fuck buddies don't act like this (Gojo x Reader)

Chapter 37

Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.

Shoko quietly listens in pressing firmer upon the pale white skin, her icy fingers causing goosebumps to appear around the area of the chest as it rises and falls. The cool metal of the silver stethoscope barely leaving a warm ring of pink as she brings back the flat surface. His heart palpitations appear to be normal with no increase in rate, a normal synchrony of that sound.

Her eyes lingering on the cursed scar from all those years ago, it's ugly but faint, bumpy and leathery from the improper usage of curse energy when first applied. From a distance it looks like nothing but this close, she remembers brushing her fingertip along it to get a better position in hearing his heart, it sent shivers along her spine. What a time high school was for them, barely finding their footing when everything went to shit, the star plasma vessel, that ex-Zenin clan member, and... Geto.

Her own heart soaring with an ache with that one memory on repeat.

Her tired eyes drag up the lengths of the pale corpse sat in a hunch on the disintegrating sofa, it smells... off, a stench that's become worse over time. Steadying herself with the cool compress of the flat surface of the scope deep into her palm, pushing, holding it there. The ache on his face stains the walls, deep marks pulling a frown on those optimistic lips. The sadness, the pain and yet nothing seems to be wrong with him.

Gojo Satoru walked into her mortuary as if he's been shot, dying like he's having a heart attack, now he sits before her a soldier that has seen too much, done too much. A ghost, so far away that the glint in his step, overbearing with happiness that oozes out of him has yielded to a halt. Whatever the issue is she's hesitant to know if she can truly help him.

"I don't hear anything out of the ordinary," Bundling up the earpiece and folding it back into her white lab coat pocket. "But please describe to me what it feels like, and we can go from there." Crossing the room to gather into the chair, it screeches against the concrete flooring, rolling to a twist she turns to face him from the desk.

Sighing in his seat, nails curling, digging into the crown of his kneecaps sheathing in the dark fabrics of the trousers less than a few hours ago the thought and the damning sight of you with another, man, made him stop. The day, lesson, mission, he just couldn't do it, pull through to the end in fear he would injure one of his students, you, the people, not really that fazed over the new guy too much on what he can do to him. Wants to do to him. But shouldn't, doesn't because of you and your happiness.

The way you looked at him, the smile in your eyes directed at him, just the pure innocence and joy he was too afraid to taint, his bloodied hands would have defiled you more than it already has. The white petal deflowered yet still alive and light in his palm the effort to break it will leave him in ruins. So, now he looks up the weight in his chest, heavy and sodden with that blurred word. Scratched out from an early age, his mother taken young unable to give it to him, his father grown cold leaving him to the open. There was none of it where he grew up, growing attachments was just a form of interest not a need.

But something happened... something good.

He swallows, the words laden at the back of his throat parched in drought wanting and waiting to be coughed up.

"Urgh, it's um, heavy and- and every time I want to do something it stings." his voice is nothing but a pained whisper, clearing his throat looking through from behind the mask his eyes grow wet.

What is happening to him?

Foreign? Alien emotions that he's never been in touch with before, felt before, not for a long time.