Synopsis: In a place where shadows always won, the first thread of light, lest it be thinner than a slip of water, made morning feel possible, even before they both dared to hope. For Gojo, it had always been a vicious cycle of missions, meetings, and a million of other things that kept him spinning around. He was the Strongest, who everyone relied on and seeked for asylum. Trying to share the burdens of the Strongest? That was unheard before. For you, the memories of him is something you could never keep to yourself. It would always leak out in ways that you never thought of, as you tried to be there for him for as long as you can. You never expected him to reciprocate your feelings, but…what if he does?
A/N: God this took me so much longer than I expected
Night dawned over Jujutsu High gracefully, colouring the skies into a swirl of indigos, violets, and deep velvety blacks. Somewhere above, stars peeked through, the tiny pinpricks of silver light winking down through the glass window beside your hospital bed, their distant glow a quiet comfort in the white-tiled room.
Shoko had mended you just right. Not even a trace of the wound the cursed spirit had made on you remained visible.
"Though it's completely natural if you feel tired," she had assured you while standing in the doorway with a cigarette tucked behind her ear, after you thanked her. "My technique only heals visible wounds."
Taking her advice to stay for the night, you had been lying in bed for the past couple of hours. The sheets were crisp and white and smelled faintly of alcohol wipes. The pillow beneath your head was too flat and thin for your taste, the kind that offered more moral support than physical comfort.
Despite the fact that you did try to stay awake, hoping to fight your heavy eyelids and the tiredness that leaked out of you like water from a broken tap, you ended up passing out completely on your hospital bed within the next ten minutes, and you had been asleep ever since.
—That was, until a few moments ago.
Awake and feeling a lot better (physically, at least), you decided to go for a walk around the school. For the past few months, you had been too busy with all the training with Gojo to explore or even admire the nights at Jujutsu High.
Slipping out of bed and onto the ground, you realised you didn't even have shoes. The white tiles were cool against the palms of your feet as you padded across the room to a small drawer near the window.
Oh nice, they have slippers here.
You smiled to no one in particular and pulled them out. You slipped them on, wiggling your toes against the fabric to test its softness, and made your way out into the night.
The slippers were a little big and dragged against the floor with each step, the shuffling sound echoing faintly in the empty hallway.
The night air was cool and breezy as you stepped out of Shoko's clinic onto the small porch outside. The gentle gust of wind hit your face like the soft caress of someone's hand, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and cut grass. Moon still hidden somewhere behind the clouds, she had been too shy to come out. The starlight glowed instead, triumphantly in the sky, painting everything in shades of silver and shadows.
The sudden sound of grass rustling made you look up.
And there, on the grassy grounds of the school, close enough that you could see his face even in the dim light, was the white-haired man—all long legs and slender fingers, the pale glow of his screen illuminating the lower half of his face as he stared at it.
It made him look almost sculptural, like something carved from marble under the silvery starlight.
Gojo sensed your eyes on him.
He looked up at you, tilting his head, and smirked.
"Can't sleep? Aren't you tired from your near-death experience?"
His voice carried easily across the distance between you, light and teasing.
You shook your head slightly. The truth was more complicated than a simple yes or no.
You were tired, but it wasn't something sleep could fix.
Now you understood why Shoko had advised you to 'stay for the night’.
Instead of explaining, you simply looked up at his tall figure as he closed in on you, his long legs eating up the distance in a few easy strides.
"Wow. I never thought you would be a wage slave too, sensei," you said, grinning as you sat down on the edge of the wooden porch.
Gojo laughed, sitting beside you.
"You ungrateful little brat," he said. "I'm literally working overtime, and here you are calling me a slave."
You looked at his face, wondering silently if he felt this bone-tired feeling all the time as well.
There was no way he could keep up with his busy schedule—one that stretched from early mornings to way past midnight every day—without feeling exhausted, even with reversed cursed technique.
He paused for a second, propping his head on his arm rested on his knee.
How did he know I was thinking?
