mira

The forest breathed around you, a symphony of rustling leaves and distant birdcalls. Sunlight, fractured by the ancient canopy, dappled the moss-covered stones lining the small, secluded lake. The water, cool and clear, kissed your skin as you submerged yourself, the day’s dust and the weight of your hidden life washing away. You hummed a soft, wordless tune, a melody born of the earth, as you scrubbed your arms, the scent of wild mint and damp soil clinging to the air. Your fingers traced the curve of your collarbone, then moved lower, feeling the gentle swell of your chest, the flat plane of your stomach. Peace, fleeting and precious, enveloped you.

A sudden stillness descended, not just in the forest, but within you. The rustling paused, the birdsong hushed. A prickle, like static electricity, danced on your skin. You were not alone. Your eyes, sharp despite their soft appearance, darted to the treeline. There, bathed in a shaft of light, stood a man.

He was a vision, a stark contrast to the wildness around him. His hair was stark white, seemed spun from moonlight. Eyes, a startling cerulean, held the depth of an endless sky, intense and unwavering as they fixed on you. His frame, tall and lean, exuded an almost predatory grace, yet his posture was relaxed, a hand resting lightly on the h hilt of a sheathed blade at his hip. A long, dark coat, heavy with intricate silver embroidery, covered his broad shoulders, and the faint glint of chainmail peeked from beneath.

He watched you, not with the leering hunger you’d grown accustomed to from men in villages or anywhere you go, but with something else entirely— a profound admiration, a quiet awe that made your own heart skip. It was as if he saw not just your naked form, but the very essence of you, laid bare.

A slow smile blossomed on your lips, unbidden. You felt no shame, no fear, only a strange pull, an undeniable curiosity. The water rippled as you began to move, gliding towards the shore. Your bare feet found purchase on the silty bank, pulling your body from the cool embrace of the lake. The water sluiced from your skin, glistening in the light, tracing paths down your chest, over your belly, between your thighs. You did not break eye contact with him, an unspoken understanding passing between you in the silent forest. He did not move, did not speak, only watched as you reached for the simple linen shift you'd left draped over a low-hanging branch.

"morning," your voice, soft as a forest whisper, carried easily across the space separating you. You pulled the shift over your head, the fabric clinging to your damp skin. His gaze remained, a silent intensity that both thrilled and unsettled you.

"wellll, it is now," his voice, deep and resonant, finally broke the quiet. It was a sound that vibrated through the air, stirring something primal within you. He took a step forward, then another, closing the distance between you. He moved with an effortless grace, each step deliberate, yet fluid.

You noticed the intricate, almost ceremonial, quality of his armor and weapons, the symbols etched into the leather of his gauntlets. A witch hunter. The realization hit you like a sudden chill, despite the warmth of the sun. Your carefully guarded secret, your very identity, screamed silently within you. Your smile faltered, a flicker of hesitation crossing your features, but he seemed not to notice, his beautiful eyes still fixed on you with that same unreadable intensity.

"I didn't expect to find anyone... out here,"he said, his voice closer now, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "this part of the woods… it's not safe for delicate things."

You raised an eyebrow, a small, knowing smirk playing on your lips. "Delicate hm? I assure you, I am quite capable of handling myself." You met his gaze, a silent challenge in your eyes. You could feel the hum of your own magic, a dormant fire beneath your skin, ready to ignite. But you kept it contained, a tightly coiled spring. He was a witch hunter. He wouldn't look at you like this if he knew.

He chuckled, a rich, warm sound that softened the sharp edges of his formidable presence. "I can see that. Still, these woods hold dangers you know, witches, mostly." The word, witches, hung in the air like a curse. Your breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. He couldn't know. He couldn't.

"Witches?" you repeated, feigning a lightness you didn’t feel. "Are they truly so fearsome?"

He tilted his head, his white hair catching the light like a halo."Some are... they steal, they curse, they bring ruin. Others… they hide in plain sight, weaving their insidious spells into the fabric of daily life." His cerulean eyes swept over you again, a slow, deliberate appraisal that made your heart pound. You held your breath, bracing yourself, but his expression remained unchanged, still that profound, almost tender admiration.

"And you,?" you asked, your voice a little huskier than you intended, "are you the one who hunts these witches?" You gestured vaguely towards his formidable attire, the glint of steel.

A slow, confident smile spread across his face, revealing perfect white teeth. "Well, i am Satoru, and uh yes, i hunt them.” He extended a hand, large and calloused, yet surprisingly gentle. "And you are?"

You hesitated for only a fraction of a second, a silent battle raging within you. To lie, to keep your secret, to risk everything for this strange, intoxicating connection. Or to flee, to disappear back into the shadows, to preserve your life. Your fingers, cool from the lake, brushed against his. His skin was warm, firm. A jolt, like lightning, shot through you.

You breathed and told him your name, feeling foreign on your tongue, a lie wrapped in truth.

His thumb stroked the back of your hand, a light, teasing touch that sent warmth spreading through your veins. He repeated your name, his gaze never leaving yours. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman."

You spent the rest of the afternoon with him, the hours dissolving into a timeless space. He spoke of his travels, of villages he’d saved, of the darkness he purged. You listened, your heart a tangled knot of fascination and fear. He was a force of nature, a living legend, and you, a witch, sat beside him, sharing stories, sharing laughter. You spoke of the forest, of the healing herbs you knew, of the quiet beauty you found in the world. You carefully omitted any mention of the magic that made these things possible, of the spells that brought life back to wilting plants, of the whispers you heard from the ancient trees.

He watched you, always watched you, with an intensity that both captivated and unnerved. When your hands brushed as you reached for a wild berry, a spark ignited. When your eyes met across the small fire you’d built, a silent conversation unfolded, a promise of something more. He was a hunter, a killer of your kind, yet he looked at you as if you were the most precious thing he had ever encountered. And you, a witch, found yourself drawn to him with an undeniable, dangerous pull.

Days bled into weeks. You found yourselves meeting in that same secluded spot by the lake, your secret rendezvous becoming the anchor of your lives. He would arrive, a shadow gliding through the trees, and you would be there, waiting, your heart leaping at the sight of him. You learned about his past, a childhood marked by prodigal talent and immense expectations. He spoke of the burden of his power, the loneliness of being unmatched. You, in turn, shared snippets of your life, carefully curated to obscure your true nature. You told him of your solitude, of your love for the natural world, of your desire to heal, to mend.

One evening, as the stars began to prickle the inky sky, he reached out, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. His touch was feather-light, yet it sent tremors through your entire being. he murmured your name, his voice a low caress. "You are unlike anyone I have ever known."

You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed. "And you, Satoru," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, "you are unlike anyone I ever imagined."

His lips found yours then, soft at first, a gentle exploration. His mouth was warm, tasting of wild berries and the clean scent of the forest. You responded instantly, your body arching into his, your hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders. The kiss deepened, a hungry, urgent thing. His tongue swept into your mouth, a bold invasion that you met with equal fervor. You tangled your fingers in his impossibly soft, white hair, pulling him closer, closer until there was no space left between you.

His hands, surprisingly deft, found the hem of your simple dress, pushing it up, up, until his fingers brushed against the bare skin of your thighs. A gasp escaped you, and he devoured it, his tongue dancing with yours, a sensual rhythm. He lifted you, effortlessly, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your skirts riding high. The rough fabric of his trousers abraded your inner thighs, a delicious friction. He carried you to the soft moss by the lake, lowering you gently until you lay beneath him, his weight a comforting pressure.

His eyes, those startling blue orbs, peered down at you, dark with desire. "Are you sure that it's okay?" he breathed, his voice hoarse.

You reached up, cupping his face, your thumbs stroking his cheekbones. "More than sure, Satoru."

He kissed you again, a bruising, passionate kiss that left you breathless. His hand slid beneath your dress, finding the wet heat between your legs. He stroked you, slowly, deliberately, his fingers teasing your clitoris through the thin fabric of your undergarment. A moan escaped your lips, raw and untamed. You bucked against his hand, silently begging for more.

"So wet for me," he rumbled, his voice dark with pleasure. He stripped away his own clothes with surprising speed, his body, lean and powerfully muscled, revealed in the dim light. His cock, thick and heavy, sprang free, already hard and pulsing. You gasped, your eyes wide as you took in the impressive sight.

He shed your remaining garments with equal haste, scattering them around you like fallen petals. Your naked bodies pressed together, skin against skin, a searing heat that consumed you. His cock brushed against your slick pussy, a tantalizing promise. You squirmed, desperate for the release he offered.

"Please, S'toru" you whispered, your voice ragged.

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound. He positioned himself, his cock pressing against your entrance, hot and insistent. He looked into your eyes, a fierce tenderness there. Then, with a slow, deliberate thrust, he entered you.

A sharp gasp tore from your throat as he pushed inside, filling you completely. The stretch was immense, almost painful, but quickly transformed into an exquisite pleasure. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper. He began to move, a slow, rhythmic thrusting that rocked your world.

Each push and pull sent waves of sensation through you. Your hips rose to meet his, your hands clawing at his back, leaving faint red marks on his pale skin. The sound of your bodies slapping together, the wet, squelching sounds of him burying himself inside you, filled the quiet night. You cried out, a primal sound, as your climax began to build, a tightening knot in your core.

He quickened his pace, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His balls slapped against your ass with each powerful stroke, a rhythmic thudding that intensified the pleasure. He leaned down, sucking on your neck, then your shoulder, leaving a trail of love bites. You felt his body tense, heard his groan, deep and guttural, as he emptied himself inside you, a hot, pulsing release that sent you spiraling over the edge into a shattering orgasm. Your body convulsed around his cock, milking him dry, as you cried out his name, a broken, joyful sound.

He collapsed onto you, his body heavy and sated, his breath hot against your ear. You clung to him, your fingers still tangled in his hair, your legs still wrapped around his waist. For a long moment, you simply lay there, intertwined, the world outside your embrace fading into insignificance.

The weeks turned into months. Your love for Gojo deepened, becoming an inextricable part of your being. You reveled in his touch, in his fierce protectiveness, in the quiet moments of understanding you shared. But beneath the joy, the fear festered. Your secret, a venomous seed, continued to grow, threatening to poison everything you held dear. You knew, with a certainty that chilled you to the bone, that if he ever discovered the truth, it would shatter him, and likely, destroy you.

One crisp autumn morning, as the leaves painted the forest in hues of gold and crimson, you were gathering herbs, your mind lost in the comforting rhythm of the woods. A cold whisper, not of the wind, brushed against your ear.

