Bound In Love's Curse [Gojo Satoru x Female Readers]

106 ~ Hundred And Six

[T]he sounds of footsteps broke through your thoughts.

Shoko entered the room, her expression one of casual nonchalance, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. She approached your bedside, giving you an once-over before flicking the ash into a tray she'd balanced on her other hand.

"Well, look who finally decided to rejoin the land of the living," Shoko quipped, her voice carrying that familiar mix of nonchalance and hidden relief. "You had us worried for a bit."

"Mm, sorry about that," you murmured, your tone flat, eyes unfocused.

You thought about asking someone to help you to the open window, just to see the outside world for a change, but the words never left your lips.

Shoko stubbed out her cigarette, her usual sarcasm replaced with a rare seriousness as she started her examination. Her movements were efficient, almost clinical, and the room felt quieter, more hollow, without her usual banter.

The question about Gojo hovered in your mind, but you couldn't bring yourself to voice it. The uncertainty, the fear of what the answer might be, kept you silent.

Shoko finished her check-up, her fingers cool as they pressed against your wrist, counting your pulse. "You're on the mend, but don't push it. No training, no running off to Tokyo. Just rest."

You nodded, the exhaustion pulling at you again, the lingering weight of the fever making everything seem heavier. "Thanks, Shoko."

She gave you a light pat on the shoulder, her gaze drifting to the door as if debating whether to say more. Finally, she sighed and picked up her cigarette again. "So... you and Satoru, huh?"

Normally, you might have reacted—denied it, argued, something—but right now, you just didn't have it in you.

You leaned back, staring up at the ceiling, the dull ache in your chest mingling with the overall exhaustion. "Who knows?" The words came out empty, almost robotic.

Shoko studied you for a moment, a flicker of something—nostalgia, maybe—passing through her eyes. It was the kind of look she hadn't worn in a long time, not since Suguru. But she quickly masked it, her expression returning to its usual laid-back facade.

"Don't let him get to you," she advised, her tone softer than usual. "Satoru's a genius, sure, but when it comes to relationships... well, let's just say he's hopeless. Probably doesn't even get what it all means."

"Yeah, I figured," you sighed, feeling the beginnings of another headache but refusing to dwell on it—or on him. "Help me to the shower, will you? I must smell like a wet rat."

The brunette smirked, her usual dry humor creeping back into her voice as she raised an eyebrow. "Doubt it. Knowing him, he probably thinks you smell like roses."

Her comment caught you off guard, freezing you in your tracks as she shot you a knowing look. She wasn't just joking; there was something behind her words, something that hinted at a truth you weren't even aware of.

Shoko lingered for a moment, her eyes on you, as if contemplating whether to say more. Then she leaned back against the wall, her expression softening slightly.

"You know, he wasn't completely absent," she began, almost offhandedly, but the way she watched you suggested there was more to it. "Satoru, I mean. He was the one who stayed with you most of the time while you were out."

That took you off guard. You blinked, trying to process what she'd just said. Gojo? Taking care of you? It didn't add up. If he'd been here, why wasn't he here now?

Shoko seemed to catch the confusion in your eyes and sighed, flicking the ash off her cigarette out the open window. "Something urgent came up. He had to leave."

For a brief moment, you felt something—hope, maybe, or relief—but it quickly faded as reality settled back in.

Of course, he was gone. You were foolish to think otherwise. He was probably off playing somewhere, maybe with Utahime, while you were stuck here, clinging to the remnants of a fever dream.

The thought gnawed at you, the idea of Gojo and Utahime together, laughing, sharing things he'd once whispered to you. It was self-destructive, you knew that, but you couldn't stop it. Each imagined scenario was like a knife twisting deeper into your chest, leaving you hollow.

Your mind was spiraling, the room around you fading as the images played out in your head, when a couple of knocks echoed on your bedroom door, pulling you back to reality.

"Come in," Shoko called out, telling whoever it was to come in.

The door creaked open, and your heart sank, expecting to see someone who would only deepen your pain. But instead, in walked someone who dispelled the darkness you'd been drowning in.

Utahime Iori.

You blinked, the swirling thoughts of Gojo and her vanishing as she stepped into the room. Her presence was grounding, almost comforting, in a way that caught you off guard. She gave you a small, tentative smile, her usual stern demeanor softened as she approached.

"Hey," she greeted, her voice gentle, lacking the usual irritation she reserved for Gojo. "How are you feeling?"

You stared at her for a moment, unable to respond right away. The contrast between what you'd imagined and the reality standing before you was too stark. Utahime wasn't here to take anything from you—she was here to help. Probably because she cared.

"I'm... okay," you finally managed, though your voice was shaky, betraying the whirlwind of emotions still churning inside you.

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I wanted to check on you. Gojo was worried, but something came up, and he couldn't be here right now."

There it was again, that subtle reminder that Gojo had been there, that he'd cared enough to worry, even if he wasn't here now. It was almost too much to process.

"I bet he did something stupid to make you sick. Typical Satoru—he's such a damn idiot." Utahime's voice carried that familiar edge of exasperation, the kind she reserved just for him. But beneath her words, there was a trace of concern, a softening that wasn't always there.

Her presence felt oddly comforting, like a cool breeze on a sweltering day.

Utahime wasn't Gojo, but somehow, in this moment, she was exactly what you needed. She eased into the chair beside your bed, her usual sternness giving way to something more patient, more understanding.

"Don't rush it," she said, her tone gentler than you were used to hearing from her. Her eyes, usually narrowed in frustration or irritation, were now steady and warm, locked onto yours with a quiet sincerity. "We're here. Just let us know what you need, whenever you're ready."

You nodded, feeling some of the weight on your chest lighten, if only by a fraction. The pain, the confusion, the gnawing ache that had taken root in your heart—it was all still there. But with Utahime here, it wasn't as suffocating as before.