𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫 | 𝐒. 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 ✔️

Chapter XXVI

I must've fallen asleep, but I don't remember when or how. The moment I wake up, my room is staring back at me, exactly as I left it.

The scrappy, fading posters on the walls, barely hanging on at the edges, the messy pile of clothes on the chair—everything is just as it was.

The familiar chaos of my family echoes through the house, but this time, it feels different. It feels... warm. Like I missed this.

My parents are at it again, probably arguing over something insignificant, but it doesn't matter. The laughter and bickering are comforting, familiar. A feeling I hadn't realized I craved until now.

I take a deep breath, the scent of old books and lingering coffee filling the air. This is home. This is where I belong. But for the first time, I don't feel completely at peace.

I sit up, rubbing my eyes, trying to shake the fogginess from my head. What happened last night? My body feels heavy, like it's still carrying the weight of everything I've been through—everything I thought I understood.

The way Gojo looked at me, the words he said... it all feels like a dream, but I know it wasn't.

The guilt still stings, sharp and unrelenting. I don't know how to feel anymore. Part of me wants to scream at him, to make him understand just how much he's hurt me.

But then there's another part—one I don't want to admit—that still wants to believe in him. To believe that maybe, just maybe, he was trying to protect me.

I don't know what's worse—being heartbroken, or being so conflicted that I can't even trust myself.

I swing my legs off the bed and stand, my body aching as I stretch. The day is starting, and so must I. But for the first time, I don't have a clear plan. I don't know where I'm headed, or what I'm supposed to do.

I hear a voice calling from downstairs, and I hesitate for a moment, listening to the familiar sounds of my life moving on.

But something inside me feels different. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of something I can't control.

And maybe, just maybe, I'm too scared to fall.

I look at myself in the mirror and touch my face. My eyes are puffy, swollen, and red. I frown. Did... he cry?

I try to push that thought away, force it out of my head. I want nothing to do with him. But why does the urge to text him linger? Why do I want to call him, to tell him that we made it? That we're back?

The thought feels like it's pulling me in two different directions—one part of me wants to shut it all out, but another part can't help but wonder if there's something I missed. Something I shouldn't ignore.

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. It's ridiculous, right? After everything that happened, after everything he put me through. Yet here I am, standing in front of the mirror, feeling this pull, this weakness in my chest that I can't explain.

I tell myself it's just habit. That's all it is. I'm used to him. To the constant push and pull between us. It's easier to feel anger than the strange emptiness left behind.

I walk downstairs, and a wave of sadness hits me when I see my parents. They're bickering over something trivial, their voices filling the room with that familiar noise. The kind of noise I used to ignore, the kind I never cared about.

But now, it feels different. It feels heavier.

I don't know why, but I feel so out of place. Like I'm not meant to be here anymore. The home I used to know doesn't feel like home anymore.

My mom catches my gaze and raises an eyebrow. "Finally, look who woke up," she says, turning back to the stove, busying herself with whatever she's cooking.

My dad turns around with a grin. "Good morning!" he sings, his voice cheerful, and for a moment, I can't help but let out a soft chuckle.

It's comforting, in a way, how they don't change. The way they act like everything's normal, even though I feel like I'm not the same anymore.

I let out a sigh.

No more other body. No more other life.

No more... Gojo.

The thought sits in my chest, heavier than I expected. I look down at the floor, my fingers curling into my sleeves. This is what I wanted, isn't it? To be back, to have my life returned to me.

So why does it feel like I've lost something?

I swallow hard, forcing the feeling away. It doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter.

I don't realize it, but my feet carry me to my mom. Before I can stop myself, I wrap my arms around her from behind.

She lets out a small laugh. "Oh? Finally learned to love your parents?" she teases, but I don't answer.

I just press my face against her back and inhale deeply.

She smells the same—like laundry detergent and the faint scent of vanilla from the lotion she always uses. A scent so familiar, so warm, that my chest tightens.

I missed this.

I squeeze her just a little tighter, afraid that if I let go, I might disappear all over again.

"Hey!" I hear my dad say. "What about me?" He crosses his arms, trying to act angry, but the playful smile gives him away.

I smile a little. I forgot how loving they were. How safe it feels to be here, surrounded by them.

Without a word, I step forward and wrap my arms around him. He lets out a surprised chuckle before hugging me back, his embrace warm and familiar.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I allow myself to sink into it. To just be here. To just be their child again.

But even as I stand there, held between them, the warmth doesn't quite reach the cold, hollow space inside me.

Because something is missing.

Or maybe... someone.

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the thought away. No. This is what I wanted. I wanted to be back in my own body. I wanted to be home. To wake up in my own bed, to hear my parents' voices, to feel like myself again.

So why does it feel like I've left a part of me behind?

I loosen my grip and step back, forcing a smile as my dad ruffles my hair. "What's with you today?" he jokes. "Feeling extra sentimental?"

I let out a weak laugh. "Just tired," I mumble, grabbing a piece of toast from the counter.

Tired. That's all this is.

But as I take a bite, my eyes flick to my phone left on the table. And the weight in my chest gets heavier.

No messages. No missed calls. Nothing.

I tell myself I shouldn't care. That I don't want to hear from him. That I should be grateful he's gone. That I should be relieved.

But my fingers twitch against the phone screen anyway.

Gojo always texted first. Always had something to say, something sarcastic, something that made me roll my eyes. And now?

Silence.

I put my phone down, my appetite vanishing.

This is fine. This is what I wanted.

But as I sit there, listening to my parents' voices, feeling the morning light spill through the kitchen window, I can't shake the feeling that something isn't right.

That something is missing.

That something is wrong.

Suck it up, Y/n.

It's over.

This is the happy ever after, after all.

So why does it feel like the ending I never wanted?