"He's a killer, a killer of our kind. You defile yourself, sister."

You froze, your fingers clenching around a sprig of mugwort. You knew that voice. It belonged to Lyra, a witch from a distant coven, known for her rigid adherence to ancient ways and her fierce hatred of humans, especially witch hunters. You’d crossed paths with her once, years ago, and she had always viewed your gentle, healing magic as a weakness, a betrayal of your true power.

You tried to ignore her, to dismiss it as a trick of the wind, but the whisper came again, closer this time, laced with venom.

"And you hold the Serpent’s Eye, do you not? The gem of ages, hidden away with a human lover. A fool’s errand. A blasphemy!!!"

Oh yeah, you remember...The Serpent’s Eye. A legendary artifact, a gem imbued with ancient magic, said to grant its wielder unparalleled insight and protection. You had inherited it from your mother, a quiet, unassuming stone that you wore as a simple pendant, hidden beneath your clothes. It was indeed precious, a relic coveted by many, but its true power lay in its ability to enhance one’s own magical connection, not to kill.

You spun around, your heart pounding, eyes scanning the dense undergrowth. "Show yourself, Lyra!!" you demanded, your voice sharp, devoid of its usual softness.

A figure emerged from the shadows, cloaked in robes the color of dried blood. Lyra. Her eyes, dark and piercing, fixed on you, burning with a cold fury. Her face, usually serene, was contorted into a mask of disdain.

"You shame us," she hissed, her voice a low snarl. "To lie with a hunter, to betray your blood for a human’s fleeting affections. And to hide the Serpent’s Eye from its rightful place, keeping it from those who would use its power for the good of our kind."

"My choices are my own," you retorted, your hand instinctively going to the small pouch hidden beneath your tunic, where the gem rested. "And the Serpent’s Eye is mine. My mother entrusted it to me, not to your coven’s endless pursuit of power."

"Foolish bwitch," Lyra sneered, her hand rising, her fingers twisting in the air. A faint, sickly green light began to emanate from her palm. "You will regret this. I will cleanse you of your sins, and retrieve what is ours."

Just as the green light began to coalesce into a shimmering projectile, a blur of white flashed through the trees. Satoru. He moved with impossible speed, his eyes like twin bolts of lightning. He had been tracking a faint magical signature, a whisper on the wind he’d learned to recognize as a precursor to trouble, and it had led him straight to you.

He tackled Lyra with brutal efficiency, knocking her off balance before she could unleash her spell. His sword, drawn in a single fluid motion, glinted ominously in the dappled light.

"What the hell is going on here?" Gojo's voice was a low growl, laced with a dangerous edge you had never heard directed at you. His cerulean eyes, usually so full of warmth when they looked at you, were now hard as ice, narrowed in suspicion. He held Lyra pinned to the ground, his blade poised at her throat.

Lyra, despite her predicament, laughed, a harsh, grating sound. Her eyes, still blazing with malice, flickered from you to Gojo, then back again. "Your beloved, hunter," she spat, her gaze fixed on Gojo. "She is one of us. A witch. And she carries the Serpent’s Eye, a treasure you seek to destroy. How does it feel, Gojo Satoru, to lie with the very thing you swore to eradicate?"

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Gojo’s head snapped towards you, his eyes wide, then narrowing into slits of utter disbelief, then cold fury. The truth, ugly and undeniable, had been laid bare.

You stood frozen, your heart plummeting to your stomach. His gaze, once filled with adoration, was now a chilling void, a betrayal so profound it physically hurt. The air around you crackled with unspoken tension, the silence louder than any scream.

He murmured your name, his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a pain so deep it made your own chest ache. It was not a question, but a plea, a desperate hope that Lyra’s words were a lie.

You couldn’t speak. Your throat was tight, choked with unspoken apologies, with years of carefully constructed deceit. Your eyes, filled with unshed tears, met his. The lie was written all over your face, in the sudden pallor of your skin, in the tremor of your hands.

Lyra, seeing her chance, twisted violently, attempting to break free. Gojo, his focus momentarily shattered by your confession, faltered. She lashed out with a surge of green energy, catching him on the arm. He cried out, stumbling back, his grip on his sword momentarily loosening.

"Run!" Lyra shrieked, scrambling to her feet, her gaze still fixed on you with that terrifying possessiveness. "Run before he kills you!"

But you didn’t run. You couldn’t. Your eyes were locked with Gojo’s, watching the love drain from them, replaced by a cold, devastating emptiness. He looked at you as if he had never seen you before, as if you were a stranger, an enemy, a monster.

"You are.... a witch?" he finally managed, his voice devoid of emotion, flat and hollow. "All this time… you lied to me?"

The pain in his voice was a physical blow. "I never meant to hurt you, Gojo," you whispered, tears finally streaming down your face. "I love you."

"Love?" he scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "What does a witch know abt love? You weave spells, you deceive. This was all a game to you, wasn’t it? To toy with me, to make a fool of me?"

"No!" you cried out, stepping forward, your hand outstretched. "It was never a game! I fell in love with you, truly. I kept my secret because I knew… I knew you would hate me. You would hunt me."

His eyes, those beautiful, endless blue eyes, narrowed. "And you were right, weren’t you?" He raised his sword, the polished steel glinting menacingly. "I hunt witches. It’s what I do."

Lyra, seeing the opportunity, launched another attack, a barrage of glowing green orbs aimed at Gojo. He deflected them with a swift, powerful swing of his sword, his movements sharp and precise, driven by a cold, furious energy. He was a force of nature, a whirlwind of white hair and gleaming steel.

"The Serpent’s Eye!!" Lyra shrieked, her voice echoing through the trees. "Give it to me! It is our only hope!"

Gojo’s gaze snapped to your hand, to the subtle bulge beneath your tunic. His eyes widened, a new layer of understanding, and betrayal, etching itself onto his face. "The Serpent’s Eye?" he murmured, his voice laced with venom. "You possess an artifact, and you hide it while pretending to be a simple healer?"

"I-it’s not what you think!" you pleaded, tears blurring your vision. "Satoru, please hear me out!"

But he wasn’t listening. His jaw was set, his expression grim. He was no longer the man who had looked at you with adoration. He was the witch hunter, cold and unwavering.

Lyra, meanwhile, pressed her attack, forcing Gojo to focus on her. She moved with a surprising agility, but you were faster. You didn't hesitate, pulling Gojo out of her trajectory and shielding him with your own body.

He froze, a rare flicker of genuine shock crossing his features as he looked at you. "Huh..." Lyra spat, her voice jagged with malice. "You really think you can protect him? He’ll kill you the second he’s done with me!!!"

The threat was white noise. You didn't even turn to look at her. Instead, you reached up, your hands trembling as you cupped his face. Your vision blurred with tears that finally broke, spilling over as you searched his eyes. "Satoru... please... look at me," you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of everything left unsaid. "I’m sorry... I'm so sorry."

He stared down at you, the usual cold brilliance of his gaze softening into something heavy— pity, perhaps, or a realization he wasn't ready to face. He opened his mouth to speak, his expression wavering, but the moment was shattered as Lyra swung for his blind side.

Satoru didn't even look at her. With a fluid, terrifying burst of speed, he moved. In one heartbeat, he was dodging the strike; in the next, his blade was already singing through the air. The steel slid through her neck with such precision and force that Lyra’s head fell before she could even register the killing blow. Silence followed, absolute and heavy, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing in the sudden quiet.

His fingers, still cupping your face, trembled almost imperceptibly. He stared at you, his beautiful blue eyes, once so certain, now swirling with a tempest of emotions, anger, confusion, regret, and a raw, undeniable love that refused to be extinguished. The air around you, thick with the scent of pine and freshly spilled blood, seemed to hum with the weight of his internal battle.

A long, shuddering breath escaped him, a sound that was more moan than sigh. His gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips, then back up again, as if searching for an answer in their depths. He whispered your name, his voice rough, raspy, as if wrenched from the very core of his being. "I… I am sorry." The words were halting, each one a struggle, loaded with the weight of his previous accusations. "I’m so sorry for what I said. For what I thought, for… for looking at you as if you were an enemy. For doubting you, for accusing you of deception, when you were only trying to protect yourself, and… and me." He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tight against his powerful frame. His head dropped, resting on the crown of your head, his white hair brushing against your cheek. "The words… they were poison. And I regret every single fucking one." His voice was muffled, thick with emotion, a low groan escaping him. "Urgh… I can’t believe I almost… I almost lost you because of my own blindness."

You felt the tremor in his body, the fierce grip of his arms, and a wave of profound relief washed over you. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of him– leather, steel, and his unique, intoxicating musk. You tightened your arms around his waist, holding him just as fiercely.

"No, Satoru.." you whispered, your voice still a little shaky, but filled with an overwhelming sense of peace. "Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault. All of it… it was mine." You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up into his face, your eyes meeting his. "I kept it from you. I lied by omission, every single day. I was so afraid of losing you, of seeing that look of hatred in your eyes, that I built a wall of secrets between us." A fresh tear escaped, tracing a path down your cheek.

"I understand why you reacted the way you did. You had every right to be angry, to feel betrayed. I put you in an impossible position."

He shook his head slowly, his jaw tight. "No, no, there is no excuse for my words. For my immediate judgment. For the way I let my preconceived notions… my training… blind me to the truth of you." He pulled you back into a tight embrace, pressing his face into your hair. "I saw you protect me. I saw your magic, and it was actually... beautiful. Radiant. And I still turned on you." A low, guttural growl rumbled in his chest, a sound of self-loathing. "How could I? how could I have ever thought… that you were evil? That you were anything but pure?"

You felt the warmth of his breath against your scalp, the strong beat of his heart against your cheek. "You were raised to believe witches are evil, Satoru. It’s ingrained in you. To expect you to shed that in an instant, especially when faced with such a stark revelation… that’s unfair." You gently stroked his back, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath his tunic. "I forgive you. Truly. My love for you never wavered, not even when your eyes were full of fire."

He pulled away again, his hands moving to cup your face, his thumbs gently caressing your skin. His eyes, though still intense, held a newfound vulnerability. "But I cannot forgive myself," His voice was barely a whisper, filled with a raw, aching pain. "to have hurt you like that… to have questioned your very essence… I am the one who needs forgiveness, and I don’t know if I can ever grant it to myself." A tear, cold and crystalline, traced a path down his own cheek, a stark contrast to his fierce demeanor. "Hnngh… The thought of what I nearly did, what I nearly became in that moment… it sickens me."

