Heart to Heart

The city hadn’t changed much.

The streets still hummed with life, the familiar scent of takoyaki and fresh rain lingered in the air, and the sky stretched endlessly above—unbothered, unmoved. Tokyo remained the same.

But Name had changed.

They had grown up in a country that wasn’t theirs, learned to adapt, to blend, to survive. But no amount of time, no distance, had ever erased the ache in their chest. They had left Japan with a piece of themselves still buried in its streets, tucked away in a familiar laugh, in a pair of striking blue eyes that they had refused to think about for years.

Gojo Satoru.

The name alone sent a storm through them, even now.

But they had made their peace.

Or so they thought.

Because when they ran into him again—face to face, in the middle of a Tokyo street—every carefully constructed wall collapsed in an instant.

And he looked… exactly the same.

White hair, messy as ever. Tall, confident, that same aura of effortless dominance. He wasn’t wearing his blindfold—just dark shades, pushed up slightly as if he had been adjusting them when he saw them.

And his expression?

Well.

Gojo Satoru wasn’t smiling.

He was staring, utterly still, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

Name’s breath hitched.

Silence stretched between them, too tight, too loud.

Then—

“…So,” Gojo finally said, voice light, casual, as if they had just bumped into each other at a café and not after years of absolute silence.

“You’re back.”

It should’ve sounded normal. But it didn’t.

Because there was something under those words.

Something bitter.

Something sharp.

————————————-

Name stood in their empty dorm room, their packed suitcase by the door, heart aching.

Their phone was in their hand. The chat with Gojo was open. The cursor blinked at them, waiting for a message that would never be sent.

They had written so many drafts
I don’t want to leave.
I’m sorry.
Please don’t hate me.

But in the end, they sent nothing.

They had thought—hoped—that leaving quietly would hurt less. That maybe, just maybe, if they disappeared without a word, it wouldn’t feel so final.

They were wrong.

—————————————

“You’re back.”

Gojo’s words rang in their head, and Name struggled for something—anything—to say.

“Yeah,” they finally managed. Their voice felt foreign in their own throat. “I am.”

Another beat of silence.

Gojo tilted his head slightly, his usual easy-going smirk absent. “When’d you get in?”

“Yesterday.”

“Huh. No call? No text?”

The air turned thick.

Name looked away. “I… figured you were busy.”

“Busy?” Gojo repeated, and for a second, his sunglasses slipped down just enough for them to meet his eyes.

He looked hurt.

It was gone in an instant—masked, pushed away, buried beneath layers of sarcasm and bravado.

But they had seen it.

“Yeah,” Gojo continued, adjusting his shades, his lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You’re right. I’ve been busy. So busy, in fact, I barely noticed you were gone.”

A gut punch. A casual delivery. A joke that wasn’t a joke at all.

Their stomach twisted.

Because it was exactly what they had feared.

He was mad.

“…Gojo—”

“You know,” he cut in, still playing it cool, “I always thought if you came back, you’d at least say hi first. But I guess some things never change, huh?”

He was smiling. But it didn’t reach his eyes.

Name felt their chest tighten. “I—”

“You what?” His voice was light, teasing, but there was something underneath it, something dangerous.

They exhaled sharply. “I didn’t know how to face you.”

That, at least, was the truth.

For the first time, Gojo hesitated. His expression flickered—something unreadable crossing his face before he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“…Damn,” he muttered. “You’re really unfair, you know that?”

Name blinked. “What?”

“First, you leave without a word,” Gojo said, voice quieter now. “Now, you come back, looking like that—”

“Like what?”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

No. No, they weren’t going to just forget it.

This conversation—this moment—had been years in the making. They weren’t about to let it slip through their fingers now.

“Gojo,” they started, stepping closer. “I—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, lifting a hand.

They froze.

His fingers curled slightly, as if he wanted to reach out but stopped himself. He took a step back instead, regaining his composure, slipping right back into his usual mask.

