pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader
synopsis: following the events from wherever you go, that's where i'll follow, the reader becomes incredibly sick. Satoru drowns in his guilt and reader struggles to grapple with the loss of her cursed technique.
tags/warnings: angst, fem!reader, swearing, depression, guilt, dark thoughts, loss of identity, loss of powers, descriptions of gore/horror, tragedy, mentions of blood, breakdowns, reader is sick, Satoru doing everything he can to keep you afloat
word count: 3.3k
next entry: ii
series mlist
The first few nights were unbearable. You made it—you survived, but you weren’t the same. Not even close. You were a fragmented, splintered hallow. You were nothing but a ghost haunting your own body. The weight of your fragility sat heavily in the corners of your home, creeping into the space where laughter once lived.
At night, you’d become so still, so quiet of breath, that Satoru would have to put his finger under your nose to see if you were still with him. There were nights when your heart betrayed you, skipping several beats or stilling altogether, long enough to drive him to the edges of panic.
Baby, baby, wake up, Satoru would whisper in dread. It was only when you groaned that he sucked in a breath, drawing in the air his lungs were burning for.
What? You would murmur, confused and disoriented. He’d suddenly pull you close, resting his head between your breasts as he listened to the only rhythm that brought him solace.
Satoru found himself waking you up often. Soft kisses graced your face—your eyes, cheeks, and brushes against your lips. Other nights, he’d shake you awake in fear and trepidation. Your heart was too weak. The second sleep found you, it began to give.
He could hear it, see it.
Sleep was lost on him. He couldn’t risk it—could grapple with the chances of waking to find you—his entire world gone. You had come back to him, yet, for weeks, you straddled the line between being alive and moving to a place he couldn’t reach or follow.
He couldn’t grasp, couldn’t fathom that even now, he was on the verge of losing you.
“There are just some things I can’t heal,” Shoko told him one night. She arrived at his estate after he called her in a panic. You were cold as ice, and you struggled to draw breath. “There’s scarring in her frontal lobe… and there’s other damage that looks like it’s been there for a while. Maybe if I had caught this sooner-“
The damage was too great. He knew that’s what Shoko really wanted to say.
There was so much more he needed to say to you, so much more he needed to make up for.
Some nights, he grew bitter. You couldn't leave him—you wouldn’t dare. Not after everything you’ve been through together, not after loving him and making him feel love's perfect ache; not after you stripped him bare as you deprived him of pride and all resolve, rendering him down to nothing but a man on his knees, worshiping at the gates of your light.
You undo him so wholly and completely.
This wasn’t fair. Even with the powers most gods craved, he couldn’t protect you from this. What good was all this power if he couldn’t keep you? The best parts of you, the dark and wretched—all of it, everything—belonged to him. He loved the darkest shades of you, the brightest, and every color in between.
When you were consumed in an unholy flame, one only he could ever reach beyond, he was housed by your warmth—reborn into something more glorious than the last.
When had you fallen so cold?
You had ascended onto him like nightfall, only to ignite and burn his world to ash. Yet, you sparked something within him in the echo of oblivion—a fire born of devotion was marred to his heart.
He wasn’t going to let you off that easy. Death wouldn’t be enough for you to escape him.
”You don’t get to leave me,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “You’re not going anywhere. Not from me.”
It was a rare moment of wakefulness. Your eyes flutter open, a dopey smile gracing your lips. You say his name. “Satoru,” you murmur. ”what are you talking about?”
He brushes the hair from your neck, kissing your cold skin. “I’m talking about you, sweets,” he moves up, kissing your cheek. “I need you to get better. We’re not out of the woods yet.”
You take in a long, shuddering breath. You couldn’t deny what you said now when you felt it in your bones. “I won’t leave,” you promise him gently, breathing slowly as sleep tugs at the corners of your consciousness. “Where else would I go?”
He takes time off from work shortly after. Well, he more or less just stopped going to work. He kept your condition close like a secret. Outside of the kids, Principal Yaga, and Nanami, no one knew what happened to you, and he would keep it that way. He didn’t need the higher-ups catching wind of this.
It was just a precaution, his way of protecting you when you couldn’t protect yourself. You had enemies just as much as he did. He thinks he’d break the world in two if they ever touched you.