"You always have that look on your face when you're thinking about something," he said, now turning his head to look at you fully, his smirk on full display, “You'd always look in front of you with that blank expression. It's cute."
You sighed, looking forward to the vast grounds of Jujutsu High.
"Just wondering when I'll be as strong as you," you mumbled softly. The lawn stretched out before you like a dark green sea, rippling gently in the night breeze.
"You are already very strong," Gojo said, tucking his phone into his pocket. Subtly, his voice had lost its teasing edge. "You won't come across special-grade curses every day. You don't need to be like me. Besides…" His voice dropped a little. "I won't let those kinds of things happen to you ever again."
You huffed out a laugh as you realised Gojo was still blaming himself for your recent near-death experience.
"You shouldn't pamper and spoil students like that, sensei. I need to improve and get stronger too." Shaking your head, a few strands of hair fell across your face, and you didn't bother tucking them back.
Sighing, you continued, "But no… it's not that," you said, looking down at your fingers. Your nails were clean—Shoko must have taken care of that too.
"I wanna do something to help you. So you wouldn't be running around all the time. You must be very tired…I mean mentally."
The silence stretched on for a few moments.
Gojo's expression had shifted, the smirk gone. His lips were parted slightly, as if he had been about to say something but thought better of it.
"Wow," he said dramatically. "Am I supposed to take back me saying that you're ungrateful?"
His smirk returned, slightly crooked but fond. "Though it will take a whole lot longer for you to even reach my level."
Then, slowly, he reached up and pulled his blindfold down.
The fabric slipped from his face like water, pooling around his neck in soft black folds. Soft white hair falling down to cover his forehead, it reflected silver under the starlight, as he revealed his blue eyes.
The sky blue that you had kept imagining secretly while trying to forget at the same time for the past years.
For once, you were desperately grateful for two things.
One: you were too tired to feel anything properly, emotions muffled like sounds through a thick wall.
And two: you were now facing the front, staring determinedly at the dark expanse of the lawn ahead of you instead of looking at him.
You high-fived yourself silently in your head.
But Gojo was probably really touched. The rare silence stretched between you two—not uncomfortable—for a few moments before Gojo finally stood up.
He moved with effortless grace, long limbs unfolding, tall and proud. He stood over you, blocking out the stars, his tall figure casting a shadow that fell across your lap like a dark blanket.
Gojo reached down to ruffle your hair.
His fingers were surprisingly gentle, you thought, as you looked up at him, especially for someone who could crush a curse with a single flick of his fingers. When he smiled, it was a small, soft one that wasn't the usual playful expression he usually wore.
"Go to sleep, sweetie. Don't worry your pretty head about me. I'm fine."
You knew he wasn't telling you the truth. There was no way one could look at the small cracks in his outer shell and not feel his tiredness. Even with reversed cursed technique to prevent his body from falling apart, there was no running away from the tiredness coming from the depths of his chest. You had seen him scrolling through his phone like a man trying to outrun his own thoughts just a few minutes before.
Just like how you were still tired, mentally, after Shoko had healed your body perfectly. It wasn't something reversed cursed technique could fix.
But Gojo's ego probably wouldn't allow you to say things like that to his face. He was the Strongest, after all. If he fell, then what hope was there for anyone else?
He hummed in response like a large white cat, a low, pleased sound vibrating through the air between you. You got up from the porch, your too-big slippers shuffling against the wood.
The single word was soft against your ear as you stepped inside and closed the door behind you with a quiet click.
Ever since that day, you found yourself experiencing two major changes in your life at Jujutsu High.
One: you and Gojo had established a closer relationship.
Two: you found out that you could actually breathe properly beside him.
You had tested this theory multiple times over the past few weeks—sitting next to him during mission briefings, walking beside him down the hallways, and so on. Everything in your body seemed to be working just fine, your heart still beating steadily and no fainting.
Maybe facing him every day isn't going to be as hard as I thought.
…As long as you don’t think about feeling anything.
