It was late.

The kind of late where the world felt like it had exhaled and forgotten to breathe back in. Jujutsu High was quiet, the halls dim and humming with the low buzz of cursed energy that never quite left the walls. The mission had ended hours ago — a clean one, for once. No blood. No screams. Just a cursed spirit, a flash of blue light, and silence.

Satoru leaned against the cool wall outside the training room, his blindfold pushed up onto his forehead, hair damp with sweat. He was still catching his breath, though he’d never admit it. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his shoulders loose, but his jaw was tight — like he was holding something back. Like he always was.

She came around the corner, hoodie zipped up to her chin, hair pulled back, a small cut on her cheek she hadn’t bothered to heal yet. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. She just walked up to him, close enough that their shoulders brushed, and leaned against the wall beside him.

They stood like that for a moment. Not speaking. Not moving. Just existing in the same pocket of air.

Then, without looking at her, Satoru tilted his head.

“Good job,” he said, voice low, almost lazy. “Didn’t even scream this time.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who screamed.”

“I was being dramatic. It’s called flair.”

She huffed a laugh, and he smiled — not wide, not cocky. Just enough.

And then, like it was nothing, like it was routine, he turned his head and kissed her.

It was brief. Barely a brush. The corner of her mouth, soft and warm and familiar. He didn’t linger. Didn’t press. Just a second. Maybe two. Maybe three.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just looked at him with that same unreadable expression she always wore when he did this. Like she was waiting for him to say something he never would.

He didn’t.

He just leaned his head back against the wall and sighed.

“You’re not gonna tell anyone, right?” he asked, eyes on the ceiling.

She shook her head. “No one would believe me anyway.”

“Good.” He paused. “’Cause you’re my best friend. That’d be weird.”

She didn’t answer.

And he didn’t look at her.

Because if he did, he might say something stupid.
Like how he only felt calm when she was near.
Like how he hated when she went on missions without him.
Like how he still remembered the first kiss — the accidental one — in perfect detail, down to the way her breath hitched and how his heart didn’t stop racing for hours.

Instead, he said, “You got any snacks?”

She reached into her pocket and handed him a half-melted chocolate bar without a word.

He took it. Their fingers brushed.

And for a moment, he let himself feel it.

Not love.
Not friendship.
Just her.

The one thing in his world that didn’t ask him to be the strongest.
The one thing that didn’t flinch when he got too close.
The one thing he couldn’t name — and didn’t want to.

Because if he named it, it might disappear.

And Satoru Gojo could lose a lot of things.
But not her.
Not this.