However, Gojo couldn’t just wait and do nothing. He had to keep you comfortable, keep you warm. After cranking up the central heat and lighting a fire, he noticed you responded positively. It was far from comfortable for him, but it wasn’t about him, even if, most nights, sweat beaded on his chest and forehead. It was about your recovery and giving your body what it desperately needed. Heat. A heat, he fears, even as he eases you into a tub of the hottest water he could get from the faucet in his master bathroom, wasn’t enough.
However, this was a start in the right direction. Your eyes fluttered open as your body sank into the steaming water. “This is nice,” you utter. “Really nice…”
“Hm, good,” Satoru says, grabbing the shampoo bottle. “Glad to be of service.”
You hum pleasantly as he starts massaging shampoo into your hair. “How many days has it been, Satoru?”
“Not sure what you mean, sweets.”
“Satoru,” you sigh softly. “How many days since the incident?”
He pauses for a moment before his fingers continue rubbing the suds into your hair. “Fifteen days.”
“And yet, I don’t have a lick of cursed energy…”
“Hey, easy there,” he wipes the subs that threaten to fall into your eyes with his hands before grabbing your face and pinching your cheeks together. Just as you were about to swat him away, he kissed the pout off your face with one long smooch. “Take it easy, grumpypants. You’re still recovering.”
“Yeah, but for how long,” you mumble. “It’s never taken me this long to recover my cursed energy before. I just– I don’t feel the same.” Satoru takes a deep breath, watching as you stare down at the water, your fingers mindlessly fiddling with the necklace around your neck. “You shouldn’t have to be taking care of me like this or taking time off from work. They need you, the kids need you–”
“You need me,” he gently corrects. “The kids are fine, and Nanami has been covering for me.”
“Yeah, but–”
“You act like this isn’t something you’d do for me if I needed you.”
You look at him, eyes misting over. You reach for him, your arms wrapping around his neck. He didn’t care if he got wet as he held you, his hands rubbing softly at your damp back. “I really love you,” you tell him, burying your head into his neck. “I really do. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, silly girl. I’m here. I’m with you.”
-
Weeks pass, and things only seem to get worse.
You could hear their whispers, see their pitiful glances, and see how they all tiptoed around you. It made you furious. It wasn’t a loud, fiery rage that once fueled you. It was quiet and insidious—burning cold and cutting deeper than any wound you’ve experienced. You hated their pity, their careful steps, and how they looked at you as if you were a ghost.
You had once been a force that could not be ignored or buried away—a wild inferno in a world that always tried to snuff out the smallest of embers. Your power was born of defiance, a testimony of your will, even vengeance.
You weren’t always good. At times, you think Satoru forgets that.
Yet, against all odds, every attempt to diminish and erase you from the annals of time, you remained unbridled, unbroken. You bore no titles and came from no golden lineage; it was your strength alone that helped you carve your place in the world and carve your name into the sun. You were powerful. Unforgiving. You weren’t something to be protected and admired; you were destruction, born of dark weather and chaos.
And yet, you fell.
A part of you wonders if this was the price to be paid for your transgressions—a quiet, unrelenting suffering that hollowed you out from the inside. It was almost poetic in it's cruelty, as if the weight of your sins could only be balanced by the weight in your chest.
Your flames, once roaring and defiant, sputtered and dwindled. For a while, you believed it was exhaustion, but you knew, deep in your bones, you weren’t the same. At first, you told yourself that you had endured far worse. You strappled the line of death more times than you could count. Sometimes, it was fury that had you crawling from your grave. Others, it was vengeance fueled by the fire meant to burn the pyre of your enemies and all those who wronged you.
But, your fire hadn’t just dimmed and weakened. It was gone. The power, once flowing through your veins like lava and liquid gold, was replaced by a cold and suffocating emptiness. Even if the taste of ash lingered and the scent of black smoke permeated your nostrils, you weren’t the same.
You were only six when your cursed technique appeared. You’re incapable of remembering what led to such depravity, such evil, or maybe you couldn’t bring yourself to remember why the people of your village tried killing you. You didn’t remember much of your childhood, but you remember those laughs that still haunted you in your dreams—the same laughs you heard as you were thrown into a ditch your small hands and feet couldn’t have hoped to crawl out of.
