𝑫𝒀𝑵𝑨𝑺𝑻𝒀 𝑶𝑭 𝑺𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑺 ⇢ Gojo Satoru

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐈 - 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈

SATORU LOWERED HIS GLASSES, his ocean eyes meeting her chestnut gaze for a brief moment before Eshima was forced to look away, a blush spreading through her cheeks. The girl was flustered, hands furiously tugging at the fabric of her dress. Still, Satoru wasn't put down by her shyness, choosing to be kind instead. She was going to be his bride one day, he might as well get used to it.

"Eshima-chan, how many times have I told you to simply call me by name?" He asked, bowing to her in return, a smirk appearing on his face as he watched the blush continue to spread. "We're going to be married soon, shouldn't we get used to calling each other by our given names?" He added teasingly.

The Zenin girl shook her head once again, the skin on her face turning so red he could almost feel the heat coming from her cheeks. She looked small and young, especially when she was standing so close to Satoru whose lanky frame towered over her like a large building.

"I apologize." She was quick to say, her tone just as refined as the fabric of her dress and the delicate pearls hanging from her ears. "I'll make an effort to address you as Satoru from now on." She promised quietly.

Gojo quirked his head to the side, an idea occurring to him as he looked down upon the girl.

"I guess it's time for me to drop the chan too, eh?" He asked, yet his tone lacked the kind of humour his previous statements had been filled with.

There was a terrible sadness hidden behind his words, like he was resigning himself to something he didn't want. Eshima blinked slowly, taking in his tone. The two had known each other for a while now, and although their relationship had only recently shifted from teacher and student to future husband and wife, Eshima couldn't help but feel like she knew him better than this.

"I'm sorry." Eshima blurted out, the words leaving her lips without her consent.

Satoru furrowed his brow, lips parting as if he was about to speak, but before he could, Eshima held her hands out, another blush covering her face. At this rate, she would pass out from all the heat accumulating in her cheeks, her freckled face turning puffy and red.

"Don't say anything!" She spoke, her voice rising an octave. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said–" The girl paused, trying to clear her head while her mind caught up to her mouth. "It doesn't matter" She shook her head once again before her gaze flickered down to his empty hands.

Eshima frowned, her previous jumbled thoughts coming to a halt as a new idea filtered into her brain. The girl took a deep breath, motioning to his empty hands.

"Where is your present?" She asked, a puzzled expression crossing through her face. "I didn't see you come in with anything, did you forget it in the car?"

Satoru stood there, mouth open as the words slowly registered. A present. For the birthday girl. Because this was a birthday party. Fuck. Gojo let out a frustrated sigh, lowering his head as he let another silent curse from his lips. The sorcerer locked his jaw, both cursing himself for completely forgetting about it as well as cursing Sene and everyone else in that damned family.

Even fucking Satoshi had managed to buy something, and he wasn't Mikazuki's ex-fiancée, which meant Satoru's chances of getting away with it were close to none. Fuck, he was going to get in so much trouble. He could already imagine Sene berating him in front of the entire crowd, not that he could blame her.

"It must have slipped my mind, with everything going on..." He paused, unsure of whether he wanted to continue.

Eshima's face didn't visibly change, yet he could see the light leaving her eyes as soon as the words slipped out. Everything going on. Like their wedding was just another chore he needed to get through, a simple item on his life to-do list. And in a way, it was. Satoru hadn't chosen this; as a matter of fact, Gojo never planned to get attached like this to someone in the first place. Marriage wasn't for people like them – it made them weak, vulnerable. It was why Léa had pushed so hard for the arrangement, so he would have a weak spot she could exploit.

"I'm sorry our wedding is such a burden to you, Satoru." Eshima said in an icy tone, her eyes cold.

Satoru shook his head.

"I–" He balled his hands into fists. "That's not what I meant." He tried again. "Eshima, believe me when I say this; you are not a burden to me. I am very lucky to be your husband and I'll try my best to make you a happy wife, but this isn't where I hoped to find myself in my late twenties. I thought I'd–" Satoru stopped himself once again, yet he didn't have to continue to make himself clear.

Eshima's eyes became glassy and she let out a choked laugh.

"Do you think I wanted this?" She gritted out. "I thought I would have a life, that I would get to choose my future. You might be The Strongest, but I didn't chose you."

Satoru fell silent, his expression blank as Eshima wiped the tears currently welling in her eyes. She had been raised to be a perfect lady and, causing a scene at someone else's birthday was not part of her training. Instead, the girl took a deep breath, fanning herself as not to ruin her mascara before her gaze softened lightly. Satoru was in the exact same position as her, and he wasn't to blame for this whole mess.

"I'm sorry." She repeated once again with sincerity before rubbing the tears running down her cheek again. "You and I are on the same boat here, we should try to make this as easy as possible." Eshima said with a pressed smile even when they both knew there was nothing easy about marriage.

Still, the Gojo heir nodded. Satoru looked down, his ocean eyes now noticing the small package Eshima held in her hand. It was a small flat envelope wrapped in dark waxed gift wrap, the name Kinzoku Mikazuki spelled in kanji at the front. The man remained rooted to the spot, his Six Eyes piercing through the paper and right into the small polaroid photograph inside.

He looked around, finally noticing the large table at the other of the room where an entire pile of presents sat on top of the mantel. There was everything; from cases of seventeenth-century wine to the keys of a brand new Ferrari. These were the sorts of gifts expected for an heiress, not a musty ass framed photograph. Except the picture behind the glass was probably worth more to Mikazuki than anything in that pile of gifts. It was a memory, directly engraved in that polaroid. They all looked so happy in that tiny snapshot, their expensive clothes and preppy hairstyles paling in comparison to the expression on their faces.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, the awkward ambience from earlier completely dissipating as he recognized the image displayed in the photo.

Eshima frowned, following his gaze and flipping the thin envelope to stare at the packaging.

"Oh, this..." She trailed off, her smile faltering only for a second "I thought she might like it." She looked up, a worried frown appearing on her face. "Is this too personal? Maybe I should have gone with that obsidian necklace like Naoya said–"

"No." Satoru cut abruptly. "It's perfect" he paused, eyes turning soft. "How did you manage to get it? I thought there were no pictures left of that night."

The man walked closer, taking the gift in his hand and flicking it towards the chandelier light so Eshima could see the picture as well. It was the four of them – the whole gang; Satoru, wearing a stupidly white suit, Suguru with his perfect hair and traditional kimono, Shoko who was (unsurprisingly) holding a bottle of wine, Keisuke with a gold crown on his head and Mikazuki with a wide smile on her face – running away after upstaging Kinzoku Asahi at his own children's birthday.

Mikazuki had been eighteen at the time, the smile on her face a reminder of the first time she truly let herself be free – Kinzoku Clan be damned. Satoru remembered the day so clearly he could almost see it happening in slow motion; all of them tumbling out of the party while Asahi watched, his face red from anger. The Kinzoku twins had paid the price for that stunt, but they had both assured them it was worth it.

What was a little pain when faced with true freedom? It was nothing.