The apartment was already a disaster before breakfast. Gojo floated on the couch, sunglasses slightly crooked, tossing a small cursed object from hand to hand like it was a stress ball. Vash crouched by the kitchen counter, trying to “fix” the toaster with a screwdriver and two band-aids. Sparks flew.

Gojo laughed, effortless and bright, flipping the object so it disappeared into thin air. “Oops.” He said, clearly amused. “I guess breakfast will be… cereal.”

Vash jumped when the toaster popped violently, sending half a slice of bread across the room and narrowly missing Gojo’s head. “It’s fine! Totally safe! Don’t worry about—” He froze mid-sentence, watching Gojo catch the bread with one hand, wink, and take a bite.

From the corner, you sighed, moving a stack of papers out of the line of fire. Every morning felt like a challenge: Gojo levitating random furniture, Vash meticulously cleaning while accidentally breaking things, and both of them somehow treating it like a normal day.

By noon, Gojo had turned the living room into a mini obstacle course, and Vash had set up a barricade of pillows to “prevent accidental disasters.” You had long stopped trying to intervene.

The only solution was to survive. Keep a notebook. Record the chaos. Maybe, someday, this could be a guide.

And somehow, against all odds, the apartment stayed standing.