Gojo, on the other hand, had developed a very specific, disruptive, and very Gojo-like habit of suddenly crash-landing into your dorm room in the middle of the night now.
The first time it happened, you nearly had a heart attack. Screaming, you had thrown a punch at his face. He had caught it with one hand and asked if you had any pudding.
Well, in your defense, anyone would do the exact same thing if someone suddenly slid open their window and climbed in like some kind of deranged, white-haired burglar.
Now, weeks later, it had become something close to a routine.
You were a late sleeper by nature, so you never minded it. His visits had become almost comforting in a strange way. He'd sometimes come through the window with his usual black jacket slung casually over his shoulder, revealing the lean line of his arm beneath his shirt.
Gojo moved with that lanky grace of his, all long limbs and deliberate carelessness, while being careful not to touch your bed when he clambered in.
…Not because he was naturally considerate.
That only happened after you had yelled at him so loudly that the whole building shook a few times, telling him not to get dirt on your fresh bedsheets.
If there was one thing you hated a lot, it would be anyone touching your bed without a shower or a fresh set of clothes. Your clean, white bed was a sacred, holy place that held no mercy for those who ground outside dirt into your pristine sheets.
Gojo had learned his lesson the hard way, his jacket being thrown out the window twice.
The second he planted his feet in your room, he would start rummaging in your small fridge and cupboard, searching for sweet snacks. The fridge would be thrown open with a dramatic flourish, its contents illuminated by the little yellow light inside. The cupboard, on the other hand, would be investigated thoroughly.
And Gojo Satoru was always searching for sweet snacks.
Ever since he started coming to your dorm randomly, the number of times you had to visit the convenience store just down the street outside the school had skyrocketed. The nice elderly woman behind the cash register now knew your face, your favourite brand of yoghurt, and the fact that you always bought an obscene amount of different sweet treats once every few days—so much that she had to restock them twice every week.
The problem was that Gojo tended to finish all his sweets in one go. Most of your stash was emptied out after he was done telling you about his day.
Once, after a particularly aggressive snack raid that had cleared out your entire supply of strawberry Pocky and Godiva chocolates, you had sighed, saying that it was getting more and more expensive to get an apartment in Tokyo.
It was supposed to be a joke, nothing more than a lighthearted complaint.
Until Gojo laughed and said, "I can get you a penthouse in the middle of the city if that's what you really want."
As you two grew closer, Gojo started frequently taking you out on missions.
Usually, on the way back, he'd tell Ijichi to drive back on his own. The poor man would nod nervously and speed off without a backward glance. Then Gojo would turn to you, a familiar smirk playing at the corner of his lips, and announce that he'd take you for an outing.
From Gojo's own words: "You could live without a few General Studies, right?"
Like skipping school to wander around unfamiliar cities with your teacher was the most normal thing to do in the world.
With that came the price of accompanying him to try out new desserts all the time.
It was a fair trade, you supposed. You never minded sweet food, so you were never complaining when he dragged you to hidden bakeries and tiny hole-in-the-wall shops.
The line for the coffee shop stretched so far down the street it seemed endless, a winding snake of people huddled in their coats and scarves while their breath fogged in the cold afternoon air.
It was nearly an hour later (with Gojo complaining dramatically about his poor aching feet while leaning half his weight on your shoulder) when you two were finally close enough to reach the glass windows of the coffee shop. Their menu was stuck to the inside of the glass, white letters on a black board, the font small and slightly difficult to read from where you stood.
"Hmm," Gojo hummed, peering at the menu. His breath fogged the glass slightly. "Ohhhh, look, they have brownies! And mochi! We're getting those… and strawberry shortcake! Is that a tiramisu? They all look soo good…"
His voice had taken on that particular tone that was used only when he was about to order an army of desserts.
"You're going to waste it if you can't finish them all," you sighed, craning your head closer to see the small font on the menu with the sizes of the desserts on it. Your neck was starting to ache from this angle, the warmth from the shop's interior fogging up the glass even more and making it harder to read. You moved closer, squinting at the text.
