It’s warm out.

A breeze shifts through the tall grass. Somewhere behind you, a crow caws, sharp and distant.

You sit side by side on the hill behind the dorms. It’s far enough that no one’s likely to find you, but not so far that it feels like hiding.

Gojo’s unusually quiet.

He picks at the ends of the grass with long fingers, squinting out toward the trees. His sunglasses sit in the dirt beside him, forgotten.

“You skipped training,” you say, after a while. Not accusing— just observing.

He hums. “Didn’t feel like being watched today. You nod. The silence settles in again, this time more loaded. He’s fidgeting. That’s rare.

“…Was it your clan again?” you ask, gently. He laughed dryly, but there’s no humor in it. “Always is.” You glance at him, but he doesn’t look back.

“They think I’m wasting my potential,” he mutters. “Too soft. Too distracted.” His mouth twists. “They meant you, by the way.”

You.. knew that already. But it still stings.

“You’re still here,” you say. He finally turns to you, eyes unreadable in the light. “So are you.” You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

“I’m not good at this,” he says suddenly. You keep your gaze low. “At what?”

He gestures between you. “Whatever this is. I’m already too much. The ceremony, the pressure—everyone wants something from me. I can barely hold it together most days, and then there’s you and I just…”

He trails off.

You look down at your hands. “I know.” “I don’t need you to be normal,” you say softly. “Just honest.”

Then, for a second, he leans in.

But he doesn’t kiss you.

He just presses his forehead to yours.