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The new year began unkindly and with a hard pressure in Kurogiri’s head as if the fog which concealed his body had found a way to ooze under his cranium and invade the space within. It took him only a second more to place the sensation, colloquially known as a hangover.
Things got worse before they got better.
The bedraggled bartender realized that he could not remember going to bed. In fact, he could not remember much beyond the copious consumption of alcohol which was very much unlike him. It had been the kids. The kids jeered and laughed and tested because it had been new years eve. The bar had been adorned with a jolly atmosphere, still red and green and warm yellow string lights from the passing holidays. The League of Villains were happy to spend the moment mixing incompatible liquors into eggnog and dunking homemade gingerbread cookies into mulled wine, taking turns heckling the bamboozled bartender.
They’d never seen him take the edge off before, so they coaxed and prodded. Well, as it turned out his rather unique biology was not meant for that kind of thing, and this incident would mark the first and last time he ever let a group of crass twenty-somethings talk him into a session of binge drinking.
It was horrible. Along with the headache, the tips of his fingers and toes felt cold. In fact, he’d never been more aware of his extremities in his existence thus far. Also, for some reason his back was sore. For a moment Kurogiri was physically incapable of opening his eyes. He dreaded that conversation with the Doctor if he were actually unable to pry them open, having to explain a momentary lapse of character that had led to such consequences.
After counting backward from ten Kurogiri took a deep breath and willed his eyes to open.
They did and he realized the ceiling which he stared at was unfamiliar. This was not his room. This was not his bed or his bedsheets. The very air smelled different like.. Sweet candles meant to overpower the fainter trace of cigarette smoke lingering in the air.
The unfamiliar sheets were pulled down around his waist and Kurogiri realized that his chest was bare, along with his legs, in fact, he was missing a vast majority of his clothes besides a pair of pinstriped undershorts as well as the socks from the night before when he typically slept adorned in a prim pajama set.
Most shocking of all developments had to be the warmth of a bare arm pressed against his own.
There was a man sleeping next to him. An unfamiliar man, who appeared similarly lacking in clothes above the cut of the sheet. The individual was laying on his side with his face pressed into a pillow. The hair was not any he’d seen before, wild dark brown curls which he assumed to be extra mussed by the effort of sleep in these cramped quarters.
The room had to belong to this individual in bed with him.
But who the hell was he? And what was that feeling against Kurogiri’s hip, a blunt sort of pressure digging in? Not an elbow or a knee, but–
Oh, dear. He knew what that was.
A mortified flush sank against Kurogiri as he attempted to wrap his mind around what was happening. The gravity of the situation sinking in felt a touch too close to anxiety. It was against his programming, even the mild inconveniences that piled up when Tomura Shigaraki left his dirty socks in a crease of the couch after a long night of gaming, or when Toga attempted to sneak drinks from his stock despite being underaged (he hated to think of the trouble they all got into while he was incapacitated).
The point being that he was not cut out for this sort of thing.
And the implications of the situation, from the strange bed, to the lack of clothing, to the stiffness digging to his hip– was that something had occurred between him and this stranger. Something that he was not mentally prepared to deal with, a notion that made him supremely uncomfortable, especially because he could not remember if it had actually happened or not.
Lying on his back in bed, Kurogiri released a short shaky breath.
At the same time, the lump burrowed next to him began to stir. There was a stretch at Kurogiri’s side. A pause, and then an awkward shifting of hips to alleviate that blunt pressure digging into Kurogiri’s side. It was as if the person had realized the predicament through the sleep grog and corrected their positioning accordingly.
Kurogiri blinked, he’d honestly not been expecting the level of modesty from the naked stranger spooned up against him.
“Did you sleep well?”
The voice was the first familiar thing about this predicament, and realization struck. The curly haired mystery man at his side was Mr Compress. And he was without a mask? An undeniable surge of curiosity interrupted his ruminations.
“...To be honest, I can’t remember,” Kurogiri replied tentatively, putting aside his emotions as always to engage with the individual addressing him.
More shifting, and Compress rolled over, a face became more clearly visible. A peculiar face which looked uncharacteristically groggy, with unexpectedly pointy features. Kurogiri’s mouth felt dry, he wasn’t sure how to process those shapes. He might have been the only member of the League of Villains who’d never asked the magician about what lay beneath the mask. And there was purpose to that, because the other villain was a shameless flirt, and Kurogiri would do anything in his power to enforce a professional distance, to make sure that they never ended up in a position like..
Like the one they were currently laying in.
“Not too surprising all things considered,” Compress gave a little stretch in bed, it seemed modest for the man as his joints popped, and he shuffled the sheets to pull them somewhat higher over his chest. If Kurogiri didn’t know better he’d guess that the other villain was uncomfortable for some reason.
Well at the very least misery cherished company.
“Yes I… Had quite a bit to drink,” he voiced his suspicions, still hoping for something to dispute that truth.
No such validation came as Compress released a very unrehearsed sounding giggle which cut off with a snort.
“Well it was new years eve, no one can really blame you for it after all. Especially with all that karaoke happening. Twice is a free spirit but his singing voice does leave something to be desired.”
“Karaoke…” Kurogiri vaguely remembered mention of someone powering up the system but that was about it.
“You mean you don’t remember that either?”
Kurogiri was silent as the magician shifted on to one side, propping one elbow under his head and raising an eyebrow. Kurogiri had always had the feeling that he was the sort to make that kind of expression.