"Nah, it's fine—we can order takeout for the ones we haven't tried yet." Gojo waved a dismissive hand, his sunglasses catching the light. He was wearing them today instead of his usual blindfold, to look more normal in the eyes of civilians.
"But you still have to finish them today. I don't think the desserts would last long…"
You turned your head to look at him.
When had the space between you and him shrunk from a comfortable distance to barely a few inches?
Under those dark shades, his blue eyes pierced through, the glasses doing nothing to soften them nor hide that impossible shade of sky blue. Through those tinted lenses, his hues were so bright and clear and so close you could count his eyelashes if you wanted to.
You could even smell his scent—that faint fresh smell that clung to his clothes and hair and skin.
So much for breathing properly, your inner voice muttered, equally smug and sympathetic.
You snapped your head back towards the menu so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash.
Gojo had, obviously, realised the closeness as well. Straightening up, he merely pretended not to notice anything, continuing his rant about desserts.
It was supposed to be okay—
Until a waitress came up.
"Sir? Please step inside our café with your girlfriend… your table is at the far end of the corner, just beside the window."
Trying to explain that 'we're not a couple' would be weird and unnatural.
To cut things short, Gojo merely nodded and took you by your wrist, pulling you gently along with him into the café.
You could feel your cheeks burning already when the warm air inside the café hit you. And not from the heat.
A thin, invisible wall quietly rose between the two of you after that incident. It wasn't obvious, but more of a hollow-y feeling.
It started subtly, like the way his head turned slightly away from you when you walked past him in the hallway, as if something more interesting had suddenly appeared in the opposite direction.
The comfortable silences between you had turned into something that scraped against your skin like broken glass.
When you realised that Gojo had hesitated before slinging his hand over your shoulder, you tactfully stepped half a step away from him ever since.
The sudden decrease in all those small gestures and how both of you had silently started to keep a more-than-appropriate distance with politeness and formality left you no choice but to accept the fact that you and Gojo were drifting apart.
The seasons came and went.
Slipping through your fingers like water, spring arrived in a riot of pink and white, cherry blossoms blooming along the paths of Jujutsu High like scattered confetti, petals drifting lazily through the air and collecting in soft drifts against the stone walls.
Then spring melted into summer, the thick and humid air alive with the buzz of cicadas and the heavy scent of rain-soaked earth.
Summer faded into autumn. Leaves turning golden and crimson and amber, they painted the school grounds in shades of fire, crunching beneath your feet as you walked towards the training grounds.
Autumn ceded to winter. The first snow fell quietly, blanketing the world in a white so pure it hurt to look at.
Winter turned to spring again.
You had grown from Gojo's student to his colleague after only three years of training at Jujutsu High.
You had earned your place and proved that you were strong too. You were no longer a child who trailed after him with wide eyes and a racing heart.
But the thin sheen of invisible distance still separated the two of you like Gojo's Infinity.
It was so close to each other yet untouchable, like fingers hovering just a breath away from his skin but never closing the gap.
To you, Gojo was still treating the relationship between you two as a teacher-student relationship, nothing more and nothing different.
The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons descended upon Japan on a night that was supposed to be normal.
It turned out that the real battle at Jujutsu High had already long ended before you were done exorcising the cursed spirits in Shinjuku.
By the time you had exorcised the last curse in your sector, the sun was beginning to rise over the city, painting the broken streets in shades of pale gold and soft pink.
You stood there for a moment, chest heaving, your katana still dripping with cursed spirit slick, trying to feel the familiar thrum of Gojo's cursed energy.
You swallowed slightly, your throat dry.
You started running before you finished the thought.
You had only caught a glimpse (purely by accident) of Gojo's student profile when you were still studying at Jujutsu High. Just beneath his own profile was another teenage boy with long, sleek black hair tied up in a bun, eyes like a fox's, almost as good-looking as Gojo himself.
