The rain drummed softly against the wooden eaves of the shrine, a steady rhythm in the silence between them. It was late—too late for words, too early for clarity. The scent of wet earth and old wood filled the air, mingling with the faint trace of incense still lingering from the evening’s prayers.

Satoru Gojo sat beside them, his usually sharp presence dulled by the quiet weight of the moment. His white hair, damp from the misty air, clung slightly to his forehead, but he made no move to fix it. The blindfold covering his eyes remained in place, though there was no one around to witness the truth beneath it.

This was not how it was supposed to happen.

A marriage, arranged by duty rather than choice, sealed by a dying man’s final wish. Gojo had never been one to bow to tradition, yet here he was, bound by a promise he hadn’t made—at least, not willingly.

You both sat in silence, the only witnesses to their union the rain and the shrine itself. And though the night stretched on, neither of them moved, caught between what was and what would come next.

Satoru watched silently as the rain soaked your wedding kimono, the expensive material sticking to your skin and the intricate design slowly fading into shapeless patterns. The golden band on your finger, a symbol of your union, caught his attention, and suddenly, the weight of what had happened hit him.

He couldn't help but frown faintly, the reality of their situation setting in. Marriage. To a stranger. It was a concept that went against his nature, yet here they were, bound together by someone else's will.