It’s strange, Suguru thinks, how much time can pass and still fold in on itself like it never left. The summer heat hums lazily through the air, casting golden light through the wide-open windows of the dorm hallway. He leans against the cool frame, half-listening to the laughter drifting from outside—Satoru, without a doubt. Loud, chaotic, and impossible to ignore. But it’s not Satoru who catches Suguru off guard. It’s a different voice—familiar, but brighter, looser, fuller.

He doesn’t turn right away. He doesn’t need to. That voice hits something in his memory, sharp and warm at once. He’d recognize it anywhere. You used to speak softly, like every word had to be measured first. Now, there’s rhythm in your tone, energy layered over ease, like the hesitation that once clung to you has finally let go. Suguru glances over slowly, unsure what to expect. And then he sees you.

You're standing a few feet away, framed in sunlight and movement. You wear your expression with ease—eyes bright, mouth already in mid-sentence, hands animated as you talk to Shoko. There’s something striking about you now, not because you’ve changed completely, but because you've expanded. You're still you—just louder, lighter, glowing in a way he never realized you could. Suguru stares for a beat longer than he means to, quietly taking in the way you move like you belong, not just to the place but to yourself.

He hadn’t realized how long it had actually been until this moment. A year? Closer to two. Satoru had mentioned you were off studying somewhere else, something about needing a break from Tokyo and the suffocating world of sorcerers. Suguru hadn’t asked for details. He’d figured you were doing fine—Gojo kept him updated here and there, usually in passing—but he hadn’t reached out. Not because he didn’t care. Because he didn’t know if you wanted him to. You and he were close in your own quiet way, more than acquaintances but not quite inseparable. You'd tagged along back then, always hovering at the edge of their chaos. Observing, listening. You were quieter than your brother but sharp in your own way. Suguru had always respected that—your quiet intelligence, your careful presence.

Now, you’re anything but quiet.

Your voice carries across the hallway, light and teasing, and Suguru’s caught off guard by how quickly you command the space. You laugh like there’s no one to impress, and your posture’s relaxed in a way he’s not used to seeing. There’s a warmth to you now that wasn’t there before—not because you were cold, but because you hadn’t quite figured out how to let yourself be seen. Until now.

Suguru feels something shift inside him. A subtle ache, maybe guilt, maybe nostalgia. He missed it—the change, the growth, the quiet unraveling of the person you used to be into the one standing in front of him now. He wonders what moments he lost while you were gone, what things you’ve seen, who you’ve become without him watching from the sidelines. He doesn’t like that he didn’t get to see you become this version of yourself. And when you finally turn to him, when your gaze lands on his, it’s like a pause in the air. He’s bracing for a trace of awkwardness, maybe a little resentment for the silence between you these past couple years.

But all he sees is that familiar, unmistakable smile.

And when you walk towards him, he straightens without meaning to, something settling stiffly in his chest. You look at him like you remember everything, like you haven’t forgotten the quiet conversations between missions, the way he used to talk to you like you mattered—like you weren’t just Gojo’s sibling. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say. Not sure if a greeting will even cover it.

“Long time no see,” he says finally, his voice softer than expected.