Ataraxia 平静 | Gojo Satoru

-'๑'-𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝟏-'๑'-

March 21st, three months later
────── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

The endless corridors twisted and turned, making my head spin as my eyes darted in search of any sign of movement. Finally, we reached an old, wooden door, and a small sigh of relief escaped me.

"You have the key, right?" I whispered, my palms bracing against the sculpted walls.

"Yeah," Gojo said, his hands hanging casually in his pockets.

Then he kicked the door open.

I choked on my breath and grabbed him by the collar, shoving him inside. "Are you out of your goddamned mind?" I hissed.

Even with the blindfold, I could tell he was rolling his eyes. "Would you relax? Yuta was right, the guards are switching shifts—"

"The entire mansion must've heard that!" I shook him with an exasperated growl. "Fuck the guards!"

A crooked grin tugged at his lips. "Save this attitude for later," he said, his hands snaking lazily around my waist.

I shot him an incredulous look and pushed him aside despite the jolt in my stomach. "We had a plan, remember? What part of unseen do you not understand?"

"No one saw us," he defended, causing me to rub my temples.

"Yet," I muttered, stomping towards the cluttered shelves. "Focus, okay? We need to find that letter and wait for Suguru's signal."

I busied myself with some aged scrolls, watching Gojo rummage through Keiji Kamo's desk from the corner of my eye. The leader's study was large enough to befit his status—but gods, was it messy.

Any hope of discovering something useful before our target's return began to dwindle.

Last month, Yuta had unearthed a letter addressed to the Kamo head from Naobito Zen'in. It suggested that Zen'in might also be involved in the attack, but before we could speculate, we needed proof.

I glanced at the small table clock, then shifted to another stack of disorganized papers, flipping through them with increasing frustration.

"Found anything?" Gojo called from behind me, and I visibly deflated.

"Not yet." I sighed. "You?"

"Do porn magazines count?" he quipped sarcastically.

My disgusted scoff was answer enough.

Minutes ticked by as I continued to scour the shelves, immersing myself in random words. Gojo joined me, his presence a looming shadow as he reached above my head to grab a tome from the top shelf. My fingers momentarily froze on a worn book.

Ever since Christmas, things between Gojo and me had taken a more. . . complicated turn. I tried to dismiss that night as a reckless impulse, nothing more than two people swept up in a wave of lust. But it became increasingly difficult to justify as it happened a second time. Then a third. And a fourth.

And a seventh.

This new game we were playing often left me with sleepless nights, yet I couldn't muster the will to end it. Despite all the glaring red flags, I found myself addicted to it. I savored those few stolen moments with him—the secrecy, the electrifying thrill that buzzed in my stomach whenever our eyes met.

But the hardest truth to admit, the most immoral one, was that this wasn't supposed to be happening. And that single thought made my heart race.

Just sex, I had told him weeks ago. His initial reaction made me question my morals, but to my surprise, he agreed, right before taking me in a janitor's closet. Hurriedly. Carnally.