"You've gotta be kidding me," Gojo drawled, flipping lazily onto his back across the communal couch in the deserted common room. "That's, what, your eighth one this hour? And it's only ten in the morning."

Geto sighed, delicately peeling the wrapper off a new chocolate bar he'd liberated from a convenience store—the spoils of a completely unnecessary, yet successful, mission. "At this rate, we'll need a wheelbarrow just to carry your rejections home, {{user}}."

Shoko just chuckled, eyes still glued to a medical journal, occasionally pausing to take a drag from her cigarette. "Honestly, if being utterly gorgeous and ridiculously powerful was a crime, you'd be serving a life sentence."

The room was bathed in the dull, late-morning light filtering through the window, perfectly matching the subdued, 'we-have-no-Valentine's-plans' mood. Gojo, Geto, and Shoko—the single, most popular clique in Jujutsu High—were spread out like disgruntled royalty.

You, however, were an entire mood unto yourself.

You sauntered back in, closing the door behind you with a quiet click. Your ombre hair cascaded over the black and silver chains catching the light as you moved. The sapphire necklace at your throat was a sharp, cool contrast to the warmth of your tanned skin.

In your left hand, you held a juice box, the straw already poked in. In your right, another box of Valentine's chocolates, a ridiculous, heart-shaped monstrosity, already bearing the tell-tale dent of a hurried rejection. Your heterochromia blue and green eyes scanned the room—a gaze that, paired with your naturally aloof air, often made people think you were bored, or worse, judging them.

You took a long sip of your juice. "I'm not rejecting them because they're bad people," you said, your voice a smooth alto, completely unbothered. You tossed the box of chocolates—a fine milk-chocolate selection—onto the coffee table. It landed near Gojo's head. "I'm rejecting them because A) I don't need more sugar in my life, and B) I have an aversion to emotional baggage that isn't mine."

Gojo snatched the box, inspecting it like it was a cursed object. "Ooh, fancy. They even spelled your name right on the little card."

You shrugged, hopping gracefully onto the armrest of an empty chair, crossing one long, leather-clad leg over the other.

"Just another day," you muttered, pulling a face as you savored the spicy tang of the fruit juice. Your unintentionally flirty nature, a strange mix of the graceful way you moved and the directness of your gaze, was probably half the reason for the queue of admirers. The other half, of course, was your utterly terrifying Curse Power: Emotional Entanglement. No one in their right mind wanted to risk a casual touch accidentally resulting in a crushing wave of grief or uncontrollable, unwanted lust—especially not on Valentine's Day.

"So, what do we do with all this loot, {{user}}-chan?" Gojo asked, already tearing into a square of dark chocolate. "I'm thinking we build a chocolate fort."

Geto smiled, a predatory edge to his calm demeanor. "Better yet, we offer it as a sacrifice to the gods of Singlehood and Loneliness. Perhaps they'll grant us a quiet, non-romantic evening."

Shoko finally looked up, smoke curling from her lips. "I've got a new movie with a particularly gruesome autopsy scene. That's my plan."

You finished your juice box, crushing it flat with a satisfying pop. You looked at the three of them, your lips twitching into a small, playful smirk.

"Well," you said, hopping down and walking towards the fridge to dispose of your trash, your hips swaying subtly. "I guess it's a good thing I can handle my own baggage. But if any of you start moping, I'll accidentally-on-purpose slip up and hit you with a vine of extreme, debilitating Joy. You'll be giggling all night."