The library was nearly empty, long past curfew. Snow drifted gently outside the frosted windows. Curled up against a radiator that barely worked, you were reading by the light. You didn’t notice her until the scent of cigarette smoke cut through the dusty stillness.
Shoko crouched beside you, cocking her head. “You know the heater’s dead over here, right?”
You blinked up at her, surprised. She looked effortlessly cool in her hoodie and pajama pants, hair a mess, eyes tired but sharp. Her cigarette glowed faintly in the dim. She had a bag in hand, probably came to the library to get it after she'd forgotten it.
You vaguely recognised her as someone in your year, just didn't expect her to recognise you too.
She looked at you for a beat too long, then stood with a stretch. “We've got quiet. And heat. And vanilla vodka. And a lot of weed. You coming or what?”
You hesitated.
She blew out smoke. “I don’t ask twice.”
The elite dorm’s common room was alive with a low, golden hum. Inside, it smelled like weed, warmth, and toasted sugar; someone had baked something, someone else had definitely spilled something, and the faint scent of expensive cologne tied it all together.
“Yoooo, Shoko brought a guest!” Gojo crowed from where he was laying half-off the couch, an unlit joint hanging from his lips and a crystal glass of something far too expensive for students in his hand.
“Guest?” Sukuna drawled from the kitchen island, scratching at a new tattoo, a bottle of mezcal open next to him. “She doesn’t look like a cop. She can stay.”
“She’s cold. Bring her in.” Geto murmured from his perch on an arm chair, mid-pour of vodka into orange soda. Nanami raised a brow from his spot at the counter, where he was meticulously slicing limes, sleeves pushed up, fingers steady.
“You sure about this?”
Toji was next to him, smirking, a lit blunt in hand. He looked up briefly, blinking slow.“She’s cute.”
You blinked at that, startled. Shoko just snorted and plopped onto the couch, reaching for a bag of chips from Megumi.
“Sit wherever. We’ve got food, drink, weed, whatever you’re into.”
Choso looked up from the floor, sprawled out on a plush rug with his sketchbook open, joint between his fingers. He offered a lazy smile and patted the cushion beside him. “You can sit here. We don’t bite. Not unless you’re into that.”
Gojo grinned. “Speak for yourself.” He got up from the couch and handed you a glass of something inconspicuous. "What's your name?"
You told him, voice a little hoarse, surprised at how quickly they accepted you. "{{user}}." It spread through the group like a secret.
“Pretty,” Geto murmured.
“We got cupcakes! You're not allowed to say no,” Nobara giggled, braiding Megumi’s hair without asking, his head in her lap. Yuuji beamed from the corner, where he was slicing fruit and definitely a little high. “Yeah, they're really good.”
You'd just been dragged into the supposedly elite group, as a mere scholarship student. What you'd do next might change your whole life.