𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙪𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙪𝙢 » gojo satoru.

unresolved horror

❝ i've been reading books of old, the legends and the myths ❞

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𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗖𝗘𝗗 through the head of another curse, inwardly disgusted as yet another spray of dark blood showered your mask and hair. Your fingers clinked together as you stood in the middle of the swarm that seemed to come towards you, en masse. Yoshinobu had assigned you on yet another mission with swarms of ugly low ranks, scuttering and chattering in noiseless hunger, their legs skittering across the rough surface of concrete.

Your head rung with years of pain and torment and the matrix had never forgiven your hollowed soul, even for a moment, and it was this emptiness that brought upon your resigned hatred and anger. 

Speaking of emptiness, you hadn't crossed paths with Gojo since you had woken up in his empty bed like it was yours. Not even a smidge of energy or cursed technique of his could be sensed from anywhere, and God knew that when he wanted to hide, he would. And God, could he. 

"That's when you know a man's not interested in you, [name]."

"I apologize, mother."

You wondered what Gojo was up to now? How was he doing? Was he doing alright? You hoped that the night prior hadn't hit him too hard. 

But that was an issue for later you and Gojo whenever you ran across him, for everywhere you checked, he was nowhere to be found. All of your usual spots, his favorite shops, even his room late at night. You had looked in the store for mochi, bubble tea, under you and Gojo's special tree. 

And so, you immersed yourself in battle, letting the clanging of blade on flesh and bone bring your mind to a horizon far away. 

"[name], your next suitor is awaiting your presence." a lady clad in the most extravagant clothing to be seen in the next few miles waved her hand at a younger girl. The younger girl bowed to whom was assumed to be her mother and made her way across the room toward the door, fixing her loose strands of hair as she went. 

"And try not to disappoint this time, you hear?"

"Yes, mother."

And that was the beginning of the end, the bullet that splintered worldly fabric that had made up their delicate balance of false agreements and soft facades. For hardly half an hour later, the very same lady was plowing insults and hurling pain at her younger duplicate.

"NOT ENTERTAINING ENOUGH." she screamed, hurling a teacup across the wall. The young girl hardly flinched at the crash and at the liquid dribbling down the delicate gold rose wallpaper. "what does it take for my daughter to be entertaining?"

she just wished that the liquid ran crimson and in rivers, rather.

 "Mother, if I may-" she was cut off with a hair pin that whizzed past her cheek, leaving the smallest dent and trickle of red, a mere stream.

"No, no you may not," seethed the mother, and she paced back and forth upon the floor, her feet tapping and creating muffled sounds on the ground, muffled as her daughter and freedom had been silenced; but not erased. "You may not. our clan is on the end- no fame, no power, we've been cut and shunned, given no chance to prove ourselves to our future descendants. We're OFF THE DEEP END."

Splat. 

A drop of scarlet splattered on the ground, splashing millimeters before stopping future. The girl's eyes set on the drop splattered blood; pupils unwavering. Her mother kept screaming, spitting, stomping. Yet, her eyes never did waver one bit. 

Her eyes never wavered once, not even while her body did. 

Not while her body failed her, not while her reputation astounds her.

Not while her family and blood were cast from the main line of sorcerers in Japan and across the ocean.

And all the while, her gaze never failed her. Sure, it was dead, and lifeless, and had no light, but it held firm and strong and proved to be the very foundation she built her life around.

But, behind her eyes, her daunting, lightless eyes, was a glimmer of fire.

And that fire would only grow as her company grew.

And so, you stood in the middle of a horrid scene, cursed blood dripping from your fingers and your clothes coated in grime, worrying about a line of forever shunned sorcerers that wouldn't make it back; but what if?

What if they did?

You were so lost in the barrage of thoughts that would very well rather be Hell, that you didn't see the faint figure sitting atop a building hardly half a district down the roads, the wind and darkness proving futile in their efforts to hide the sheer command that radiated off his figure at even a distance. 

You hardly noticed him, and even though in truth he was hiding, you usually would have. Past days were spent hoping, praying, wishing, and searching for Gojo Satoru in every crowd, every group you brushed past.

You searched for him everywhere you turned, hoping that you would see the familiar head of piercing white and feel the familiar aura of greatness, yet all in vain.

But now that he was truly there, watching over, you didn't notice him at all.

And you hardly noticed at all when he flickered and disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a small billow of dust to prove to anybody that he had once taken up that space.

But one thing that was noticed and noted by you is that when you slipped past your open door back at Jujutsu Tech, a plate of croissants and a glass of water awaited you upon your table, a familiar cursed energy coating them in a cover of glaze.
And the note, in all its glory with a handwriting that could be passed as either messy or unrequited elegance, just as Gojo could be passed as powerful and elegant or naive and fell short, caught your eye. 

Just as he had. Gojo, as magnificent as he was in the sky, had built his own empire in your mind, in your heart and in your soul. His world reigned supreme in all's minds but still had his own place in yours.

Hojo would never, ever, fail to be noticed in any of his palaces. Nowhere in the world would he be unnoticed, even in the mundane regular human world. 

He'd never be unnoticed. 

'Hope you are well. Have some snacks. I know you haven't eaten yet.'

- Satoru.

And despite your inability to settle the lump in your heart and stomach, and your inability to let your lungs pass oxygen, you did the impossible. Despite the clotted swell and dent inside you that you begged to be let go, you did it. 

You smiled. 

No, he would never fail to notice or to be noticed indeed.

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