The snow outside had settled.
The war was over.
Utahime had locked herself in another room and loudly declared she hated everyone.
Haibara was humming somewhere nearby.
Nanami was reading in silence.
Shoko was smoking by the window.
Inside the main room of the cabin—
three people occupied the center.
Gojo.
Geto.
And the other Gojo.
Takeru.
Young Gojo sat sprawled across the couch like he owned architecture itself.
Geto sat beside him, posture calm, hands folded.
Takeru sat cross-legged on the floor, studying both of them like rare animals.
"…So this is what you were like."
Gojo grinned.
"…Handsome?"
"…Annoying."
Geto smiled faintly.
"…Accurate."
Gojo pointed at Geto immediately.
"…Traitor."
"…That is not what that means."
Takeru looked between them.
The easy rhythm.
The instinctive replies.
The comfort.
"…You two were really close."
The room quieted slightly.
Not awkward.
Just honest.
Geto answered first.
"…Yeah."
Gojo leaned back.
"…Still are."
Geto glanced at him.
A small smile.
"…You say things like that too casually."
Takeru tilted his head.
"…No, I think he means them."
Gojo looked pleased.
"…See? My brother gets me."
"…I barely tolerate you."
Shoko called from the window.
"…That's the nicest thing anyone's said to him all week."
Gojo ignored her.
Then looked at Takeru.
"…So future me."
A pause.
"…Still the strongest?"
Takeru smirked slightly.
"…Obnoxiously so."
Gojo nodded proudly.
"…Excellent."
Geto asked more quietly:
"…And us?"
Takeru paused.
He chose his words carefully.
"…Complicated."
Gojo glanced at Geto.
Geto glanced back.
Neither pressed.
Instead, Gojo stood suddenly.
"…Enough heavy stuff."
He pointed dramatically.
"…Board game."
Nanami, from the other room:
"…No."
Haibara, from somewhere distant:
"…YES!"
Ten minutes later, a table was set.
Cards, dice, random pieces missing from different boxes.
No rules fully understood.
Gojo cheated immediately.
Takeru caught him immediately.
Geto somehow won anyway.
"…How did you do that?"
Takeru stared.
Geto calmly moved one piece.
"…You two were busy arguing."
Gojo gasped.
"…Manipulation."
Shoko muttered:
"…He's been doing that for years."
Hours passed easier than they should have.
Laughter.
Trash talk.
Arguments over fake rules.
Takeru watching a version of Gojo that hadn't carried the future yet.
Watching Geto before the fracture.
Watching something precious and temporary.
At one point, Gojo tossed an arm around both of them.
"…The three strongest."
Takeru snorted.
"…You just wanted to include me."
"…Correct."
Geto shook his head.
But he was smiling.
And for that one evening in the cabin—
nothing was broken.
Nothing had been lost yet.
They were just three idiots wasting time.
Which made it priceless.