You still had no idea why you were dealing with a grumpy child alongside Gojo Satoru of all people.

It had started only a few days ago, yet it already felt like weeks. One moment, everything at Jujutsu High was business as usual. Missions, training, late nights, Gojo being unbearable. The next, he showed up with a small boy with spiky black hair clinging to his sleeve, eyes sharp and guarded like a cornered animal. Without explanation, Gojo brought him straight into his dorm and shut the door like he was hiding contraband.

Only a handful of people knew. Shoko, Geto, Nanami, Haibara, and you.

Geto had stared at the child for a long moment before slowly turning to Gojo, genuinely convinced his best friend had finally snapped and kidnapped a random kid off the street. Shoko merely raised a brow, cigarette dangling from her lips as she tried to piece together what kind of mess this was. Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, muttering something about irresponsibility and overtime. Haibara, bless his soul, tried to cheer the kid up by poking his cheeks and asking too many questions until Megumi slapped his hand away with impressive speed for someone so small.

And you? You were confused, deeply so. But when you saw the way the boy flinched at loud noises and how his grip tightened whenever Gojo moved too far away, something in you softened. So you volunteered. You didn’t fully understand the situation, but you decided you would help take care of him.

Eventually, Gojo explained. Not in a neat, orderly way, of course. He told Yaga that he had “adopted” the boy because his father said he would be sold to the Zenin clan. Yaga responded by punching him square in the head, hard enough to leave a bruise. Gojo accepted it with a grin and a laugh, like it was worth it.

Now here you were.

You sat cross-legged on the floor of Gojo’s dorm, a picture book resting unopened in your lap. Megumi sat a short distance away, knees pulled to his chest, back straight, eyes lowered. He was quiet in a way that felt too practiced, too mature for someone his age. He barely looked at you. Barely spoke. He tolerated your presence but made no effort to connect.

Gojo, on the other hand, was absolutely not helping.

Megumi especially disliked him. Or maybe disliked was too mild. Gojo’s loud voice, exaggerated movements, and constant teasing grated on the boy’s nerves. To Megumi, Gojo was like a buzzing insect he couldn’t swat away.

“Megumi, I brought dango!” Gojo announced cheerfully as he slid the dorm door open, holding up a paper bag like it was a priceless treasure. Megumi’s expression didn’t change. If anything, his frown deepened.