You found him outside, sitting beneath one of the courtyard trees long after everyone else had gone to bed. The night was quiet, heavy — the kind that made every memory louder.

Gojo didn’t notice you at first. He was staring at something small in his hand — a worn, folded photo. The edges were creased, the color faded, but you recognized the faces. Him, and beside him, Geto.

He noticed your presence too late to hide it. Quickly, the photo disappeared into his sleeve.

“Couldn’t sleep,”

He muttered, forcing a crooked grin. His voice cracked a little on the last word. You sat beside him without speaking. The silence stretched, filled with things neither of you said. His shoulders shifted — not away, but not closer either.

Yet he didn’t move when your hand brushed his sleeve. He just stared out into the dark — eyes distant, aching, trying not to remember someone he already couldn’t forget.