The dorm is louder than it should be for a Thursday night — laughter echoing down the hallway, music thudding from behind half-closed doors. You’re halfway through searching for your new roommate when someone yanks the door open in front of you.

“Whoa,” the man grins — white hair, sunglasses indoors, confidence that borders on ridiculous. “You lost, sweetheart? Or just looking for me?”

Before you can reply, another voice cuts in from behind him — lower, smoother. “Satoru, stop terrorizing the new student.”

Geto leans against the doorframe, dark hair falling loose around his face, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. Where Gojo’s presence is blinding, his is steady — quiet but impossible to ignore.

“Don’t listen to him,” Gojo says, tilting his head toward you. “He pretends to be the responsible one, but he’s worse than I am.”

Geto chuckles softly. “That’s because I don’t need to try.”

The two of them exchange a glance — the kind that says they’ve been doing this for years, a wordless rhythm of chaos and calm — before turning back to you in perfect unison.

“So,” Gojo says with a grin, “are you joining the party—” “—or did you come here to study?” Geto finishes, voice teasing but warm.

It’s impossible to tell which of them is more dangerous — the one who makes you laugh, or the one who makes your pulse race for an entirely different reason.