You reached up, your fingers wiping away his tear, then cupping his jaw. "Then let me help you," you murmured, your gaze unwavering. "Let me show you that your heart is not stained. Let me show you that love can heal even the deepest wounds." You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, a gentle promise. It was a kiss of forgiveness, of understanding, of a love that had weathered a storm and emerged, battered but unbroken, into a fragile, uncertain dawn.

He groaned softly into the kiss, a sound of profound relief mixed with lingering self-reproach. His arms tightened around you once more, pulling you flush against him, as if he could absorb your forgiveness through sheer proximity. "My world," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion, "it’s… it’s been turned upside down. Everything I thought I knew. Everything I believed in." He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his breathing still a little ragged. "But you… you are still here. And that is all that matters." His grip on you was almost desperate, a silent testament to the fear he had felt, the terror of truly losing you. The greatest witch hunter, the prodigy, blessed by gods, was utterly, heartbreakingly human in this moment, grappling with a truth that shattered his very foundation. And in his vulnerability, in his struggle to reconcile his past with his present, you saw not weakness, but a profound strength, a love deep enough to challenge a lifetime of ingrained belief.

The forest breathed around you, a symphony of rustling leaves and distant birdcalls. Sunlight, fractured by the ancient canopy, dappled the moss-covered stones lining the small, secluded lake. The water, cool and clear, kissed your skin as you submerged yourself, the day’s dust and the weight of your hidden life washing away. You hummed a soft, wordless tune, a melody born of the earth, as you scrubbed your arms, the scent of wild mint and damp soil clinging to the air. Your fingers traced the curve of your collarbone, then moved lower, feeling the gentle swell of your chest, the flat plane of your stomach. Peace, fleeting and precious, enveloped you.

A sudden stillness descended, not just in the forest, but within you. The rustling paused, the birdsong hushed. A prickle, like static electricity, danced on your skin. You were not alone. Your eyes, sharp despite their soft appearance, darted to the treeline. There, bathed in a shaft of light, stood a man.

He was a vision, a stark contrast to the wildness around him. His hair was stark white, seemed spun from moonlight. Eyes, a startling cerulean, held the depth of an endless sky, intense and unwavering as they fixed on you. His frame, tall and lean, exuded an almost predatory grace, yet his posture was relaxed, a hand resting lightly on the h hilt of a sheathed blade at his hip. A long, dark coat, heavy with intricate silver embroidery, covered his broad shoulders, and the faint glint of chainmail peeked from beneath.

He watched you, not with the leering hunger you’d grown accustomed to from men in villages or anywhere you go, but with something else entirely— a profound admiration, a quiet awe that made your own heart skip. It was as if he saw not just your naked form, but the very essence of you, laid bare.

A slow smile blossomed on your lips, unbidden. You felt no shame, no fear, only a strange pull, an undeniable curiosity. The water rippled as you began to move, gliding towards the shore. Your bare feet found purchase on the silty bank, pulling your body from the cool embrace of the lake. The water sluiced from your skin, glistening in the light, tracing paths down your chest, over your belly, between your thighs. You did not break eye contact with him, an unspoken understanding passing between you in the silent forest. He did not move, did not speak, only watched as you reached for the simple linen shift you'd left draped over a low-hanging branch.

"morning," your voice, soft as a forest whisper, carried easily across the space separating you. You pulled the shift over your head, the fabric clinging to your damp skin. His gaze remained, a silent intensity that both thrilled and unsettled you.

"wellll, it is now," his voice, deep and resonant, finally broke the quiet. It was a sound that vibrated through the air, stirring something primal within you. He took a step forward, then another, closing the distance between you. He moved with an effortless grace, each step deliberate, yet fluid.

You noticed the intricate, almost ceremonial, quality of his armor and weapons, the symbols etched into the leather of his gauntlets. A witch hunter. The realization hit you like a sudden chill, despite the warmth of the sun. Your carefully guarded secret, your very identity, screamed silently within you. Your smile faltered, a flicker of hesitation crossing your features, but he seemed not to notice, his beautiful eyes still fixed on you with that same unreadable intensity.

"I didn't expect to find anyone... out here,"he said, his voice closer now, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "this part of the woods… it's not safe for delicate things."

You raised an eyebrow, a small, knowing smirk playing on your lips. "Delicate hm? I assure you, I am quite capable of handling myself." You met his gaze, a silent challenge in your eyes. You could feel the hum of your own magic, a dormant fire beneath your skin, ready to ignite. But you kept it contained, a tightly coiled spring. He was a witch hunter. He wouldn't look at you like this if he knew.

He chuckled, a rich, warm sound that softened the sharp edges of his formidable presence. "I can see that. Still, these woods hold dangers you know, witches, mostly." The word, witches, hung in the air like a curse. Your breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. He couldn't know. He couldn't.

"Witches?" you repeated, feigning a lightness you didn’t feel. "Are they truly so fearsome?"

He tilted his head, his white hair catching the light like a halo."Some are... they steal, they curse, they bring ruin. Others… they hide in plain sight, weaving their insidious spells into the fabric of daily life." His cerulean eyes swept over you again, a slow, deliberate appraisal that made your heart pound. You held your breath, bracing yourself, but his expression remained unchanged, still that profound, almost tender admiration.

"And you,?" you asked, your voice a little huskier than you intended, "are you the one who hunts these witches?" You gestured vaguely towards his formidable attire, the glint of steel.

A slow, confident smile spread across his face, revealing perfect white teeth. "Well, i am Satoru, and uh yes, i hunt them.” He extended a hand, large and calloused, yet surprisingly gentle. "And you are?"

You hesitated for only a fraction of a second, a silent battle raging within you. To lie, to keep your secret, to risk everything for this strange, intoxicating connection. Or to flee, to disappear back into the shadows, to preserve your life. Your fingers, cool from the lake, brushed against his. His skin was warm, firm. A jolt, like lightning, shot through you.

You breathed and told him your name, feeling foreign on your tongue, a lie wrapped in truth.

His thumb stroked the back of your hand, a light, teasing touch that sent warmth spreading through your veins. He repeated your name, his gaze never leaving yours. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman."

You spent the rest of the afternoon with him, the hours dissolving into a timeless space. He spoke of his travels, of villages he’d saved, of the darkness he purged. You listened, your heart a tangled knot of fascination and fear. He was a force of nature, a living legend, and you, a witch, sat beside him, sharing stories, sharing laughter. You spoke of the forest, of the healing herbs you knew, of the quiet beauty you found in the world. You carefully omitted any mention of the magic that made these things possible, of the spells that brought life back to wilting plants, of the whispers you heard from the ancient trees.

He watched you, always watched you, with an intensity that both captivated and unnerved. When your hands brushed as you reached for a wild berry, a spark ignited. When your eyes met across the small fire you’d built, a silent conversation unfolded, a promise of something more. He was a hunter, a killer of your kind, yet he looked at you as if you were the most precious thing he had ever encountered. And you, a witch, found yourself drawn to him with an undeniable, dangerous pull.

Days bled into weeks. You found yourselves meeting in that same secluded spot by the lake, your secret rendezvous becoming the anchor of your lives. He would arrive, a shadow gliding through the trees, and you would be there, waiting, your heart leaping at the sight of him. You learned about his past, a childhood marked by prodigal talent and immense expectations. He spoke of the burden of his power, the loneliness of being unmatched. You, in turn, shared snippets of your life, carefully curated to obscure your true nature. You told him of your solitude, of your love for the natural world, of your desire to heal, to mend.

One evening, as the stars began to prickle the inky sky, he reached out, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. His touch was feather-light, yet it sent tremors through your entire being. he murmured your name, his voice a low caress. "You are unlike anyone I have ever known."

You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed. "And you, Satoru," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, "you are unlike anyone I ever imagined."

His lips found yours then, soft at first, a gentle exploration. His mouth was warm, tasting of wild berries and the clean scent of the forest. You responded instantly, your body arching into his, your hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders. The kiss deepened, a hungry, urgent thing. His tongue swept into your mouth, a bold invasion that you met with equal fervor. You tangled your fingers in his impossibly soft, white hair, pulling him closer, closer until there was no space left between you.

His hands, surprisingly deft, found the hem of your simple dress, pushing it up, up, until his fingers brushed against the bare skin of your thighs. A gasp escaped you, and he devoured it, his tongue dancing with yours, a sensual rhythm. He lifted you, effortlessly, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your skirts riding high. The rough fabric of his trousers abraded your inner thighs, a delicious friction. He carried you to the soft moss by the lake, lowering you gently until you lay beneath him, his weight a comforting pressure.

His eyes, those startling blue orbs, peered down at you, dark with desire. "Are you sure that it's okay?" he breathed, his voice hoarse.

You reached up, cupping his face, your thumbs stroking his cheekbones. "More than sure, Satoru."

He kissed you again, a bruising, passionate kiss that left you breathless. His hand slid beneath your dress, finding the wet heat between your legs. He stroked you, slowly, deliberately, his fingers teasing your clitoris through the thin fabric of your undergarment. A moan escaped your lips, raw and untamed. You bucked against his hand, silently begging for more.

"So wet for me," he rumbled, his voice dark with pleasure. He stripped away his own clothes with surprising speed, his body, lean and powerfully muscled, revealed in the dim light. His cock, thick and heavy, sprang free, already hard and pulsing. You gasped, your eyes wide as you took in the impressive sight.

He shed your remaining garments with equal haste, scattering them around you like fallen petals. Your naked bodies pressed together, skin against skin, a searing heat that consumed you. His cock brushed against your slick pussy, a tantalizing promise. You squirmed, desperate for the release he offered.

"Please, S'toru" you whispered, your voice ragged.

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound. He positioned himself, his cock pressing against your entrance, hot and insistent. He looked into your eyes, a fierce tenderness there. Then, with a slow, deliberate thrust, he entered you.

A sharp gasp tore from your throat as he pushed inside, filling you completely. The stretch was immense, almost painful, but quickly transformed into an exquisite pleasure. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper. He began to move, a slow, rhythmic thrusting that rocked your world.

Each push and pull sent waves of sensation through you. Your hips rose to meet his, your hands clawing at his back, leaving faint red marks on his pale skin. The sound of your bodies slapping together, the wet, squelching sounds of him burying himself inside you, filled the quiet night. You cried out, a primal sound, as your climax began to build, a tightening knot in your core.

