Chapter Text
Izuku’s head swivels, “Where’s Kacchan? I didn’t see him come in.”
“Right here, nerd.”
Sylvie turns her head. Bakugo’s got his hands stuffed into the back pockets of his jeans, one leg crossing over the other as he leans against the kitchen threshold. Izuku beams.
“Kacchan, you made it!”
Bakugo huffs and rolls his eyes. It’s almost playful. “No shit. Said I would, didn’t I?” His eyes flick to Sylvie, and any semblance of familiarity bleeds out of his expression. He juts his chin at her.
Oh. Acknowledgement. Sylvie dips her chin back at him, and then the moment’s over.
He pushes himself off the wall and tousles a rough hand in Izuku’s hair. Sylvie feels a bit out of place, watching Izuku wriggle and laugh under the attention. They wrestle with each other for a moment - Izuku giggling out his half-hearted protests while Bakugo noogies the top of his head - before Bakugo ducks off into the fray.
Izuku chuckles and fixes his hair, watching his back with a fond look. “Kacchan’s in a good mood tonight.”
“Mm,” Sylvie hums noncommittally against the lip of her cup, because really, she wouldn’t know. She hasn’t learned Bakugo’s language the way everyone else has, especially Izuku. To Sylvie, Bakugo has one default facial expression, and it’s perpetual disinterest. She’s seen him half-smile on maybe three separate occasions, and that’s it.
Seeming to sense Sylvie’s skepticism, Izuku gives an awkward laugh, “He’s not as anti-social as he seems, really. It just takes him some time to warm up to new people.”
Yeah, that’s what everyone keeps telling her. “I had a cat like that once.”
It wasn’t a joke, but Izuku giggles like it was. “I, um, wouldn’t tell him that. If I were you.”
Sylvie shrugs.
Mina’s voice rises above the chatter. “Ooo-kay! Who’s up for ‘Never Have I Ever’?”
Kaminari flops back against the couch, “I thought we voted on ‘Spin the Bottle’!”
“Later,” Mina promises with a half-hearted pat on his head, “No one’s drunk enough for that. Anywho! Any takers?” She holds her hands out and spins around expectantly.
A few scattered cheers go up around the room. Sylvie downs the rest of her drink in three gulps and pointedly ignores the look on Izuku’s face as she turns towards the kitchen for a refill. She predicts she’ll need it.
When she returns, there’s a circle of twelve forming on the floor in front of the couch. The coffee table’s been pushed against the TV stand, and there’s an open space waiting for her between Izuku and Ochaco. She settles in and awkwardly returns Ochaco’s smile.
Katsuki drops into the circle with a scowl, landing heavily between Kirishima and Sero. His shoulders hunch forward slightly as he leans his elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced.
Mina claps her hands together. "Alright, rules!" She points around the circle. "If you've done it, drink! That’s it!”
“Why do I get the feeling that’s not it?” Kaminari mutters under his breath, grinning when Mina flicks his shoulder.
“Okay, fine.” She raises one finger. "If you refuse to elaborate when asked, you must take two more drinks. How’s that?”
Good lord. Maybe she shouldn’t have finished off her last drink.
Kirishima eagerly raises his cup, his grin a little lopsided from either excitement or the two beers he’s already put away. “Alright, hit us with the first one, Mina!”
Mina’s grin turns sharp, mischief sparking in her golden eyes as she leans forward. “Okay… never have I ever… skipped class!”
A groan ripples through the circle.
“Boo, weak start!” Kaminari complains, even as he takes a sip.
To no one’s surprise, Bakugo doesn’t drink - because of course he hasn’t. Sylvie watches as Kirishima nudges him with an elbow. “Dude, really? Not even once?”
Bakugo sneers. “Why the hell would I?”
Sylvie lifts her own cup to her lips - she’s skipped plenty of times, though never at UA - but she notices Ochaco watching her with a flicker of surprise. Maybe she pegged Sylvie as the rule-following type.
Izuku takes a reluctant sip along with most of the group, his cheeks already tinged pink from earlier drinks. He catches Sylvie’s glance and shrugs, grinning sheepishly.
Mina wags a teasing finger at him. “Midoriya! I’m shocked. What’d you ditch for? A villain attack? Secret training?”
Izuku winces. “Uh, actually—I slept through my alarm.”
Kaminari cackles. “Ah, the Symbol of Hope, bested by... a snooze button!”
Bakugo scoffs. “Deku’s always been shit at mornings.” His tone is gruff, but there’s no real bite in it; if anything, it borders on fond. Sylvie swallows another mouthful of her drink and wonders if she’s imagining it.
The game continues, each question progressively more personal:
“Never have I ever had a crush on a classmate!”
Damn near everyone drinks for that one - aside from Sylvie, Bakugo, and Tsuyu.
Everyone’s eyes land on Todoroki.
“No way.”
“Who? Ohmigod, whooo?”
“Shoto!”
Todoroki’s expression remains entirely deadpan as he lowers his cup. "I’m not elaborating."
Chaos erupts.
