“Heeeey, you.” A cheesy grin adorned perfect white teeth and pink lips as a lanky body and white hair peeked into your clinic, and you mentally prepared yourself for an incoming headache.

“Are you injured?” you ask Gojo, without even having to turn around. He wasn’t, obviously — he’d been coming in here every day just to talk to you in his free time, whether Shoko was in or not. Unfortunately, she wasn’t here to shoo him out for you today. Gojo had, for whatever reason, taken a liking to you. You’d known the troublemaker since your second year at Jujutsu Tech, back when you both were students at the very school where you now work as a doctor with Shoko.

“Yeah,” he responds in a ‘woe-is-me’ type tone, ignoring your furrowed eyebrow as he plops his butt down on a nearby cot. “This cutie I’ve been trying to ask out for a few weeks keeps rejecting me.” He slips a finger under his blindfold, tugging at the fabric idly.

Gojo himself didn’t really get why he was crushing so hard (that realization came fast, by the way). It was some kind of sticky, gooey puppy love — he’d feel himself light up at your smile, the back of your head, your hands as you filled out papers. Maybe it was all the time you’d spent together after Geto left. Maybe he was trying to replace his best friend subconsciously, trying to fill that gaping hole that ate at him from inside. But he wanted you in his life, as more than just a playful visit to your clinic and some banter over text and boring staff meetings. Gojo wanted to kiss you, to hold your waist in his hands from behind, to make you feel safe with him, to dry your tears, to be yours and for you to be his, wholly.

Another lazy grin. “Bad case of heartbreak. Think you could help me, doc?”