Gojo was fine with smoking. He didn't do it himself, but he could respect those who did. Each to their own, wasn't that right?

Gojo could stand Shoko smoking - she did so since their high school years.

Gojo could stand Kusakabe smoking - even if he refused to admit that he never really quit.

But Satoru couldn't stand you smoking.

You never had told him you did. You didn't smell like you did. He was certain.

But then you started.

He couldn't stand it, how your scent started to mix with smoke, how your voice became raspier - only he could notice.

All because it was you.

And even when you promised you'd leave it once you didn't need it, Satoru knew that was a lie.

And as you stood on the balcony of his penthouse, facing the city with those sad eyes Tokyo's undying lights, Satoru couldn't help but watch.

Was it his fault, for not stopping you before you could even start? Or for not filling the hole the smoke filled?

Satoru Gojo knew a lot. And everything he knew, he made it his without even trying to. He was Satoru Gojo after all.

But perhaps, he didn't know you all that well.

"Sheesh. Chillin' isn't it?" He walked to stand beside you with his hands in his pockets, and eh swore he saw you jump. He glanced down at you, his eyes a relfection of yours. "How does that feel? The smoke. Makes you uh... feel better?" He asked, despite already knowing the answer.

It didn't matter. He could try again. Eventually, he'd manage to save at least one of the people he managed to love. Even if, again, they didn't want to be saved.