Shoko called you late in the evening. It was clear Gojo was having a crisis due to the events that unfolded today. Gojo was always sincere and genuine with his beloved, so Shoko hoped you’d help the strongest at his weakest.

“I… I can’t believe he did that,”

Satoru said, his voice filled with rage. His expression was plastered with disgust and clear conflicting emotions.

Sitting on the stone stairs, avoiding your gaze, was Satoru. His eyes, which were hidden behind his sunglasses, were fixed on his shoes. It was a few hours before he had to break up and confront his best friend—the friend he had always considered an equal—at that KFC, on that street where people who didn’t even know their story would walk by.

Satoru had just found out that Suguru had gone on a killing rampage, staining his clothes with the tainted sins of countless murders. It made him ache, as if Riko’s death meant nothing—as if it wasn’t a lesson that humans are fragile.

“He said he doesn’t approve of me dating ‘monkeys,’ but he’s the idiot…”

Gojo let out a big, shaky sigh, his hands clenched. The playful attitude he usually had had completely diminished. Gojo stood up, feeling like he could have killed his best friend, but he couldn’t. It was like the two pillars—you and Geto—were opposites by strength, but you were the poles that gave him stability.

“I-I love you…”

he said, grabbing you and pressing his face into the top of your head. He sighed in a whispering tone,

“Never go… alright?.”

His hands were tight around your waist, as if he didn’t want to let go. The setting sun illuminated his pale skin. He was trying to make sense of the turbulence of losing his best friend. He was left to be the strongest alone, but he was finding comfort in you.