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“Okay, are we ready?”
“Oh god.”
“That is to say, have we imbibed the appropriate amount of tequila?”
“Oh god.”
Eijirou plops onto the bed beside Katsuki. “Mina, are you sure this is a good idea?”
“Are you kidding me? It’s one of my best ide—Denki, would you stop muttering ‘oh god’ and get your ass over here?”
Denki cringes. From the corner of his eye, he can see Mina looking at him threateningly, patting the vacant spot on the floor between her and Hitoshi. Denki ignores her and continues depositing empty beer cans into a trash bag.
Not drunk enough. Denki’s not drunk enough for this. Not yet anyway and it doesn’t seem like anyone else is even close to being hammered even though they somehow managed to burn through an entire bottle of tequila and a six-pack.
Well, sans Hitoshi. He hasn’t taken a single sip.
“Now, Denki,” Mina warns.
“I’m just making sure we don’t trash Hanta’s—” the trash bag flies out Denki’s hands. A confetti of crumbs, wrappers, and beer cans clatter to the ground before Denki realizes that it was Hanta that knocked the bag out of his grasp when the door swung open.
“I have arrived,” Hanta announces, raising two six-packs of beer.
“You couldn’t enter the room like a normal person?” Denki asks, grabbing both packs from him.
“I could go out and come back in with my pants off, if you’d like,” Hanta says and, just by his tone, Denki can tell he’s completely serious.
“For Christ’s sake, keep your clothes on,” Katsuki gripes from the bed. “And hand me a beer.”
“And hurry up,” Mina says, gesturing for them to come over. “We’re about to start a game.”
“Oh, a game!” Hanta exclaims, scampering across the room and diving into his oversized bean bag chair.
Denki follows him and places the six-packs in the middle of the room, handing one to Katsuki. No use stalling anymore. His feeble attempts were useless. He sits cross-legged between Mina and Hitoshi, downing the rest of his cocktail quicker than he means to and almost chokes.
“You okay?”
Denki turns to Hitoshi, pulling up his collar to wipe his chin with the inside of his shirt. He looks worried, Denki notices. He also looks cute when he’s worried, especially when his thin, purple brows are knitted together, but Denki wonders if that’s the alcohol talking. He’s never really thought of Hitoshi that way before despite announcing how attractive he was to the entire hero course when they met during battles.
To be fair, he finds many people attractive. Like ninety-eight percent of the hero course he finds insanely hot. But, Hitoshi is up there with smoking.
“Denki?”
He blinks. Oh, right. “I’m fine,” he says, smiling.
Hitoshi frowns and god fucking damnit why does he look even cuter now? “Are you sure? You know you don’t have to participate.”
“No, it’s not—I’m just nervous,” Denki admits.
“What are you nervous about?” Hanta interjects, opening a new bottle of tequila. Denki winces and Hanta shoots Mina a mischievous grin as he pours way more tequila than he should into a solo cup. “Damn this must be good if Denki’s nervous. Gimme the rules since I missed the beginning.”
“Alrighty, incoming third years,” Mina says, shimmying. She clears her throat. “The name of the game is called ‘Going Under’ facilitated by our very own...drumroll please...Shinsou Hitoshi!” There’s a poorly timed, dramatic pause followed by underwhelming golf claps. Denki slides Hitoshi an apologetic look.
“The rules are simple,” Mina continues. “Hitoshi will use mind control on a willing participant. Once they go under, someone can suggest something for that person to do and Hitoshi will make them do it.”
“Oh god,” Denki repeats.
“Calm your tits,” Mina snaps. She turns back to Hanta. “When Hitoshi releases his quirk, that person has to guess the thing they did via context clues.”
“Oh em gee.” Hanta’s grinning like a maniac now and for once Denki does not like it. “Are you not aware of anything when you go under?”
“Typically, no,” Hitoshi answers. “You actually won’t register anything until I release my quirk.”
“Right, so let’s say—hypothetically, while I’m under—Bakubro punches me in the gut,” Hanta says, eliciting another ‘oh god’ from Denki.
“Go on,” Katsuki says, leaning forward.
“Do I feel anything?” Hanta asks, rubbing his chin.
“I mean—um, yes,” Hitoshi says, scratching the back of his neck. “You’ll feel it eventually. Your body will register it, but you won’t be aware of it until after.”
“Sweeeeet.”
“But, I’m not going to let that happen,” Hitoshi says. Katsuki starts to complain, but Eijirou shoves a handful of chips in his mouth to shut him up. “There are conditions. I won’t let you get hurt. If you’re in danger in any way, I’ll release my quirk or lead you to safety. I also won’t let you do anything you’re not comfortable with. And there’ll be a timer. I won’t let you go under for more than five minutes.”
