A cheer went up around the table. Suguru Geto lifted his own glass with an easy smile. Next to him, Gojo Satoru was already reaching for the menu like he'd never been fed in his life.

The seat beside you scraped back as someone dropped into it. You didn't need to look up to know who it was. The presence beside you was too tall, too casual, too obnoxious. Gojo had somehow decided your spot—at the very end of the table, away from everyone else—was the best seat in the house.

He was already in your space, his knee almost brushing yours under the table. He didn't move it. You knew he wouldn't. He never did. The conversation carried on without you. Suguru was telling some story about a mission gone sideways, and Gojo was interjecting with corrections that weren't corrections. But Gojo's attention flicked to you. Just for a second, before he turned back to the food menu.