“Look, Name,” he said, voice too casual, too smooth, like he hadn’t just dropped an emotional grenade between them. “I gotta run. Big sorcerer business, y’know. But hey—”

He finally smiled.

That cocky, lazy, Gojo Satoru smile.

“Don’t disappear again, yeah?”

And just like that—he was gone.

Leaving Name standing there, staring after him, heart pounding in their chest.

——————————-

Name lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the entire encounter over and over.

They had messed up.

They knew they had messed up.

But…

That look in his eyes…

Gojo had cared.

Maybe he still did.

Maybe—

Their phone buzzed.

A message.

From Gojo.

Their heart skipped a beat.

Gojo: You busy tomorrow?

Their fingers hovered over the screen.

Then—

Name: No.

Seconds later—

Gojo: Good. Be ready by 2.

No explanation. No details. Just a command.

Their pulse raced.

Name: For what?

Gojo: A rematch.

A pause.

Gojo: And maybe… something else.

Something else?

They swallowed hard, gripping their phone a little tighter.

Their heart was racing, fingers hovering over the keyboard, trying to find the right words.

Name: …Something else?

Gojo’s reply was instant.

Gojo: You’ll see. ;)

That damn winking emoji.

Name groaned, rolling onto their stomach and burying their face in their pillow. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. And yet—

They were already setting an alarm for the next day.

—————————-

Standing in front of Jujutsu High’s familiar gates felt surreal.

The school loomed ahead, just as grand and imposing as it had always been. The air smelled the same—of old wood, incense, and that weird spiritual pressure that always hummed faintly around the grounds.

It was both home and a memory—a place frozen in time, waiting for them to return.

Name took a deep breath, stepping forward.

Only to be immediately hit with a loud—

“THERE YOU ARE!”

Something small and fast barreled into them.

“Oof—?!?” Name barely had time to react before arms were wrapped around them, squeezing tight.

When they blinked down, they were met with the face of a very familiar first-year.

Yuji Itadori.

“Dude, you’re real?!” he exclaimed, eyes wide. “I thought Gojo-sensei was messing with us when he said he had an old friend coming back!”

“I thought he was messing with me,” Megumi added, standing a few feet away with his usual unimpressed expression.

Nobara huffed, arms crossed. “So you’re the famous ex-student. Took you long enough to show up.”

Famous? What.

Name barely had time to process that before Yuji was shaking them excitedly. “I have so many questions! How do you know Gojo-sensei? Are you super strong? Can you tell us embarrassing stories about him? PLEASE tell me he was a loser back in the day—”

“Wow, okay, rude,” came a very familiar voice from behind.

Name turned—and there he was.

Gojo Satoru, standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, that signature grin firmly in place.

“You talk about me like I’m dead,” he said, mock-offended. “I’m standing right here.”

Yuji blinked innocently. “Yeah, but you tell us nothing about your past, so we have to get info somehow—”

“ANYWAY,” Gojo interrupted, clapping his hands together. His shades were slightly askew, revealing a hint of blue underneath. “Name and I have important business to handle. Shoo, kids. We’ll talk later.”

“Wait, wait, wait—” Nobara held up a hand. “Does this important business involve you finally confessing your crush?”

Gojo froze.

Name’s soul left their body.

Megumi sighed deeply. Yuji wheezed.

Gojo, flustered beyond reason, cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “First of all, disrespectful. Second of all, disrespectful. Third of all, mind your business.”

Nobara smirked. “That’s not a no.”

Gojo pointed at her. “You’re banned from this conversation.”

“Like hell I am—”

Megumi physically dragged her away before she could start a full war.

Yuji, still grinning, gave Name an exaggerated thumbs-up. “Good luck, Name-san! If you need advice on handling Gojo-sensei’s stupidity, we’re here for you!”

Then, finally, they were alone.

A long silence stretched between them.

Gojo sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “…I swear they’re feral.”

Name chuckled, running a hand through their hair. “Can’t imagine why. It’s not like their teacher is you or anything.”

He smirked. “Ah. You missed me.”

Their heart skipped a beat.