“It’s the reason why he’s still sober,” Mina says, elbowing Denki. “He’s our drunk sitter.”
Denki glances back at Hitoshi, who shakes his head. “She’s right, but I had no say in it.”
“So, who’s up first?” Mina asks.
“I volunteer!” Hanta says, shooting his hand up, nearly knocking the tequila bottle off the nightstand. Luckily, his quick reflexes catch it. “I volunteer as tribute.”
He leaps off the bean bag and crawls over to Hitoshi, who doesn’t seem at all fazed by his overeagerness. It’s nice, Denki thinks to himself, that he’s melded with the group as if he’s always been a part of the squad. It happened easier than Denki anticipated, around the start of their second year when he just started showing up to all their hangouts and study sessions. It was mostly because of Mina inviting him to everything, but it always ended with Hitoshi and Denki siloing off to have their own private conversations. Or partnering up in arcade games, or bowling, or laser tag. Or falling behind and walking home together.
Sometimes Denki wonders if the reason why Hitoshi sticks around is maybe because of him.
Wishful thinking.
“Anything off limits?” Hitoshi asks Hanta.
“You know me,” he says, smiling. “Nothing sexual.”
Hitoshi nods, sharing a smile of his own, and just like that, Hanta’s under. Denki almost doesn’t realize it’s happened until Katsuki throws popcorn at him and he just doesn’t move.
“Fuck,” Katsuki breathes. “Remind me to never talk to you. Ever.”
“You’re next, you know,” Hitoshi drawls.
Katsuki opens his mouth to reply, but immediately snaps it shut. The corner of Hitoshi’s lips curl up slightly and his gaze briefly drifts to Denki, who promptly turns a light shade of pink.
“What should we make him do?” Hitoshi asks.
“Make him chug an entire six pack,” Eijirou says.
“Um, no.”
“No?!”
“I’m not giving him alcohol poisoning,” Hitoshi says simply. "He can chug one can.”
“Make him shotgun it at least,” Denki suggests. Everyone looks at him in shock.
“Look who recently joined the party,” Mina says, grinning. “Welcome back, young sparkplug. We missed you.”
“Ha ha,” Denki says, giving her a well-deserved poke (laced with a tiny amount of voltage for good measure). He turns to Hitoshi. “Do you know how to shotgun?”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” he says, faking a grimace, making Denki giggle. “Anyone got a knife?”
“Here, catch,” Katsuki says, reeling his arm back.
Eijirou snatches his wrist. “Don’t throw your pocket knife.”
“Relax, Shitty Hair, I was only joking.”
“Oh god, Bakugou must be drunk off his ass, he’s cracking jokes now,” Mina says, feigning disbelief just to get on his nerves.
“Oi, y’better—”
“Clock is ticking,” Hitoshi reminds them, tapping the screen on the phone in front of him. Katsuki grunts and slides the pocket knife across the hardwood. Hanta swipes it effortlessly and, with a flick of a wrist, releases the blade. “Someone hand him a beer.”
Katsuki does the honors and hops off the bed to grab a beer from a six pack, giving it a few vigorous shakes before passing it to Hanta.
“Wow,” Denki says, trying not to laugh because it’s been way too long since he’s seen Katsuki have any fun. “You’re a dick.”
“Tape dispenser deserves it.”
“Okay, let’s see if I know how to do this,” Hitoshi says, eyes fixed on Hanta. “Denki, you watching?”
“Yep, puncture a hole near the bottom,” Denki says. He watches Hanta raise the beer can in front of him and punch a hole exactly where Denki instructed. “Oh shit, wait!”
He didn’t think this through. Beer gushes out in a fury, thanks to Lord Danger Might, spilling all over Hanta’s lap. Someone yelps, another person howls with laughter, and Denki panics.
“Drink, drink, drink!!! Wait—open the top—no, not with the knife—just open the beer can like a fucking normal person, Hitoshi! NO, DON’T TILT IT!”
Denki gives up and joins in on the laughter, nearly collapsing on top of Hitoshi. His sides are splitting. He presses his forehead against Hitoshi’s arm, temporarily burying himself in the fabric of his hoodie, trying to calm down.
“You’re terrible at this,” Denki manages to say between fits of laughter.
“Am not,” Hitoshi says, chuckling. “Your directions need to be more specific.”
“You’re blaming me?”
“Um, what the hell is happening?” Hanta asks, eyes suddenly alert. He stares at the items in his hands, then at his beer-soaked lap, and tosses Hitoshi an unimpressed look. “Really? You don’t know how to shotgun?”
More laughter ensues and Denki finds Hitoshi’s gaze drifting back to him. They lock eyes and Denki blushes so much that he can feel his ears tingling. He pulls away, wringing his hands nervously.
“That was way too easy,” Mina pouts.
“Sorry,” Hitoshi says, amused. “Maybe you all should pick something I can do.”
Mina nods. “Yeah, fair. Okay. Someone wanna go next?”
“Bakugou’s next,” Hitoshi says wryly.
“Pass,” Katsuki grumbles.
“Oh, c’mon,” Mina whines. “You know how much I love to nag you.”
Katsuki growls loudly, but relents quickly. Denki supposes that two years of Mina constantly hounding him has finally worn out his defenses. “Fuck, fine. Just get it over with.”
“Anything off limits?” Hitoshi asks, smirking.
“Fuck, I hate you all. I dunno, just don’t make me do anything criminal.” Katsuki stiffens and Eijirou sits up, prodding him with a hardened finger.
“Anyone got any ideas?” Hitoshi asks.
Everyone’s hands shoot straight up in the air. Hanta is especially enthusiastic, his arm swinging back and forth, tape out the elbows and a series of ‘ooh ooh oohs’ and everything. No one tries to outshine him—in fact, Mina and Denki both nod at Hitoshi because if Hanta is that eager then his idea must be good.
“Go ahead, Sero,” Hitoshi says.
“You know Bakubro has always given me J.T. vibes,” Hanta starts, glancing over at Eijirou who’s flushing madly.
“J.T. as in Justin Timberlake?” Denki questions incredulously because he can’t possibly mean Mr. Smooth, Prince of Pop, former *NSYNC member who brought sexy back in the mid-2000s when it had temporarily disappeared.
Hanta grins. “The one and only.”
“You’re not gonna make him sing, are you?” Eijirou mumbles, covering his face.
“I was gonna make him d-d-dance,” Hanta says, striking some sort of pose.
“Which song?” Denki asks.
“I got one,” Hitoshi says, catching everyone by surprise. He gestures to his phone. “Denks, can you pull up my Friday playlist?”
“Um...sure?” Denki says slowly, reaching for the mobile but narrowing his eyes at him suspiciously. “I suppooosseee….”
“It should be the first song.”
Denki switches the timer out for the weekend playlist and there it is, at the very top, for some bizarre reason, Can’t Stop the Feeling by Justin Timberlake from Trolls.
“I thought I knew you,” he teases.
“I suppose you just have to get to know me better,” Hitoshi says and Denki’s mouth goes dry and the butterflies in his stomach go haywire and his cheeks are burning and what the heck was that—
“Whenever you’re ready.”
Denki hits play. The soft melody carried by a piano, an alt sax, and a set of trombones fills the air, a melody that seems to play at almost every party, restaurant, and mall in all of Japan, a melody that promises to get people on their feet and in a good mood.
Then suddenly, Katsuki’s on his feet.
And, as J.T. promised, everyone in the room is in a good mood.
“I got this feeling
Inside my bones
It goes electric, wavy
When I turn it on…”
Denki’s hand flies over his mouth. Holy shit. Katsuki can actually dance?! Katsuki has rhythm?! He’s doing more than just two-stepping, there’s fucking choreography and snapping and clapping on the off beats, and Denki can’t stop smiling. Everyone is cheering and laughing and swaying in their seats, including an extremely boisterous Hanta, who’s filming on his phone.
“He’s going to murder you,” Eijirou yells over the music.
“Not if I blackmail him first,” Hanta calls back.
“Who knew Bakugou could dance?” Denki asks, totally in awe with the way he moves around the room, seamlessly working in a bunch of Hanta’s stuff in his routine.
“Technically, isn’t Hitoshi the one dancing?” Mina says, standing to dance beside Katsuki.
Wait.
WAIT. WHAT.
Oh. My. God.
“You—no way,” Denki says, attempting to pick his jaw up off the floor. He gapes at Hitoshi. “No way! You don’t dance!”
“I never said that.”
“YES YOU DID! THAT ONE TIME!”
Denki remembers. During a winter ball when Denki invited him onto the dance floor, the only time he had the courage to even ask, and Hitoshi just walked away.
Okay, so maybe he didn’t say it, but actions speak louder than words.
Hitoshi smiles. “Even if I did—which for the record, I didn’t—I would never dance in public. Ever.”
“So where did you learn these moves?!”
“Guilty!” Mina sings as she does the sprinkler, giggling when Katsuki follows her lead.
“So...is it just because you didn’t want to dance with me?” Denki asks unwittingly, his heart suddenly dropping.
Hitoshi’s eyes go wide. “What? No! It’s—I just—it wasn’t—”
“Um, guys, the music stopped,” Eijirou says in the sudden silence.
Katsuki’s blank expression immediately turns foul. He glances at the hairbrush in his right hand, the game cube controller in his left hand, and rips the lampshade off his head. He spins around to scowl at Hitoshi. “What the fuck did you make me do?”
