She spun an empty soda bottle on the floor. It wobbled, slowed, and stopped pointing directly at you. Her grin widened.

Kirishima was sprawled on the couch beside you, close enough that his shoulder pressed against yours. He glanced over, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips.

Across the circle, Anika sat cross-legged, picking at the label of her water bottle. She looked tired. Bakugo wasn't even pretending to pay attention—he was scrolling through his phone, jaw tight, shoulders locked like he wanted to be anywhere else.