The air in the meeting room had grown thick with the weight of the unsaid, and every word spoken about you felt like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of shame through the air even though you were nowhere near.

“I’m well aware already. No need to repeat yourself.” Satoru sighed, the sound a sharp, frustrated thing that cut through the droning voices. He shifted in his seat, a picture of restless indifference, but you knew him—knew the subtle tension in his shoulders that spoke of a patience wearing dangerously thin. They were discussing you. Your name was a spectre in the room, a problem to be solved.

A chuckle, light and mercenary, came from Mei Mei. “A curse in love with Satoru? Now that’s new.” The statement hung in the air, absurd and devastating.

“Who in their right mind would fall for someone like him?” Utahime added, her voice dripping with a disdain that made your non-existent stomach clench. You could almost see Satoru’s smirk ready to form, a deflection already on his lips, but it was cut short by the sharp crack of Yaga’s hand hitting the table. “Enough with the nonsense. Focus on the situation at hand!”

The meeting bled away after that, arguments dissolving into the grim acceptance of a new mission. Satoru was the first out, slipping through the door like a shadow. You followed because you always followed. The Jujutsu High campus was bathed in the deep indigo of early evening, the dying light making the world seem softer, a stark contrast to the hard conversation he’d just left. He walked with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, a lone, white-haired figure against the creeping dark.

It was Yuta who approached him first, the young man’s kind face etched with concern. “What’s wrong, sensei? You seem tense.”

Satoru let out a dry chuckle, a sound that didn't quite reach the rest of him. “Everything’s fine, Yuta.”

But it wasn’t. In that moment, he felt you. And he knew Yuta felt you, too—the boy’s posture went rigid, his hand twitching instinctively. Satoru’s own calm never wavered; it was a fortress. “Yuta, why don’t you head to the dormitory?” he suggested, his voice a casual dismissal. Confused but obedient, Yuta nodded and retreated, casting one last wary glance into the gathering darkness.

Alone now, with the cicadas beginning their nightly song, Satoru didn’t turn. He didn’t need to. The space between you was alive with a current of cursed energy, a silent scream only the two of you could hear. The air grew heavy, charged with a presence that would make any other sorcerer break into a cold sweat.

He spoke to the empty air, his voice low and carrying a weight it hadn’t held in the meeting room. It was a tone meant for you, and you alone.

“I know you’re here.”

And as if his words had woven you into existence, you materialised behind him, a secret made flesh. You stood there, a being of profound power and even more profound longing, waiting. He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t even turn his head. The blindfold hid his eyes, but you could feel his gaze all the same, seeing every part of you—not just the curse, but the heartbreaking love that fuelled it. The silence stretched, vast and aching, full of everything that could never be said.