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

Chapter 43

Refocusing upon reality becoming extensionally harder by the minute as you try to refocus on the yellow stained kotatsu table and the white ceramic rims of the coffee mug, a low twanging pain creaks the cogs working behind whether you're seeing this right. Absentmindedly biting at your lips has become your new stimming past time, you're sure that your lips are red raw under layers of Vaseline lip balm. The pain is a slight twinge compared to the glorious sensation of feeling the skin rip off and peeling from flesh, your tongue slithers over some hard crusty irony patches covering an area you picked at last night.

You were with Usui last night, blinking slowly as the sleep you never got drawls over you in a smudgy mess, is this how it feels to be drunk without even drinking or coming down from a high? You wouldn't know both either, yet you do have some five hundred milligrams of Paracetamol in the cabinet maybe that will give you a slight fix.

The person before you fret, her eyes growing glassy by the minute; Morgan has tried to be a good friend to you up until now, but she can't do it any longer. Watching you become this husk of a person only acting on a fragment of yourself previous self whenever fucking Usui comes into the conversation. She's never took you for someone to nosedive into a relationship as if it was oxygen but finding you becoming less and less like yourself, distancing from her is worrying.

She can't do it, not anymore.

So, she plunks her phone face down, her keys as well as her purse making sure all her attention will be on you. Which she finds worrying as you're barely holding it together, dark purple bags hanging under your eyes, hollowed out cheeks that have sunken deeper into your skull. There's no twinkle in your eyes like before where that spark shined for the next inspiration, you barely dream anymore let alone draw. That she knows of, even Sarah seems worried and she's not even on the same fucking course, Morgan remembers yesterday's conversation replaying inside her mind.

"Is Y/n okay? It's just that I've been seeing her look out the window a lot in a daze." Morgan didn't even know what to say as the very words left stuttering on her lips.

She knew you were getting bad but even that is a strike for concern, she just waved it off as nothing and told Sarah that you haven't been sleeping well to which might even be true.

You look dead to the world with no other functions other than being a walking sex slave, robotic in basic functions and desires. She hates herself for even calling you that but being so out of the loop with your relationship she might as well jump to that conclusion. Usui is not a good look on you and even outsiders are beginning to pick up on your withdrawal.

She must make this work if she's going to come across to you in an unyielding unrelenting force of nature always standing by your side and never letting go. That's what you were to her back in freshman year of college and that's what she'll be now. Right, she can do this, oh hell she might as well just take the plunge straight into the deep end if she's this of a pussy trying to tell you that she's worried about you.

However, you're too busy trying to stay on mission than to even stipulate the meaning behind Morgan's fidgety behaviour. She recovers her steps in knotting her fingers together bounding herself to the table.

"Y/n," Slowly turning your head to incline your lost attention onto the girl in front of you, last night replaying inside your mind taking up most of your focus.

There was too much alcohol involved last night, the vague memory of saddling his hips as well. Your cuffs chafe against the cotton sleeve of your hoodie despite it being as hot as Satan's asshole outside. That's not even the first red flag Morgan tallies off inside her head, you look like death, blanch skin, clammy from either torturing yourself by adamantly wearing a hoodie in this weather or your ill which beside happening once never does. The drowsy look of a slurring drunk but the fidgety behaviour and quick to cover marks from your wrists is a clear sign of abuse. As bright and shining as the mid-day sun masking the heat from seeping into her pores, Morgan bites her own cheek trying to pinch herself from crying. You're covered in black and blue marks turning mouldy greenish yellow, that doesn't look good, nor can she imagine them feeling good.