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

115 ~ Hundred And Fifteen

[Y]ou'd been like this for days—distant, oddly detached. Barely saying a word to anyone unless it was Nanami or Toge.

Even Shoko had struggled to get you to open up, and she never struggled with you before. But whatever you'd seen that day, whatever had pushed you into that violent seizure, kept you locked in silence.

Now, you sat in a plush chair, far too expensive to be your own. The cushions beneath you practically screamed of Gojo's influence—probably a gift after Shoko told him about your late habit of staring out the window, lost in thought. Not that he'd shown his face. At least, not directly.

He hadn't visited, not once. But you could still feel him, sense him hovering nearby. Even with your blockers on, his presence cut through, sharper than ever.

It was almost like your senses had refined since the rooftop incident, heightening your awareness of him—wherever he was, he was never far.

"It's open," you muttered, barely conscious of the words, before the person outside even knocked.

The door creaked open. You didn't need to look. Nanami. His cursed energy was unmistakable, a steady hum you recognized without thinking.

"Shoko's worried," Nanami said as he stepped into the room, his tone as blunt as ever.

You glanced at the door, your senses already telling you who lingered outside. Gojo, leaning against the wall, no doubt. It was like a pressure you couldn't shake, always there, but never stepping in.

Was he watching you because of what happened with Utahime? Or was there something else? Was he actually worried?

You didn't need to guess. You could feel it—deep in your bones, woven into the very fabric of your body. Gojo's presence was more than familiar now; it was like a heartbeat you couldn't turn off, pulsing against your own.

You sighed, not bothering to respond to Nanami's concern immediately.

You were calm, at least on the surface. Serene, even. But the others didn't see it that way. No matter how much you blocked it, their cursed energy slipped through, and with it came the pieces of their thoughts. You could read them—feel what was in their minds before they even spoke.

It was like your gift had shifted, evolved. Now, you were a walking radar, picking up on everything around you, whether you wanted to or not.

"Is that so," you replied vaguely, your tone distant, almost like you'd shut the world out completely. But the truth was, you didn't feel bad at all. No, in a strange, twisted way, you actually felt fine.

"Yeah," Nanami sighed, taking a seat on your bed, right beside the expensive chair Gojo had probably left for you. Your head rested against the cool windowpane, eyes glazed over with a pensive calmness.

To them, you didn't seem alright. Maybe that's why they were all keeping such a close watch, as if you were fragile, like glass that could shatter at any moment.

"Shoko says you're not eating enough," he added, placing something on your bedside table.

From the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the familiar treat. Kikufukus from Kikusuian. Of course. A signature from him, even when he wasn't physically present.

He wasn't here—at least not in the room with you—but it felt like he was. Always lurking, hovering nearby, close enough to be felt but never seen.

Maybe they'd expected a bigger reaction from you after you woke up from that long, 24-hour sleep. A tantrum, even. But you were calm, unnervingly so. If anything, more reserved than usual. But it wasn't that you were shutting down.

No, it was just that there was too much swirling in your head.

"Y/N?" Nanami's voice broke through your thoughts, and this time, you turned your head towards him fully, giving him your attention. "Are you sure you're okay? Any pain?"

"Nope," you responded with a shake of your head, your tone flat and decisive.

You weren't uncertain in the least. Physically, you were fine. Sure, you'd wanted to stay angry at Gojo for that slap a little longer, hoping the sting would last, but Shoko had healed everything. No trace of the pain remained, much to your disappointment. Still, the memory lingered, just enough to keep a touch of bitterness alive.

Maybe this eerie calmness was just a side-effect of your innate gift. Something was quieting your thoughts, not your own words, but theirs.

"We're worried," Nanami pressed, his voice gentle but firm.

"I see," you mumbled, giving a nod, though the concern didn't really register. You heard him sigh again—another lost battle. Still, he'd managed to coax a few words from you, which was more than anyone else had been able to do.

"You know..." You trailed off, eyes drifting back to the window as if the right words could be found somewhere in the distance. "The idea of having selective memory loss never really crossed my mind before."

