The city was quieter at night, but with Gojo beside you, it never really felt that way.

He walked a step ahead, hands stuffed into his pockets, head tilted back as if admiring the stars—though you knew he wasn’t really paying attention to them.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said suddenly, voice light but laced with something else.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “I have not.”

Gojo chuckled. “Liar.”

You didn’t answer, focusing instead on the way the pavement glowed under the streetlights. It was easier than looking at him.

But, of course, Gojo never let things go that easily.

In a blink, he was in front of you, walking backward with that lazy smirk of his. “What is it?” he asked, tilting his head. “Did I do something?”

You exhaled sharply. “You always do something.”

Gojo hummed, as if considering that. Then, with no warning, he leaned in just slightly—just enough to make your breath catch.

“You could just tell me,” he murmured. “Or should I guess?”

You swallowed. “Gojo—”

“Satoru,” he corrected, voice softer now.

Your heart pounded. He was too close, too smug, too him. But despite every reason to step back, to push him away, you didn’t move.

He smiled—like he already knew.

“See?” he murmured, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. “You have been avoiding me.”

You sighed, closing your eyes for half a second. “You’re insufferable.”

Gojo only grinned. “And yet, you’re still here.”

He was right. You hated that he was right.

And when he finally leaned in, closing the space between you, you hated even more that you let him.