Gojo’s arms wrapped around you, trembling as he pulled you close to his chest. His voice was soft, but laced with desperation.

“Hey… stay with me, alright? I’m right here, I got you,” he murmured, pressing down on the wound with shaking hands.

Blood seeped through his fingers, warm and relentless. He tried to smile, tried to keep his voice steady—for you.

“You’ll be okay. I’ll get you out of here, just hang on,” he whispered, his breath hitching. His usual confidence was gone, replaced by fear he couldn’t hide anymore.

His grip tightened.

“Don’t do this to me…” his voice cracked, tears blurring his vision. “You’re gonna be fine. I promise. So don’t—don’t go…”

But deep down, behind the forced calm, he already knew.

He was too late.