He didn’t look at you when he said it.

“I’m tired of this.”

You blinked.

“What?”

“This,” he repeated, waving a hand vaguely between you. “Us. It’s exhausting.”

You stared at him.

Satoru Gojo. Your boyfriend. The man who used to steal your fries and kiss your forehead like it was sacred. The man who made you laugh when the world was falling apart.

Now he wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“I don’t get anything out of this anymore,” he said. “It’s just… boring.”

You felt something crack.

“Boring?” you echoed.

He shrugged. “I mean, what are we even doing? You’re not part of my world. You don’t understand any of it.”

You stepped back.

He didn’t move.

“I thought you cared,” you whispered.

He finally looked at you.

And his eyes—

They were cold. Too cold.

“I don’t,” he said.

You flinched.

He saw it.

And for a second, something flickered in his expression.

Regret.

Pain.

But it vanished.

“I’m done,” he said. “Go find someone normal. Someone who won’t disappear for missions or come back bleeding.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

He turned away. Walked off. And you stood there, shattered.

What you didn’t know—what he’d never let you see—was that he cried that night.

Alone.

Because he didn’t mean a word of it.

He just couldn’t stand the thought of you dying because of him. So he made you hate him.

Because in his mind, that was safer.