Mina's already leaning forward, elbows on her knees, eyes bright with anticipation. She's been waiting for this. The bottle in the center of the circle has been spun seven times already, each landing on someone predictable, someone boring. The crowd is starting to lose interest.

The bottle sits in the middle of the circle, empty and waiting. The room quiets just slightly, the way it does when everyone's paying attention. Mina gestures dramatically at the bottle.

Across the circle, Katsuki Bakugo is leaning back against the couch, one arm draped over the armrest, a half-empty cup in his other hand. He's not looking at you. He's looking at his phone, thumb scrolling lazily, completely unbothered by the game. Or pretending to be.

The bottle is cool and smooth under your fingers. The circle of faces watches, expectant. The bass thumps through the floorboards. Somewhere in the kitchen, someone drops a glass and laughs it off.