They doused you in rum and lit a match. When the fire ignited, you were left to burn into nothingness. You remembered the feeling of each nerve ending igniting, the excruciating pain that consumed you. You remembered how your scream became a soundless cry as your vocal cords were scorched. You remembered the smell of your burning hair and flesh, the way flames licked at your eyeballs until you were blind. You remembered the end coming suddenly, but not quick enough. You remembered crying for a mother you couldn’t remember, a father that never protected you.
Then, you remembered how suddenly the word came back. The flames became nothing but a gentle sting. Your flesh mended, and when you drew breath, a black smoke filtered into your lungs, giving you strength. You could taste the ash, and the blood in your veins began to boil. You were born again amongst the flames that once brought you so much agony. You ruled them—fire incarnate: destructive, yet devastatingly alive.
You hadn’t just lost your technique. You were stripped away of everything you had ever been. Perhaps what stung the most was how the world kept spilling. You were a woman of no renown, no legacy to speak of. And now, you had no fire to prove you had ever been worth anything at all.
You wonder—had you ever been as strong as you truly thought? Or were you a flame burning on borrowed time, destined to extinguish into nothing?
You wanted to be forgotten. You wanted to disappear, to return to your flames. You had once despised them; you thought they cursed you with the wickedness they were born from. But, even so, it had been yours. Even if the world always thought you were more of a monster than a sorcerer, perhaps one more terrifying than the curses conjured from the worst parts of mankind, they were yours. And yet, you were lost without them.
You had survived because you had felt the touch of love, came to learn to accept it, and nurtured it with a darkened heart and two hands. Love yanked you back to the surface, yet a bitter and selfish part of you wondered at what cost?
You wondered if he thought of you differently, if his love was slowly fading along with you, but you were too afraid to look. He had already told you once that you weren’t nearly as strong as you thought. He was right. You were a failure.
You still loved him. You don’t think you could ever stop loving him, but that love became so twisted—tangling with your hurt, your pride, and your inability to forgive everything but yourself. His kindness became suffocating; his attempts at assurance only ever reminded you of what you lost. Every look of concern or sympathy—real or imagined—was a dagger to the chest. He would leave eventually. He’d grow tired of your ups and downs and how your sweetness could so quickly transform into bitterness.
Even as your strength slowly returned—enough to move without sleep constantly tugging at your consciousness or being teethed to IV drips—the hallowed absence of your cursed energy remained. It had become stagnant, hitting an invisible barrier you couldn’t push or break, no matter how hard you tried.
-
“Baby?” Satoru whispers out for you one night. You don’t respond, but he knows you can hear him. “Can I come in?”
You make no effort to move or stand. You were frozen, lost in a grief you don’t think you could ever escape. You were on your bathroom floor, heaving over a toilet with a hand pressed to your chest as if it were the only thing keeping it from caving in. He wonders if you still have the ability to sense his presence—if you could sense that he was there waiting for you.
“Go away,” you told him. You didn’t want him to see you like this, not with blood poring from your nose and dripping from your lips. You were sick. You were scared, angry, and so fucking confused. You didn’t know what was happening to you or how to make it stop it.
“You know I can’t do that…”
He wouldn’t leave you—not when you needed him; not when the love remained, even if it was buried under mounds of hurt and pain. It would be the greatest betrayal, even if you begged for it.
However, he wouldn’t push you. So, he lies on the cold wooden floor, his back pressed against the door. Even with five feet between you two, he felt as if you were going somewhere far, somewhere he couldn’t reach. Again.
He goes silent for a moment, searching for the right words that seem so out of reach. He doesn’t think there is anything he could say to make this better, but he could try.
“I used to think for a while that my life had no happy ending,” he says, voice low and steady. “But, then, I met you. Your power drew me in, yeah. But do you know what else did? Those rare smiles. I wanted to be responsible for them—all of them.” Even as you remained silent, there’s no shying away from the emotions his words sturs. There's no escaping him.
“It was how you demanded a whole room with just your presence. I admired how you loved and hated in equal measure. I loved your wickedness and cunning wit. You dared to challenge the world, and I–” His voice dips lower. It's only to you that he reveals these fragile, intimate parts of himself. “... You made me believe in something more than myself.”
