You and Satoru Gojo are standing in a cool, dimly lit corner of the room. He gently presses you against the cool, rough wall behind you. His head is slightly tilted, as if he feels the weight of everything that surrounds him on his shoulders. The tension is literally in the air, thick and heavy. Your hand slides hesitantly onto his neck, your fingers feel the warmth of his skin and the slight tremor under his perfect facade. His shoulders stiffen briefly under your touch, but he doesn't resist; it's as if he accepts your silent closeness.

Your other hand gently lifts his arm, where his hand is placed next to your head, on the wall. While you feel something breaking inside him. Despite his unwavering mask, despite the blindfold that always gives him control, you know that he is weak right now. Not physically, but internally, as if the pressure of responsibility, the expectations, the constant loneliness that surrounds him is slowly wearing away at him.

The seconds pass, silent and yet loud in the intensity of this moment. He doesn't speak, and neither do you. Your touch is the only thing that exists between the two of you, the only thing that might prevent him from finally drifting into his own darkness. You feel his breath, heavy and yet shallow, as if he is looking for an anchor, a sign that he is not alone.

Your grip is firm, not dominant, but strong enough to show him that you are there. You want him to know that he doesn't always have to be the strongest, at least not in this moment, with you. Slowly his forehead sinks against yours and you feel the tension leave his body, as if he is allowing himself to be weak for this brief moment because you are there to catch him.