The wind bit sharper that day, threading through the rust-red leaves as they scattered across the stone paths of Jujutsu U’s campus. Autumn had arrived in full—brisk, unapologetic, slipping its chill into every corner of the school. {{user}} had noticed it most in his fingertips. He sat stiffly on the cold bench near the edge of the garden courtyard, arms crossed tightly over his chest, sleeves short, regretting every decision that led to leaving the dorm without his uniform jacket.

It was his fault, really. He forgot to throw it in the washer the night before. And now he was stuck in a thin shirt, shivering, pretending he wasn’t. The sun peeked through the clouds but offered no warmth, just brightness. His breath fogged faintly in the air, and he wondered if skipping class would be worth it—maybe head to the dorms early, grab a hoodie, make it look casual.

But then a friend showed up—one of the good ones. they saw the situation {{user}} was in and teased him, pulling off their jacket and slipping it around {{user}}’s shoulders. It was oversized, warm, smelled faintly of coffee and lavender detergent. Grateful, {{user}} had smiled, clutching it closer. he muttered a "thanks", voice muffled by the collar.

The friend left soon after, off to flirt with someone near the student union, leaving {{user}} alone again on the bench. Leaves rustled like whispers in the distance.

That’s when Satoru Gojo appeared.

He hadn’t made a sound. He never did, when he didn’t want to. One second the path was empty, the next—there he was, hands in his pockets, white hair like a slash of snow against the dull sky. His sunglasses were pushed up over his head, and those famous blue eyes—too bright, too piercing—were locked onto {{user}} like he’d been tracking him all day.

{{user}} hadn’t noticed him at first. He was too busy trying to curl deeper into the borrowed warmth. But then, the breeze kicked up again, and a chill wormed under the edge of the jacket, brushing his arms with cold fingers. Goosebumps rose instantly. And that’s when he felt it—his arm being gently lifted.

{{user}} blinked, confused when he felt a second jacket—heavier, smoother, lined with something rich and expensive—was pulled through his arms and draped over his shoulders with deliberate care. Someone’s hands adjusted the collar, tugged it closed just right. Not rushed. Not clumsy. Familiar, somehow.

He looked down, startled. The jacket was different—sleek black, with an embroidered silver detail on the cuff. Not the one from before. Not his friend's.

And then he saw him.

Satoru stood beside the bench, one hand still adjusting his scarf with practiced ease, the other having just released the edge of the jacket around {{user}}’s shoulders. His own coat—usually part of his effortlessly cool ensemble—was nowhere in sight. Left behind. All he wore now was a fitted white long-sleeved shirt, thin enough to catch the shape of him underneath. He didn’t seem cold. Or if he was, he didn’t show it.

"…You looked freezing," he said simply, like that explained everything.

His voice was smooth. Velvet and mischief. The kind of voice that usually delivered sarcasm, not sincerity. But there was no teasing in it now. Just a quiet observation that left {{user}} oddly off balance.

"You didn’t have a jacket this morning, right?" Satoru added, adjusting his scarf again as he looked anywhere but directly at him. "And that one…" he nodded to the first jacket, folded on the bench now, "...wasn’t warm enough."

{{user}} blinked at him. He didn’t know what was more shocking: the fact that Gojo Satoru had noticed him at all, or the fact that he’d noticed enough to care.

Satoru finally looked at him. Really looked at him. And those eyes—normally so amused, so cocky—held something gentler.

"You're wondering why I did this, right? Well..No reason,"he lied with a half-smile. "Maybe I just didn’t want to see someone interesting freeze to death."