𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑺𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑺𝑶𝑹𝑹𝑶𝑾⇢ Gojo Satoru

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐋𝐈 - 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒

BY THE TIME KINZOKU MIKAZUKI STEPPED OUT OF THE SHOWER, it was already late in the night, the starry sky smiling down at her as she slowly exited the bathroom. The woman didn't waver, drying her long mane of grey hair as she walked into the room. Her steps were slow, somewhat deliberate before she stood in front of the bed, tossing aside the towel in her hair and gazing down at the man sitting beside her.

Gojo Satoru was calm, his heartbeat steady as he looked down at the ceiling, He'd been doing so for a while now, waiting for Mikazuki to finish her shower while he mulled over his thoughts. It wasn't a particularly entertaining thing to do, but it was good enough to pass the time while the steam filled the bathroom and the sorceress washed herself in the tub.

Now that she was done, though, Satoru couldn't help but feel restless, a side of him once again unnerved by the woman in front of him. It was so easy for her to rile him up; sometimes her presence was good enough. It was something about her, the way she stood; always defiant and ready for challenge him. Keisuke had been like that, so had Suguru. Shoko was somewhat tamer, and after a while, she gave up on trying to measure up to the three of them.

They used to be the monster trio, all three boys. And in the background, standing a couple of steps behind, were the girls. Things were different now, though. Mikazuki was no longer a faded image in the background; she was front and centre on the stage, the main character of her own story. Maybe that's what bothered him, what truly irked Satoru; that she was her own person, a separate entity other than him. Mikazuki's world used to revolve around him, and now... she was her own world.

There she was in all of her glory, grey hair tucked behind her ears while water droplets slid down her still damp skin. She was wearing an oversized sweatshirt, the sleeves so long they hid her arms while the hem barely covered her thighs. He could see the edge of one of her tattoos, peeking from underneath. Flowers, I think. He thought merrily, still watching the woman with rapt attention.

Mikazuki didn't mind, pushing her hair out of her face and settling down beside him. The sorceress took him in, golden gaze pausing over his hands. They were red, raw and covered in blisters. Third-degree burns from the look of it, marred all over his palms where he'd hauled her out of the tub. Something sickly settled at the pit of her stomach, a sense of guilt blooming inside of her at the ghastly sight.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize it could hurt this much." She confessed, words tumbling out of her mouth like a guilt-ridden child.

There was a sense of sincerity in her voice, almost as if she truly regretted hurting him. What a funny thought, especially considering all the times he hurt her, no guilt or shame behind any of his actions. Something akin to guilt rumbled in his stomach, and as Satoru tried to ignore it, the feeling grew, taking root deep inside of him.

Maybe he did have a conscience, somewhere hidden very deep inside of him. Mikazuki chewed on the inside of her cheek, debating on what to do for a moment. She was twitchy, slowly reaching out to touch his hand – almost as if to soothe the burns – before reality set in and she stopped herself. Her touch had already done too much damage, Satoru didn't need more blood in his hands, whether it was his or not.

"I really am sorry." The sorceress repeated once again, part of her speech imprinting on his brain like a broken record. "You shouldn't have had to drag me out of the tub, I was just... having a childish tantrum, I guess."

She said it very easily, and although maybe she believed there to be truth in it, Satoru wondered if she believed it. The Gojo heir hadn't stopped to analyse what she'd done – what she was trying to do – when he broke into her room, he just acted. Mikazuki had been so still in her bathtub, her face so pale.

She looked hauntingly beautiful, but Satoru didn't have time to linger on it, he just dipped his hands into the tub and pulled her out, blisters and all. Fuck The Omen, fuck the pain; he wasn't going to let her drown just because she was being haunted by the past. He could have been haunted too, but The Beldam chose a different weakness. He chose her, which probably meant something he wasn't ready to face yet.

Still, the man smiled. It was soft and relaxed and everything Satoru never allowed himself to be.

"It's okay. We're... friends. I think."

Friends. What a tricky little word. Senseless for them, but still somewhat accurate even if friendship was the furthest thing from the truth. The Gojo heir paused, wetting his lips before cocking his head to the side as he glanced at her. He looked, part of him wondering when Mikazuki had changed so much, become so different. It was the exile – that he knew – but it was also before that. Somewhere along the way, she'd stopped looking a certain way; she stopped looking like him.

"And even if we weren't, you're Kei's little sister."

Gojo Satoru would never let Kei's little sister drown. It didn't matter that he'd let her get dragged away in chains, that he'd allowed The Magistrate to take her away or that he'd trapped her against a thousand rotting rats. At the end of the day, she would always be Keisuke's little sister. Even if only for seventeen short minutes.

The woman's expression changed, her radiant smile dimming for a moment. The sole thought of Kei still felt like a knife plunged to the heart – it would probably always be like that, but the bitter reminder that her twin was gone hurt her nevertheless. The flickering expression of sadness was gone almost instantly, the flash of it so brief Satoru began to wonder if he'd dreamed the whole thing. But no, it was still here, still hiding in her sunset eyes, still filled with sorrow and rage that had no proper place to be put.

Mikazuki's features softened and she laughed, flipping her hair back before laying down next to him. Satoru was taller than her – just slightly, but enough that there was a considerable difference between the two – but he welcomed the gesture. Touching was still off limits – had always been for them, really – so Mikazuki was careful to manoeuvre herself as gentle as she could, laying beside him until they were both sprawled across the bed, facing the ceiling with soft smiles and eyes full of wonder and nostalgia for a time neither of them ever really got to enjoy.