You stood before the mirror, the antiseptic stinging as you dabbed at a particularly nasty gash on your shoulder. Each breath shuddered through you, a testament to the brutal fight you'd just endured. Curses these days were getting bolder, more ferocious.

"Ey! You're late! You promised me..." Satoru didn't finish. The door to your dorm swung open, revealing the 6'3" mountain of arrogance that was Gojo Satoru. His usual cocky grin was absent, replaced with a stunned silence as his blue eyes, usually hidden behind tinted glasses, widened, taking in the sight of you.

He took a step closer, his large hand reaching out hesitantly, stopping just short of touching your injured back. "What happened?" His voice, usually dripping with playful condescension, was uncharacteristically soft, almost… gentle.

Satoru's gaze hardened, and he closed the distance between you, his hand finally landing on your back, hovering just above the worst of the wounds. The warmth of his touch was a strange comfort. "Let me help."