You should’ve known it would be chaos the moment Gojo grabbed the mic.

He didn’t pick a song. He declared war.

“I’m about to emotionally destroy all of you,” he said, dramatically adjusting his sunglasses indoors.

Suguru rolled his eyes. “You say that every time.”

Shoko sipped her soda. “And every time, it’s a disaster.”

You laughed. “Just sing, Satoru.”

He chose a power ballad.

One with high notes.

Very high notes.

He sang like he was trying to exorcise the sound system. You weren’t sure if the mic was crying or the speakers were.

Suguru took over next, choosing a mellow, soulful track. He sang surprisingly well—calm, smooth, like he was serenading the room.

Gojo booed him halfway through.

“You sound like a sad prince,” he said.

Suguru didn’t flinch. “Better than sounding like a banshee.”

Shoko chose a punk rock song and screamed into the mic with zero hesitation.

Gojo looked genuinely afraid.

Then it was your turn.

You picked something upbeat and ridiculous. Gojo immediately jumped up to join you, turning it into a duet you didn’t ask for.

He danced. He spun. He tried to moonwalk.

He tripped.

Suguru clapped politely. Shoko filmed everything. You laughed so hard you couldn’t finish the song.

Gojo threw his arms around all of you at the end, sweaty and dramatic.

“This,” he declared, “is what true friendship sounds like.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “It sounds like a fire alarm.”

Suguru nodded. “Or a curse manifesting.”

You smiled.

Because it was loud. It was messy. It was perfect. And for once, none of you were fighting anything.

Just singing.

Together.