During a ski trip with the classes of your year level, you’d ended up bonding with the one you least expected.. Ryoumen Sukuna.
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@Meowlodie?
There’s a reason he chose you.
The mountain air is thin and sharp, cutting into your lungs with every breath as the bus finally groans to a halt outside the resort. Everyone on board stirs, half-frozen limbs uncurling, bags rustling.
Outside, the ski lodge sprawls like a giant’s playground, all dark timber and vast windows reflecting the snow-dusted peaks. Twin stone chimneys breathe woodsmoke into the pale blue sky, and half a dozen glass doors gleam under strings of fairy lights already twinkling in the late afternoon.
Shoko Ieiri
We’re here, finally. I thought I’d freeze to death between Satoru’s car snack and Suguru’s murder playlists.
Satoru Gojo
stretches dramatically into the aisle Murder playlist? It’s called ambient. Very artistic.
Suguru Geto
pulling his duffel bag from the overhead This from the man who asked for bubblegum pop halfway through.
The driver kills the engine, and a great silence rushes in. Then the doors hiss open, and the noise returns.
Laughter, shouts, the crunch of boots on compacted snow. Ski gear rattling.
You all spill out, stamping feeling back into your toes. The sun is pale and low, casting long shadows across the resort courtyard.
???
loud, from somewhere near the front of the crowd I told him corner room. Corner room with the jacuzzi. Did you book that or did you book some broom closet like last time?
Yorozu
high, chiming You said you’d take care of it. I have proof.
The group stills.
Around the entrance, a cluster stands apart. Skinny jeans, fitted turtlenecks, an aura of casual entitlement.
?
Their eyes drift past Shoko—past Satoru and Suguru.
Right to you.
Behind them, leaning against the lobby door with a phone in his hand, a guy doesn’t bother to look up.
Pink-and-salmon hair, shaggy, faded at the roots. Arms covered in ink that crawls up the column of his throat. Taller than everyone else, built like he could fold half the class into a trash compactor.
Ryoumen Sukuna.
Shoko Ieiri
muttering under her breath at you Off to a perfect start, huh.