𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙪𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙪𝙢 » gojo satoru.

heartburn, like so

❝ close my eyes and lock the cage ❞

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𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗘𝗗 your mask on your wooden table, huffing, and flopped onto your bed. You rolled onto your side and winced as something jabbed you in the ribs. 

You then pried a book out from under you; a photo album, to be exact. A photo album of all the times and years you had spent with Gojo, enduring nothing less than a world of flaws and a void of emptiness. Yet, as always, like today, he became your savior.

He became your sun, your light, and you, Icarus, flying closer and closer to a vibrant star that you'd never reach. A star that shone and cast long shadows over all below it, and a lesser being that'd never reach it no matter what. Yet, you'd keep going, even if your melted wings and self would send you spiraling down into hell for all eternity. 

You groaned, raking your hair back with your fingers. "I can't keep living like this," you sighed. Yet both you and the gods above knew you weren't about to do nothing about it. 

Deciding to end your episode of wallowing in your self pity, you headed to the bathroom. The same bathroom that had been coated in a carpet of roses and thorns, the same bathroom where you had sealed your fate in a mask of wood and plastic and multicolored paint.

You slipped off your tattered Jujutsu uniform, throwing it into the corner in a heap, before sweeping your skin with a scrutinizing gaze.

You hadn't been injured, aside from a few bruises and scratches, but the dirt and grime made it all seem far worse than it actually was. 

And of course, you had Gojo Satoru to thank for it, as usual. You suppose that in his own way, he did protect you from all that sought to pierce you with its thorns and display your misfortune as a trophy. 

Fuck, you needed a break from your own brain.

And so you slipped on a new set of clothes and your mask and walked out of your room, and toward Yoshinobu's office. If you had nothing but self-pity, you would find something useful to do for the rest of the establishment. 

Sliding open the door to the room, you found Yoshinobu kneeled in the middle of the room, a cup of tea in his hands, his gaze on something that was not truly there.

"I've come for a mission, sir," you stated, and he looked toward you. 

"Were you not just on one?" he asked but shrugged when your body language and stiff posture said no more. "Red light district, East of the temple. Swarm of low ranks."

You nodded, and were about to leave when the door slid open, and revealed Gojo.

His gaze found yours, and despite both your eyes being obscured, you felt his boring holes into your very existence, through the very layers of multi-dimensional fabric that made up the world. 

Yoshinobu coughed. 

Gojo stepped aside to let you pass, and cast a sidelong glance at Yoshinobu, who understood it immediately. Give me a minute.