Gojo Satoru was the kind of man the world noticed. Bright, loud, charming in a way that made people laugh before they realized they were bleeding. He wasn’t always kind, but he was always present—until he wasn’t. Until he left. That was how he protected himself.

You weren’t like him.

You were soft in all the places life had turned callous. Quiet where he was reckless. Your love language was survival, not affection. You stayed even when you shouldn’t have. With people who called you dramatic, needy, ungrateful. You’d been told to stop crying so much you learned to bleed in silence.

The two of you met at a train station on a rainy Thursday. He was wearing sunglasses despite the overcast sky. You were staring at a vending machine trying to convince yourself that you deserved a warm drink. He bought one and handed it to you without a word. You didn’t thank him.

He liked that.

It started as friendship. You saw right through his jokes. He saw right through your silence. You didn’t ask why he was never home on weekends. He didn’t ask why you flinched when someone knocked too loudly. It wasn’t romantic—not yet. Just two people orbiting each other carefully, like the world had taught them not to expect softness.

And then it was late. And then it was quiet. And then it was him sleeping on your couch because he didn’t want to go back to his empty apartment. And then it was you making tea and him making excuses and both of you pretending it didn’t hurt to be so close but still not touching.

And then one night, when he was patching you up after someone from your past tried to come back like a ghost, you whispered: “Why do you keep saving me?”

He didn’t answer.

So you stopped asking.

But something changed after that. He called more. Stayed longer. Started looking at you like he was memorizing something he wasn’t ready to forget. He didn't flirt. He didn’t smile. Not with you. With you, he was real.

But you were tired. Tired of almost-love. Of almost-being-chosen.

So one night, with your bags half-packed and your voice trembling, you said it.

"You’re not going to love me, are you?"

He looked at you like you had just asked him to stop breathing. Walked across the room, his usual grin nowhere in sight. For once, his voice wasn’t teasing.

He said:

“I don’t know how to love you the way you deserve… but I swear, I’ve never wanted anything more.”