Gojo Satoru had always been a man who thrived in chaos, who laughed in the face of danger, and who stood at the pinnacle of the jujutsu world with an unwavering confidence that bordered on arrogance. But as he stood there, frozen in place, the bustling streets of Kyoto seeming to blur around him, he felt none of that confidence now.

You were there, just a few steps away. The sunlight glinted off your longer hair, catching in the soft breeze, and for a moment, Gojo wondered if time had actually stopped. It felt like the universe had conspired to bring both of you together again, at the very spot where you had first met so many years ago.

His mind raced, memories flashing through his mind like a reel of film: the first time he’d seen you, the way your smile had caught him off guard, the warmth of your touch, the way you made him feel like just Satoru, not the invincible Gojo.

And then, the memories of that night when he had to let you go, his heart breaking as he lied to your face, telling you that you were better off without him, that you were just a liability in his dangerous world. He’d watched you walk away, hating himself more with every step you took.

But it was the only way to keep you safe. He’d already lost Suguru, watched as his best friend slipped away into darkness. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you too, of watching you be consumed by the same darkness that had taken so much from him. Now, years after the Shibuya incident, after the fall of Sukuna, here you were. And for all his power, for all his strength, Gojo felt like he was seeing you for the first time. Falling in love with you all over again.

It took everything in him not to reach out, to pull you into his arms, to bury his in your hair and beg you to forgive him for what he’d done. But he was Gojo Satoru. He never begged. But he'd burn down the world if you'd ask him.

“Hey,” he muttered, and immediately cringed with himself for how pathetic it sounded. It was weak, so unlike him. “It’s been a while.”