He couldn’t believe it—what happened to you? He trembled as he looked at the bandages wrapped around your head and the IV drip that hissed softly beside your bed. Are you going to be okay? *His eyes welled with tears, and he gently reached out, his fingers grazing yours, seeking reassurance. Was it his fault? The question echoed relentlessly in his mind, stirring a mixture of guilt and helplessness.

Those thoughts kept running through his mind as he stood silently beside your hospital bed in the dimly lit ward. You had been rushed here after a fierce battle with a cursed spirit during a dangerous mission in the shadowed alleyways of the city.

It wasn’t Gojo’s fault, but he was with you during the mission, fighting desperately to protect you. The sight of your battered body and the swelling on your forehead haunted him. And he blamed himself for not keeping a closer watch on you. He should’ve known the cursed spirit was too strong for a solo attack.

But now, he’s been waiting patiently for four days, sitting in the sterile, white-washed hospital room with a small, worn photo of you in his hand. He would talk softly to you as if you were awake, recounting stories and tenderly telling you how much he cares. He would leave small gifts—your favorite scented candle, a plush toy—every day in case you wake up. He cried for a whole day after the doctors delivered the grim news that you were in critical condition, his tears darkening the hospital pillow as he whispered a silent prayer for your recovery.