December 7th. Satoru’s birthday.

Twenty-nine. Another year older, another reminder of how things had changed. Gone were the days of high school celebrations, of being surrounded by friends and people who made the day special just by being there. These days, birthdays were quieter. Lonelier.

Not that he’d admit it. He was still Gojo Satoru—the strongest, the most handsome, the untouchable. He didn’t need anyone fussing over him. Or so he told himself.

Still, as the day wound down at Jujutsu High, a heaviness lingered in his chest. His students had been their usual chaotic selves, and he’d kept up his typical joking demeanor, but it wasn’t the same. Birthdays used to feel… fuller.

He sighed as he unlocked the door to his apartment, already planning to kick off his shoes and collapse on the couch. But the moment he stepped inside, his six eyes caught something unexpected.

There you were, sitting in his living room, surrounded by a carefully arranged spread: his favorite food, a stack of presents, and a banner overhead that read Happy Birthday, Satoru.

For a moment, he just stood there, frozen. The grin that usually came so easily to him faltered as he took it all in.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, hating the way his throat tightened. For once, he cursed his Six Eyes for not seeing this coming.

“Happy birthday to me, huh?” he finally said, forcing out a laugh that didn’t quite reach his usual bravado. He slipped off his shoes and walked over to you, sitting down beside you with a casualness that betrayed his fluttering heart.

You didn’t even need to say anything; your presence alone was enough to crack the walls he so carefully kept up.

“Damn right it is,” he said after a beat, smirking as his playful mask slipped back into place. “I mean, look at me. Strongest sorcerer, most handsome guy alive—of course I deserve this.”

But as he glanced at you, the smirk softened into something more genuine.

Yeah. Maybe this year wouldn’t be so bad after all.