"Suguru Geto," you had murmured, reading his name printed just beside his profile. The name he had called out when you were ten? Probably.
Your eyes slid down to the expelled stamp in red ink just under his name, with the words worst of all cursed users beside it, and a long string of names he had apparently massacred in a village.
For someone as airheaded as Gojo, who loved nothing more than to annoy Shoko all day long, he had never uttered a single word about this person to anyone you knew. Clearly, Suguru Geto was one of the few—or probably the only—forbidden topic for Gojo.
What the fuck happened to the school?
The question echoed through your mind as you stared at the devastation before you. The gates of Jujutsu High were little more than rubble. You stared at the nightmare of broken slabs of concrete and twisted metal littered all across the path that led towards the main building, and finally at the huge crater that gaped like an open wound in the very middle of the path.
Dust hung thick in the air, grey and catching the fading light of the setting sun, turning it hazy. The smell of destruction and the acidic tang of cursed energy residue filled your nostrils with every breath.
You raised your katana in front of you defensively, the blade catching a sliver of orange light. Just in case someone or something suddenly jumped out.
Careful with every step, you moved forward into the darkness in complete silence. Your combat boots found the little solid ground that remained, stepping over chunks of concrete and splintered wood, your senses stretched out and feeling for cursed energy.
The only sound was the soft rustle of wind from your right, gentle like an apology, seeming to pass through the ruins without disturbing anything.
Finally, you stepped halfway out of the darkness.
Your eyes had adjusted to the dim light. The sun was low and hanging just above the horizon, casting long, dramatic shadows across the ruined landscape. The world was painted in shades of orange and purple and a deep, bruised blue, like colours bleeding into one another after being left out in the rain.
And there, standing in front of a narrow alleyway, was a white-haired man.
He was facing away from you, talking to someone sitting on the ground. Both were too far away for you to hear what they were saying.
A few moments later, a huge orb of blue light emitted in front of Gojo.
It expanded outward and engulfed the sitting man completely.
His cursed technique lapse faded, along with the man, and the alley returned to darkness.
Gojo Satoru stood just far enough from the alleyway that the setting sunlight showered his right side, a mix of gold and amber catching the strands of his white hair. He looked like a painting, his shadow dragged out long beneath him and stretched across the broken ground like a dark mirror of his own body.
You stood still, gripping your katana tightly until your knuckles turned white, debating whether to approach him or not.
Does he need alone time? Or a shoulder to cry on?
The thought felt almost absurd. The Strongest? Crying?
But the man standing in the fading sunlight looked like he was made entirely of cracks.
Taking a step backward, your combat boots crunched against a stray twig just behind you.
Gojo flinched, just enough for you to notice, before he turned around, almost reluctantly.
His white hair shifted with the motion, catching the light and falling across his forehead in soft, dishevelled waves.
Seeing you, his posture visibly relaxed. Smiling a tired curve of his lips that didn't reach his eyes, he took a small step towards you.
The wind chose that exact moment to blow gently across the ruins, ruffling his snowy white hair like a lover's touch and catching his blue, bright eyes glinting.
You took a few steps forward, trying to reach him.
"Sweetie," his voice cracked. It was softer and gentler than you had heard in a long time, but underneath it, you could clearly hear him begging.
"Please don't come over. Not now. Save your teacher some dignity, eh?"
The distance between you—already so infinite—stretched into something that felt like miles.
The Strongest looked so fragile in the wind.
His frame, usually so tall and imposing and untouchable, seemed hollow, like he might be blown away any second. His hands hung at his sides, limp and useless, his pretty face numb and his eyes electric blue, glowing with an intensity that bordered on painful, like the heart of a star burning itself to death.
What have you done to yourself?
"Sensei, have you ever thought of getting a boyfriend?"
The question came from Yuta, his dark eyes wide with genuine interest after a group mission with the whole school (which, to be honest, wasn't a lot of people anyway).
