You stare at him, the ridiculous man in front of you with his crooked grin and eyes too bright for midnight. The part of you that spent years carrying the weight of a husband who only took wants to laugh bitterly at his words. You’ve heard promises before. Sweet ones, heavy ones. They all cracked eventually.

But Gojo doesn’t promise. He never promises. He just blurts out feelings like they’re half a joke, as if honesty is easier for him when wrapped in laughter. And somehow, that feels safer than solemn vows.

You sigh, shaking your head, resuming your walk. “You’re exhausting, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he says instantly, matching your steps with an almost exaggerated bounce. “But I’m adorable. Exhausting and adorable. Perfect package deal.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch despite yourself. He notices, of course, and grins wider, tilting his head toward you until his shoulder nearly brushes yours. It’s a subtle, unspoken thing—he wants you to close the space, to lean into him. And you want to. God, you do. But your chest tightens at the thought.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into,” you murmur, the words slipping out before you can catch them. “I’m not… easy. I’ve been through things you can’t joke your way out of.”

Gojo is quiet for a beat, unusual for him. When you glance at him, he’s not grinning this time. His hands are shoved deeper in his pockets, jaw set. “Maybe not. But I’m not here to joke my way out. I’m here to make it bearable. Or at least less lonely.”

The rawness in his voice hits you harder than you expect. You realize then that he’s not as untouched by the world as he pretends. Maybe he hides behind the man-child act because the alternative is admitting he’s just as breakable as everyone else.

You stop again, this time not because of disbelief, but because you’re afraid that if you keep walking, you’ll fall straight into him without thinking. The city hums around you—neon signs flickering, cars rushing past—but here, in this moment, it feels like the world has narrowed down to you and him.

He notices your hesitation and grins again, softer this time, almost shy. “Don’t overthink it. I’m not asking you to marry me. Yet.” He winks. “I just… like being yours. Even if it’s just in this ridiculous sugar mommy package deal.”

And before you can stop yourself, your laugh slips out—low, reluctant, but real. The kind of laugh you haven’t felt in months.

Gojo looks at you like he’s just won the lottery, eyes gleaming with boyish triumph. He leans closer, his voice dropping into that teasing lilt that always seems to undo your defenses.

“See? Told you. Exhausting and adorable.”