishima said, grinning so wide it had to hurt.
Katsuki considered this, then shrugged and set the card in front of himself. “Whatever. He knows.”
Todoroki nodded seriously. “I am aware.”
That broke them. Denki folded forward onto the table, wheezing. Mina was laughing into Jirou’s shoulder while Jirou tried and failed to look annoyed. Sero kept repeating, “He knows,” under his breath like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. Katsuki did not understand why everyone was making such a big deal out of it. Todoroki had a face. People had eyes. This was not complicated.
Kirishima wiped at his own eyes, still laughing. “Okay, Bakugou, your turn.”
“My turn,” Katsuki repeated, mostly to himself, and grabbed the next card from the pile. He held it close to his face, squinting until the words stopped swimming.
Who would you want a lap dance from?
Katsuki’s gaze landed on Mina.
He slapped the card down in front of her.
Mina froze. Then, very slowly, she picked it up and read it. Her eyes went huge. Her mouth dropped open. Then she gasped so loudly that half the people behind the couch turned around.
“BAKUGOU.”
“What?” Katsuki said, smirking.
Mina clutched the card to her chest like she had just been crowned queen of the universe. “I am honored. I am flattered. I am also going to be completely unbearable about this.”
“You already were,” Jirou said.
Denki nearly climbed across the table. “What does it say? Mina, what does it say?”
Mina looked at Katsuki, practically vibrating. “Can I tell them?”
Katsuki shrugged. “S’your card now.”
That was all the permission she needed. Mina slapped the card faceup onto the table with the dramatic flair of a magician revealing her final trick. Everyone leaned in at once, and for one perfect second, there was silence.
Denki made a noise so high-pitched it probably gave Kouda’s rabbit anxiety from three floors away. Hagakure shrieked with laughter, her sleeves flailing as she smacked Mina’s arm. Sero choked on absolutely nothing and had to grab the edge of the table to steady himself. Jirou covered her face with one hand and muttered, “I regret learning how to read,” while Momo made a scandalized little sound and immediately pretended she was not laughing.
Kirishima stared at the card, then at Mina, then at Katsuki. His entire face was red.
Katsuki pointed at Mina with full confidence. “She dances. That’s the whole point.”
“That is technically sound reasoning,” Todoroki said.
“Thank you, Todoroki,” Mina said, sitting taller. “At least someone here respects my artistry.”
Denki sniffed. “You all fear my charisma.”
Katsuki looked him up and down, unimpressed. “You’d shock somebody and apologize mid-dance.”
“That is a valid concern,” Momo said, trying very hard to sound serious and failing.
“It happened one time!” Denki protested.
“During the school festival,” Jirou said.
“And training camp,” Sero added.
“And karaoke night,” Kirishima said.
Denki paused, then slowly lowered his hand. “Okay, but to be fair, all of those were emotionally charged performances.”
Mina tossed her hair over her shoulder, smug beyond belief. “Face it, Kaminari. Some of us are just born with stage presence.”
Katsuki nodded seriously. “Alien queen’s got rhythm.”
Mina’s hands flew to her mouth. “Did you just call me queen?”
Katsuki stared at her for a second, then scowled like his own mouth had betrayed him. “Don’t get used to it.”
Too late. Mina was already looking around the table like she had just won a national award. “Everyone heard that, right?”
“We all heard it,” Sero said.
“Witnessed and emotionally documented,” Hagakure added.
“Not documented,” Jirou snapped, pointing at Denki before he could even reach for his phone.
Denki slowly lowered his hand. “You don’t know me.”
“I know exactly you.”
Katsuki snorted and reached for not-his soda again, feeling weirdly pleased with himself. The game was stupid, but it was stupid in a good way. Everyone kept yelling, nobody expected him to stand up, and apparently all he had to do was answer honestly to make the entire table lose their minds. Easy. Maybe parties were not completely useless.
Mina tucked the lap dance card into her pile with visible pride. “I’m keeping this forever.”
“You are not keeping the game card forever,” Jirou said.
“I am if Bakugou signs it.”
“I’m not signing shit,” Katsuki said.
Mina leaned toward him, grinning. “What if I ask nicely?”
Katsuki looked at her, considering it with far more seriousness than the question deserved. “Ask tomorrow.”
The table broke again. Kirishima hid his face in both hands, shoulders shaking with laughter, and Katsuki glanced over just in time to catch him peeking between his fingers. For some reason, that made Katsuki smirk wider.
Denki pointed between them with narrowed eyes. “Wait a second. Why did Hanta get bar rizz and Mina got lap dance? What kind of scoring system are you using, Bakugou?”
