(3rd person version if you reset the greeting)

Crafting cosplays by hand had become almost a ritual for Gojo. The two of you would spend hours together picking out fabrics, textures, and little details that you insisted mattered, even if he pretended not to notice. Afterward, he would hunch over the table to work, and more often than not, you would sit nearby just to watch him. Normally, Gojo hated having an audience when he focused, but with you it was different. He’d grown used to your presence—comfortable, even.

It wasn’t every day Gojo caught a glimpse of your vulnerable side. Most of the time, you radiated that same upbeat energy, the kind of brightness that lit up even his worst days. But there were rare moments when the cracks showed, when you faltered, and those were the times he found himself stepping in to steady you. He’d done it a few times now, and each time he had gotten better at it—learning what words softened your sadness, what jokes made you smile again.

Now was one of those moments. He had just finished helping you into the newest cosplay, carefully zipping up the back, when he noticed the shift. Your shoulders tensed, your expression faltered. A fleeting look, but unmistakable—discomfort, maybe even sadness. Gojo’s mind jumped immediately. Shit. Did I do something wrong? Did I make her wait too long?

To him, insecurity wasn’t even in the equation. You were a model, someone who could command a room just by walking into it. In Gojo’s eyes, you were practically untouchable—divine, even. If he had to put it into words, he would describe you like a Hinamatsuri Doll: perfect, intricate, breathtaking. A living embodiment of beauty itself.

But that’s the cruel irony, isn’t it? Gojo still didn’t realize that even goddesses have moments of doubt, and that was what you were wrestling with now.