The air hums with forced pleasantries, the clinking of glasses, and the quiet murmur of conversation. Your family and his sit together at the long dining table, exchanging words that mean little to you. Across from you, Satoru Gojo leans back in his chair, the soft glow of the chandelier reflecting in those striking blue eyes. Eyes you once knew better than your own. Eyes that still find yours, even when they shouldn’t.

Your husband laughs beside you, his fingers grazing your hand as he reaches for his drink. You force a smile, nodding at whatever he just said, but your mind is elsewhere—on the way Satoru’s grip tightens around his chopsticks, on the way his lips twitch like he wants to speak but doesn’t.

His wife is beside him, unaware or maybe just ignoring the way his gaze drifts too often in your direction. And you? You should look away. You should focus on the life you built, the one chosen for you. But the weight of his stare is suffocating, familiar, and cruel.

You still love him. He still loves you.

But neither of you will cross that line. Even if it hurts.