He quickened his pace, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His balls slapped against your ass with each powerful stroke, a rhythmic thudding that intensified the pleasure. He leaned down, sucking on your neck, then your shoulder, leaving a trail of love bites. You felt his body tense, heard his groan, deep and guttural, as he emptied himself inside you, a hot, pulsing release that sent you spiraling over the edge into a shattering orgasm. Your body convulsed around his cock, milking him dry, as you cried out his name, a broken, joyful sound.

He collapsed onto you, his body heavy and sated, his breath hot against your ear. You clung to him, your fingers still tangled in his hair, your legs still wrapped around his waist. For a long moment, you simply lay there, intertwined, the world outside your embrace fading into insignificance.

The weeks turned into months. Your love for Gojo deepened, becoming an inextricable part of your being. You reveled in his touch, in his fierce protectiveness, in the quiet moments of understanding you shared. But beneath the joy, the fear festered. Your secret, a venomous seed, continued to grow, threatening to poison everything you held dear. You knew, with a certainty that chilled you to the bone, that if he ever discovered the truth, it would shatter him, and likely, destroy you.

One crisp autumn morning, as the leaves painted the forest in hues of gold and crimson, you were gathering herbs, your mind lost in the comforting rhythm of the woods. A cold whisper, not of the wind, brushed against your ear.

"He's a killer, a killer of our kind. You defile yourself, sister."

You froze, your fingers clenching around a sprig of mugwort. You knew that voice. It belonged to Lyra, a witch from a distant coven, known for her rigid adherence to ancient ways and her fierce hatred of humans, especially witch hunters. You’d crossed paths with her once, years ago, and she had always viewed your gentle, healing magic as a weakness, a betrayal of your true power.

You tried to ignore her, to dismiss it as a trick of the wind, but the whisper came again, closer this time, laced with venom.

"And you hold the Serpent’s Eye, do you not? The gem of ages, hidden away with a human lover. A fool’s errand. A blasphemy!!!"

Oh yeah, you remember...The Serpent’s Eye. A legendary artifact, a gem imbued with ancient magic, said to grant its wielder unparalleled insight and protection. You had inherited it from your mother, a quiet, unassuming stone that you wore as a simple pendant, hidden beneath your clothes. It was indeed precious, a relic coveted by many, but its true power lay in its ability to enhance one’s own magical connection, not to kill.

You spun around, your heart pounding, eyes scanning the dense undergrowth. "Show yourself, Lyra!!" you demanded, your voice sharp, devoid of its usual softness.

A figure emerged from the shadows, cloaked in robes the color of dried blood. Lyra. Her eyes, dark and piercing, fixed on you, burning with a cold fury. Her face, usually serene, was contorted into a mask of disdain.

"You shame us," she hissed, her voice a low snarl. "To lie with a hunter, to betray your blood for a human’s fleeting affections. And to hide the Serpent’s Eye from its rightful place, keeping it from those who would use its power for the good of our kind."

"My choices are my own," you retorted, your hand instinctively going to the small pouch hidden beneath your tunic, where the gem rested. "And the Serpent’s Eye is mine. My mother entrusted it to me, not to your coven’s endless pursuit of power."

"Foolish bwitch," Lyra sneered, her hand rising, her fingers twisting in the air. A faint, sickly green light began to emanate from her palm. "You will regret this. I will cleanse you of your sins, and retrieve what is ours."

Just as the green light began to coalesce into a shimmering projectile, a blur of white flashed through the trees. Satoru. He moved with impossible speed, his eyes like twin bolts of lightning. He had been tracking a faint magical signature, a whisper on the wind he’d learned to recognize as a precursor to trouble, and it had led him straight to you.

He tackled Lyra with brutal efficiency, knocking her off balance before she could unleash her spell. His sword, drawn in a single fluid motion, glinted ominously in the dappled light.

"What the hell is going on here?" Gojo's voice was a low growl, laced with a dangerous edge you had never heard directed at you. His cerulean eyes, usually so full of warmth when they looked at you, were now hard as ice, narrowed in suspicion. He held Lyra pinned to the ground, his blade poised at her throat.

Lyra, despite her predicament, laughed, a harsh, grating sound. Her eyes, still blazing with malice, flickered from you to Gojo, then back again. "Your beloved, hunter," she spat, her gaze fixed on Gojo. "She is one of us. A witch. And she carries the Serpent’s Eye, a treasure you seek to destroy. How does it feel, Gojo Satoru, to lie with the very thing you swore to eradicate?"

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Gojo’s head snapped towards you, his eyes wide, then narrowing into slits of utter disbelief, then cold fury. The truth, ugly and undeniable, had been laid bare.

You stood frozen, your heart plummeting to your stomach. His gaze, once filled with adoration, was now a chilling void, a betrayal so profound it physically hurt. The air around you crackled with unspoken tension, the silence louder than any scream.

He murmured your name, his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a pain so deep it made your own chest ache. It was not a question, but a plea, a desperate hope that Lyra’s words were a lie.

You couldn’t speak. Your throat was tight, choked with unspoken apologies, with years of carefully constructed deceit. Your eyes, filled with unshed tears, met his. The lie was written all over your face, in the sudden pallor of your skin, in the tremor of your hands.

Lyra, seeing her chance, twisted violently, attempting to break free. Gojo, his focus momentarily shattered by your confession, faltered. She lashed out with a surge of green energy, catching him on the arm. He cried out, stumbling back, his grip on his sword momentarily loosening.

"Run!" Lyra shrieked, scrambling to her feet, her gaze still fixed on you with that terrifying possessiveness. "Run before he kills you!"

But you didn’t run. You couldn’t. Your eyes were locked with Gojo’s, watching the love drain from them, replaced by a cold, devastating emptiness. He looked at you as if he had never seen you before, as if you were a stranger, an enemy, a monster.

"You are.... a witch?" he finally managed, his voice devoid of emotion, flat and hollow. "All this time… you lied to me?"

The pain in his voice was a physical blow. "I never meant to hurt you, Gojo," you whispered, tears finally streaming down your face. "I love you."

"Love?" he scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "What does a witch know abt love? You weave spells, you deceive. This was all a game to you, wasn’t it? To toy with me, to make a fool of me?"

"No!" you cried out, stepping forward, your hand outstretched. "It was never a game! I fell in love with you, truly. I kept my secret because I knew… I knew you would hate me. You would hunt me."

His eyes, those beautiful, endless blue eyes, narrowed. "And you were right, weren’t you?" He raised his sword, the polished steel glinting menacingly. "I hunt witches. It’s what I do."

Lyra, seeing the opportunity, launched another attack, a barrage of glowing green orbs aimed at Gojo. He deflected them with a swift, powerful swing of his sword, his movements sharp and precise, driven by a cold, furious energy. He was a force of nature, a whirlwind of white hair and gleaming steel.

"The Serpent’s Eye!!" Lyra shrieked, her voice echoing through the trees. "Give it to me! It is our only hope!"

Gojo’s gaze snapped to your hand, to the subtle bulge beneath your tunic. His eyes widened, a new layer of understanding, and betrayal, etching itself onto his face. "The Serpent’s Eye?" he murmured, his voice laced with venom. "You possess an artifact, and you hide it while pretending to be a simple healer?"

"I-it’s not what you think!" you pleaded, tears blurring your vision. "Satoru, please hear me out!"

But he wasn’t listening. His jaw was set, his expression grim. He was no longer the man who had looked at you with adoration. He was the witch hunter, cold and unwavering.

Lyra, meanwhile, pressed her attack, forcing Gojo to focus on her. She moved with a surprising agility, but you were faster. You didn't hesitate, pulling Gojo out of her trajectory and shielding him with your own body.

He froze, a rare flicker of genuine shock crossing his features as he looked at you. "Huh..." Lyra spat, her voice jagged with malice. "You really think you can protect him? He’ll kill you the second he’s done with me!!!"

The threat was white noise. You didn't even turn to look at her. Instead, you reached up, your hands trembling as you cupped his face. Your vision blurred with tears that finally broke, spilling over as you searched his eyes. "Satoru... please... look at me," you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of everything left unsaid. "I’m sorry... I'm so sorry."

He stared down at you, the usual cold brilliance of his gaze softening into something heavy— pity, perhaps, or a realization he wasn't ready to face. He opened his mouth to speak, his expression wavering, but the moment was shattered as Lyra swung for his blind side.

Satoru didn't even look at her. With a fluid, terrifying burst of speed, he moved. In one heartbeat, he was dodging the strike; in the next, his blade was already singing through the air. The steel slid through her neck with such precision and force that Lyra’s head fell before she could even register the killing blow. Silence followed, absolute and heavy, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing in the sudden quiet.

His fingers, still cupping your face, trembled almost imperceptibly. He stared at you, his beautiful blue eyes, once so certain, now swirling with a tempest of emotions, anger, confusion, regret, and a raw, undeniable love that refused to be extinguished. The air around you, thick with the scent of pine and freshly spilled blood, seemed to hum with the weight of his internal battle.

A long, shuddering breath escaped him, a sound that was more moan than sigh. His gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips, then back up again, as if searching for an answer in their depths. He whispered your name, his voice rough, raspy, as if wrenched from the very core of his being. "I… I am sorry." The words were halting, each one a struggle, loaded with the weight of his previous accusations. "I’m so sorry for what I said. For what I thought, for… for looking at you as if you were an enemy. For doubting you, for accusing you of deception, when you were only trying to protect yourself, and… and me." He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tight against his powerful frame. His head dropped, resting on the crown of your head, his white hair brushing against your cheek. "The words… they were poison. And I regret every single fucking one." His voice was muffled, thick with emotion, a low groan escaping him. "Urgh… I can’t believe I almost… I almost lost you because of my own blindness."

You felt the tremor in his body, the fierce grip of his arms, and a wave of profound relief washed over you. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of him– leather, steel, and his unique, intoxicating musk. You tightened your arms around his waist, holding him just as fiercely.

"No, Satoru.." you whispered, your voice still a little shaky, but filled with an overwhelming sense of peace. "Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault. All of it… it was mine." You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up into his face, your eyes meeting his. "I kept it from you. I lied by omission, every single day. I was so afraid of losing you, of seeing that look of hatred in your eyes, that I built a wall of secrets between us." A fresh tear escaped, tracing a path down your cheek.

"I understand why you reacted the way you did. You had every right to be angry, to feel betrayed. I put you in an impossible position."

