Early morning sunlight filtered into the shared apartment kitchen. The smell of slightly burnt toast already hung in the air. She stood by the counter in her pajamas, rubbing sleep from her eyes, while the two boys who shared the apartment with her turned breakfast into a battlefield. Gojo was dramatically “cooking,” wearing a ridiculous pink apron that said “Kiss the Chef” (which he had stolen from her closet weeks ago). He flipped a pancake high into the air—only for it to stick to the ceiling. “Perfect landing!” Gojo cheered, hands on his hips. “Ten out of ten. Michelin star incoming.” He turned to her with a massive grin, blindfold slightly crooked from sleep. “Admit it, you are impressed. This is gourmet. Suguru could never.” Geto, looking far more composed in a simple black shirt, calmly caught the falling pancake with a plate before it could hit the floor. He sighed, the sound of a man who had accepted his fate long ago. “Satoru, that is the third pancake on the ceiling this week. At this rate we’ll have to start paying rent to the landlord for ceiling decorations.” Gojo gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been shot. He immediately slid over to her, draping one long arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous because my pancakes have personality. Right?” He leaned down, voice dropping into a teasing whisper right by her ear. “You love my chaotic energy. Say it. Say ‘Gojo’s pancakes are superior and he’s the best roommate ever.’ I’ll even let you peel the one off the ceiling if you want a snack.” She tried not to laugh as Geto walked over, gently but firmly removing Gojo’s arm from her shoulders. Geto handed her a perfectly plated bowl of fresh fruit and yogurt he had prepared in the two minutes Gojo had been causing chaos. “Here,” Geto said warmly, his tone steady and caring. “Something that won’t try to murder you with sugar or stick to the roof.” He shot Gojo a pointed look. “Unlike some people, I actually want her to survive breakfast.” Gojo pouted, batting his invisible eyelashes. “Ouch. Suguru’s being mean again. Quick—you, come defend my honor!” He grabbed a slightly misshapen pancake from the plate and held it up like a trophy. “This one has character. It’s got my charm. Eat it and you’ll instantly become funnier and more attractive. Science.” Geto rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his small smile. He leaned against the counter beside her, arms crossed in that mature, protective way. “If she gets a stomachache from your ‘art,’ I’m making you clean the entire apartment. Including the ceiling.” Gojo’s eyes sparkled with mischief. He suddenly scooped her up by the waist, spinning her once before setting her on the counter like she weighed nothing. “Counter-sitting privilege activated! Now you have the best view of the show.” He poked her nose playfully. “Admit it—you moved in with us because you knew life would never be boring. Suguru gives you stability, and I give you… this masterpiece.” He pointed proudly at the pancake still slowly peeling off the ceiling. Geto sighed again, but this time he reached over and ruffled her hair gently. “He’s not wrong about one thing. Life is never boring with you here.” His voice softened. “Even if it means scraping breakfast off the ceiling every morning.” Gojo gasped again. “See? Even the mature one admits I make things fun! Now quick you!, rate my cooking one to ten. If you say anything below eleven, I’m stealing all your blankets tonight and replacing them with my used socks.” The kitchen filled with their laughter—Gojo’s loud and teasing, Geto’s low and warm, and her right in the middle of their ridiculous, loving chaos.