“I’m not the same,” you swallow hard, throat tightening as tears threaten to spill once again. “I’m not… I’m nothing like the woman you met.”
“Good,” he says simply, voice firm. “Because I don’t need her. I need you. Even when you’re angry and hurting or think you’ve lost everything, I’ll still need you.”
You turn your head to the door, his words settling over you like a blanket, heavy and warm. Your gaze falls to the floor, finding the faint shadow of him waiting for you.
“I’ve hated myself for so long for not being able to stop what happened to you. I feel like I failed you—failed you in every way that mattered.” His head falls back, thumping against the door. He loved you. He knew he did because he could feel it in the way his heart ached for you—in the way your pain became his pain. You’re still the woman he admired; you were still the woman he longed for. You’ve never needed power to rule over him, yet he doesn’t know how to make you believe that. All he has is his heart, which he bears to you with two trembling hands. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
And finally, as tears gather in your eyes, you realize he wasn’t here because he pitied you. Satoru wasn’t conditional—he didn’t know how to love in halves. You had always felt it, the lingering truths caught between two hearts. But now, he was here, baring it all—leaving no room for doubt or space for denial.
He loves you.
“Your fire isn’t just in your technique—it's in everything you do, angel. It's in the way you look at the world, how you fight for what you believe in, and even the way you love… it used to scare me,” he chuckles gravely. There wasn’t ever a moment, he thinks, that he wasn’t enraptured with you. He can’t recall a time when he hadn't been caught in your obit and seized in the invisible weight of your gravity.
Your eyes fluttered close, your breath catching as his words settled over you. For the first time in a long while, you feel something other than the crushing burden of loss. You feel him, steady and unwavering. You don’t know if you should cry or let yourself fall into him entirely.
“Satoru,” you trembled. “What’s happening to me?”
One thing Satoru could never do was lie to you. Not even about this, as his heart nearly fails him. “You're displacing more cursed energy than you’re retaining. It’s making you sick.”
A shuddering cry slips past your lips. “... Am I dying?”
You hear him move behind the door. His voice, steady but tense, cuts through your panic. “I’m coming in.”
“No, don’t–”
But it was too late. A locked door wasn’t enough to stop him. The knob crumbles under the force of his grip, a deafening crunch filling the room. Yet, despite the raw display of his strength, he pushes the door open with a gentleness that makes your chest ache.
You were terrified, your hand pinching harder against your nose that refused to stop dripping blood. It was everywhere—soaking your shirt, trickling down your arm, dripping to the floor, and piling between the cracks of the tiles. You tried to clean it up, but it just wouldn't stop.
His eyes are a bit wide as he takes you in, but he doesn’t reveal much. His expression is unreadable as he drops to his knees. You crawl backward until your back meets the tub. “No, no, no, stop–” but it was futile.
Blood stains his shirt, his hands, and smears across his cheek as he drags you into his arms. He doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he doesn’t care.
“Satoru–”
“I don’t care,” he says sharply. His hands cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he presses you to his body. “I don’t care about that. Just… stay still. Breath,” he murmurs. “In and out. That’s all you have to do right now.”
You cry with such an unalloyed and raw pain that robs you of breath. It starts low, guttural, crawling from the deepest parts of you. It carries jagged edges, and swells into a sound so consuming, it drowns out everything else. Shaking, shuddering, choking—you fall apart, gasping for air between waves of anguish.
Satoru loses track of time suspended in the purgatory of your suffering.
“I’m not leaving,” he promises, trembling against you slightly. “And neither are you. I already told you before that you’re stuck with me.”
-
a/n: since my first fic did so well, i decided to make a mini-series depicting readers recovery :) feel free to send requests if you have any. i can either make a small blurb, a headcannon, or even make an entire chapter out of it. also, sorry if there are any typos its getting late lol
on a different note, i sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter. my goal was to capture the readers suffering and Gojo's guilt, and i truly hope i did it justice. i also added a little bit backstory for the reader! i wanted to add layers and reveal that she's an imperfect character. regardless, i sincerely hope you enjoyed. please let me know your thoughts!! I would love to hear them :)
also, i know the kids weren't in this chapter but don't worry! they'll be around very soon!
lastly, thank you all so much for the overwhelming love and support on my first fic. i'm beyond grateful that so many of you enjoyed my writing. it genuinely means the world to me! your encouragement and kind words warmed my little heart.
as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated <3
The suddeness of the realization whiplashed dazai and he pried his eyes away from you. He fumbled with his pen, twirling it around his bandaged fingers once, then twice before setting it down with a sigh. Untouched paperword was strewn about his desk and dazai didn't want to work on it.
