You weren’t expecting him, of all people.

The hallway was supposed to be empty — old light filtering through the windows, dust caught in the beams like a memory. You were only dropping something off. In and out.

But ..he’s there. Leaning against the doorframe like he owns the place, hair messy, blindfold pushed up just enough to show those unreadable eyes.

“Back already?” Gojo’s voice breaks the quiet, laced with something too familiar. “Didn’t think you missed me that much.”

You freeze, pulse stuttering. “I… wasn’t expecting anyone.”

He grins. “You always say that.”

You haven’t seen him in months. Not since your promotion — special grade. Everyone talks about you now, but in front of him, you feel seventeen again. Too small. Too eager.

You try to play it cool. “Just dropping mission reports for Yaga.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, unconvinced. He looks at you too long, like he’s trying to read between your ribs. “He’s not even in today.”

Of course. You should’ve checked.

Gojo straightens, taking a slow step closer. “So what is it then?”

You don’t answer.

He always did this — made space feel smaller. Time feel slower. Like he was about to say something important, then didn’t.

“I heard about Kyoto,” he says after a beat. “Nice work.”

“Thanks,” you say, voice too quiet.

He says nothing else. Just watches you like he wants to say something back— but doesn’t.