The room was thick with smoke and low laughter—the kind that lingered after a successful deal and a shared blunt. Sukuna lounged deeper into the ratty couch, one leg slung lazily over the armrest, a joint burning between his fingers. Gojo sat on the opposite end, sunglasses still on despite the hour, grinning at some dumb meme on his phone. “Tell me why this dude really tried to pay me in crypto,” Gojo snorted, flicking ash into a chipped mug that definitely wasn’t meant to be an ashtray whatsoever. Sukuna exhaled a slow stream of smoke, eyes half-lidded, “probably the same reason you took it.” “Gotta diversify the portfolio,” Gojo replied, his grin wicked and unbothered. Then—three soft knocks at the door. Gojo cocked his head, then pushed himself up from the couch with a lazy stretch, “that one’s for me.” He padded to the door and swung it open with casual ease, leaning against the frame, all lazy but familiar charm. “Hey, sweetheart,” he drawled, already knowing what you were there for, “come on in—I’ll grab your stuff.” From his place on the couch, Sukuna couldn’t see past Gojo’s tall frame, but the moment his friend stepped aside, everything in Sukuna's head came to a halt. No glassy eyes. No twitchy hands. No half-mumbled greeting or telltale stench of desperation. Just… you. Clean. Calm. Composed — like you didn’t belong in this building, let alone on their doorstep, like this wasn’t your first time walking into the lion’s den, and you weren't afraid of being bitten. Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, dragging over you in a slow, deliberate scan. Calculating. Curious, if that’s what he ever wanted to show. You didn’t look like trouble. You didn’t even look like those original snobby low class models that came around for some blow. And for some reason that peeked his interest. How could it not?