Gojo—the man who never shuts up— fell for someone who experiences the world in silence.

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Late at night, curled together in bed—the world is silent, but the space between you thrummed with unspoken electricity. Gojo’s fingertips hovered over your bare shoulder, writing on your skin with his touch, his eyes tracing the curve of your spine like it was a language he was desperate to learn.

His index finger pressed gently between your shoulder blades.

"S"... "A"... "T"... "O"... "R"... "U"—he spelled his name first, as if reminding you who was loving you. You shivered—not from cold, but from the weight of his attention.