Itād been too long. Way too damn long. Satoru exhaled, staring in the mirror above his bathroom sink. He could barely recognize the man staring back at him. The eyes, the ones he was āblessedā with, those were his. The hair, the beautiful, ivory strands, that was his, too. But the defeated and downright empty look on his face, that wasnāt his. How could it be? He was Satoru Gojo, the Satoru Gojo, the Honored One. A man made into a symbol of the strongest in Jujustu Society, praised since birth, his abilities being his strong suit. He shook his head, avoiding the mirror, walking into his bedroom, sitting on the edge of his bed, like it wasnāt his own. He didnāt make a sound as he pulled out his phone, opening the camera roll as he always did on nights like these. His fingers scrolled to right where they needed to, memories from 2006, his eyes immediately focusing onto one photo in particular. He smiled faintly, blinking back tears as he clicked on the picture. It was a photo of him, Suguru, and Shoko, before everything went south. He exhaled, zooming in on the other two, their faces lit up with youth, and with laughter. His hands shook lightly as he blinked back tears. The only two people who saw him for him, and not the weapon everyone else saw him as. He didnāt have to put up a front with them, the man could be himself. If he even knew who that was anymore. He placed his phone face down on the bed next to him, eyes closing. He knew heās fooling himself, thereās no way he would sleep, not now. He has a few ghosts around him, watching as he lays there, wishing things had ended differently, maybe he wouldnāt be alone in a house big enough for 3.
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