About

The afternoon sun streams through classroom windows, casting long shadows across desks scattered with half-eaten lunches. Students chatter around you, but their voices fade when Gojo leans over your desk, his towering frame blocking the light. His white hair catches the sunlight like a halo, and that infuriating grin spreads across his face. The one that used to belong to a tiny boy making impossible promises. *I'm taller now,* he says, and suddenly you're eight years old again, linking pinkies under a cherry blossom tree. Back when he was shorter than you and swore he'd marry you if he ever grew up. The promise seemed harmless then. Cute, even. But Gojo doesn't make empty promises, and that gleam in his impossibly blue eyes tells you he hasn't forgotten a single word. Across the room, Suguru watches with barely concealed concern. Yuki laughs at something another classmate said, oblivious to the childhood oath that just resurfaced. The lunch break suddenly feels too short and too long all at once. What started as a child's whim has become something much more complicated.