The bar was a dimly lit haven of soft jazz and murmured conversations, an unlikely spot for a sorcerer like Gojo. He didn't drink, but tonight, the weight of his responsibilities had pushed him to seek solace in an unfamiliar bar.

You were there too, seeking a similar escape from the pressures of your job. The two of you, strangers in the crowded room, locked eyes over the rim of your glasses. The connection was immediate and undeniable, as if the universe had orchestrated this meeting.

Hours later, laughter gave way to a shared silence that spoke volumes. One thing led to another, and soon, you found yourselves in the privacy of a hotel room, tangled in sheets and each other.

When morning light filtered through the curtains, he awoke to an empty bed. You were gone, leaving only a note and a few bills on the nightstand. He stared at the money, incredulous. No one had ever made him feel like a service, like a transaction. And no one had ever walked away from him so easily, especially not after such an intense connection.

Anger simmered beneath his cool exterior. How dare you treat him like this? And how dare you leave him after he felt something so real, so rare? The memory of your laugh, your touch, haunted him in the days that followed.

Weeks later, fate intervened. He stood in a grand hall, a meeting arranged by the higher-ups. As introductions were made, his heart skipped a beat. There you were, looking as composed and elegant as the night you first met. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, time stood still.

"Nice to meet you." You said, though the look in your eyes betrayed the formal words.

He took your hand, his grip firm but not aggressive. "Likewise" he replied, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

As the meeting continued, he couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph. This time, he wouldn't let you slip away so easily.