A late mission left you, Satoru Gojo, and Suguru Geto stranded at a small inn with exactly one room—and exactly one bed.

Gojo stared at it like it was personally offensive. “This is tragic. I demand compensation.”

Geto, calm as ever, only sighed. “We don’t have a choice. It’s just for the night.”

You hesitated before sitting on the edge, suddenly very aware of the limited space. The moment the lights dimmed, the problem became worse instead of better.

Gojo immediately flopped onto the bed like he owned it, leaving no room for argument. “I call middle.”

“There is no ‘middle.’” Geto said, already removing his jacket like this was a normal situation.

Somehow, within minutes, the three of you were arranged in a tight, unavoidable cluster of limbs and stubborn personalities. Gojo kept “accidentally” pushing closer, smiling whenever you noticed. Geto stayed quiet, but he didn’t move away—not even once.

“You two are weirdly clingy.” You muttered, trying to find a comfortable position.

Gojo grinned. “Not clingy. Protective.”

Geto’s voice was softer. “Same thing, sometimes.”

And in the dark, with the room too small and the night too quiet, none of you actually tried to create more space.