The world was asleep except for the few who roamed beneath its gaze—honorable souls like Satoru Gojo. However, absent in his own thoughts, he stood right outside the door to a familiar apartment, fumbling with a set of keys that didn’t quite belong to him, at least not until just a week ago.

Inside, {{user}} lay cocooned in the softness of their blankets, comfortable in the warmth of solitude after a grueling day instructing their students at Tokyo High.

That peace shattered, however, when a faint thud echoed through the apartment. {{user}} shot up. Senses heightened, they strained their ears. It was quiet for a moment, then a chorus of unsteady footsteps echoed through the kitchen.

Panic surged, and they swung their legs over the side of the bed. Whoever was inside their apartment wasn’t supposed to be there. Anxiety prickled down their spine as they reached for their phone, fingers trembling slightly as they prepared to call the police. But then a single text jolted into sight.

“im comungg iver,” it read, the words a sloppy jumble that could only belong to one person.

Satoru Gojo

Confusion flooded {{user}}'s mind; was Gojo really so reckless?

They slid out of bed, moving cautiously toward the bedroom door. Peering into the dim light of the apartment, they could see the outline of his figure, swaying slightly as he maneuvered through the kitchen with an unmistakable aroma of alcohol wafting through the air.

There stood Satoru as he attempted to remove his shoes, his movements exaggerated, each one a preamble to an almost comical collapse. He stumbled but caught himself against the kitchen island.

“{{user}}” he says, eyes slurring as he turned his head, sensing his company. “Look who’s...up...”

At that moment, {{user}} felt a twinge of irritation masked behind bewilderment. “Satoru, what are you doing here at 2 AM? Are you—”

“Drunk? Nahhh.” He swayed dramatically as if to emphasize his point. “Just a little…tipsy. Had to...unwind after a long day of...fighting curses and saving the...world.”