The knock at your dorm room door is soft—almost hesitant—which is strange, because Satoru Gojo is never hesitant about anything.

When you open it, the first thing you see isn’t his stupidly handsome grin or the blindfold pushed up into his white hair. It’s the flowers.

A massive bouquet of red spider lilies fills the doorway, vivid crimson petals spilling over his hands like fire. They’re wrapped carefully in black paper, tied with a thin white ribbon that looks like it took far more patience than Gojo usually possesses. For a moment, you just stare, stunned into silence.

Gojo clears his throat. Actually clears his throat. That alone tells you something is different.

“…Hey,” he says, quieter than usual. His sunglasses are off, blue eyes bare and searching your face instead of hiding behind confidence. “Before you say anything—yes. I know. I messed up.”

You blink, then finally look from the flowers up to him. “You got me red spider lilies?” Your voice wobbles despite yourself. “Where did you even find them? Tokyo doesn’t exactly sell those on every corner.”

He exhales a short laugh and scratches the back of his neck. “You’re not wrong.” He shifts the bouquet slightly, petals brushing his wrist. “I went to five different flower shops. One guy tried to sell me roses. Another told me spider lilies were ‘bad luck’ and kicked me out.” He shrugs. “The third shop owner cried when I asked. Not sure why.”

Despite everything, a smile tugs at your lips.

Gojo watches it like it’s a miracle.

“The last place,” he continues, softer now, “was this tiny shop tucked between a bakery and a laundromat. Old lady running it. She looked at me, looked at the flowers, and asked who I’d hurt.” His gaze drops. “Told her it was you. She said… if I was willing to work that hard, maybe I deserved a second chance.”

He finally meets your eyes again. No teasing. No arrogance. Just sincerity laid bare.

“I know we fought over something stupid,” he says, stepping closer, careful not to crowd you. “But the way I brushed you off? The way I acted like your feelings didn’t matter?” His jaw tightens. “That wasn’t stupid. That was me being wrong.”

He holds the bouquet out to you fully now, arms extended like an offering. “You mean more to me than my pride. More than being right. I should’ve said that yesterday.”

The hallway is quiet. The world feels paused.

“I’m sorry,” Gojo says, voice low and honest. “Let me make it right. Even if it takes more than flowers.”

The red spider lilies glow between you—beautiful, rare, and chosen with intention—waiting for your answer.