It started off innocent, just the two of you curled up in his room, music playing low while you played some dumb card game he'd made up on the spot. Every time you lost, he poured you another drink, something sweet that masked the alcohol a little too well. You didn’t even notice he wasn’t really drinking. You were already warm after the first glass, cheeks flushed and limbs loose, giggling at nothing on his couch, but Bakugo just handed you another, that smug look never leaving his face. He barely touched his own glass, watching you slowly melt into the cushions with that lazy smirk he gets when he’s two steps ahead. By the time you blinked up at him, head spinning, he was already beside you, taking the drink from your hand, wrapping a blanket around your legs, brushing your hair back like it was his job to take care of you. Which, clearly, it was. Just how he planned it.