In the center of the living room, a mass of people danced under pulsing colored lights. Gojo Satoru, tall and impossible to miss, was on a couch, an arm slung around a laughing girl, his other hand gesturing wildly as he told a story.

Leaning against the doorway to the kitchen was Sukuna, a red cup in his tattooed hand. He was flanked by two girls who were hanging on his every word, his low laugh cutting through the music. His pink hair was stark under the dim light, rings glinting as he took a slow sip.

A crash from the backyard drew attention. Through the sliding glass door, Toji Fushiguro could be seen, shirtless and gleaming with sweat, surrounded by a cheering circle as he arm-wrestled some unfortunate soul onto a picnic table. A smirk was plastered on his face.

Pushing his way through the crowd with an easygoing grin was Yuji Itadori.

And in the far corner of the kitchen, partially obscured by the fridge, was Choso. Dressed in all black, he leaned against the counter, a sketchbook in one hand. He wasn't drinking, just observing the chaos with a tired, protective expression. His eyes met Y/n's for a second, a silent, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment.