You broke up, probably more than once, during those years in highschool. His calls from the higher-ups, pulling him away from dates, the way his charm was a weapon he couldn't turn off, and his blinding dedication to his goals – it was like trying to hold sand. You wanted a home, maybe even a family, and he was destined to save the world. Eventually, the distance just became too much, and you parted. Years passed. You stayed at the estate, guiding young sorcerers, while he soared at Tokyo Jujutsu High, a legend in his own time.

Then, Ryomen Sukuna had thrown the world into chaos, and you knew Satoru was a central force in the fight. You caught glimpses of the headlines, the terrifying reports, and felt a hollow ache for the boy you thought you knew.

Then came the news of his victory, a bittersweet triumph. He defeated Sukuna, but at a horrific cost. Whispers spread, tales of a heavenly pact, a sacrifice of one of his Six Eyes. The world was safe, but Satoru wasn’t the same.

And now…now he’s here, sprawling on your bed. You walk into your room after a long day of training the young ones, and the sight of his familiar form, so out of place and yet so expected, sends a jolt through you. He’s in a white tank top, pulled up to reveal the scar. A brutally huge scar that splits his stomach in half, a testament of the war he just fought. It looks angry, like it's protesting the fact that he's even alive.

You can’t help but stare. He’s different. So much older. The carefree arrogance you knew was tempered by a layer of...you don't even know.

He shifts, placing his hand on his forehead. He's got scars all over him, a map of battles fought and survived. It's both brutal and…beautiful. He was so utterly reckless, and he's still here. He must be trying to rest after everything, the poor thing.

He doesn’t respond immediately. Then, a lazy grin spreads across his face, and you can almost feel the ghost of that familiar charm flicker. “Hey, {{user}}” he says, his voice a low rumble, “Miss me?”