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

Chapter 58

Blinking restlessly uncontrollable tears break out from your eyes as a rash of sweats prickle your spine, the nook between your shoulder blades and the trickles down from your temple. Today's heat is yet another lashing from this unforgivable hell storm you call a city and that you call a home, with May looming over the horizon Yokohoma is flashed with a freak heat wave. As if the blistering storms couldn't forgive the ice age that blanketed most of Japan for those brief yet terrible months, passing by slowly as if January transformed into a decade.

Your wrists spasms from the thinning plastic bags stretching to translucency from the weight, your palms swelter. Skin thins and blotches from pressuring blood trapped in oddities upon your fingers, as if the hooks to the bag were iron strings slicing bit by bit, further through your hands. Not even the thought of being less an elevator away from your home could save you from this turmoil, the concrete stairs towards the reception blinker back the sun's rays still you squint and stumble forwards.

Slow, heavy trudges move between clumps of clay and the sodden ground anchoring you by every step as if the sun dries the weights of a thousand tons clutching at your ankles. A soaring ache crackles your joints with each lifting step, exhaustion suffocates and scrapes against your throat that long dredges bleed upon your cracked lips. The sole door to the reception basks open and just as you walk inside barely alive and a near step to fainting does the so satisfying yet breath-taking cool air from the newly installed A/C fans- well more like blasts shards of ice cascading down onto you. Never has such a moment been so worth the long, slow trudge back from the market, managing to snag a good bargain on the hottest day of the year.

As you arrive inside you notice that the front desk is open, empty from the kind yet stern old lady that spends majority of her days filing her nails. You can't blame the woman for nor wanting to suffer in her despair for everywhere else practically being deserted due to the overwhelming intensity of this lashing heat. Swaying you stand relishing the cool air feeling somewhat rejuvenated you march on salivating upon the occurring thought that you still have a box of ice lollies left in the freezer.

Groaning you thank both the Gods, electricians, no moron more idiotic than you for waiting at the only working elevator currently in the building. They have blessed you as you couldn't possibly imagine how you would climb those stairs, you'd probably stumble, trip forwards, sigh, cry and perch yourself there for the remainder of the day. The doors swipe open with blasts of cool stagnant air trapped for God's know how long now trickling down your face. Lovely, just lovely. Sweltering within the tin can feels as if the decades slow within the seconds it takes for the beast to travel up a couple flight of stairs to bring you closer to your desired destination.

The bristling clicks of cicadas chirping still manages to haunt you from up here as you turn rounding the corner watching as your steps slows and your eyes widen. You must be losing your focus as it's been a long hot day, of course you'll be feeling a little dehydrated now and not hallucinating the one man that still has an iron hold on you. Breathing becomes harder, your chest aches from the stammering clips of your lips opening and closing. Are you crying or is that just sweat, it's hard to tell when his bloody snowy hair reflects the sun's rays back at you.

Squinting, you try to shake off whatever it is crawling up your spine that makes your hairs stand and your limbs shiver in this wake of a nightmare...

It can't - it can't be true, he, he left, he left you at the station, well not even bothering to show his face and give you that respect of a goodbye. None of that and now he stands barely a couple of yards away looking... terrible, his clothes marred with scruff whilst his hands barely clasp around the black cloth of his blindfold. His fair skin blotches in deep reds and purples, new scars decorate him as if combat still lingers within him.