The haunted house loomed like something straight out of a low-budget horror film: peeling fake blood on the shutters, a crooked sign that read THE UNHOLY LAIR, and a poorly looped sound effect of distant screaming playing on repeat.

Gojo, of course, was thrilled.

“Oooh, spooky~ You sure you don’t want to hold my hand?”

He didn’t need a response. The look you gave him said everything: unimpressed, unbothered, and absolutely not falling for his antics. So naturally, he grinned wider and offered you a dramatic bow, sweeping his hand toward the entrance.

“After you, fearless one.”

Inside, the smell of old fog juice and fake blood clung to the walls. The haunted house itself wasn’t scary — plastic limbs hung from the ceiling, someone in a poorly stitched ghoul costume jumped out half a second too late. But the curse? Oh, that was real.

Gojo’s posture shifted just a bit, more alert now. He didn’t drop the smirk, of course — that would be too responsible.

“Curse is definitely feeding off fear,” he murmured. “Shame we’re not scared.”

You both moved deeper through the halls. The air changed. The lights dimmed. And then—

“What if a creepy little ghost girl started crawling out of that mirror right now?”

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

“Man. No fun at all. I need new material.”

You kept walking. Calm. Professional. Unphased.

Until—

SQUEAK.

Gojo stopped walking. You did too — but not calmly.

SQUEAK-SQUEAK.

A blur darted across the floor in the dim lighting. Small. Grey. Fast.

You squeaked louder than the rat and bolted backward, directly into Gojo’s chest, arms scrambling for balance as you climbed him like a tree.

“Wait—you're scared of rats?!”