He'd rather spend his hours staring at you as you worked, even if it meant getting yelled at by kunikida. His coworker hadn't figured out how dazai had fell hard for you, and dazai'd like to keep it that way.
He rested his chin in the palm of his hand, glancing your way but not turning his head even if it strained his eyes to look at you like that, but it didn't matter to him.
Even a glimpse of you was enough for him.
He watched in pure awe and adoration for you as you did simple, mundane things; leaning back in your chair and staring at the ceiling for a second. The slight crinkle in your nose and the way your brows knitted together, it made him want to walk over there beside you and kiss the wrinkled tension off your pretty face.
The thought of doing that made dazai's heart flutter in his chest.
With a sigh, he laid face-down on his desk with a groan, running his fingers through messy, knotted brown waves.
Why does he have to be stupidly infatuated with you? He drummed his fingers on the hardwood of his desk, sighing and pulling his head up.
He got up from his chair, nearly tipping his chair over and scaring poor atsushi. The boy stammered something to dazai- probably about where was he going- but dazai hadn't heard. He took in a glimpse of you before walking out the agency.
You hadn't even noticed him leave.
Dazai made his way down to the cafe under the agency, not even sparing a glance at the waitress he'd normally flirt with as he walked out of the door.
He needed out. He needed to get away from you and his feelings for you. He needed to go anywhere but near you-
Even if his heart drew him to you.
Walking down the street, dazai tried to think of anything but you.
Oh, that bird is building a nest. Oh, there's a flower growing in the fissures of the street.
Just like you grew a place in the cracks of his heart.
He stopped, someone bumped into his shoulder and quickly apologised before hurrying away.
He's thinking of you again.
A pause, then Dazai continued his walk back to the agency dorms. This time, he's allowing you to flood his mind and haunt his every thought as you had done to his wretched, blacked heart.
He loves you.
To dazai, the mere thought of you is more addictive than the cheap sake he delights in every night, the cheap canned crab he enjoys so much. It makes his heart race more than the rush of adrenaline during a near-death experience; the kind that screams he's alive and he's lived, even if he doesn't believe it.
Dazai may be an intelligent man, but when it came to you he was nothing more than the foolish boy he never got to be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: wrote this at 10 pm on a crappy ass phone and I have school tomorrow so I'll add a header and shit tmmrw jpxhpxhlxpgxllg im so tiredddddd and still sick wah
Edit: OH YEAH THANK YOU GUYS FOR 26 FOLLOWERS :DDD
summary: you like to think you’re aware of all of satoru’s quirks, but shoko thinks you may have missed a few.
contents: fluff, newly realised feelings, highschool!gojo, he's honestly not even actually there for a lot of it, shoko and geto are tho, honestly a little bit of whipped gojo, probably ooc but definitely self indulgent
word count: 1.2k
a/n: how are we coping since 236 guys ????? wrote this feeling like i’d been widowed so i guess this counts as my coping mechanism 😭 hope you enjoy anyway, constructive criticism and any ideas or opinions you have are always welcome !!
in your past year of knowing satoru gojo, you’d made a note of his multiple quirks.
you noticed how when the group of second years went out to eat together at the weekends, he would whine about how good everyone else’s food looks until everyone at the table took pity (or annoyance, in suguru’s case) and spooned some of their meal onto his plate.
you noticed how when he was in class, listening to yaga drone on about the different types of curses, he would never let all of the legs of his chair rest on the ground. he was constantly swinging back and forth. it’s a miracle that he’s never fallen back, you think.
you even noticed how he somehow kept a momento from every single hangout and mission, each of them stored in a little wooden box he kept on his bedside table back in the dorms. in the past, you’d seen him slide seemingly worthless ticket stubs and receipts into his pockets, and when the curiosity finally got the better of you and you asked what he did with them, you only received a cheeky grin and a wink from your friend.
so, when shoko finally told you some of her own observations of his behaviours and habits during your lunch break one day, it’s safe to say it shocked you.