He shook his head slowly, his jaw tight. "No, no, there is no excuse for my words. For my immediate judgment. For the way I let my preconceived notions… my training… blind me to the truth of you." He pulled you back into a tight embrace, pressing his face into your hair. "I saw you protect me. I saw your magic, and it was actually... beautiful. Radiant. And I still turned on you." A low, guttural growl rumbled in his chest, a sound of self-loathing. "How could I? how could I have ever thought… that you were evil? That you were anything but pure?"

You felt the warmth of his breath against your scalp, the strong beat of his heart against your cheek. "You were raised to believe witches are evil, Satoru. It’s ingrained in you. To expect you to shed that in an instant, especially when faced with such a stark revelation… that’s unfair." You gently stroked his back, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath his tunic. "I forgive you. Truly. My love for you never wavered, not even when your eyes were full of fire."

He pulled away again, his hands moving to cup your face, his thumbs gently caressing your skin. His eyes, though still intense, held a newfound vulnerability. "But I cannot forgive myself," His voice was barely a whisper, filled with a raw, aching pain. "to have hurt you like that… to have questioned your very essence… I am the one who needs forgiveness, and I don’t know if I can ever grant it to myself." A tear, cold and crystalline, traced a path down his own cheek, a stark contrast to his fierce demeanor. "Hnngh… The thought of what I nearly did, what I nearly became in that moment… it sickens me."

You reached up, your fingers wiping away his tear, then cupping his jaw. "Then let me help you," you murmured, your gaze unwavering. "Let me show you that your heart is not stained. Let me show you that love can heal even the deepest wounds." You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, a gentle promise. It was a kiss of forgiveness, of understanding, of a love that had weathered a storm and emerged, battered but unbroken, into a fragile, uncertain dawn.

He groaned softly into the kiss, a sound of profound relief mixed with lingering self-reproach. His arms tightened around you once more, pulling you flush against him, as if he could absorb your forgiveness through sheer proximity. "My world," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion, "it’s… it’s been turned upside down. Everything I thought I knew. Everything I believed in." He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his breathing still a little ragged. "But you… you are still here. And that is all that matters." His grip on you was almost desperate, a silent testament to the fear he had felt, the terror of truly losing you. The greatest witch hunter, the prodigy, blessed by gods, was utterly, heartbreakingly human in this moment, grappling with a truth that shattered his very foundation. And in his vulnerability, in his struggle to reconcile his past with his present, you saw not weakness, but a profound strength, a love deep enough to challenge a lifetime of ingrained belief.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆

aftermath shinjuku!gojo finally lets out a long, shaky breath when you pull him into your lap, burying his face in the crook of your neck because your scent is the only thing that can quiet the static still buzzing in his Six Eyes.

aftermath shinjuku!gojo lets you brush his hair for an hour, leaning into the sensation with a purr-like hum, his overthinking finally silenced by the simple, repetitive rhythm of your care.

aftermath shinjuku!gojo who pulls you down onto the bed with him, wrapping his long limbs around you like a giant, needy cat.

aftermath shinjuku!gojo watches you fall asleep against his chest and feels a surge of quiet, humble pride.

aftermath shinjuku!gojo who tentatively reaches out to poke your cheek while you’re reading to him, his eyes finally clearing of that dull haze, realizing with a start that you aren't looking at him like a weapon, you’re just looking at him like your favorite person. (because he is your favorite person<3)

aftermath shinjuku!gojo who falls asleep with a small, genuine smile on his face, his fingers interlaced with yours, because he’s finally learned that being the strongest doesn't mean being alone, it means having a home to come back to.

aftermath shinjuku!gojo who wakes up in the middle of the night just to make sure you're still there, and when he feels you stir and pull him closer, he realizes that he didn't just survive a fight, he survived so he could have a life with you and with every people who he cares for.

🌧️📚🕯️🤎☕

The rain drums a steady, rhythmic pulse against the window, blurring the world outside into a messy colors of greys and greens. Inside, the room is warm, smelling of vanilla candles and the faint, sharp scent of the medicinal tea you brewed earlier.

aftermath shinjuku!gojo who is propped up against a mountain of pillows, his legs tangled with yours under a heavy knit blanket. He’s too tired to hold a book today, his eyes still sensitive, so he just leans his head back and listens to the soft track playing from your phone.

He watches the way your thumb traces circles on the back of his hand. He’s spent so many years being the one who provides the power he has between himself and the world, but here, in the quiet of a rainy Tuesday.

Gojo Let's out a soft, contented sigh when you reach up to his temple, your fingers grazing his temple with a familiarity that grounds him more than anything ever could. He doesn't pull away, he doesn't tense up. He simply tilts his chin, seeking more of your touch like a flower leaning toward the sun.

aftermath shinjuku!gojo who breaks the silence with a voice that is finally starting to regain its honeyed warmth. "I think this is the first time I've ever actually liked the rain," he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your knuckles. "Usually, it's just more noise for my head. But with you... it always sounds like peace."

aftermath shinjuku!gojo who pulls you closer until your head is resting on his chest, his heart beating a slow, steady rhythm beneath your ear. He isn't overthinking the future right now. He isn't wondering if he'll ever be "the strongest" again. He’s just focused on the weight of you against him, the sound of the rain, and the fact that he is alive, he is loved, and he is home.

He eventually drifts into a light, easy sleep, his hand never once letting go of yours, his face finally smoothed of the lines of worry and exhaustion that have defined him for months.

Gojo Satoru was known as thee popular guy in school, an athlete, an achiever— literally anything the school ask him to do or participate, he can do it or win it... then there's the popular girl, Yui; she always gets shipped to him... It's always like this, and he likes it, he LIKES her, i mean– who wouldn't? she's beautiful, smart, humble? absolutely yes.

And then there's you... in the world full of his admirers, you're one of them, someone who's hopeless... HELL he won't even look at you nor notice your existence, and it's not like you can do anything about it, he's literally almost perfect. word, almost.

Gojo Satoru can be annoying sometimes, loud, trying to be funny (HEY !! sometimes he is!! ), and pride is almost as high as the mount everest... You still crush on him though, due to the fact that he's charming, smart and talented.

Highschool continues and the same thing happens, you go to school, hangout with your friends, eat your fav foods together outside school, there were times when you notice Gojo with his friends and ergh "girlfriend", then go home. repeat.

After 4 years of highschool, you never got to approach him or tell him how you felt, because you know how it will end. rejection.

You tried to get over it since it's your fault for not talking to him and confronting him about your feelings... Anyways, you basically did when college came by and thankfully, he went to another university. You were able to forget him due to how busy you were in college, Education was your major, other majors were expensive and you didn't wanna burden your parents more on things.

⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧

6 years later came and you became a teacher, expense aren't really your problem thanks to your parents house for giving it to you, no kids nor husband or even boyfriend.

"Heyy, you busy tonight?" Hana asked while fixing her stuff in her table. “Um well, no not really, I just finished grading my students,” you said, stretching your arms a little. Your eyes were tired from checking papers for almost two hours straight, she then grinned. “Good. Then you’re coming with me.”

"To where exactly?" you narrowed your eyes.

"Lia’s birthday... Don’t tell me you forgot?"

Your eyes widened. "Oh my god, that’s tonight?"

"YUP," she laughed. "And you need to come. You’ve been living like a grandma. No boyfriend, no drama, always there with your lessons. Boring"

"Excuse me?" you scoffed. "My lesson plans are very exciting, even my students love it."

"Sure," she said, grabbing her bag. "Get dressed because we’re leaving in an hour."

⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧

The place was warm and cozy, soft lights hanging from the ceiling, music playing in the background. Not too loud. Just enough to make everything feel so alive.

You weren’t really the party type anymore. College drained that out of you, work replaced it. But tonight felt nice. You and Hana were laughing near the drinks table when Lia suddenly pulled you into a hug.

"FINALLY!! You came!!" she said happily.

"Of course," you smiled. "I wouldn’t miss it."

People were talking everywhere, old faces you've met already, some were new...You were mid-conversation with someone about teaching struggles when— You felt it.. that weird feeling, it was like someone familiar just walked into the room.

You didn’t want to look, but you did anyway, and your heart actually stopped for a second.

White hair, tall, way too confident posture.

No...

No way. NO FREAKING WAY.

It can’t be—

But it was.

Gojo Satoru

He looked… older, obviously. Broader shoulders, more mature, but still giving the annoying energy in him, unfairly handsome face, smiling like he owned the entire room. as always.

Why is he here?

Your brain was already panicking... Maybe it’s someone who looks like him... Maybe you’re hallucinating... Maybe—

"Hey, you okay?" Hana whispered.

"…That’s Gojo."

"Gojo from high school?"

"Yes."

"THEE Gojo?"

“Yes.”

"The one you used to–"

"Shut up."

Before you could escape, Lia suddenly waved toward him.

“Oh! You guys should meet Gojo! GOJOO!! Come here!”

Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

He walked over casually, hands in his pockets, smiling that same beautiful smile.

“Liaaaaa, happy birthday,” he said, giving her a light side hug.

He smiled easily, hugging her like they were close. Of course they were, of course he knew everyone... You tried to look normal, tried to focus on your drink.

Don’t look desperate, don’t stare!! you’re not sixteen anymore.

You were doing fine, looking around, until Lia dragged him over.

"Oh! You guys should meet!" she said brightly. "Gojo, this is–"

He turned to you up close... and for a split second, you swore he looked through you, not just at you but through you.

"Hi," he said politely, holding out his hand. "I’m Gojo."

The world actually paused, you stared at his hand and of course he doesn’t know you.

Why would he?

Four years of watching him from the sidelines. Four years of memorizing the way he laughed. Four years of pretending you didn’t care, and to him? You were just another face in a hallway. You forced a small smile and shook his hand.

"I know."

He blinked slightly, amused. "Oh?"

"We went to the same high school."

He tilted his head, he tried to think, there was a pause.

"Uhh…We did?"

It wasn’t cruel, It wasn’t even mocking... It was a literal genuine confusion, somehow that made it kinda made it worse...

"Yeah,".you said calmly. Too calmly. "Same batch. Four years."

He snapped his fingers lightly. "Ahh... Sorry, I’m really bad with faces from back then."

It felt like someone lightly tapped your ego with a hammer.

“It’s fine,” you said. And surprisingly— it was a little.

He smiled again, easy and polite. “Nice to officially meet you then.”

Officially? God... highschool you would probably faint by now.

Lia was already being pulled away again, leaving you two standing there.

How awkward...

