A moment too late
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Gojo Satoru did not get flustered. He was the strongest, the untouchable, the walking disaster of a sorcerer that everyone either admired or feared. But right now? Right now, he felt like a total idiot.
Because he kissed Name.
Well, technically, Name kissed him. But it wasn’t on purpose. It was one of those stupid, cliché moments straight out of a shoujo manga—the kind Gojo would absolutely tease someone else for if it had happened to them. But there was no teasing now, no cocky smirk on his lips, because his brain had short-circuited.
One second, they were bickering over some nonsense—something about Gojo stealing their drink or being too close when he talked. He had been leaning in, flashing that lazy grin of his, and Name, as always, had stood their ground. But then—
A stumble.
A sharp inhale.
And suddenly, their lips were on his.
Soft. Warm. A barely-there touch that should’ve lasted a fraction of a second, but to Gojo? It stretched into an eternity.
His first instinct was to make a joke. Wow, can’t resist me, huh? But for once in his life, his mouth refused to cooperate. Instead, he just froze, his brain short-circuiting as every part of him screamed, This is different. This is Name.
He had been kissed before. By admirers, by people who wanted to get close to him, by someone who thought they were being cute. None of them mattered.
But this?
This mattered too much.
And judging by the sheer panic in Name’s expression when they finally pulled away, they felt it too.
“You— You just—” Name stammered, stepping back so fast they nearly tripped over their own feet. Their hand shot to their mouth, eyes wide, skin burning. “That— That wasn’t— I didn’t mean—!”
Gojo’s hand twitched at his side. His lips tingled. His face felt hot.
This was new.
“Uh,” he said.
Brilliant. Amazing. Words of a true genius.
“You—!!” Name pointed at him like he was some kind of criminal. “Say something!”
Say what? Haha, that was funny, let’s pretend it didn’t happen? His heart was racing, and Gojo Satoru did not get nervous. Ever.
But the heat creeping up his neck, the way his hands were clammy, the way his mind replayed the feeling of their lips over and over like a broken record—yeah. He was absolutely freaking out.
Finally, he managed to choke out, “That was… unexpected.”
Name made a strangled noise. “You think?!”
“Well, yeah. You’re usually so graceful—ah, don’t hit me—!”
They did, of course. A smack to his arm, as if physical violence could erase what just happened. It didn’t. It just made Gojo grin, a little too late, a little too shaky.
There was something in the air between them now. Something fragile, something electric. Something that hadn’t been there before the accidental kiss.
And Gojo didn’t know what to do with it.
Name, apparently, didn’t either—because before he could say anything else, they turned on their heel and practically ran.
“Oi!” Gojo called after them, still reeling. “You can’t just—”
But they were already gone.
And he was left standing there, hands in his pockets, heart pounding in his chest.
The strongest sorcerer in the world… completely and utterly helpless.
———————————————-
Name didn’t show up to training.
Or class. Or their usual hangout spots.
At first, Gojo figured they were just embarrassed. He was still embarrassed, after all. Every time he thought about it, his face burned, and he had to fight the urge to hide behind his sunglasses. It wasn’t like he hadn’t considered kissing them before—he was self-aware enough to admit that. But he didn’t think—he didn’t know—that a stupid, accidental kiss could unravel him like this.
So yeah, he figured Name was just avoiding him. But after a week, even Gojo had to admit something was wrong.
It wasn’t just him who noticed.
“Name’s been acting weird,” Shoko said, flipping through a medical textbook in the lounge. “Haven’t seen them around much.”
“Are they sick?” Geto asked, lazily tossing popcorn into his mouth.
Gojo, lounging upside down on the couch, didn’t answer. His sunglasses hid the way his brows furrowed, his mind racing.
He was the strongest. He knew everything that went on at Jujutsu High. But he didn’t know what was going on with Name. And that… was unacceptable.
So, he went looking.
First stop? Their dorm.
Gojo knocked. “Hellooo, open up. Your favorite person is here.”
Silence.
His grin faltered. He knocked again. “C’mon, don’t make me use my infinity to break in. I’ll do it.”
Still nothing.
His stomach twisted.
Something was wrong.
Using his technique would’ve been overkill, but Gojo wasn’t above picking a lock when necessary. He got the door open in less than thirty seconds, and—
The room was dark.
And Name was curled up on their bed, staring at the wall, unmoving.
For a moment, Gojo just… stood there.
This wasn’t them. They were never this still, never this quiet. Something had happened.
He stepped inside carefully, as if any sudden movement would make them disappear. “Oi,” he said softly, crouching near the bed. “What’s going on?”
Nothing.
Then—
“They’re moving.”
Gojo blinked. “Huh?”
“My family,” Name whispered. “We’re moving. To America.”
Silence.
The words settled like a weight in Gojo’s chest.
“…You’re joking.”
A small, bitter laugh. “Wish I was.”
For the first time in a long, long time, Gojo didn’t know what to say.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. They weren’t supposed to leave.
Not after… Not after what happened.
He swallowed, trying to keep his voice light. “Well, that’s dumb. America sucks.”
Name let out a shaky breath.
Gojo sat down next to them, staring at the ceiling. “You’re not actually going, right?”
They didn’t answer.
His fingers curled into his palms.
“Name.” His voice was quieter now. “You’re not… leaving, right?”
“…I don’t have a choice.”
Gojo’s breath caught.
For the first time in his life, he didn’t know how to fix this. He could fight curses, he could bend space itself, but he couldn’t stop this.
So he just sat there, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the way his chest ached.
——————————-
They didn’t say goodbye.
They just… disappeared.
No text. No call. Nothing.
Gojo didn’t know what hurt more—the fact that they left… or the fact that they left without saying a word.
And for once in his life, he didn’t crack a joke. Didn’t pretend it didn’t matter.
Because it did.
More than anything.