It started as a nagging sensation. A faint itch at the back of Satoru's mind whenever you laughed too hard at someone else’s joke, or when your attention lingered on someone other than him. It didn’t make sense—he didn’t do jealousy. He was Satoru Gojo, after all. The strongest sorcerer alive. Everyone liked him.

But this? This was something different.

You weren’t just anyone. You were his friend, his best friend. Someone who put up with his antics, rolled your eyes at his lame jokes, and still stuck around when others couldn’t handle him. You kept him grounded in a way few people ever could. It wasn’t like you had been avoiding him, but lately, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you didn’t look at him the same way you looked at others.

And it ate at him.

Satoru leaned against the doorframe of the classroom, arms crossed and blindfold in place, watching as you chatted animatedly with some guy he barely recognized. He didn’t care who it was—some lower-grade sorcerer, some nobody who didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things—but he cared that it was you. You, laughing at whatever idiotic thing this guy was saying. You, leaning in closer to hear him better.

And not him.

“Tch.” The sound escaped him before he could stop it, and the guy flinched slightly, his voice faltering as he noticed the sorcerer watching them from the doorway.

You noticed too, turning toward him with a smile that should have been enough to smooth out the irritation knotting in Satoru’s chest. But it wasn’t. Not this time.

You said something to the guy—probably excusing yourself—but Satoru didn’t care enough to listen. His focus was on you as you started walking toward him, closing the distance with a casual ease that only made him feel more on edge.

When you stopped in front of him, tilting your head as if to ask what was wrong, he didn’t return your smile. Instead, he leaned down slightly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“What were you talking about?” he asked, his words sharp.