“Soo what’ve you been doing since high school?”

He shifted his weight to one leg while asking, hands slipping into his pockets. He looked relaxed now, like the awkward part had passed. The music in the background got a little louder, and someone laughed nearby, but his attention stayed on you.

“I’m a teacher,” you answered.

You watched his face carefully when you said it. You didn’t know why— maybe you just wanted to see his reaction.

His eyebrows lifted slightly. Not in surprise, more like interest.

"A teacher?" he repeated. "That's nice."

He nodded slowly. "And what subject?"

"Uh, english.

His lips curved into a small grin. "That actually suits you."

You blinked. "Why is that?"

"You seem clam," he said, studying you again. "Like the type who doesn’t lose their temper easily."

You almost laughed at that.

"And you?" you asked after a second, needing to balance the attention. "What are you doing now?"

He straightened a little at that question, like he was used to answering it. "Business," he said. "Helping manage my father's company."

He shrugged lightly, but there was still that quiet confidence in him. Not the loud high school pride — something more toned down. Looks maturity.

"You don’t do sports anymore?" you asked before you could stop yourself.

His eyes flickered with surprise. "Ah– you remember that?"

There it was... That tiny shift.

You nodded once. "Well, you were kind of known for it."

He let out a soft chuckle, looking down briefly. "Yeah... That was my whole personality back then." He looked back at you. "Guess you were paying attention."

Your heart skipped— but you kept your face neutral.

"Everyone was," you replied. "Did we ever talk back then?" He asked it casually, but there was curiosity in his tone now. His head tilted slightly again, and he stepped a little closer— not too close, just enough to hear you better over the music.

You shook your head.

"No,"

He frowned slightly. “Not even once?”

"Nope," you repeated.

For a moment, he looked genuinely confused. Like the idea didn’t make sense to him. "Four years in the same batch," he murmured. "That’s kinda crazy." You gave a small shrug. "You had your own world, Gojo."

He huffed out a quiet laugh. "Was I that unapproachable?"

You looked at him... Back then? Yes. Now? You don't know...

"...A little," you said.

His eyes widened slightly in surprise, then he laughed — softer this time. "Wow... I didn’t realize."

There was another pause... But it wasn’t heavy.

It was just two people standing there, realizing they shared four years of the same space without ever actually knowing each other.

He wasn’t looking past you anymore. His eyes stayed on your face, steady and attentive, like he was trying to memorize you properly this time. There was no teasing smile, no distracted glances around the room. Just quiet curiosity, It wasn’t even romantic and it didn’t feel like fate clicking into place. It felt simple. Real. Like two people who happened to share a past but never shared a moment.

The music grew slightly louder, and he leaned in just enough to hear you better. "What made you become a teacher?" he asked, his voice calm but genuinely interested. His posture shifted, shoulders relaxed, hands loosely in his pockets. He wasn’t just filling silence. He was waiting.

You adjusted your grip on your cup before answering. "It was practical. Education wasn’t as expensive as other majors. I didn’t want my parents to worry about money." You kept your tone casual, but saying it out loud still carried weight. You had never told him anything about yourself before. Not then. Not now. This was the first time.

He nodded slowly, absorbing every word instead of jumping in with a joke. "That’s responsible," he said after a moment. There was no exaggeration in his tone. He wasn’t praising you dramatically. He just meant it. His gaze softened slightly, like he was seeing something he hadn’t expected.

“Well... it was necessary,” you replied with a small shrug.

He studied you for a second longer. “You’ve always been like that? Thinking ahead?”

You thought about it before answering. “I guess. Someone has to.”

He gave a quiet hum in response, like that answer made sense to him. There was a brief pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt balanced. He wasn’t rushing to speak. He seemed to be choosing his next question carefully.

“You still live around here?” he asked.

“Mhm, my parents gave me their old house.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Seriously? That’s impressive.” His reaction wasn’t loud or dramatic, just honest surprise. “Stable,” he added, almost thoughtfully. “Career, house,that’s solid, honestly.”

You let out a small laugh. “You make it sound boring.”

He shook his head. “No... I mean it sounds peaceful.”

The word made you pause. Peaceful wasn’t something you heard often. “Are you?” you asked.

He smiled faintly and looked away for a second before answering. “Not really. My life’s kind of messy.” There was something more grounded about him now. Less showy than before. “Work’s demanding, People expect things.”

You noticed the slight tension in his jaw when he said that. It was subtle, but it was there. He wasn’t the untouchable high school version of himself anymore. He was just a man with responsibilities.

“You’re different from what I imagined,” he said suddenly, looking back at you.

You tilted your head slightly. “Imagined?”

He nodded. “I don’t remember you clearly, so I guess I assumed you were shy. Quiet in a different way.” He paused briefly. “But you’re not.”

You raised an eyebrow. “How am I then?”

“You’re calm,” he said. “But you’re not small. You don’t fade.”

His words were observational and honest.

“I grew up,” you said simply.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “You did.”

Another pause followed, but it felt warm rather than awkward. He shifted his weight slightly and looked at you with something closer to realization.

“Did you really think I was unapproachable back then?” he asked.

You hesitated before answering. “You were popular, good at everything, always surrounded by people. It didn’t feel like there was space to just walk up to you haha.”

He went quiet at that. Not defensive. Not amused. Just thoughtful. “I didn’t know it felt like that,” he admitted.

“You don’t usually see the outside when you’re in the center,” you said.

He let out a slow breath and nodded once. Then he looked at you again, and this time his expression was steady, intentional.

“Well,” he said, voice quieter but clear, “I see you now.”

It wasn’t dramatic, absolutely not a confession... It was just a statement.

“And I kind of want to know more,” he added.

Your still felt weird and nervous but It didn’t feel like the old high school crush feelings anymore, It felt grounded and calm, comfort... don't even understand.

The noise of the party seemed to dull into a low hum, leaving a strange, quiet pocket of space around the two of you. For the first time, Gojo wasn’t scanning the room for his next distraction... he was anchored right where he stood.

"You're surprisingly easy to talk to," he admitted, tilting his head as he studied you. "I usually have to filter about eighty percent of what I say, but you just... listen. Without the expectations."

You took a slow sip of your drink, meeting his gaze. "That’s the job, Gojo. High schoolers are a tough crowd. If you can’t navigate a room of thirty teenagers without losing your cool, you won't last a week."

He chuckled, a soft sound that felt more intimate than the bright, public smile he’d worn earlier. "I bet you're the teacher everyone secretly likes. The one who actually notices when things are off."

"I try to be," you said simply.

A brief silence followed, but it wasn't the awkward, empty kind you’d feared. It felt like a bridge being built. Before the moment could be broken by a mutual friend or a change in the music, Gojo reached into his pocket and produced a sleek, dark business card.

"Look, I have to head out soon—family company stuff never actually sleeps," he said, handing it to you. His fingers brushed yours for a fleeting second, sending a spark of heat through your skin. "But I don't want this to be the only time we 'officially' meet. Text me? I want to hear more about these 'exciting' lesson plans of yours."

You looked down at the card. It was minimalist and professional, a far cry from the loud, colorful persona he had projected in their youth.

"I mighttt," you replied, tucking it away. "If I'm not too busy with my 'boring' life."

He grinned, that familiar flash of confidence returning, but this time it felt directed at you rather than over you. "I have a feeling you're anything but boring."

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...The following Monday, the school hallways were drafty and loud, a stark contrast to the warmth of the weekend. You were sitting at your desk during a free period when your phone vibrated against the wood.

You expected a notification from a colleague or a news alert. Instead, it was an unknown number.

Unknown: I survived the Monday morning board meeting. Please tell me your day involves something more interesting than corporate spreadsheets. Coffee after work?

You leaned back in your chair, a small, genuine smile forming as you began to save the contact name. The distance you’d kept for years was finally closing.

⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧

The notifications got more active lately. He wasn't the same guy who you'd built up in your head years ago, someone who wouldn't give a shit about you; he was someone who sent grainy photos of overpriced lattes and complained about meetings that could have been emails.

Satoru: NOW. Tell me you aren’t still at that desk. It’s 7:00 PM.

You: Obviously, Gojo. These school activities aren't going to analyze themselves.

Satoru: You’re dedicated. I’ll give you that. But even teachers need a change of scenery. Walk with me tomorrow? Just a lap around the park near your placee (⁠´⁠∩⁠｡⁠•⁠ ⁠ᵕ⁠ ⁠•⁠｡⁠∩⁠`⁠)

You stared at the message. Giggling for a bit, you never thought that a grown man lime him would type like a teenage girl... and it's not like it's a date— he’d been careful to keep it casual— you remind yourself... but the prospect of seeing him in the daylight, without the safety net of a crowded people, made your pulse quicken.

The park was crisp, the evening air beginning to bite as the sun dipped low. You spotted him leaning against a stone pillar, his hands buried in the pockets of a dark overcoat. He looked less like the athlete you remembered and more like a man who finally understood the value of a quiet moment.

"Wow... You actually showed up," he said, pushing off the pillar as you approached. He didn't offer a handshake this time; he just fell into step beside you, his long strides slowing to match yours.

"I needed some fresh air," you replied, pulling your scarf tighter. "And you ?."

He chuckled, the sound muffled by the wind. "You have no idea. My father has me buried in logistics. Being out here... it feels like I can finally breathe without someone asking for a signature."

As you walked, the conversation flowed with a strange, easy gravity. You didn't talk about the four years of silence or the "what ifs." Instead, you talked about the present. He asked about your students—specifically the troublemakers—and you asked if he ever missed the adrenaline of being the school's star player.

"There were times," he admitted, looking at the horizon. "Where i try to do shit like leaving everything behind... Like, how should i uh say this... Runaway with my pocket money and live somewhere relaxing and beautiful? anywhere near beaches is THEE best." he said.

You stopped by the edge of the pond, watching the ducks ripple the water. "I didn't think you'd be this grounded," you confessed, your voice low.

Gojo turned to you, his expression unreadable for a moment before a small, lopsided grin took over. "I had a lot of growing up to do. Honestly."

The "friendship" felt stable, yet there was a lingering tension— a quiet awareness that the bridge you were building was leading somewhere neither of you had expected back in high school.

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Gojo basically became your break time. He'd show up at the school entrance in a car that was way too fancy for the teacher's parking, just chilling by the door, all cool and relaxed. (He wasn't relaxed, more like nervous if you tell me)

"Step away from all of these," he’d say the moment you opened the passenger door, the interior of the car smelling like expensive cologne and leather. "I found a place three blocks away that serves coffee actually worth drinking. My treat for the person saving the next generation."