You had all decided to spend the rest of the day in the centre of Tokyo, and here you all were, sitting around a huge pot of hotpot together.
Maki, Panda, Inumaki, and even Gojo all paused at the sudden question, waiting for your answer.
You huffed out a small laugh at Yuta's question, shaking your head slightly.
"Yuta's right. I mean, you're super pretty and strong," Maki agreed as she chewed on a fishball.
"Salmon," Inumaki agreed with a small nod.
"What about me? I'm super handsome too! Why aren't y'all asking about me?" Gojo chimed in beside you, all bright and theatrical. He was wearing his signature smirk, his arms crossed behind his head.
The room fell silent for a moment.
"…Gojo sensei," Maki said with a small sigh, "it's not only about looks… it's about personality too. And yours is—"
"Anyways," Yuta cut in before Maki could spew insults at Gojo, turning back to you, "you must have a lot of admirers, right, sensei?"
You laughed dryly. "I guess I do have…"
Admirers, yes. You were pretty. And strong. Of course you had a long line of them.
But they didn't actually count when they weren't who you wanted in the first place.
Beside you, Gojo was very still.
The moment passed as the topic drifted to something else, swallowed by the warmth of the room.
It was way past midnight when your phone rang beside you on your bedside table.
The sound sliced through the peaceful darkness like a blade, jarringly loud in your quiet room. You had been asleep, or close to it, before the ringing pulled you up.
Sitting up groggily, your body moved on autopilot. Your hand fumbled across the bedside table, knocking over a glass of water (you'd deal with that later) and sending a book thudding to the floor (definitely later), before finally finding your phone.
You picked it up without even looking at the contact number.
"Sweetie… think m' drunk…"
That sent an electric shock right down your spine. Your eyes flew open, and you were wide awake by the next second.
Remembering vividly, Gojo had told you multiple times that he couldn't drink.
If there was one thing the Strongest couldn't do, it was anything associated with alcohol.
After all, you'd seen him get drunk off a small cup of red wine that didn't even taste good. It had been at some semi-formal event, with Gojo showing up late, accepting a single glass to be polite, and within twenty minutes, he was already leaning against a wall with unfocused eyes.
You cursed the shit out of this guy under your breath as you hurriedly threw a thin jacket over your nightdress, yanked open your door, and headed out into the jet-black night.
"Where the fuck are you?" You hissed into the speaker. "Don't you dare hang up on me, Gojo Satoru."
He slurred something into the speaker. It sounded like… your name?
You sighed, closing your eyes exasperatedly and fought the urge to roll them.
"Gojo, please tell me where you are."
After a beat, he finally stuttered out a bar name.
Thankfully, it wasn't far from Jujutsu High.
When you barged into one of the private rooms in the bar, slightly panting, you spotted Gojo instantly, huddled in a corner on a small couch all on his own. Even drunk, folding into himself like a child trying to disappear, his white hair glowed in the dim light, his blindfold slightly askew and his lips parted as if he had been about to say something but forgotten what it was.
The room was small and dimly lit, the walls covered in dark wood, the only light coming from a single lamp in the corner that cast everything in shades of pale yellow and gold.
You smiled at him sadly, a small trembling curve that he probably couldn't even see, and walked over. Then you sat down beside him on the couch.
Gojo must have had it tough.
Since the Night Parade—since Geto—you had been worried that he'd chew everything up and swallow it all down in one go, like he did with everything else.
Alcohol wasn't the best way to solve anything, but at least it was a way out for him.
He was silent as you settled beside him, only cancelling out his Infinity when he felt you next to him. He started taking off his blindfold.
The heavy weight rested on your shoulder before you could react, his white hair tickling your cheek and neck slightly, soft strands brushing like feathers.
His head found the curve of your shoulder like it belonged there, even rubbing against you slightly to fit into the hollow of your neck. Gojo's breath was warm against your collarbone, his body slumped against yours.
How long had it been since you two interacted like this?
The invisible wall that had risen between you seemed to melt away with his burning skin pressed against yours.
