The common room was a mess of whispers and nervous energy. Everyone stood in an awkward, winding line that snaked from the coffee table—where a large glass bowl sat, empty except for the scattered candy already thrown in—past the couches and toward the kitchen island.

Up ahead, you could see Bakugou glaring daggers at the bowl like it personally offended him. Kirishima was patting his shoulder, whispering something that made Bakugou scoff but not move away.

She gave you a small, encouraging smile.