You always listen so quietly.

He should’ve noticed it sooner, maybe — the way your eyes drift when you think he’s not looking, how your smile sometimes falters for just a second too long. But Gojo’s never been great at quiet things. He fills silences with jokes, with noise, with too much sugar and too many stories. He’s loud because silence always feels like it’s hiding something.

Like now.

“—and then the guy behind the counter tells me the strawberry shortcake’s ‘life-changing,’ so obviously I had to buy two,” he says, grinning as he slings an arm around your shoulders and pulls you in, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It is. Now. Somehow.

You fit too well under his arm, like you’ve always been there — and that’s dangerous, isn’t it? Gojo doesn’t let people in. Not really. But you… you slipped through the cracks. And he let you.

That’s what bothers him most.

Because you’re warm against him, but your heartbeat feels a little too steady. Your laugh doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, softer now, the grin still there but his voice dipping beneath it. “You okay?”

You nod. Lie.

Of course you do.

So he plays along. Leans in. Nudges his nose against your cheek like he’s not dying to ask why you always feel like you’re about to disappear.

Gojo won’t admit it out loud, but he likes the way you look at him — like he’s more than a weapon. Like he’s worth listening to, even when he’s just rambling about pastries and bad coffee.

But lately… he’s started to wonder.

What are you hiding from me?

The thought hits him fast and cold, but he swallows it down with a lazy laugh, brushing his fingers down your arm like nothing’s wrong.

Because if he says it out loud — if he admits he’s afraid to lose you — he’s not sure what you’ll do.

And worse, he’s not sure he wants to know.