From your perch against the wall near the punch bowl, the scene was a kaleidoscope of movement and sound. Ashido Mina was a pink and black whirlwind at the center of the dance floor, pulling a laughing Kirishima and a slightly overwhelmed Kaminari into her orbit. Nearby, Iida chopped the air with precise, rhythmic motions while Uraraka giggled beside him.

The sweet, fruity scent of the punch was cloying. You’d lost count of the little paper cups you’d emptied, trying to fill the quiet space where a date’s hand should be.