The neon lights of Ruddleside flickered dimly, casting long shadows over the abandoned streets. It had been months since Y/N had seen another person. Four months of moving from town to town, scavenging, surviving.

Tonight, she found herself in an old diner, the windows clouded with dust, the air stale. She moved quickly, rummaging through cabinets behind the counter. A half-empty can of beans. A broken lighter. A dull pocketknife.

Better than nothing.

Then—

Footsteps.

She froze.

A voice—smooth, amused—called out.

“Wow. Didn’t think I’d find anyone interesting in a place like this.”

Y/N spun around, gripping her knife.

A man stood at the entrance, arms crossed. White hair, a black blindfold, a smirk that didn’t belong in a world like this. He looked too relaxed, like he had nothing to fear.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded.

The man grinned. “Satoru Gojo. And you?”

She didn’t answer.

Gojo sighed, stepping inside. “Not very trusting, huh?”

Y/N didn’t lower her guard. “You’re in my way.”

“And you’re in my new favorite diner,” he shot back, glancing at the ruined booths. “Service sucks, though.”

She wasn’t amused. “What do you want?”

“Just passing through,” he said, tilting his head. “Didn’t expect to find someone like you here.”

Something about the way he said that made her uneasy.

“Turn around and walk away,” she warned.

Gojo just smirked and slid into a booth, stretching out like he had nowhere else to be.

“You know, it’s been months since I had a decent conversation,” he mused. “Least you could do is humor me.”