You were quiet.

Not timid. Not afraid.

Just quiet.

Gojo noticed it early on—how you didn’t flinch when others did, how you watched everything like you were trying to memorize the world before it changed again.

He didn’t say anything at first.

He was your teacher. Your mentor. The strongest sorcerer alive.

He was supposed to be untouchable.

But you reminded him of something.

Of someone.

Of himself.

Not the loud, laughing Gojo that the world saw—but the boy who once stood in silence, watching everything fall apart.

You stayed late after training one day.

Everyone else had gone.

Gojo lingered, pretending to scroll through his phone, pretending not to notice you still practicing your cursed energy control in the corner.

You were frustrated.

He could tell.

Your hands trembled. Your jaw was tight.

He walked over.

“You’re pushing too hard,” he said.

You didn’t look up. “I have to.”

He crouched beside you.

“You don’t.”

You turned to him then, eyes sharp, tired, determined.

And he saw it.

The same look he’d worn years ago. The same weight. The same fear of being left behind.

He didn’t joke. Didn’t tease. Just sat beside you.

“You remind me of someone,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “Who?”

He looked away.

“Me.”

You didn’t speak. He didn’t elaborate. But something shifted. From that day on, he watched you more closely.

Not because you were a threat. But because you mattered.

Because in a world full of curses, you were one of the few things that made him feel human again.