By the time Gokudera had stepped inside, Mukuro was sitting upright and gazing at the bomber coolly. In three years, the illusionist hadn't changed much. His face seemed a little longer, perhaps. His hair definitely so. It wasn't quite to the length that he'd had it in the future Tsunayoshi had saved, but there was no denying the tail of hair down his back (not that Gokudera could see it right now). Ken looked ready to bite the Storm for kicking down their door; Chikusa had his hand in the pocket where he kept his yoyos; Fran was...well, despite the bland look on his face, he'd already created another door to replace the one just kicked in. And M.M. simply glared.

Mukuro stood leisurely, straightening the leather jacket he was currently wearing. He brushed back his fringe and folded his arms casually across his chest, refusing to be baited into anger. "I thought I'd made my position clear to Tsunayoshi regarding social events," he said evenly. "Chrome is my representative at them."