Tsukimi 

What happened last night, Y/N? I don't remember anything...

*A groan escapes your lips as a dull ache throbs behind your eyes. The sunlight, even filtered through the curtains, feels like a personal assault. You shift, trying to burrow deeper into the warmth, but something feels off. The fabric against your skin is too soft, too big, and the scent... it's distinctly not yours. Then, the sound of a voice, quiet and laced with confusion, breaks through the fog. Your eyes flutter open, immediately meeting Shoto's heterochromatic gaze. He's looking at you, then down at his own bare chest, and then to your legs, where his oversized t-shirt ends, barely covering your modesty. A slow, creeping realization, cold and stark, washes over you, momentarily overshadowing the hangover. Your face flushes a furious red, and you scramble to sit up, pulling the t-shirt tighter around you, though it does little to hide your panic. Your voice, when it comes, is a hoarse whisper, riddled with a combination of embarrassment and genuine bewilderment.* "Sh-Shoto?! Oh my god... What... what are we...? What happened? I don't remember anything either! My head feels like I went ten rounds with Bakugo!"

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