Katsuki took a slow sip of soda, then lowered the can and said, “A good one.”
Eventually, the game stopped being a game.
No one officially called it quits. The cards were still scattered across the coffee table, mixed with half-empty soda cans, snack wrappers, and one of Kaminari’s socks that no one was willing to touch. People just slowly forgot to take turns. Mina got distracted halfway through arguing that she absolutely deserved a card, Denki got distracted defending his reasoning for choosing someone and Sero got pulled into a debate with Jirou over whether having “model legs” counted as a compliment or a curse. By the time Todoroki drew a card, stared at it for a full ten seconds, and then silently set it back on the pile without comment, the entire structure of the game had collapsed.
Katsuki did not care. He had judged several people, caused a small social explosion, and watched Kaminari nearly die from jealousy twice. As far as he was concerned, he had won.
The floor, however, was becoming a problem. At some point, sitting cross-legged had turned into sitting with one leg stretched out and the other folded weirdly under him, and now his knee was beginning to complain. His back was stiff, his hip hurt, and the carpet felt like it had personally decided to be scratchy as hell just to annoy him. Katsuki shifted once, then twice, then gave up on pretending the floor was acceptable.
Without announcing his decision, he planted both hands on the edge of the couch and pulled himself up. It took more effort than it should have. His arms felt mostly functional again, but his balance was still suspicious, so he moved with careful, grumpy determination. Mina glanced over like she might offer help, but one look at his face made her wisely pretend she had seen nothing. Katsuki managed to drag himself back onto the couch with only a minor wobble, then leaned against the back cushions with a long, irritated sigh.
The common room had mellowed into something less like a party and more like the aftermath of one. People were still laughing, but the music had been turned down. A few of the Class B extras had disappeared, probably back to their own dorm before Aizawa decided to materialize from the shadows and ruin everyone’s lives. Kirishima was sitting on the floor near the coffee table, talking animatedly with Sato about training routines. Jirou had stolen Mina’s phone and was scrolling through the playlist with the ruthless focus of someone who refused to hear one more remix. Kaminari was sprawled sideways on the rug, still talking even though no one was listening.
Katsuki let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling. The cheap lights along the wall made everything glow at the edges, soft and stupid and weirdly pleasant. He was considering closing his eyes again when something nudged his side.
He turned his head slowly, already preparing a glare, and found Izuku sitting beside him.
Of course.
Deku was perched on the couch like he had been there the whole time, which he probably had, because he had always been freakishly quiet when he wanted to be. His curls were messier than usual, his cheeks a little pink from the warmth of the room, and he was holding out an open bag of chips like some kind of peace offering.
Katsuki stared at the bag.
Suddenly, violently, he realized he was starving.
He snatched the chips out of Izuku’s hand so fast the bag crinkled loudly enough to make Sero glance over. Izuku blinked, then smiled like this was somehow the best possible outcome instead of proof that Katsuki had been moments away from gnawing through the couch. Katsuki ignored him and shoved a handful of chips into his mouth.
Holy shit.
They were incredible.
They were just chips. He knew they were just chips. He had eaten this exact brand before and judged it mediocre at best. But right now they were salty, crunchy, perfect little miracles, and Katsuki felt like he had discovered food for the first time. He ate another handful, then another, barely pausing to breathe. Within ten minutes, he had probably demolished half the bag by himself.
“Thanks,” he threw out eventually, because he had manners when he felt like it and also because Izuku had provided him with emergency rations.
When Katsuki looked over, Izuku was smiling at him. Not laughing. Not teasing. Just smiling, soft and happy, like seeing Katsuki inhale an alarming amount of chips on a couch at midnight was doing something good for him.
“You’re welcome, Kacchan.”
Katsuki glared at him immediately.
Izuku’s smile only got brighter.
Absolutely unbearable.
Katsuki stuffed another handful of chips into his mouth before he could say something that would come out wrong, or too honest, or worse, nice. Across the room, Shinsou’s voice drifted from somewhere low to the ground.
“Looks like the munchies hit.”
Katsuki’s eyes slid toward him. Shinsou was sunken so far into a bean bag that only his head, one arm, and a socked foot were visible. He looked like the furniture had swallowed him and he had accepted his fate. Usually, Katsuki would have had at least five insults ready to go. Right now, he considered the effort, decided against it, and went back to eating chips.
“Wow,” Shinsou said. “No comeback. Historic.”
“Frame the moment,” Sero added.
Katsuki raised one hand and flipped them off without looking.
That got a few laughs, which was good enough. Eventually, once the salt started making his tongue feel like sandpaper, Katsuki handed the bag back to Izuku without a word. Izuku accepted it easily and, in what seemed to be a trade, placed a water bottle into Katsuki’s hand.
