𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫 | 𝐒. 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 ✔️

Chapter XI

It's the morning after meeting that sketchy dude, and we're no closer to figuring out how to switch back. I wake up with the biggest headache, my skull pounding like someone's playing drums inside it. On top of that, I feel feverish, like my entire body is burning up.

I groan, dragging myself upright in Gojo's massive, ridiculously comfortable bed. Of course he'd have the softest mattress in the world, but not even that can distract me from how miserable I feel.

My head spins as I press my palm—his palm—against my forehead. Is his body being sick, or is it just the stress of this whole situation catching up to me?

"Great. Even Gojo's body can't keep it together," I mutter, sliding out of bed and nearly tripping over my own feet. Well, technically his feet.

I shuffle to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face in an attempt to wake myself up. The reflection staring back at me is still jarring.

Puffy eyes, messy white hair, and that stupidly symmetrical face. It doesn't feel any less weird than it did yesterday.

"I need coffee," I mumble to no one, stumbling out of the bathroom and pulling on one of Gojo's hoodies. At least his wardrobe is comfy, I'll give him that.

As I make my way downstairs, the butler appears—of course, already waiting like he just sensed I was awake.

"Good morning, sir," he says politely. "Shall I prepare breakfast?"

I nod sluggishly, too tired to argue or even snap back. "Yeah, sure. Something light."

As he disappears into the kitchen, I collapse onto one of the couches in the absurdly clean living room. For a second, I close my eyes, trying to block out everything—the headache, the feverish heat, the fact that I'm stuck in Gojo's perfect life with no way out.

I lean back into the cushions, letting my head fall against the back of the couch. The quietness of the house is almost suffocating. It's so peaceful here, and yet, I can't enjoy it.

Why would I? I'm not supposed to be here.

The faint clink of dishes in the kitchen pulls me out of my thoughts. The butler's efficiency is kind of unnerving—like he's got his whole life together while I'm here spiraling in someone else's body.

I stare up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what the hell to do next. Sketchy guy was a dead end. The man who was supposed to help us literally threw his hands up in frustration and told us to come back if we figure out what triggered the switch. As if that's something I can just pull out of thin air.

"Breakfast is ready, sir," the butler announces, standing at the doorway with his usual professional calmness.

I groan, dragging myself up from the couch and trudging toward the dining room. The sight of the table already set—perfectly, might I add—doesn't even register. My head feels like it's full of cotton, and every step feels heavier than the last.

The butler pulls out the chair for me, and I drop into it without a word. A plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and fresh fruit sits in front of me, and despite my mood, the smell makes my stomach growl.

I pick up the fork and take a bite. It's... good. Of course it is. Everything in Gojo's life is perfect, right? Even the freaking scrambled eggs.

For a moment, I let myself enjoy the meal. No one's yelling. No one's screaming at me to clean up my mess or fix my life. It's quiet, calm, and weirdly peaceful.

But the peace doesn't last.

Halfway through my toast, my phone buzzes on the table, and I glance at it with a sinking feeling. Gojo.