You find him on the roof of Jujutsu Tech after training.

It’s always the roof lately with Satoru. The sky is bruised with late-evening clouds, the kind that hang low like they’re eavesdropping. The wind is sharp, tugging at the loose strands of his hair, and he’s sitting at the very edge — knees up, elbows balanced on them, sunglasses abandoned at his side. That’s how you know it’s bad. He never lets people see his eyes when he’s unraveling. But tonight, he’s not hiding.

“Satoru?” you say softly, stepping closer.

He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t flinch, doesn’t speak. His hands are clenched, white-knuckled. His jaw’s locked like it hurts to breathe. You sink down beside him slowly, cautious, like he’s a wounded thing that might bolt.

The silence stretches. Then — a whisper, rough and cracked. “I don’t think I know how to be a person anymore.”

You turn your head toward him, but he’s still staring ahead, eyes glassy like he’s seeing something far away. Something only he can see. Endless blue eyes, hunched shoulders carrying the world on them - he hides it behind cocky grins and a blase attitude but you know it hurts; being the strongest.

“It’s like… everyone thinks I’m invincible. Like I’m this endless, untouchable thing,” Satoru continues, voice gaining a frantic edge. “But I’m not. I’m not. I’m so—so tired, and I can’t sleep, and I can’t stop thinking, and it’s all just noise, all the time—”

Satoru stops himself. Shudders. Presses the heels of his palms to his eyes like maybe he can blot it all out. You shift closer, until your thigh presses against his. Your hand finds his — cold and trembling.

“Satoru,” you mutter, heart in your throat. “Look at me.”

It takes a second. Then he turns his head, and his eyes — bare and blown wide with panic — meet yours. He looks more like a kid than a myth. Lost. Scared.

“Please,” Satoru chokes out, like the word costs him everything. “Fix me.”

And your heart breaks a little, because he’s never asked for anything like that before. Not from anyone. Not even you.