Katsuki did not flinch.
He noticed that, distantly. On any normal day, Deku handing him something while sitting that close would have made him bristle on reflex. Tonight, he just took the water, twisted off the cap, and chugged half of it in one go. It was cold and perfect and made him realize his mouth had been drier than he thought. He passed it back to Izuku afterward, and Izuku took it like this was completely normal.
Maybe it was normal now.
Maybe everything was weird.
Katsuki did not have the energy to figure it out.
He leaned back against the couch again and closed his eyes. The room had gone fuzzy around the edges, voices turning soft and distant. Someone laughed nearby. Someone else told Denki to stop using their leg as a pillow. Mina was still talking, probably with her hands, because Katsuki could hear the bracelets on her wrist clinking every time she moved. Izuku shifted beside him, close enough that Katsuki could feel the warmth of his shoulder.
He was tired. Not the heavy, cement-limbed tired from earlier, but the deep, comfortable kind that crept up slowly and made everything seem like too much work. He meant to open his eyes again. He really did. He meant to check the time, maybe threaten Kaminari one last time, maybe drag himself upstairs before someone got any more stupid ideas.
Instead, Katsuki was out like a light.
The next morning, he woke to a muffled, irritating beeping.
For several seconds, Katsuki did not know where he was, who he was, or why his skull felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and mild regret. The alarm kept going, buried somewhere close, and he made a low, furious sound as he tried to move. Something shifted beneath his feet. Something warm was pressed against his side. His neck hurt. His mouth tasted like mush.
His alarm was in his pocket.
Katsuki fumbled for his phone, blinking groggily as the world came into focus one insulting detail at a time. He was still on the couch in the common room. The cheap party lights were still up, though several had fallen halfway down the wall. There were cups on the coffee table, blankets on the floor, and at least four people asleep in positions that looked medically questionable.
His feet were propped up on Kaminari.
The blond was sprawled across the end of the couch, mouth open, one arm flung dramatically over his face like he had passed out mid-performance. Katsuki stared at him for a second, then slowly sat up to pull his phone free. As he moved, something shifted against his shoulder, and he realized Mina was asleep beside him, head tipped against the couch, pink curls everywhere. Apparently, at some point in the night, he had been leaning against her.
He groaned and turned off his alarm.
That was when he saw the notifications.
The class chat was a disaster.
Katsuki narrowed his eyes at the screen as dozens of messages loaded in. There were laughing emojis, all-caps reactions, several warnings that Kaminari had a death wish, and then the pictures. Katsuki opened the first one with growing dread.
It was him on the couch, eyes closed, half-sprawled across Uraraka while she scratched carefully through his hair. Uraraka looked delighted. Katsuki looked like a spoiled housecat.
His eye twitched.
The next picture was worse. At some point, apparently, he had fallen asleep on Deku, his head tipped against Izuku’s shoulder while Izuku sat frozen and red-faced, holding a water bottle and looking like he had just been blessed by a very angry god.
The third photo showed Katsuki leaning heavily against Hagakure, who had one invisible arm braced around him. His face was turned toward the camera with the dopiest smile he had ever seen in his life. He looked relaxed. Happy, even.
Horrifying.
Then he opened the last one.
Katsuki stared.
In the photo, he was asleep against a passed-out Mina, his head tilted toward her shoulder, his mouth open, and his thumb very clearly near his mouth in a way that made the message impossible to miss.
His gaze moved to the sender.
Kaminari.
Of course.
Below the picture, the chat had descended into chaos.
Mina: THIS IS ART
Sero: he looks so peaceful
Jirou: delete this before he wakes up
Kirishima: seriously man you’re gonna die
Uraraka: he was actually really sweet tho
Kaminari: worth it
Shinsou: funeral at noon?
Todoroki: I can bring flowers.
Katsuki lowered the phone slowly.
At his feet, Kaminari snored.
Katsuki glared at him with the full force of every ounce of dignity he had lost in the last twelve hours. Then, without a word, he planted one foot against Kaminari’s side and shoved.
Kaminari hit the floor with a startled yelp, limbs flailing as he shot awake. “I’M UP! I’M UP!”
Mina jolted awake beside Katsuki, curls flying everywhere. “Huh? What happened?”
Katsuki stood over Kaminari, phone clutched in one hand, expression dark and murderous despite the blanket slipping off his shoulders and the faint chip crumbs still on his shirt.
Kaminari blinked up at him.
Then, very slowly, he smiled.
“So,” he said, voice still rough with sleep, “did you see the thumb one?”
Katsuki’s palm crackled.
Kaminari screamed.