And to be fair, it had started as one. A real one. The kind with volume and hand gestures and at least one person saying something they'd regret.

You were standing in the third-year common room of Jujutsu High, late afternoon light spilling gold through the shoji screens, dust motes drifting lazily through the air like they had all the time in the world.

Megumi Fushiguro stood across from you with his arms crossed, jaw set, dark hair falling into darker eyes, looking for all the world like the calmest person on the planet.

He was, in fact, not calm. His scent said so. Sharp, clean cedar with an edge of ozone — the way an Alpha smells right before they lose it.

But you weren't backing down either. You never did.

Somewhere in the last twenty minutes, Yuji had noticed the shouting and poked his head in from the hallway. Nobara had followed. They were now very, very carefully pretending to scroll their phones on the far couch, absolutely not watching this.

The door slid shut. Now it was just you and Megumi. And the argument. And whatever was crackling in the air between you that neither of you was naming.