“You’re telling me you don’t remember performing Mariah Carey’s ‘All I want for Christmas is You’? It was a humongous hit among the kids.”
He felt the nerves wash over him like a cold wave. No. He hadn’t– he couldn’t have, not really? He barely even knew the words to that incessant jingle. But Kurogiri was rapidly learning that with enough alcohol in his system he could be compelled to do just about anything.
Apparently sensing his anxiety, Compress chuckled yet again.
“Just kidding of course. That never happened. Once Twice and Magne got hold of the microphones there was no prying them away.”
Kurogiri wished he could breathe a sigh of relief but there was still more bothering him about the whole ordeal. Especially one grave detail, he simply had to know what had occurred between them to land them in such an intimate position.
“Wow, you genuinely blacked out, didn’t you?” Compress seemed impressed as he appraised Kurogiri, gauging his growing level of concern.
There was a pause before Kurogiri confessed, “I do not remember a thing. Why are we- Did we-”
The full calamity of the implication caught on the tip of his tongue as he could not bring himself to say it. Not in the face of his pointed rejections to the magician's many advances in the past. Only to wake up on this bed, in this state with no memory of what occurred.
“Spend the night together? Only in the literal sense. Relax.” At the apparent distrust on Kurogiri’s shadowy face, Compress continued with a mock affront in his tone, “Come now, I’m a gentleman. I would never take advantage of a friend in such a vulnerable state of mind.”
He wasn’t certain which was harder to believe, Mr Compress’ self-proclaimed title of gentleman or his use of the word friend in reference to the bartender lying in his bed. With a slow-growing relief at the notion that they had not done anything untoward the previous night, he began to wonder if perhaps he’d misjudged the other villain all along.
“Then how is it we ended up… wherever this is.”
“My room. My bed,” a cheeky grin reclaimed space upon the magician’s exposed face.
They were falling back into old routines, and Kurogiri was desperate for the comfort of familiarity.
“Well, come the stroke of midnight and I denied you a midnight kiss, despite your begging–”
“That didn’t happen,” Kurogiri interrupted.
“Oh, come now Kurogiri, don’t ruin a good story. Would you like to know what occurred or wouldn’t you?”
“I would very much like to hear the truth, yes.”
Compress chuckled before returning to his recollection.
“Come the stroke of midnight and it became clear that you were out of sorts. I graciously offered to put you to bed. You didn’t not appreciate the suggestion, and tried to put me to bed instead all the while insisting something about ‘ caretaking! ’ and ‘ duty! ’. There was a short struggle in which you pushed us both through a warp gate, and we landed here. Well, the rest was an uphill battle, but I suppose we ended up with something of a compromise.”
That was all… Possible.
“And how come we are both– disrobed?”
Compress released a hearty laugh at that, “You insisted that there was no greater insult than a wrinkle in a suit.”
“And, your mask?” Kurogiri could not resist addressing the elephant in the room.
Compress’ smirk wilted into something slightly more tempered, still curling the ends of his lips.
“Only seemed fair, all things considered. After all, now I know the color of your underwear. Very tasteful, might I add–”
“That’s enough,” Kurogiri not so politely pulled a pillow over and slapped it lightly into the magician’s leering face.
“This is the thanks I get after a night of my tender caring and support?”
The cry was dramatic and muffled from under the pillow. A short tussle commenced as Kurogiri attempted to pull himself out of bed, without revealing too much more of his peculiar body, trying to take the blankets like a sort of wrap with him. Resulting in a tug of war as Compress did not seem eager to be stripped of his blankets either.
Eventually however they ended up in a cramped kitchen, Kurogiri in his clothes from the night before, and Compress sporting a thin robe that appeared to be made out of a material meant to imitate silk, that obviously wasn’t silk.
“Thank you,” Kurogiri rumbled as a mug of steaming coffee was passed towards him.
“It’s nothing special. Just instant coffee. The brand name is a french word however, it helps paint the illusion of something exotic if you ignore the taste.”
Kurogiri got the impression that the other villain was compensating for the general shabbiness of his apartment with humor. Seeing as his expressions were perpetually shrouded in a dark fog, Kurogiri had been able to drink in the surroundings without being too obvious. Things were surprisingly neat and organized. It was a practical layout, with a few lingering Christmas decorations lining the countertops and shelves but... Clearly not the highest end.
“I meant, thank you for not taking advantage.” It meant something in the grand scheme of things. He’d been foolish enough to let his guard down and Compress had proved himself more trustworthy than Kurogiri had previously given him credit for. He felt mildly shamed for expecting the worst from him.
The magician cocked his head, the slow smile creeping back over his lips.
“Nothing to it beyond common decency,” he leaned forward casually bringing his own mug to his lips to take a sip.
“And this morning. Was that common decency poking against my hip?”
Compress choked on his coffee, hacking coughs as he lowered the quaking mug back to the safety of the counter.
“No,” he shook his head desperately. “-No that was… A new year's resolution.”
It appeared his wit had won out against the awkwardness of Kurogiri’s bluntness. The bartender blinked shimmering golden eyes. There was just staring for a moment, dark chocolate eyes daring Kurogiri to rise to the occasion. Instead, he grabbed the mug in one hand and stood.
“Best of luck to you in your initiative,” A warp gate opened and he stepped through it with a final call over his shoulder. “Happy new year, Mr Compress.”
“...Happy new year, Kurogiri.”