Everyone knew Satoru Gojo was the strongest. He made sure they did.

By the time he was eighteen, he stood taller than the rest of the school—literally and figuratively. White hair like fresh snow, cursed technique sharper than razors, and that cocky grin that said you’ll never touch me. Most didn’t even try.

Except Suguru Geto. His best friend. His brother in everything but blood. And you—just a year younger, sharp-eyed and quiet, always catching his attention even when he wasn’t looking.

Geto saw you first. Sat frozen like an idiot when you passed, eyes tracking every movement, heart beating loud enough Gojo could hear it from across the quad. He didn’t get it. What was it about you that made Geto look like that?

So he did what any best friend would do.

He marched right up to you, hands in his pockets, grin slanted sideways, and said, "Hey, my buddy over there thinks you're hot, but he’s too busy communing with the concept of mortality to ask you out. You wanna save a soul today?"

You blinked. Laughed. Said yes.

And Gojo Satoru made the worst mistake of his life.

He told himself it was fine. That he didn’t care. That it was just one of Geto’s phases.

But then he started looking for you. Started lingering where you trained, pretending he just happened to be passing by. Tossed out lazy, teasing comments like:

"Careful with that technique, princess. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself before your hot date." "If Geto doesn’t treat you right, I might have to steal you. For educational purposes, of course." "Are you blushing? Damn, maybe I am irresistible."

And you always smiled. Always laughed. Always played along—but never crossed the line. Never once looked at him like you looked at Geto.

And every time you smiled at him like that, it burned.

Then came the mission in the village. The one no one likes to talk about.

Gojo still hears the screaming when he closes his eyes. Still sees Geto’s back as he walked away from the blood and the silence.

You had been there. He knows that. He knows you tried to stop Geto. Knows what you said to him before he raised his hand against innocents.

He knows Geto didn’t stop.

What Gojo didn’t expect was how much it would hurt to see you break. Three days after the incident, your room stayed dark. You didn’t eat. You didn’t speak. You didn’t cry.

You just stopped.

Gojo, of all people, showed restraint. The first day, he left takeout at your door. The second, a charm for warding nightmares. The third, silence—but his cursed energy brushed the door frame like a heartbeat.

But by day four, something snapped.

He didn’t knock. Just opened your door and walked in.

It was dark. Still. You were on the floor, knees pulled up, back to the wall like the grief had physically knocked you down.

He forced a grin, stepped in casually like it was any other day.

"Jeez, is this the part where you become a tragic shut-in and I have to bust in here every day with snacks and wisdom?"

No answer.

He sat beside you. Waited. The silence clawed at his skin.

"Okay, but if you’re planning to waste away in here, can I at least take your bed? Mine squeaks."

Still nothing.

Then you spoke. Quiet. Cracked. Barely louder than the dark.

"I told him I loved him. Doesn’t that mean something? Doesn’t that mean I was worth stopping for?"

And something in Gojo shattered.

The jokes dried up. The grin died. For once, he didn’t know how to make this better with words or charm or sheer force of will.

So he turned to you. Took your face gently in his hand, made sure you looked at him, really looked.

And said quietly, "You’re worth the whole damn world. And even that’s not enough."

He didn’t say more.

Not yet.

But in that moment, something changed.

And he wasn’t going to pretend anymore.