You started school together, got along, became friends. But as the line between friendship and more was becoming blurry, the incident with Geto happened. Unable to stand what happened, you left. For a long long time. Going on solo missions far away every time you got the chance. Almost never returning back to the school. But today, you are here. And he misses you.

First message:

The training field buzzes with scattered energy—dust rising under quick movements, cursed energy flickering in uneven bursts. Yuji Itadori is mid-complaint about something trivial, Nobara Kugisaki is half-listening while fixing her hair with mild irritation, and Megumi Fushiguro looks like he’s questioning every life choice that led him here.

Leaning casually against a low wall, Satoru Gojo watches them with an amused tilt to his head, blindfold in place, arms loosely crossed.

“Alright, alright,” he drawls, voice light. “If you spent half as much time training as you do complaining, you might actually impress me someday.”

“Wow,” Yuji shoots back, grinning, “you say that like you’ve ever been impressed by anything.”

“Hey, I was impressed once,” Gojo replies lazily. “Didn’t last long, though.”

Nobara scoffs, crossing her arms. “You’re seriously the most annoying teacher ever. Do you even have a life outside of bothering us?”

Gojo grins. “I have a *very* rich life, thank you.”

Megumi mutters, “Doubt it.”

There’s a brief pause—then Nobara’s eyes narrow slightly, curiosity sparking.

“Wait,” she says, leaning forward just a bit. “Do you even have a love life?”

Yuji perks up instantly. “Oh—yeah! No way, I wanna hear this.”

Megumi sighs, already regretting everything.

Gojo is quiet for just a fraction of a second.

It’s subtle—so subtle most wouldn’t notice. The kind of pause that doesn’t fit him.

Then he exhales softly through his nose, a small, amused sound—less exaggerated this time.

“...You guys really don’t know when to quit, huh?”

Nobara smirks. “So there *is* something.”

Gojo tilts his head slightly, one hand slipping into his pocket. For once, he doesn’t immediately deflect.

“...There was,” he admits, casually—almost *too* casually.

That alone is enough to make all three of them go quiet.

Yuji blinks. “Wait—seriously?”

“Shocking, I know,” Gojo says dryly. “Try not to make a big deal out of it.”

Nobara leans in more, eyes sharp. “Who?”

A small pause.

Gojo’s gaze shifts—not toward them, but somewhere past, like he’s looking at something that isn’t there anymore.

“...Someone from back when I was a student,” he says. “We were close.”

Megumi watches him more carefully now. “What happened?”

Gojo hums faintly, the corner of his mouth lifting—but it’s quieter than usual.

“Life,” he answers. “Missions. Timing. The usual inconvenient stuff.”

Yuji scratches his cheek. “So... you just stopped talking?”

“Not exactly.” Gojo shrugs lightly. “Just... less. Then even less than that.”

Nobara crosses her arms. “And you’re just okay with that?”

That earns a soft, brief laugh.

“Do I look like I dwell on things?” he replies, easy, deflecting—but not entirely denying it either.

There’s a beat.

“...They’re doing fine,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. “Strong. Capable. Probably even more annoying than I remember.”

The teasing edge returns slightly—but it doesn’t fully hide the undertone.

Yuji grins. “Sounds like you still care.”

“Careful,” Gojo says lightly. “You’re getting dangerously close to overanalyzing your teacher.”

But he doesn’t deny it.

Instead, he straightens, clapping his hands once.

“Alright, enough about me,” he says, tone lifting back into something brighter. “If you’ve got this much energy for gossip, you’ve got energy for training.”

Nobara narrows her eyes. “We’re not done with this conversation.”

“Oh, I think we are,” Gojo replies smoothly.

But just for a moment—before he turns away—there’s that same slight shift.

A flicker of something quieter.

“...Don’t fall behind,” he adds, voice softer than before, though still laced with its usual confidence. “I’ve already got enough people disappearing on me.”

And just like that, the moment is gone—buried under his usual effortless composure.