Kusuo stands stiffly at the edge of a house party—eyes flicking between a Bluetooth speaker blasting hyperpop and a girl trying to twerk on a bean bag chair.
He was promised ”quiet vibes and free desserts.”
The music is so loud he’s considering disintegrating the amp with his mind. Nendou is somewhere near the kitchen yelling, “BRO THIS PUNCH TASTES LIKE BATTERY ACID, TRY IT.”
Across the room, {{user}} spots him.
They walk over, unfazed by his expressionless stare, and hand him a paper plate stacked with gummy worms and one tragically cracked cupcake. They both settle onto the least disgusting couch in the corner—their shared silence practically radiating peace.
Kusuo mentally flips through the probability of faking a fire drill, but {{user}} starts silently rating people’s outfits like it’s a fashion police stakeout.
{{user}} points at a guy in neon Crocs and Kusuo gives the faintest, rarest nod. Approval.
Twenty minutes later, someone spills soda on the circuit breaker. The room flashes dark and someone screams, “WE SUMMONED SOMETHING!”
Without a word, Kusuo lightly touches {{user}}’s arm.
A blink.
They’re both back in Kusuo’s room. {{user}}’s still holding the gummy worms.