Your voice was barely a whisper, soft and uncertain.
He hummed. The sound vibrated against your shoulder.
Silence stretched between you two.
"You used to talk a lot." His voice was rougher and lower than usual. "But you didn't even utter a single word when you came in here. Not even a complaint. And the first word you said…" his voice cracked, just slightly, "…was something I have never wanted to hear from you."
"Y'know what I'm saying?" His voice was even softer now, almost pleading.
Registering your silence, he continued.
"Just one phone call… and you came running to me…"
His head was sliding off your shoulder. The angle was a little awkward for him, his frame too long for the small couch.
He adjusted himself more comfortably, shifting closer now. His body pressed against yours more fully, close enough that you could smell the artificial peachy flavour off him—probably from a drink he'd had not long ago.
"…How long have you had a crush on me?"
"You're talking nonsense, Gojo," you murmured softly after a long pause.
The weight on your shoulder disappeared. Before you could react, his hand was there instead, long fingers gripping your chin firmly and turning your head towards him.
His fingers were burning.
You tasted the peachy flavour in your mouth.
The sweet, artificial taste flooded you as his mouth moved against yours.
Gojo had his blue eyes shut, white lashes fluttering slightly against his cheeks.
He was kissing you like he had been thinking about it for a long time.
Seeing that you weren't even trying to push him away, he kissed you more aggressively, his slender fingers sliding from your chin to cup your face. His palms were warm against your cheek, his thumb brushing gently along your jawline.
How tf is he such a good kisser when he's never even had a girlfriend?
The thought surfaced from somewhere in the chaos of your mind.
The great Gojo Satoru was good at everything.
Damn. Should've dated a few guys before this—
You had absolutely no idea how to kiss.
Your lips moved against his, clumsily.
Satoru's lips left yours for half a second, then closed in again before you could even draw a shaky gasp of air.
Dizzily, you pushed at his shoulders, trying to get him off you for a second to let you breathe.
Your feeble attempts at pushing were, of course, ignored by Satoru.
He did loosen one of his hands that had been cupping your face, only for it to tighten behind your neck, bringing you even closer.
You couldn't even breathe properly even when he finally let you go.
His lips left yours reluctantly, as if he had to physically force himself to pull away.
You slumped forward, drunk from the kiss, lips tingling and the taste of peach lingering on your tongue.
Now it was your head on his shoulder.
His arms had come around you at some point and were holding you loosely, like you had always fit there.
Your voice came out muffled against his skin.
"…You're supposed to say you like me back before kissing me, idiot."
Satoru ruffled your hair lightly with a chuckle, the laugh vibrating through his chest to the places where your bodies touched.
"Sweetie," his voice was still rough from the alcohol, but laced with… happiness? "I'm a man of action."
The first thread of light that shines through the complete, total darkness of night.
Gojo had always thought that there’s something sacred about the first light, about the moment when darkness cracks and the world remembers what it means to hope.
"Et lux in tenebris lucet."
And the light shines in the darkness.
The ancients understood something that we often forget—that light means nothing without darkness, he thought, looking at the skies.
They look at him, the Strongest, and think that he was some kind of gift that graced everyone in his presence.
But they never knew that, in his dark world, you were the only one who saw through him.
Gojo had, since a long, long time ago.
And finally, it had arrived.
Notes from Vivi: OMG FINALLY FINISHED IT EKKKK—
It’s like four in the morning rn
I know it’s been a while since I posted but my final exams are closing in so I don’t have a lot of spare time
The second part had taken me a LONG time to write cuz I ran out of ideas and I’m bad at writing in whole. Not exactly ran out of ideas, but it was more like that I didn’t like the original plot. I had to delete my whole draft and do the whole thing again cuz it just doesn’t really seem right to me.
Anyways, I really really hope you all enjoyed it! Though you see me complaining a lot (I do that all the time), I enjoyed writing this a lot!
Maybe I’ll write an epilogue. Maybe.
