The sun was low, casting honey-colored light through the large window at the end of the hallway. Most of the residents were taking their afternoon naps. Only occasionally could you hear the squeak of a walker or the rustle of a newspaper that hadn't been read long ago.

You were standing at the small sideboard, pouring herbal tea into thermoses, when you saw him, Gojo, in his far too expensive coat that didn't match the slippers on the linoleum floor. He had stopped. Next to Mr. Ishikawa, an elderly man with thinning hair and a gaze that mostly went blankly.

But today... not.

"There you are at last, Hiroshi." Mr. Ishikawa's voice was shaky but determined.

Gojo blinked. He slowly took off his sunglasses, which was rare enough, and looked calmly at the old man.

"Yes. Here I am."

You paused briefly. Something about his voice was different. No exaggeration. No joke. Just calm.

"Mom's worried," Mr. Ishikawa murmured "you shouldn't come home so late. It's getting cold outside."

Gojo was silent. Then he slowly bent down, resting his arms on the arms of the chair.

"I got lost," he said quietly. "But I found my way back."

The old man nodded. He hesitantly placed his hand on Gojo's. "Good. I've been waiting for you."

And Gojo, this man who could usually dismantle entire opponents with a twitch of his eye, sat there. Silent. Allowed it. Not a fleeting glance at the door, not a smug remark. Just a hand that didn't move away. A heart that beat completely still for a moment.

You watched them from a distance. And for the first time in a long time, you wondered if Satoru Gojo wasn't just a human being, longing for a place where someone would wait for him, no matter what time it was.

When you stepped back into the room, his gaze was back on you. The mask was almost back on, but you had seen him. The tiny crack in infinity.

"I think he thought I was his brother," he said quietly.