Kaminari launches halfway across the circle, grabbing at Todoroki’s shoulders. “No way—no way you just drop that and go radio silent! Who? When? Are they here right now?”
Mina’s hands fly to her mouth, eyes darting around the circle like she’s mentally eliminating suspects. Kirishima just laughs, shaking his head. “That’s two more drinks, man.”
Todoroki shrugs obligingly and downs the penalty with the same serene detachment.
Sylvie leans back slightly, watching the spectacle with quiet amusement. Izuku looks like he’s actively reprogramming his brain to compute this new information, mouth moving soundlessly before he finally manages, “Todoroki... you... like someone?”
Bakugo rolls his eyes so hard it looks painful. “Yeah, yeah, fuckin’ riveting. Can we move on?”
Izuku blinks. “Right. Um… Never have I ever... kissed someone?” he suggests sheepishly.
Kirishima whoops and takes a dramatic swig, tossing a kiss at Mina. She squeals and drinks along, waggling her fingers over Bakugo’s lap at her boyfriend. Kaminari follows suit with an exaggerated wink at Jirou, who flips him off but drinks anyway.
Sylvie keeps her movements casual, bringing her cup up in a quick, unremarkable sip. But when she lowers it, Bakugo's gaze locks onto her, his eyes narrowing like he's caught her in some transgression. There's a beat where his expression does something weird, halfway between surprise and—
Wait.
He didn't drink.
The realization hits her the same moment it dawns on the rest of the group, Kaminari nearly choking on his beer as he points. “Bro. Bro! Are you for real?”
Even the brief flicker of surprise in Todoroki's otherwise neutral expression is damning.
Bakugo's jaw clenches, glare sharpening to a lethal edge as he surveys the reactions around him like he's calculating the fastest route to murder everyone in the room simultaneously. "The fuck is everyone's problem?"
The group promptly picks up their jaws, collectively shrugging and murmuring to avoid an outburst.
“It’s okay.” Tsuyu says, “Neither have I, kero.”
Bakugo's expression goes downright dangerous. "Don't pity me, Frog Face."
Sylvie takes another drink, mostly to avoid staring. She’s never considered Bakugo that much of a mystery before. He’s abrasive, guarded, not the easiest to get a read on. But it sort of surprises her, considering. He’s not unattractive by any means, when he’s not scowling.
“Never have I ever had sex,” Todoroki announces.
Sero snorts into his drink.
“Oh my god,” Mina wheezes, slapping a hand against her knee. Laughter erupts from every direction as Todoroki blinks.
“What? Did I say something wrong?”
“Not at all, brother,” Kaminari throws up devil horns and knocks back his drink. Jiro, Kirishima, Mina, and Sero follow.
The room erupts into hoots and hollers at the sight of each drink taken, Kirishima nearly doubling over with laughter. Those who didn’t drink to kissing abstain, of course.
Sylvie sighs through her nose and takes a drink. She fails to dampen her grin as the group coos and squeals at her. She’s starting to feel the alcohol a little; weighing down her limbs and eyelids, and warming the back of her neck.
Sero snaps his fingers and points at Sylvie, making her straighten up against the foot of the couch. “Your turn, new girl.”
“Shit. Uhh…” She rubs her eyes, considering. “Never have I ever…used my quirk during sex.”
Izuku and Ochaco gape at her. Sylvie barely stops herself from snorting.
"My god," Sero wheezes before drinking. Kaminari and Kirishima share a look before clapping their hands together and taking their respective drinks.
Todoroki tilts his head. "That’s... something people do?"
The room erupts into laughter at Todoroki’s blatant bewilderment. Sylvie watches it all unfold with a satisfied hum, a buoyant feeling growing in her chest. She’s having a good time, she realizes suddenly. These are alright people. She may be a little drunk.
The game continues with increasing raunchiness - thanks mostly to Mina, who seems determined to test just how far she can push the group before someone flat-out refuses to answer. By some point, even the more reserved members of the circle have loosened up enough to laugh along. They manage to get Bakugo enough times that he stops scowling at the ground every round.
Sylvie loses track of who’s asked what when, but she keeps drinking, absorbing the rhythm of it all. It’s easy to forget, here, that they’ve all faced things most people their age couldn’t fathom.
Kirishima’s in the middle of recounting a story with many odd tangents when the bottle shifts unexpectedly in Sylvie’s grip, sending a sharp dribble of sake down her wrist. She curses under her breath, swiping at the sticky mess with the back of her hand.
She doesn’t notice Bakugo standing up until the shadow falls over her. He nudges her knee with the toe of his sneaker, jerking his head toward the kitchen. “Come ‘ere.”
It takes her a second to realize he’s talking to her.
Sylvie blinks. The noise of the room muffles a little, as if someone’s turned the volume down. She doesn’t move right away, because between her lazy buzz and Bakugo’s brow climbing his forehead, her brain’s functioning on a delay.
Bakugo’s nostrils flare. “You gonna sit there like a dumbass or are you gonna follow me?”
