You were one of the last to leave. Beside you, Gojo Satoru stretched lazily, his arms reaching above his head with an exaggerated groan.

The evening air hit you both as you stepped outside—cool and crisp, carrying the faint smell of street food from nearby stalls. The city hummed around you: cars passing, groups of friends laughing, neon signs flickering against the darkening sky.

Gojo pushed his sunglasses up into his white hair, squinting slightly against the last traces of daylight. He looked at you, a familiar grin tugging at the corner of his lips.