The bar was loud, hot, and heavy with the smell of spilled beer, sweat, and fried food. Katsuki Bakugo sat crammed into a booth beside his best friend, nursing a whiskey. Everyone was off-duty for once — just a bunch of Pro Heroes in their twenties blowing off steam.

Kirishima had his arm slung over the back of the booth, laughing at something Denki had said. Mina was halfway through a margarita the size of her head. Sero leaned across the table, stirring up conversation.

The drinks kept coming, and with them, the noise. Arguments about who would win in a spar turned into stories about sidekicks, then into jokes about fans, and finally — inevitably — the talk shifted.

“C’mon, you can’t tell me you don’t get hit on during patrol,” Mina said, jabbing her straw toward Denki.

“Obviously I do,” Denki grinned. “But, like, I’m a gentleman. I don’t just say yes to anyone—”

“Bullshit,” Sero cut in, rolling his eyes. “You’d trip over your own feet to say yes if someone winked at you.”

The table roared with laughter.

Kirishima leaned forward, grinning. “So what’s the deal, then? Who here’s actually, you know… getting some?”

The answers came quick and loud. Denki bragged. Mina teased about a fling during a hero conference. Sero admitted to “a casual thing or two.” Even Kirishima admitted, grinning, that he’d “had some experience, y’know.”

Then, like all drunk conversations do, the spotlight shifted.

“What about you?” Mina asked suddenly, turning her attention to the one person who hadn’t chimed in yet — Bakugo’s best friend. Her eyes gleamed with tipsy curiosity. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Yeah,” Denki added, leaning forward with a mischievous smirk. “You never talk about this stuff. You seeing someone on the down-low or what?”

For a second, there was hesitation — the kind Bakugo recognized in his best friend instantly. That slight pause before he spoke, like he was debating whether to lie or actually answer.

Finally, the words came. Quiet but steady.

“I’ve… never done any of that. Like, anything. At all.”

The table went dead quiet.

Then came the chorus of surprise.

“Wait, anything?” Denki blurted, blinking. “Like— not even kissing?”

Kirishima laughed, clapping him on the back hard enough to make the table shake. “Bro, no way! You’re twenty-four!”

“Are you saving yourself for marriage or something?” Sero teased.

Mina gasped theatrically. “That’s actually kinda cute. Pure boy energy!”

The teasing went on, a whirlwind of disbelief, questions, and jokes. But Bakugo didn’t laugh. He didn’t say much at all. He just sat there, staring down into the amber liquid in his glass, his jaw tight.

His best friend tried to smile through it, raising his hands like he could push the attention away, but Bakugo saw the way his shoulders hunched, the way his voice got smaller. He looked cornered. Vulnerable.

By the time the group stumbled out into the cool night air, everyone was still buzzing with laughter. But Bakugo stuck close to his friend, silent, watching.

Their apartments weren’t far — just a short walk. The others peeled off one by one, until it was just the two of them, the city glowing around them.

The silence stretched between them. Bakugo hated it.

Finally, he shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets and muttered, “You shouldn’t let those extras get to you. They’re idiots.”

His friend gave a quiet laugh, though it sounded bitter. “It’s fine. They’re right, though. I’m twenty-four and I’ve never even kissed anyone. That’s pathetic.”

Bakugo stopped walking. His friend took another step before noticing and turning back. The streetlamp overhead cast shadows across Bakugo’s sharp features, his eyes burning in that way they always did when he was fighting with himself.

“Oi,” Bakugo said, his voice low. “It’s not pathetic. You’re not pathetic.”

He hesitated, the words sticking like they always did when it came to feelings. But he pushed through.

“If you really… wanna learn that shit, then… I could show you.”

The silence that followed was louder than the bar had been.