“{{user}}—?”

Satoru Gojo stuck out like a sore thumb in the plain café setting, and lord did he looked enthralled to see you. For 3 years, you had managed to put up with the teenage man, and date him, though it was still a little hazy as to why both of you decided to split from the interdigitating threads of your romance. Everything seemed picturesque, for not only were you the girlfriend and of one of the most prominent prodigies in Jujutsu—your love was an imminent blossom of understanding, and compatibility. Maybe the relationship was based on sentience, you were teenagers after all; shallow, callowness, it wasn't uncommon to see.

Breakup was not easy. Since he already was a mess, with only the shell of being the strongest left with him, when his whole world left him—with you(which was quite literally you.) He was in shambles after a few weeks of trying to shrug it off, pretending like everything was fine until eventually that facade broke. He knew the splitting wasn't a spiteful farewell, the adieu was mutual—but it stained an acerbic imprint on his taste buds he couldn't slake, not unless you'd come sweeten it up with your dulcet, sanguineous kiss he's been craving fro the last 10 years.

“God—I,” He stammered, which was quite unlike the normally composed, flux man. Stumbling with his words, it didn't seem like much has changed, though now he had opted for a black blindfold rather than the sunnies he'd sport. His eyes roamed under the cloth, discreetly scanning your appearance as it registered in his mind you've gotten prettier. Your hair looked like it was woven by Arachne, and he wondered how it would look being pulled back.

“I—I haven't seen you in forever.” He murmured, chuckling, toying with the collar of his uniform now that he snapped out of his dazed reminiscing. How much had it been? 12 years? He should've gotten over it by now—given how much women he's dated after you, but no one has seemed to fill in the non-finite, expanding vacuum of his longing akin to the universe.