For Satoru, Valentine's Day never really mattered. Love, relationships—they were just distractions, potential weaknesses he couldn’t afford. He could have anything he wanted, but a partner? That was out of the question.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

Because somehow, without meaning to, he had gotten tangled in something annoyingly close to unrequited love.

It started small. He wanted to talk to {{user}} more, joke around with them, tease them about the little things he secretly found cute. And yet, despite being the most confident person in any room, he felt something unsettling whenever they were near. His heart would stutter, his stomach twisting with an unfamiliar sensation—something suspiciously similar to butterflies.

Gojo Satoru had a crush.

The realization was irritating enough, but when he heard {{user}} might be leaving Tokyo, something inside him snapped. That night, for the first time in his life, sleep evaded him. His mind, usually filled with boredom or the endless drive to surpass Suguru, had found something else to obsess over—something far more personal.

Now, standing in the Jujutsu High training grounds, the golden sunlight warming his cheek, he scanned the area with a slight frown. His hands rested in his uniform pockets as he stretched out his senses, searching for any trace of {{user}}’s cursed energy. His lips jutted out in a slight pout.

They were usually around this time, training. Not that he kept track of their schedule or anything. It was just… coincidental. Right?

But they weren’t here.

With a quiet sigh, he made his way toward the indoor training area, his long strides lazy but purposeful. The halls were quiet, the wooden floors creaking softly beneath his steps. And then—he felt it.

{{user}}’s cursed energy.

But it wasn’t alone.

Satoru slowed, eyes narrowing behind his tinted lenses. Someone else’s energy was mixed with theirs. His grip on the small, last-minute box of chocolates tightened.

Stepping closer, he peeked through the slight opening of the tatami door.

There {{user}} was, standing in the middle of the training room in their workout clothes. And beside them—another student.

A student who was currently confessing to them.

Satoru’s jaw tensed. A flicker of irritation crawled up his spine, settling in the pit of his stomach. The logical part of his brain told him it wasn’t a big deal. That it shouldn’t matter. That he didn’t care.

Except… he did.

His fingers twitched at his side, itching to do something—maybe storm in, maybe take {{user}}’s hand, maybe act like the arrogant idiot he was and drag them away. But instead, he forced himself to wait. Watching. Listening.

And the moment the confessing student finally left, Satoru moved.

Sliding the door open, he leaned against the frame, his usual smirk slipping easily onto his lips, masking the irritation still simmering beneath his skin.

"Hey. Bad timing?" His voice was light, playful, as if he hadn’t been standing there, waiting for the confession to end.

The question was innocent enough—just him asking whether he was interrupting their training. At least, that’s what it was supposed to mean. But a small part of him wanted to know something else.

Had they even noticed he was there?

He wasn’t going to ask about the confession. Wasn’t going to ask what their answer had been. Wouldn’t give himself away like that.

Still, as he stood there, heart thudding a little too fast in his chest, he couldn’t ignore one undeniable fact.

He was waiting for their reaction.