The words came out casually, without much thought, but you could feel the shift in the room. Nanami's posture stiffened slightly, and even though Gojo wasn't visible, you sensed the subtle rise of his brows behind the door.

Your comment had thrown them both off, even if just a little.

"What makes you say that?" Nanami's voice was calm, but you could hear the undercurrent of curiosity.

"There's something I remembered recently... A memory that hadn't resurfaced before that incident, the one at the hos—"

"I get it." The blonde's interruption was abrupt, but not unkind. His expression remained stoic, but you could read him easily.

He was doing it for your sake, not wanting to push you too hard, assuming that talking about it might reopen old wounds.

But you were fine. Really. Or so you kept telling yourself.

"I've been thinking about it a lot these past few days," you began, your voice low, as though speaking too loudly might disturb the fragile sense of calm around you. "And I've realized... some things in my memories, or whatever's left of them, don't quite add up."

Nanami's brow furrowed, his steady gaze locking onto you. "And you never questioned it before?"

"Not once," you admitted, your words honest and direct. "I was there when he died."

A tense silence settled over the room. Nanami didn't need you to say who you were talking about—he understood immediately. And though you couldn't see him, you felt Gojo react too.

"I saw the bodies," you continued, your voice flattening, devoid of any emotion. "Covered in blood, torn apart. Limbs scattered... dismembered. It was brutal. I couldn't get the images out of my head for weeks. So I never really questioned it. I just accepted it. I didn't think about what happened before... before everything that led to that day."

Nanami's silence was heavy, his jaw clenched. He knew better than to rush you, even as your words grew more distant, detached.

"For the most part, everything seemed intact," you said, your eyes fixed somewhere distant. "But when I started going over it again, bit by bit... there were gaps. Long stretches of missing pieces. Things that don't make sense."

"You don't have to," Nanami interjected quietly, his tone deliberate, but not forceful. "There's no need to recall that day."

"Maybe," you murmured, nodding serenely as he poured you a cup of tea, the gentle clink of porcelain sounding oddly calming in the stillness of the room.

His movements were methodical, careful. He unwrapped the Kikufuku—Gojo's usual gesture—and placed it in front of you.

Your hands moved automatically, reaching for the treats. No hesitation, no reluctance, just a strange sense of calm. There was no resistance left in you—not to Nanami, and not to Gojo, whose presence you could still feel hovering on the other side of the door.

Nanami watched you carefully, but said nothing more, the unspoken concern in his gaze lingering as you stared down at the tea in your hands.

"Sinichi Arai," you mused, almost more to yourself than to anyone else, the name slipping from your lips like it had been lingering there, festering.

Nanami's brow furrowed as he repeated it, his voice even, calm. "Sinichi Arai?"

"Mhm." You nodded slowly, taking a deliberate sip of your tea, the warmth doing little to comfort you. You picked up a Kikufuku and nibbled at it absentmindedly. It was sweet, but the taste felt hollow. Sharing might've made it better, but Nanami wasn't one for sweets. A lost cause.

"Y/N?" His voice cut through your thoughts again, steady but probing. "What did you see?"

You stiffened, your grip tightening ever so slightly around the teacup.

You knew exactly what he meant—the fragment, the broken piece of memory you'd recalled. But the words felt stuck, lodged deep inside, unwilling to come out.

You looked down, your expression twisting with disgust. The memory alone was enough to turn your stomach, and it showed. Your nose scrunched up involuntarily, a clear sign of the revulsion swirling inside you.

"Hurts," you muttered under your breath, not meeting his gaze. "Disgusting. Painful."

Nanami remained silent, watching you closely but not pressing further. He'd learned not to push too hard, not when you were like this—teetering on the edge of something volatile.

"I'm sick of it," you continued, voice soft but strained, almost like you were talking more to yourself than him. "Sick and tired of feeling—of the pain."

For the first time in days, something real broke through your cold, detached demeanor—a flicker of emotion, raw and exhausted.

It was fleeting, but Nanami saw it, felt it.

You sighed, the weight of it all crashing down on you, and for a brief moment, he glimpsed just how much you'd been holding back.