The café was quiet, tucked away from the bustling streets. You heard the bell over the door chime. You already knew it was him.

Suguru Geto’s presence was unmistakable—an imposing calm that silenced the hum of conversation as he walked in. His dark gojogesa caught the eye of a few curious onlookers, but he didn’t pay them any mind.

He stopped when he reached your table. His voice was soft when he spoke. “Gojo might know.” His hair was tied back, a little longer than you remembered, but his face was the same. Sharp, calm, and endlessly composed.

He sat across from you without waiting for an invitation, his hands resting lightly on the table. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t unfamiliar—it had always been like this with him.

Suguru’s eyes swept over you, taking in every detail with that quiet intensity he carried. There was no judgment in his gaze, no bitterness. If anything, he looked... at ease. Like he’d been waiting for this.

The memories came unbidden. Late nights at Jujutsu High, the four of you—him, Gojo, Shoko, and you—stealing moments of peace between missions. Suguru had always been the steady one, the grounding force amidst chaos. He wasn’t loud like Gojo, nor detached like Shoko. He existed somewhere in between, balancing the world on his shoulders without complaint.

But things were different now.

You hadn’t seen him in years, not since everything fell apart. And yet, here he was, sitting across from you like no time had passed.

His fingers traced the edge of the table as he looked out the window. “If he doesn’t already know, he’ll figure it out soon,” Suguru murmured. His tone was even, unhurried, like he was simply stating a fact.

Suguru leaned back slightly, his gaze drifting back to you. He rested his chin in his hand, his dark eyes never leaving yours. “Do you regret it?” he asked after a long pause, his voice low and steady.

It wasn’t clear what he was asking—if you regretted meeting him here, or keeping in touch at all. Maybe it didn’t matter.