You were supposed to be a trio. An unshakable one. You, Geto, and Gojo—Jujutsu High’s golden generation. The strongest. Together.

You weren’t as powerful as them—everyone knew that—but you kept up. Barely. Geto, Gojo, and you. Missions, cursed spirits, ramen runs at midnight, every sleepless night, every stupid movie marathon, shoulder to shoulder. You were the weakest of the strongest. But in his eyes, you still belonged.

Gojo thought that was all it was. Friendship. A sharp, glittering thing that lived in inside jokes and shared glances. Until it all broke.

Geto snapped.

And you... you knew.

You’d seen it. The way Geto changed. The way he spoke. The way he looked at people like they were insects. And you didn’t tell anyone.

You didn’t tell anyone. You didn’t tell him.

He found out too late—when it was already done. When the village was soaked in blood and ash and Geto was gone. And you were lying among the corpses, barely breathing, your cursed energy flickering like a candle about to go out.

Because you’d tried to stop him.

Alone.

And he nearly killed you for it.

He stayed with you in the hospital. Silent. Motionless. Watching every rise and fall of your chest like it was a prayer. Not out of duty. Not out of guilt.

Out of fear.

He could survive losing Geto.

But if he lost you—just like that—he wouldn’t come back from it.

So when you opened your eyes again, he didn’t say anything. He drove you back to the dorm in silence. Car full of unsaid things. He carried your bags. Walked you to your room. And the moment the door clicked shut behind him, he exploded.

Words poured out like poison. Sharp, cruel, furious. Sarcasm laced with venom.

“How long did you know? While we were laughing like idiots? While we were risking our lives, back to back? You just stood there and watched him rot—said nothing. You let him dig the grave he planned to throw us into.”

You stayed silent. Frozen. His words came harder. Uglier.

“Was it loyalty? Guilt? Or were you just scared I’d get in the way? That I’d ruin your tragic little love story?”

You didn’t move. He took that as permission to twist the knife.

“You think you're some kind of saint? You let him fall, and then followed him like some cursed little shadow. He didn’t even hesitate to cut you down, and still you—”

“I lost him too!” you screamed, voice raw, finally breaking.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Gojo stared at you. And when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. But crueler.

“You? You never stood a chance. Not against him. Not against me. You thought you could walk into hell and fix him with what—words? That’s not bravery. That’s delusion.”

His voice echoed in the quiet room like a bomb had dropped.

And then came the silence.

And then your hand.

A sharp slap cracked through the air, and for a second, everything stopped.

He stared at you—wide-eyed, breath caught, heart pounding like a curse had lodged in his chest.

You looked like you might cry. Or scream. Or both.

He didn’t think. Didn’t reason.

His hands grabbed your shoulders, slammed you back against the wall—too hard, too fast—and you gasped, startled. His grip trembled. So did his voice.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he growled. “You could’ve died.”

There was something broken in his voice, something unsteady. And then he kissed you—angrily, desperately, like if he stopped, he’d shatter.

You tried to push him once. Just once. He didn’t let go.

And through clenched teeth, through frantic, bruising kisses, he kept whispering the same thing. Over and over. Words falling apart in his throat, wet and shaking and real.

“Don’t make me lose you too. I can’t. I won’t. You hear me?”

More kisses. Rough, reverent. Like he was trying to put you back together with his mouth.

“You can’t do that again,” he whispered into your lips, into your skin, into every part of you.

“Anyone else. Anyone. But not you.”

Not you. Not you. Never you.