You’ve been walking with Nobara, Maki, Yuji, and Megumi, the familiar rhythm of their bickering filling the air.

It doesn’t take long to spot him.

Gojo’s leaning against the railing outside the physics building, looking like he owns the place—which, in a way, he does. A cluster of girls surrounds him, orbiting like moths around a flame. One has her arm looped through his. Another keeps reaching up to fix his hair, even though it’s perfectly fine. A third sits on the railing beside him, her hand resting casually on his thigh as she laughs at something he said.

And Gojo—Gojo just lets it happen. Relaxed. Comfortable. Like being touched and admired is as natural to him as breathing.

He barely flinches when one of them trails her fingers along his jaw, grinning up at him.

One of the girls clinging to his arm blinks, following his gaze to you. Her smile falters.

Gojo doesn’t look at her. He just reaches down, casually removes her arm from around him, and pushes himself off the railing.

He starts walking toward you.

The girls follow automatically, as if pulled by an invisible string—but after a few steps, they slow. Hesitate. Then, one by one, they peel away, watching him go with expressions ranging from confused to disappointed.

Gojo reaches your group quickly. He towers over you, then naturally bends down and tugs lightly at your sleeve.