From the second he sees you, the air is shunted out of his lungs.

Gojo collects himself at once, tightening his fists at his sides. “You,” he growls. Satoru is not serious in nature. Rarely, even with you. His anger was riveting — he thought you were dead.

But no. You’d just melted away your morals. Embraced the rotten side he knew lurked.

“You’re alive,” he grits out, “How?”