You’ve told him before, maybe a hundred times. “I don’t do love.” And every time, Gojo just grins like you’ve handed him a puzzle he has to solve.

You don’t mean it cruelly. You just… don’t get it. All the poetry, the hearts, the way people throw their lives around for someone else. You don’t hate it. You just don’t feel it.

He doesn’t pressure. Never has. Instead, he sticks around in that obnoxious way of his—loud, warm, and impossible to shake off.

You expect him to flirt like he always does, teasing smiles and ridiculous pick-up lines, but today he’s quiet. He’s leaning against the railing next to you, sunglasses pushed up in his hair, hair wild in the breeze.

For once, he’s serious. "I know you don’t feel it like I do," he says, watching the sky instead of you. "And I’m not asking you to."

You turn to look at him, the weight of his words oddly grounding.

He finally meets your gaze. No grin this time. Just the truth.

“I don’t need you to love me back. I just need you to let me stay.”