The clock ticked past midnight.

Outside, the wind rustled the trees lining the old Jujutsu Tech grounds, their bare branches scratching against the windows like old secrets. The dorm was quiet, save for the low hum of the city beyond the hill, and the occasional creak of wood shifting with age.

You lay in your bed — tucked beneath too-thin sheets, one hand folded behind your head — staring at the ceiling. The pale glow of the moon spilled in through the tall window, casting soft silver across your face and the stone floor between your bed and hers.

Across the room, Shoko’s bed creaked as she shifted. You couldn't see her clearly — just the soft glow at the tip of her cigarette as she brought it to her lips.

"Mm..." she exhaled slowly.

The smoke curled upward, lit faintly by the moonlight before slipping through the cracked window, disappearing into the cold 2 a.m. air. You could smell it faintly — the cheap kind she bought from the corner store just off campus, the same place you two snuck instant noodles from on night walks.

You smiled faintly. “You’re gonna burn down the damn dorm.”

Shoko let out a quiet laugh, voice scratchy and low. “Then we’ll have a reason not to go to class.”

You chuckled under your breath, turning on your side to face her bed. You couldn’t see her clearly — just the dim red of the cigarette, and maybe the shape of her knee poking through the blanket.

"Do you ever think," you began softly, voice barely above a whisper, “we won't make it?”

Shoko didn’t answer right away. She dragged slowly, the ember pulsing in the dark.

“Yeah,” she said finally, honest. “All the time.”

There was no drama in it. No fear. Just fact. A student’s truth. A sorcerer’s future.

“But if we don’t,” she added, “I’m glad I’m doing this with you.”

That made something ache in your chest.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It never was with Shoko. You’d begged Yaga for months to let you share a dorm — said it would improve morale, said it’d make you “more disciplined,” even though you both knew it was just so you could fall asleep knowing someone else understood how heavy everything was.

Now, you were inseparable. Like two sides of the same coin — one of them smoking out the window at 2 a.m., the other listening with tired eyes and a full heart.

“They should’ve put us in separate rooms,” you murmured.

“They did,” she said dryly, cigarette crackling as she flicked ash into a stolen mug. “We just wore them down.”

You both smiled in the dark.

Outside, the wind picked up again. In the distance, the faint laugh of Gojo echoed from another building — probably sneaking snacks with Suguru again. Haibara’s window light was still on. Nanami’s, of course, was not.

And here you were. In the quiet. In the calm.

Two girls with heavy fates and heavier hearts. But tonight, just students, whispering under the moonlight, letting the future wait a little longer.