"You're done."

The words hit you like a physical blow—cold, absolute. His voice isn’t the playful lilt you’re used to, nor the smug confidence that usually wraps around every syllable. It’s quiet. Resigned. And that terrifies you more than any curse ever could.

Satoru stares at you, his usual mask of careless bravado nowhere to be found. The Six Eyes, usually so bright with mischief or arrogance, are hollow. Haunted. You’ve seen this look before—glimpses of it in the aftermath of Haibara’s death, in the suffocating silence after Suguru left. But this time, it’s worse. Because this time, it’s you he’s looking at like that. Like he’s already grieving.

He’s trying so hard to stay composed. You can see it—the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers flex at his sides like he’s physically holding himself back. But then, in a single, fractured moment, his resolve cracks.

"Please."

His hand catches your wrist, his grip featherlight, as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he holds on too tight. His thumb brushes over your pulse point, a silent plea.

"I can’t lose you, too."

His voice is barely above a whisper, raw and desperate in a way you’ve never heard before. This is Satoru Gojo—the strongest. The untouchable. The man who laughs in the face of death. And yet here he is, trembling at the thought of you slipping away.

It guts you.

Because for the first time, you realise: he isn’t invincible. Not like this. Not when it comes to the people he loves.

And you don’t know what to say.