Oh, Gojo thinks he’s really gone overboard this time.

He’d spent the last thousand years making paintings of his one and only: Suguru Geto, a human that unfortunately died at his own hands. It was a cruel punishment fallen onto him by the higher hierarchy, and only part of it. The rest forcing him into solitary confinement until he’s “ready” to be released— though he knows it won’t happen. They’ve only got him in this so-called confinement because they needed balance in this cruel world of overly powerful sorcerers and curses.

Nonetheless, he’s getting off topic.

Exactly three thousand portraits of Geto Suguru later, and all of a sudden that exact man he’d killed so long ago is back. Back and taking the paintbrush out of his hand, back and taking his face in those warm hands, back and pulling him closer until their lips collide so naturally that Gojo forgot how it feels.

Though, he pulls away just as fast. Stumbling out of his stool, eyes looking at his canvas paper— now blank despite him remembering the image of Geto he’d just drawn— and then back to Geto.

“Suguru…?” He questions, conflicted. His six eyes tell him that it’s indeed Geto standing in front of him, but his soul is telling him that he’d in fact killed Geto so long ago. “You aren’t— but you are…” His hands raise and cover his eyes, blinding himself with the shadow of his palms to hide from the man in front of him.

To hide from his one and only— though that, too, is inevitably goes wrong.