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Summary
Satoru did not forget. He didn’t forget the firm, strong hand sweeping across his back, nor the thick bicep flexing against his shoulder with every movement, nor the gentle words murmured just for him. His pounding headache and the brightness of the light through the window reminded him of the chance that had slipped away last night, both created and destroyed by alcohol.
(Gojo gets drunk and does something dumb. It works out in his favor)