“Guess!” Mina squeals.
Katsuki groans. “Tell me, Alien Freak.”
“Better, we’ll show you,” Hanta says, almost cackling. He hands Katsuki his phone.
“It’s not that I didn’t wanna dance with you,” Hitoshi says softly.
Denki pauses. He turns to study him while everyone else is gathered around Katsuki, reliving his Grammy-worthy spectacle. Denki feels warm and a bit like he can’t quite breathe and Hitoshi seems to have that effect on him tonight, or maybe maybe maybe it’s just the beer because he’s sure he’s never felt this way around him before.
“I was just giving you a hard time,” Denki fibs, pushing him lightly. “I know it’s because you’re shy.”
That’s true though. Isn’t it?
“Yeah,” Hitoshi breathes. “Yeah, I just—”
“DELETE,” Katsuki says, furiously jabbing Hanta’s mobile.
“I already sent it to myself,” Hanta says, shrugging. “So thank you, Bakubro. For clearing up space on my phone.”
“Soy Sauce fa—”
“Denks, you’re next!” Mina pipes in, pulling Denki off the floor and leading him to the middle of the room. Everyone else settles back into their spot and Denki recalls why he was so nervous to begin with.
He doesn’t like it, being the center of pure humiliation. He enjoys being the center of attention for other things, things he knows he’s good at, but being in the hands of four drunk people is not something he’s excited about. And being put under also makes him anxious. He experiences a version of that when his quirk maxes out and it’s not exactly his favorite state to be in.
“You don’t have to,” Hitoshi reminds him.
Denki jams his hands into his pockets and shifts his weight. “It’s okay. Let’s do it.”
“I got a good one, too,” Mina says. He ignores the evil on her face.
Hitoshi scoots forward so he’s a bit closer to Denki’s feet. He looks up. “Anything off limits?”
Denki shakes his head. “I trust you.”
He blinks and the room disappears.
When he blinks again, everyone is trying very, very hard to contain their laughter. Eijirou’s face is buried in a pillow, Katsuki is covering his mouth with both hands, Hanta is doubled over laughing so hard that no sound is coming out, and Mina’s head is in between her knees.
When he looks down, Hitoshi is a deep shade of red and averting his eyes.
“Um...what happened?” Denki asks reluctantly.
No one gives him an answer. There’s a few stifled sounds and a feeble attempt from Hanta to speak, but he only falls out of his bean bag chair, practically convulsing with laughter.
Oh, fuck. Denki takes stock of what and how he’s feeling. Normal. He feels fine. He looks at his hands. Empty. He touches his face. No ink. He checks himself, his shoes, his clothes.
He pales.
The seams of his shirt are inside out. The shirt’s tag is sticking out in front of him.
Oh, fuck.
“How far did you make me strip?” Denki asks and the room bursts into laughter, confirming his suspicions. Hitoshi is still ignoring him and his stomach twists into a hot, ugly knot.
He makes a mental note to kill Mina later.
“Don’t worry, you barely got your shirt off,” Eijirou says, wiping tears from his eyes. “Shinsou didn’t even use up the whole five minutes.”
“Hot damn, what a song you picked though, Mins,” Hanta says, gasping for air.
“Yeah, it’s one of my favorites,” Mina giggles.
“Oh god,” Denki says, aching to turn his shirt back right-side, but too mortified to take his shirt off...again. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“Probably for the best,” Hanta says, beaming.
“But if you really wanna know,” Mina purrs, “it goes a little something like: Right or wrong, don't it turn you on? Can't you see we're wastin' time? Yyyeahhh! Do you wanna touch— ”
“Oh my god,” Denki moans, shrinking into a crouch until he thinks he’s disappeared. “Stop, stop, stop.”
Everyone laughs and Denki revises his mental note to kill Mina sooner.
“Sorry.”
Denki’s ears prick up at Hitoshi’s voice. He peeks his head out from his squat, resting his chin on his knees and glancing at Hitoshi, who seems to be sinking further into his embarrassment.
Denki crawls toward him and places his hands on his friend’s shoulders. “Hey. It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
Hitoshi doesn’t respond, only hums frustratedly, eyes glued to the floor.
“Toshi, I swear.” He drops and tilts his head in order to meet Hitoshi’s gaze. He sticks his pinky out. “I promise, we’re good.”
Hitoshi lifts his head and stares at Denki’s hand for a long time, as if he’s considering the weight of each word, before raising his arm and locking their pinkies together.
Denki sighs in relief and smiles. “Besides, you can totally make it up to me.”
For some reason this makes Hitoshi even redder. He mumbles, “How?” before following his gaze.
Mina.
He presses his lips together, looks at Denki, and nods, before calling over his shoulder. “Hey Mina?”
She turns to them. “Yeah?”
Then, she freezes.