Gojo must’ve noticed, because his grin widened. “C’mon,” he said, tilting his head toward the training grounds. “We got a rematch to do, don’t we?”

——————————-

The second Name stepped onto the field, it was like stepping back in time.

The air between them crackled with anticipation.

They had fought countless times before—back when they were students, back when things were simpler. It had always been fast, playful, a dance of technique and speed.

But this time?

It was different.

Gojo’s stance was loose but controlled, the playful smirk lingering but his eyes—God, those eyes—were sharp, watching their every movement.

Name steadied themselves. Focused.

Gojo lifted a hand, motioning them forward. “Show me what you got.”

They didn’t hesitate.

They attacked.

It was fast—a blur of motion, feet skidding across the dirt, a precise strike aimed right for his ribs.

Gojo blocked with ease, twisting away with an infuriatingly lazy grin. “Come on, you can do better than that.”

Oh, he was so asking for it.

Name gritted their teeth, shifting their weight before launching another attack—a feint this time, sharp and unpredictable. Gojo dodged, but barely, his grin flickering into something genuine as his muscles tightened in response.

“Not bad,” he mused, catching their wrist mid-strike. “But—”

With a swift motion, he twisted their arm just enough to throw them off balance.

Name barely had time to react before—

WHAM.

They hit the ground, wind knocking out of their lungs as Gojo pinned them effortlessly, one knee braced beside them, one hand pressing into their shoulder.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

The only sounds were their heavy breaths, the rustling of leaves, the faint hum of distant voices from the school.

Then, Name realized just how close they were.

Gojo’s face was mere inches away, white hair falling slightly over his eyes, his lips parted ever so slightly from exertion. His weight, the warmth of his touch—it sent every nerve in their body into overdrive.

And judging by the slight red tint dusting his ears?

He wasn’t unaffected either.

“…Okay,” Gojo finally said, voice slightly husky. “So maybe I missed this.”

Name swallowed. “Missed what?”

“This,” he murmured, fingers tightening just slightly over their shoulder. “You. Fighting me. Yelling at me. Being here.”

Their heart skipped a beat.

“You’re being weird,” they muttered, trying to break the tension.

Gojo smirked, but there was something soft in it. “I’ve always been weird. You just left before you could appreciate it properly.”

Oof. There it was again.

The reminder. The sting beneath the words.

They had left.

They had hurt him.

And even now, even after all these years, he hadn’t forgotten it.

“…Gojo,” they started, voice quieter.

His smirk faltered, just a little.

Then—he sighed, pulling away and flopping onto his back beside them, staring up at the sky.

“Y’know,” he said, voice lighter, but still too careful, “for a while, I thought I was just imagining how much I missed you.”

Name turned their head, staring at him.

“But seeing you again?” Gojo exhaled, lifting a hand to cover his eyes. “Yeah. Definitely wasn’t imagining it.”

The weight in their chest grew heavier.

“…I didn’t want to leave,” they admitted. “You know that, right?”

Gojo was silent for a beat.

Then—

“I don’t know what I know anymore,” he muttered.

A confession.

Raw. Unfiltered. The strongest sorcerer in the world, the untouchable Gojo Satoru—uncertain for once in his life.

Name sucked in a breath.

It was now or never.

Slowly, cautiously, they reached over—fingers brushing lightly against his own. A hesitant touch. A question.

Gojo stilled.

Then, almost tentatively, he curled his fingers around theirs.

Warm. Solid. Real.

“…So,” he murmured, voice softer now, serious, “are you staying this time?”

Name’s chest ached.

For years, they had wondered if Gojo had moved on. If he had forgotten them.

But this?

This was the real question.

Did they want to stay?

Did they want to stop running?

Did they want to try again—not just with Gojo, but with everything?

The answer was painfully, beautifully clear.

“…Yeah,” they whispered, squeezing his hand.

Gojo inhaled sharply.

Then, with a slow, genuine smile—one that had nothing to do with bravado or cocky teasing—he turned his head to look at them properly.

“Good,” he murmured.