These café visits weren't like a grand type of place where people would go for clout chasing; the café were more chill and relaxing. You’d sit across from him, watching the way he’d actually listen to your day, his previous "annoying energy" replaced by a steady, too focused. He was like a man who seemed to find genuine relief in your "calm" presence.

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Eventually, the café runs weren't enough for him. On days when he finished his meetings early, he began showing up at your office. He’d bring a bag of takeout or two cups of tea, making himself at home in the cramped chair across from your desk.

"You look like you're drowning in paperwork," he remarked one afternoon, pushing a container of food toward you. "Do I need to talk to the principal? I'm pretty sure this qualifies as a hostage situation."

"It's just midterms, Gojo," you laughed, though the weight in your chest felt lighter just seeing him there.

⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧

You weren't the only one noticing. Your students, usually preoccupied with their own lives, had become amateur detectives. During your office hours, you’d catch glimpses of familiar faces lingering in the hallway, "accidentally" peering through the glass of your door to see the tall, white-haired man sitting at their teacher's table.

The rumors spread like wildfire through the hallways...

“did you see the guy in the black SUV? He’s literally a model.”

“he was in Miss L/N's office again today. They were laughing.”

“is that her boyfriend? He looks like he owns half of Tokyo.”

You tried to ignore the giggles and the way the girls in the front row would nudge each other when you checked your phone and smiled. Even Gojo noticed the audience. One afternoon, as he was leaving, he caught a group of your students staring and gave them a playful, two-finger salute.

"I think I'm ruining your reputation as the 'serious' teacher," he teased as you walked him to the exit.

"You're certainly making it harder to keep them focused on Mr. ," you replied, though you didn't tell him that you didn't mind the distraction at all.

⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧

And it happened again during a quiet study period when the scratching of pens suddenly stopped. One of your more outspoken students, Lia— not the birthday girl from the party, but a junior with a penchant for gossip cleared her throat.

"Miss?" she started, her eyes darting to the empty chair by your desk where Gojo had sat only an hour prior. "That guy who keeps picking you up... the one with the white hair and the really nice car? Is he your boyfriend? "

The entire room went silent. Thirty pairs of eyes moved from their notebooks to your face, waiting for the confirmation they all expected.

You felt a faint heat rise to your cheeks, but you kept your expression as neutral as a grading rubric. "He’s an old friend from high school, Lia. We're just catching up."

"Just a friend?" a boy in the back snickered, earning a chorus of giggles from the class. "Miss, he looks at you like you're the only person in the hallway. My friends and I saw him waiting by the gate for twenty minutes yesterday just to bring you a latte."

"He has a very demanding job and appreciates the break," you replied firmly, though the memory of his "I see you now" gaze made the lie feel heavy in your throat. "Now, back to the essay prompts. You only have 10 minutes left before passing it to me."

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Despite your denial, the students didn't buy it for a second. You could see it in the way they whispered when Gojo’s SUV pulled into the lot later that afternoon. They watched from the second-story windows as he climbed out, looking relaxed and far too handsome for a Monday.

When you finally got into the car, Gojo noticed your slightly frazzled energy.

"Rough day with the students?" he asked, shifting the car into gear with one hand while the other rested casually on the center console.

"My students thinks we're dating," you blurted out, looking out the window to avoid his reaction. "I told them we’re just friends, but I might as well have been speaking a foreign language. They aren't convinced."

Gojo went quiet for a beat. He didn't laugh, and he didn't immediately agree with the "friend" label either. Instead, he let out a soft, thoughtful hum.

"Well," he said, his voice dropping into that lower, more intentional register. "Technically, you’re right. We are friends. We’re just two people who shared a past but never shared a moment... until now."

"Can you stop that?" you said, trying to hide your smile.

He pulled up to a red light and finally turned to look at you, his blue eyes steady and attentive. "Mhmm... But if they can see how much I enjoy being here with you, maybe your students are more observant than you give them credit for."

You looked at him and rolled your eyes playfully.

The air in the car settled into something thick and quiet as the light turned green. Satoru didn't immediately floor it or crack a joke to break the tension. Instead, he drove with a steady, unhurried hand, the hum of the engine filling the gaps between your thoughts.

"They're just kids, Satoru," you said softly, breaking the silence as you leaned your head back against the headrest. "They see a guy in a nice car picking up their teacher every day and their brains go straight to the ending of a movie. It doesn't mean anything."

"Is that what I am? A nice car?" he asked. His tone was light, but he didn't look over. He kept his eyes on the road, his profile sharp against the passing streetlights.

"You know what I mean."

"I do," he murmured. He reached out, his hand hovering near the center console before he settled for simply adjusting the volume of the radio, turning the lo-fi beat down until it was just a pulse in the background.

You watched his hand return to the steering wheel. There was a rhythm to your afternoons— the vent blowing cold air, the specific way he hummed when he was thinking, the comfort of not having to perform.

"Is there a shift?" you asked, your voice barely audible over the heater.

Satoru pulled the car into the curb in front of your apartment. He didn't put it in park immediately. He sat there for a second, the car still in drive, his foot heavy on the brake.

"I think," he started, his voice low and grounded, "that if I were them, watching us from the outside... I'd probably be rooting for us, too."

⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧

He finally shifted into park, the mechanical thunk echoing in the cabin. He didn't lean in. He didn't try to catch your hand. He just sat there in the dim glow of the dashboard, looking at you with a quiet, steady sort of patience that felt heavier than any confession.

"Get some sleep," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, private smile. "You've got a long day tomorrow."

"Right. Tomorrow," you repeated, opening the door. The cold evening air rushed in, startling you back to reality.

As you walked toward your building, you didn't look back, but you could hear the car idling at the curb. He stayed there, his headlights illuminating your path until you reached the door— a silent, lingering presence that said everything he wasn't quite ready to put into words yet.

........

The next afternoon, the school bells echoed through the empty corridors with a finality that usually felt like a relief. You took your time, deliberately organizing the mess on your desk and checking your emails twice. You weren't rushing. You weren't checking the clock.

When you finally pushed through the heavy front doors, the usual spot at the curb was empty. The gray asphalt was slick with a light drizzle, reflecting nothing but the dull sky. There was no car, no silver hair leaning against a door, no familiar hand waving you over.

A strange, sharp sensation prickled at your chest—a sudden, involuntary scan of the street. You found yourself looking toward the corner, then at the visitor's lot, your mind already beginning to spiral. Did he have a meeting? I hope he's okay..

Then, you caught yourself.

The cold dampness of the air hit your face, snapping the thread of your thoughts. You stopped mid-stride, a dry, self-deprecating laugh catching in your throat. Why am I even doing this? There was no reason to be worried. There was no contract, no schedule, and certainly no obligation for him to be your personal chauffeur. You weren't in a relationship. Besides, there's no way Satoru will court you or anything, you know his type, if anything, he thinks of you as his new best friend. If he wasn't here, he was somewhere else, and that had nothing to do with you. You were an adult with a transit card and a perfectly functional pair of legs.

You ended up walking to the train station, but a sudden notification on your phone came...

Satoru: hey... sorry i wasn't able to fetch you there, an important board meeting came, I'll make it up to you tmr (⁠´⁠∩⁠｡⁠•⁠ ⁠ᵕ⁠ ⁠•⁠｡⁠∩⁠`⁠) I PROMISE!!!! ╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯

You chuckled a bit. A grown men texting like a teenage girl. You thought

You: it's ok

Then you proceed on walking.

The commute was stressful to you, loads of people around you. The annoying noises around. You can't even relax in your sit, being watched by some weird men around too.

The screech of the train tracks and the heavy, humid air of the crowded carriage made the walk from the station feel twice as long. By the time you reached your apartment, the silence of your living room felt like a luxury you hadn't earned. You dropped your bag by the door, the weight of the day—and the irritatingly persistent memory of Satoru’s blue eyes—still clinging to you.

You climbed into bed earlier than usual, the muffled sounds of the city outside acting as a backdrop to your drifting thoughts. You told yourself the restless feeling in your chest was just lingering stress from the commute.

The Next Morning, your routine of the following day was a blur of lesson plans and loud hallways. You didn't check your phone during lunch. You didn't glance toward the windows. You kept your head down, working through the pile of grading until the school finally began to empty out.

As you stepped outside, the afternoon sun was dipping low, casting long, golden shadows across the pavement. There, parked in the exact same spot as always, was the familiar sleek car. Satoru was leaning against the hood, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't on his phone this time. He was just watching the door.

When he saw you, he didn't give his usual flashy wave. He just straightened up, his expression uncharacteristically guarded, almost... careful.

"You look like you're about to tell me to go away," he said as you approached, his voice quiet.

"You're actually here," you said, stopping a few paces away.

"I told you I’d make it up to you," he replied, his voice low and devoid of its usual theatrical flair.

Suddenly you noticed something in his hands, he held out a cup— your favorite order, the heat seeping through the cardboard sleeve.

"Peace offering," he said softly, his voice low and intentional. "Since i wasn't present"

You took the coffee, the warmth of it grounding you. You wanted to remind him—and yourself— that he didn't owe you anything, that there was no contract or relationship that required him to make up for a missed afternoon. But as you looked at him, the words felt thin and unnecessary.

"You didn't have to do this, Satoru," you murmured.

"I uh... i know," he replied "But I spent most of that board meeting wondering if you were disappointed. It’s a distracting thought..."

You nodded, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through your professional exterior.

"I'll be at the south gate at 4:00," he said, finally turning to meet your eyes.

As you stepped back and headed toward the building, you didn't feel the need to overthink why he was doing it. For now, it was enough that he was the person waiting when the world got too loud.

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The shift wasn't sudden, it was a slow, agonizing erosion of the routine you had come to rely on over the past year... It started with shorter drives, then "I can't make it" texts that lacked his usual playful emojis, and finally, a week where the south gate remained empty every single afternoon.

You told yourself it didn't matter. You weren't in a relationship, after all. You walked to the train station, ignored the noise, and pushed down the rising tightness in your chest by reminding yourself that you had no right to demand his time.

While you were navigating the crowded subway, Satoru was sitting in sterile, high-end lounges, suffocating under the weight of a name he never asked for. His family— the influential, traditionalist Gojo clan—had decided his "aimless" years were over. The "friendship" he shared with you wasn't just frowned upon; it was being actively erased.

