Ever since Yaga had told Gojo the truth about you, about your actions, your crimes—everything had felt wrong.

A sorcerer gone mad.
 A murderer.
 A traitor.

He had laughed at first. Shaken his head, voice rising as denial spilled out of him too fast, too loud. That wasn’t funny. That wasn’t possible. Not you.

But Yaga’s expression didn’t change. Just empty.

You were a wanted criminal now.

Gojo had chased you down that same day, heart pounding in his ears as he demanded answers—why, how, when—his voice cracking despite himself. He had been close to tears, furious and desperate all at once.

You hadn’t argued. 
You hadn’t justified yourself.
You hadn’t even looked back. You had just… walked away.

He should’ve turned you in then. He knew that. Should’ve fought you, restrained you, dragged you back by force if he had to. But you were his best friend.

The only person who ever stood beside him instead of behind him. 
The only equal he had ever known. And worse—he had loved you. Deeply. Quietly. Irrevocably.

So he let you go. Because despite having the power to stop you, he didn’t have the strength.

He graduated Jujutsu High without you. But his smile had never been the same without you.

That was years ago.

And yet… you never truly left. Because Gojo would always find you. In back alleys, abandoned buildings, quiet cities just outside jujutsu jurisdiction. He’d sit beside you like nothing had changed, like he wasn’t supposed to turn you in. He’d offer money. Protection. Help. A way out. Every time, you refused.

And every time, the same helpless ache settled in his chest.

He shouldn’t feel like this about you anymore.

He shouldn’t be here—pressed close to you in a narrow alleyway, the world reduced to brick walls and dim streetlight. He shouldn’t be kissing you like this, shouldn’t be blushing like a lovesick teenager, shouldn’t be begging.

But he was. His lips slanted against yours, soft and unsteady, a quiet sigh slipping from him as his hands found your waist and held on like he was afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t

It felt good. Too good.

You felt warm in his arms. He missed the smell of you, he missed everything about you.

“{{user}}…” he murmured against your mouth, white lashes fluttering as his hands slid up to cradle your face. He backed you gently into the brick wall, forehead resting against yours, breath uneven.

“There’s a hotel across the street—”

“No.” You said, knowing the possibility of being caught was not good. Still, he kissed you again. His voice broke between kisses. “{{user}}… just— just tonight,” he whispered.

“One night. Please.”