𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑺𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑺𝑶𝑹𝑹𝑶𝑾⇢ Gojo Satoru

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈 - 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆

GOJO SATORU STOOD IN HIS ROOM, his chest bare while his sweatpants hung low on his waist. The hotel room was eerily quiet, the only noise audible being the leaky faucet of the bathroom sink and his laboured breathing. The sorcerer was quiet too, pacing up and down the carpeted floor while his bare feet glided across in stifled steps. His skin was pale, almost translucid from the cold shower he'd just endured.

His hardcore abs were sculped to perfection, blue and purple veins coating his pale body and running down his chest until they disappeared into soft hem of his pants. He'd been oddly quiet since the shower; pacing, musing over his thoughts. His hair was still wet, droplets dripping down his face despite the fact he'd tried to slick it back. None of it seemed to stick, locks of hair swaying at the front of his forehead, almost as if mocking him.

Satoru's appearance was of no import at the moment, yet with each step he took in his small room, he felt himself shrink in his own head. The sorcerer couldn't get his mind straight, part of him still reeling from what he'd done. The cold shower had done very little to stifle him, and although he'd done his best to keep his thoughts tame, something still stirred in him.

Gojo was torn, fighting his own mind for the sake of sanity. Not once in the many years he'd known the Kinzoku had he thought of her in such ways, and even though it was The Beldam's trickery which awakened his thirst, he couldn't properly quench it now that he'd gotten a taste of it. Would Mikazuki's lips feel as rough against his own as The Beldam's had? Or would he drown in a sea of honey and soft skin if he allowed himself to ever get that close?

The thought haunted him, but it was only when the quietness completely overtook his senses that he realized the odd feeling that lingered in the air. Satoru paused, halting his constant pacing as he tilted his head to the side. He waited for a beat, the soundless silence that greeted him a lot more unnerving than anything he'd heard before. He was a shaman of high calibre and had spent countless hours in hotels exactly like this – some shabbier and some more luxurious that some of the mansions on the more expensive side of Tokyo – but nothing had ever hit quite like this.

His Six Eyes caught every single noise, the power embedded in his bloodline syphoning every breath of sound. Satoru was used to screaming matches, muffled cries of exactly and stifled arguments form squabbling couples. What he wasn't used to, though, was the sepulchral silence that reigned beyond the walls of his room.

The sorcerer frowned, quickly putting on a shirt before scanning the area around him with a pulse of his Infinity. The Cursed Energy flourished inside of him, spreading through the corridors of the hotel and reaching out to every single room. He waited expectantly, hoping the quiet to be nothing more than a glitch. Instead, the stillness remained.

Satoru didn't wait for another sign. He could have, but the wrongness of this place haunted him heavily. Instead, he cracked the door of his room open, head peeking out as he carefully assessed the space before him. The hallway was deserted, which wasn't that odd considering the time. Which time was that again? Gojo couldn't quiet remember. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd looked at a clock. Satoru ignored the feeling of uneasiness, slowly crawling towards the door in front of his.

The door was the same as it had been before, a clearly overused and worn out 'do not disturb' sign hanging from the handle. And yet, there was something odd about it, like an invisible void, a force feeding off the negative energy, both beckoning him to come closer and pushing him away at the same time. Satoru halted, breath caught in his lungs. He felt this beast stir inside of him. It wasn't fear – not truly, at least, but it was the closest thing to fear he'd ever experienced.

Everything in this room; in this hallway, in this hotel, was screaming at him to leave, to get out and save himself. Maybe he would have, if his Infinity hadn't brushed against a poor shrivelled Eternity that used to be so familiar to him he could never get rid of it. It was a quiet cry of help, a silent plea for someone – anyone – to come. And so he did. He forced the door open – fuck his Infinity and fuck the staff – shoving himself into the dark room.

Satoru didn't pause at the entrance, he didn't linger in the living area. He just pushed on, shoving past the pile of dirty blackened clothes and sidestepping the suitcase wide open on the dirty carpeted floor. Instead, he barrelled towards the bathroom, fondling the handle to see if it was locked. Unsurprisingly, the lock had been turned, but this didn't stop him at all.

The sorcerer was good with his hands – as many girls had told him over the years – but he didn't have time to pick this lock and the idea of dragging some poor orderly out of his bed at the time didn't seem appealing either. Satoru shook his head, launching himself at the door with all of his body weight and just enough Cursed Energy for it to rip apart from the hinges, crashing against the tiled floor with a loud bang.

Gojo paused at the entrance of the bathroom, breath stolen from his lungs the moment his brain processed the image in front of him. The bathwater was a mix of darkened colour, coal black and muddy brown, yet he was still able to make out Mikazuki's silhouette under the water, eyes closed while her grey hair levitated around her beautifully.

He stared at her for a moment, both marvelled and appalled by the image. She was divine, even with her body marred in scars and dyed black by the dirty water. Even with golden tears falling from her closed eyes, even with the water filling her lungs, even with her lips parted open.

Even. Even. Even. Even– she was glorious, even if he couldn't have her.