They had chosen Aira, the daughter of a political dynasty whose shadow was as long as his own family's.

"She’s a perfect match, Satoru," his father had said, ignoring the way Satoru’s gaze remained fixed on his phone, waiting for a text from you that he didn't know how to answer. "Think of the influence. Think of the future."

The introduction happened at a private gala. Aira was elegant, sharp, and perfectly composed— the kind of woman who knew how to navigate a room without breaking a sweat. She looked at Satoru not as a person, but as a strategic move.

"I hear you're quite the rebel," Aira said, swirling a glass of champagne. "But even the strongest storms eventually run out of wind."

Satoru didn't smile. He felt like he was playing a role in a play he hadn't auditioned for. He wanted to tell you. He wanted to pull up to the school and admit that he was being sold off like an asset. But how do you tell someone you aren't "with" that you're being forced to be with someone else? The lack of a label, which had once felt safe, now felt like a cage.

The "business" of being engaged to the Gojo legacy meant he was constantly occupied— legal briefings, social appearances, and family dinners. To you, he was just... slowly fading.

One Tuesday, you were walking toward the station in a light drizzle when you saw him. He wasn't in his usual car. He was in a black town car, the tinted window rolling down just enough for you to see his tired, pale eyes. Beside him sat a woman with perfectly styled hair...

He didn't wave. He didn't smile. He just looked at you with a yearning so raw it felt like a physical blow, his hand twitching on the leather seat as if he wanted to reach out and pull the car over.

"Satoru? Who is that?" Aira asked, her voice cool and curious.

"Just... i uh, I don't know," he replied, his voice breaking in a way you could hear even from the sidewalk.

The car pulled away, leaving you standing in the rain. The thought hit you again, colder than the weather: Why do I care? We aren't in a relationship anyway. But as you watched the red taillights vanish, you realized that the silence of the last year had been much louder than you ever admitted.

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The apartment felt too quiet, the only sound being the rain tapping a rhythmic, uneven beat against the windowpane. Satoru stood near the door, looking smaller than you’d ever seen him, his usual untouchable posture replaced by a weary slump.

"Please," he started, his voice barely a rasp as he searched your face. "Just let me explain. I didn't know how to tell you without making it real."

You didn't say anything at first. The image of him at the station, sitting beside that elegant, unknown woman in the back of a car that wasn't his, was still a sharp coldness in your chest. You hadn't asked who she was, and he hadn't volunteered a name, which somehow made the distance between you feel even wider. You simply nodded and stepped back, letting him into the warmth of your living room.

He didn't try to make a joke or hide behind a smirk. Instead, he told you everything—how his family had suddenly tightened the leash, using their influence to corner him into a "merger" with a woman from another powerful lineage. He didn't even say her name, as if naming her would give the arrangement more power than it deserved. He spoke about the endless, suffocating dinners and the meetings he couldn't skip without his family turning their attention toward his personal life.

"Ignoring you at the station... it was the hardest thing I've ever done," he confessed, his voice cracking. "I thought if I didn't look at you, if I didn't acknowledge you while they were watching, I could keep you out of this mess."

He walked you through every detail— the missed afternoons, the silent texts, the way he felt like he was losing his mind being trapped in rooms where you weren't even allowed to be mentioned. He wanted to make sure you understood that he hadn't chosen that life; he was just trying to navigate a minefield he hadn't asked to walk through.

As the weight of the confession settled. Satoru took a shaky breath and slowly sank to his knees in front of you on the rug.

He reached out, his hands trembling as he took yours in his. His skin was cold from the rain, but his grip was firm, as if he were anchoring himself to the only real thing left in his life.

"I am so sorry," he whispered, looking up at you with a raw, unpolished honesty. "Sorry, sorry, fuck... hated every second of it. I hated that you had to walk alone while I was stuck in a car with a stranger. I've spent a year trying to be enough for you without letting them see, and I messed it up."

He stayed there, kneeling at your feet, his thumb tracing the skin of your knuckles in a slow, grounding circle. The guilt of that moment at the station seemed to weigh on him more than the Gojo family legacy ever could.

"I don't give a shit about the influence," he murmured, pressing his forehead against your joined hands. "I just couldn't bear the thought of you overthinking—thinking that you didn't matter in my life, or that I’d just... moved on. That’s impossible." You looked down at him, your fingers finally curling around his.

The rain continued to steady its rhythm against the glass, but the air in the apartment finally felt like it belonged to the two of you again. Satoru was just there, kneeling, his hair still damp, looking less like a man caught in a trap and more like someone who had finally made a choice he was willing to stand by.

"Satoru, just get up," you said, your voice quiet but firm. "It’s okay. I’m just... I'm glad you told me. I didn't want to keep guessing."

He rose slowly, his height filling the room again, but the usual untouchable energy was gone. He didn't move away; he stayed right there, close enough that you could feel the slight chill from his wet clothes.

"I hated the silence," he admitted, his voice rough. "I thought if I just handled it— if I just sat through the meetings and played along with whatever they want—I could keep my life with you separate. But ignoring you at the station felt like a mistake the second the car pulled away. I don't care about the family 'influence' or the expectations. I just care that I made you feel like you were something I could just walk past."

He explained the situation with the girl, not as a victim of his family, but as a mess he was determined to walk away from. He gave you the details simply, without the drama, just so you knew exactly where he had been and why he’d been so occupied. He wasn't asking for permission to be with you... he was stating it as a fact.

"I'm not doing whatever we used to have anymore," he said, his gaze fixed on yours. "It was a safe way to stay near you, but it’s not enough. Not after this week."

He reached out, his hand hesitating for a fraction of a second before his fingers grazed yours. It wasn't a desperate grab, just a steady, grounding touch that bridged the gap. "I’m choosing this. I’m choosing you, and I’ll deal with whatever fallout comes from walking away from that arrangement. I just needed you to know that I'm not going anywhere."

You looked at him. For a year, you’d both lived in the gray area, but the threat of losing this had forced the truth out.

"I believe you," you said softly.

The tension in his jaw finally vanished. He didn't lean in for a movie-style kiss... he just let out a long breath and rested his forehead against yours for a moment, the two of you standing in the quiet of your living room while the rest of the world and its "influential" problems stayed outside the door.

⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧

After the heavy air of the apartment finally cleared, Satoru didn't overstay. He gave your hand one last, lingering squeeze, a silent promise that the "business as usual" act with his family was effectively over, before stepping back out into the cool night. The door clicked shut, and for the first time in a week, the silence didn't feel lonely... it felt like a transition.

The next 2 days, the school felt different. The tension that had been sitting in your gut for a year was gone, replaced by a steady, grounded warmth. When the final bell rang, you didn't hesitate. You walked toward the spot where he always waited, but this time, he wasn't leaning against the car or checking his phone.

He was standing right in the middle of the sidewalk, watching the doors. When he saw you, he didn't give a playful wave or a teasing smirk. He just waited until you were inches away, the space between you crackling with everything that had been left unsaid since the previous night.

"I ended it," he said, his voice low enough only for you to hear. "The arrangement, the meetings... bla bla bla, all of it. I told them I’m busy."

"Busy with what exactly?" you asked, a small smile tugging at your lip

"Busy with you," he replied.

He didn't wait for a comeback this time. Satoru reached out, his hands sliding upward to cup your face, his thumbs grazing your cheekbones with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, closing the gap that had existed between you for over three hundred and sixty-five days.

The kiss wasn't like what you've always been daydreaming back in the days... it was better. It was the taste of salt from the lingering rain, the warmth of his skin, and the sudden, overwhelming realization that the you being hopeless over him times was officially dead. It was a year’s worth of yearning finally finding a place to land

After he pulled back from the kiss, the world felt a little blurred at the edges, the frantic noise of the school day fading into a distant hum. Satoru didn't let go, his hands stayed resting on your waist, pulling you flush against him as if he were making up for every second he'd spent pretending you were just a friend.

Behind you, a chorus of muffled gasps and high-pitched whispers suddenly erupted. You glanced over Satoru’s shoulder to see a cluster of your students huddled by the main entrance, their eyes wide and their phones halfway out of their pockets.

"We knew it!" one of them shrieked, unable to contain the excitement. "We told you they were dating! Pay up, Tanaka!"

Satoru didn't look embarrassed. In fact, he let out a short, triumphant laugh, pulling you even closer into a protective, comfortable cuddle. He tucked your head under his chin, his arms wrapping around you securely, ignoring the chaos of the teenagers nearby.

⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧

The weight of the day seemed to dissolve in the quiet of the apartment, the only thing keeping you anchored to reality being the steady rhythm of Satoru’s breathing and the warmth of his chest against your cheek. You were tucked into the corner of the couch, limbs tangled together in a way that felt like a permanent home.

Satoru’s hand was still moving in those slow, lazy circles on your back, his gaze fixed on the shadows playing across the ceiling. He’d been quiet for a long time, the kind of quiet that meant his mind was wandering somewhere far away.

"You know," he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone he only used when he was truly relaxed. "I’ve been thinking about what I said earlier. About high school."

You hummed against his shirt, not moving, not wanting to break the spell.

He shifted, his fingers tangling into your hair, forcing you to look up at him. His blue eyes were searching, heavy with a kind of realization that made your heart skip. He didn't look like the untouchable man he was at work; he looked entirely human, entirely yours.

"You knew me," he said, his voice barely a whisper, yet it sounded like a confession. "I can see it in the way you look at me sometimes, like you’ve been memorizing the details for years. If I had seen you clearly back then... if I’d actually taken the time to look past everything else... I would have gone madly in love with you. I probably wouldn't have been able to keep my hands off you for a single day."

The air in the room seemed to go still. You felt a jolt of shock, then a wave of overwhelming tenderness. You thought of your younger self, the girl who had watched him from across the room and assumed she was invisible to him. You realized then that he hadn't just noticed you lately; he was finally seeing the history you’d been carrying for him all along.

"It’s nothing," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, as you pulled him back down to rest his forehead against yours. "We're here now. That’s what matters."

"Yeah," he breathed, his lips brushing against your temple. "And I’m not letting you go back to being invisible to me ever again."

He let out a short, soft laugh, pulling you flush against him so there wasn't a single inch of space left between you. He tucked your face into the crook of his neck, his arms wrapping around you with a possessive, final kind of comfort.

You closed your eyes, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a blanket. The high school girl in your head was finally silenced, replaced by the reality of his heartbeat thudding against your own, steady and real.

⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧⭑｡𖦹°‧