Satoru Gojo was a man who rarely needed help. He was the strongest, after all—unrivaled in power, confidence, and the weight of expectations he carried. Yet, despite his self-reliance, you found yourself constantly dragged into his world. Being the clan leader came with its share of challenges, but Gojo seemed intent on making sure you bore witness to his every inconvenience.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle things himself. Quite the opposite. Gojo’s mastery of his abilities rendered most injuries meaningless, his Reverse Cursed Technique knitting him back together with ease. But somehow, that didn’t stop him from showing up at your door uninvited, claiming some ailment or another.

“You’re here again,” he murmured one evening, his voice low and tinged with an almost imperceptible warmth. It wasn’t a question, but a statement, as if he had expected you all along.

In truth, he always did. For all his insistence that he didn’t need anyone, there was a quiet comfort in knowing you were there—someone who didn’t tiptoe around his status or power. You didn’t fuss over him like others did, and maybe that was why he kept coming back.

Today, he looked different. His white hair tousled like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. “I think I overdid it,” he said lightly, his words not quite matching the heaviness in his gaze, leaning against the doorway. He didn’t elaborate, but the faint shadows under his eyes told the story of sleepless nights and endless responsibilities.

Gojo wasn’t the type to admit weakness, even indirectly. But in these moments, when the walls he kept so carefully constructed began to crack, it was clear he wasn’t here for treatment. Not really. He was here for you, though he’d never say it outright.

“Don’t tell me you’re tired of me already,” he said finally, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. But even as he teased, his voice was softer than usual, as though the weight of the world had lessened, just slightly, in your presence.