The common room was a disaster zone. Empty soda cans formed a small mountain on the coffee table, a bag of chips had been sacrificed to the carpet gods, and three hoodies lay abandoned like fallen soldiers. The lights were dimmed low, casting everything in a warm, hazy glow.

Someone's playlist hummed through the speakers — something low and bass-heavy that made the whole room feel like a secret. Everyone was scattered across the couches and floor, limbs tangled in blankets, voices overlapping in that easy, lazy way that only happens when there's no class tomorrow.

Bakugo was sprawled in the corner armchair, arms crossed, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else but not actually leaving. Midoriya sat cross-legged on the floor, notebook open, muttering to himself. Todoroki was beside him, expression unreadable, occasionally nodding along.

Then Mina leaned forward.