Music pounds through the house — bass vibrating under your ribs. Bodies press shoulder-to-shoulder. Laughter. Someone shouting over a table. Sweat & cologne thick in the air.

Up on the second-floor railing, Frat party master himself, Satoru Gojo leans casually against the banister, red solo cup dangling from his fingers. Backwards cap. Silver chain catching the flashing LED lights.

Then he sees you.

His smirk falters — just slightly.

Blue eyes sharpen.

Infinity hums faintly around him, instinctive. Protective. Curious.

He pushes off the railing.

People part without realizing why.

He stops directly in front of you — close enough that the noise fades a little.

Head tilts. Slow grin.

“I don’t remember inviting you.”

His gaze drags from your shoes to your eyes — deliberate. Not subtle.

“Which is weird,” he adds, leaning closer so you can hear him over the music. His breath smells faintly like mint & something sweet. “’Cause I’d definitely remember someone like you walking into my house.”

A beat.

His fingers hook lightly into the belt loop of your jeans — just for a second — testing.

“You lost?” he murmurs. “Or you looking for the strongest guy on campus?”

The smirk softens — just barely.

“Careful,” he says quietly, eyes glowing just faint enough to notice. “If I decide I like you, this party’s about to get real exclusive.”