She exhales through her nose and pushes herself up unsteadily. She’s definitely had more to drink than she thought. She swipes her cup off the floor mostly on reflex, her balance hovering somewhere between fine and whoops as she trails after him.
The kitchen is quieter, the din of the living room dulled behind them. Bakugo grabs a rag from the counter and shoves it at her. “Clean yourself up.”
Sylvie catches it a second too late, the corner slipping from her fingers before she can fully grip it. She raises an eyebrow. “Thanks,” she says, not entirely sure why she’s thanking him for essentially being scolded.
“Fucking sloppy.” He mutters, head shaking.
Sylvie presses the rag to her arm, watching the faint pink stain spread against the fabric. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the way he’s staring at her like she’s genuinely incompetent, but she can’t help herself.
“Are you gay?” she asks plainly.
Bakugo's entire posture locks up, his shoulders stiffening like he's braced for impact. The silence that follows is thick enough to smother them both. His face gives nothing away; but the sharp, dangerous glint in his eyes tells Sylvie she might have just crossed a line.
"What kind of stupid fucking question is that?" His voice is low, deliberate—the kind of tone that should scare her by how controlled it is.
Sylvie shrugs, tossing the rag onto the counter. "Well, you don’t date, don’t kiss, barely acknowledge people exist unless they’re actively useful to you." She tilts her head, studying the minute twitch in his jaw. "Seems like a somewhat reasonable conclusion to jump to."
Bakugo steps forward, just enough to loom over her, and Sylvie has to consciously suppress the instinct to back up. "Jesus fucking—" He sighs deeply through his nose. His hand flexes at his side, fingers curling like he's fighting the urge to strangle either her or the universe at large. Then, with deliberate steadiness forced into his movements, he yanks open the fridge and grabs a water bottle.
"You don’t know shit about me," he says flatly, unscrewing the cap with a flick.
Sylvie exhales through her nose, her alcohol-slow pulse thrumming just a little too fast under her skin. She watches him take a long pull of water, the tense line of his throat bobbing before he finally lowers the bottle and meets her gaze again.
"You don’t have to tell me shit, I was just…I dunno, following up on a hunch." She shrugs awkwardly, realizing she’s most going to overshare again, and with probably the worst candidate she’s had to date. “I’m queer, so.”
Bakugo's grip tightens around the water bottle, plastic crunching under his fingers. His expression barely changes, but there's something in the way his eyes narrow—less anger now, more something unreadable.
"Cute theory," he mutters, tipping his head back to take another swig. Water beads at the corner of his mouth when he lowers it again. He swipes it away with the back of his hand. "Still ain’t any of your damn business."
The answer is clipped, matter-of-fact. No defensiveness, just irritation at being asked at all.
Sylvie exhales, rubbing at the lingering stickiness on her wrist. "Alllright. Word.”
Bakugo lets out a rough exhale that might have been a laugh if it wasn’t so full of annoyance. He leans back against the counter, arms crossed. “You always this blunt, or is that the booze talking?”
She mirrors his posture, shoulder propped against the fridge. “Little of both.”
His stare lingers a second too long—not quite a glare, more like he’s trying to figure her out. Normally, that kind of scrutiny would make her itchy, but the alcohol’s smoothed the edges off everything, even Bakugo’s prickliness.
Jirou’s voice cuts through from the living room, sharp with exasperation over what sounds like Kaminari attempting (and failing) to harmonize with the radio. Bakugo’s eyes flick toward the noise, but his attention snaps back when Sylvie clears her throat.
“What?”
She rolls her empty cup between her palms. “So if it’s not that…you just don’t date?”
His jaw clicks. “Christ. You ever take a hint?”
“Not really.”
He stares at her. She stares back.
Then, with the air of someone admitting to a war crime: “Haven’t met anyone worth the hassle.”
Sylvie barks a laugh before she can stop herself. “That tracks.”
She expects another snap, but Bakugo just scowls toward the ceiling. “People just don’t—ugh. Whatever.” He shoves off the counter, effectively declaring the conversation dead as he tosses his empty bottle in the recycling with a clatter.
Sylvie watches him pause by the doorway, tension coiled in the line of his spine. There’s a beat before he tilts his head just enough to level her with one last look.
“You better not tell a fucking soul about this.”
Sylvie mimes the clasp of a zipper over her mouth and tosses the invisible key.
Then he’s gone, footsteps heavy against the hardwood as he stalks back toward the noise.
Sylvie exhales, pressing cold fingers to her temples where the buzz has started tipping into a faint ache. She should probably slow down.
The party hums on without her. Mina’s planted herself in the center of the circle now, demonstrating what might be an impromptu dance move or an exorcism - hard to tell. Kirishima applauds regardless, cheeks flushed. Bakugo’s rejoined the group, slouched next to Sero with the same bored expression he left with.
But when Sylvie slides back into her spot beside Ochaco, she catches him shooting her a quick, sidelong glance. His gaze flicks away just as fast; but the fact that it happened at all sits strangely in her chest.
The feeling follows her into bed that night, and wakes up with her the next morning.