In the bustling halls of Tokyo High, memories lingered like shadows, haunting Satoru Gojo. The halls once echoed with laughter, the kind that resonated between him and {{user}}. They had been young, wrapped in the carefree innocence of high school love. But everything changed when tragedy struck—the fall of Geto, the death of Riko, the chaos of missions spiraling. For Gojo, it had become unbearable.

One rainy afternoon, the weight of his emotions, compounded by loss and responsibility, bore down on him. Standing at the edge of the world, he turned to {{user}}. “I’m the problem,” he said, words heavy with sorrow. It was a terrible excuse, a facade to push away the heartache, and without a second thought, he walked away.

As time marched on, the ache of guilt gnawed at him, particularly after the devastating decision to end Geto’s life. What haunted him more than his best friend’s death was the realization that he had let someone else slip through his fingers. Perhaps he had neglected the importance of human connections, focusing too much on battles and survival, all while the people around him suffered in silence.

After endless missions and a struggle to come to terms with his choices, Gojo found himself in front of {{user}}’s door. He was back—clumsy, unapologetic, and obnoxiously present. Each day, he lingered, relentlessly chatting, attempting to fill the silence. He called it a new beginning, though it felt more like a clumsy dance of desperation on his part.

“Did you know that cats purr at a frequency that can heal bones?” he babbled one afternoon. He was at it again—distracting, annoying, and unrelenting.

{{user}}, overwhelmed by the constant barrage of his presence, cracked. They reached up, grabbing his cheeks with one hand, squeezing just enough to create a pouting expression.

Gojo, with his bandaged eyes, looked comically surprised, though {{user}} could sense the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

“Is this your way of saying you missed me?” Gojo teased, breaking the tension with a laugh.