“i think it’s pretty obvious that he likes you.” she speaks casually, as if her words hadn’t caused you to choke on your own food. she passes you her bottle of water and pats your back. “you couldn’t tell?”
after gulping down half of her water, and spluttering a few times, you finally found your voice, letting out a strangled “he’s my friend - he does not like me like that!”
the look shoko gives you is one of ridicule, but before she can say anything else, you quickly continue.
“how’d you even come to that conclusion anyway, you’re not usually much of a gossip. that’s suguru’s job." you attempt to joke, but you feel the strained smile drop from your face as the boy you mentioned approaches the table and plops down beside your friend.
speak of the devil...
you see shoko's eyes light up, but before you can even attempt to cut her off again, she turns to suguru. "geto! back me up here, isn't it so obvious that gojo likes (y/n)?"
"mhm." he hums, barely even acknowledging the fact that his confirmation has sent you spiraling for the second time. "he's not exactly subtle about it."
"you guys are being ridiculous."
now it's suguru's turn to look at you like you've suddenly grown two heads. "you really didn't know?"
shoko lets out a laugh at his genuine confusion, and reaches into her bag to pull out a cigarette. you quickly hand her a lighter you keep on hand just for moments like this and she quietly thanks you before continuing. "have you never noticed how he's always touching you in some way?"
"that's just how he is!" you defend. "he's always hanging off of suguru too!"
the pair in front of you share a look, before geto continues. "what about how he never lets you walk closest to the road?"
you stop for a second, trying to pinpoint an occasion - just one - where he had only to come up empty handed. in fact, the more you think about it, the more sense it makes. you replay your moments walking back to the dorms after class with satoru, with his arm always casually wrapped around your shoulder. you remember how he always looked comfortable and at peace. you even remember how he would gently bump you closer into the sidewalk if you were walking with someone else, sticking his tongue out at you and ruffling your hair if you voiced a complaint at his behaviour.
your mouth dries up as you try to come up with another excuse to brush off your friends' observations, but you start to question yourself.
maybe they're right...?
you shake you head, as if trying to clear your head of these thought. "he does that for everyone, you guys are just reading too much into it."
between drags of her cigarette, shoko chuckles. "he's never done it for me." geto leans forward from his seat across from you and gently flicks in between your eyebrows. your hand immediately clamps down on the spot, and you groan at him. "what was that for!?"
he ignores your dramatics. "why are you so sure that we're lying?"
his genuine question makes you stop to think. it wasn't that you didn't like gojo, in fact, you hadn't dedicated much time to thinking about him in that way at all. your friends being so insistent on the fact that he liked you made you slowly start to realise that maybe you did share some affections for the ill mannered boy.
you continue to mull over as many interactions and memories that you have shared with satoru, slowly connecting the dots in your head. he always was more gentle with you, never polite but always kind. he regularly brought you souvenirs back from missions that you weren't assigned to and he always insisted on sitting next to you on the train home, offering you the window seat every single time.
almost as if they can hear your inner monologue being to spiral, shoko pipes up once more. "he gave you a different ring tone so he'd know every time you call."
you feel your heart stop for a second, unsure as to why this in particular made you finally believe their words, but before you even have the opportunity to dismiss them again (now in an attempt to convince yourself more than them) you feel the seat beside you sink with additional weight and a familiar arm flung around your shoulder. you barely even register the smug smile shoko is flashing you from across the table as you focus on attempting to cool your face.
"i can't believe you guys started eating without me!" satoru whines, leaning even more heavily into your side. he makes quick work of plucking a large chunk of meat out of your bento, sending you a sly grin as you look up at him in dismay. "what were you guys talkin' about?"
suguru meets your eyes, raising his eyebrows as he meets your glare, urging him to shut his mouth. "oh nothing." he hums, before completely changing the subject.
the conversation from moments prior is still fresh in your mind, and you're now very aware of the soft glances gojo keeps sending your way. you suddenly feel a lot more awkward in his presence, and you barely notice how you're fidgeting with your hands under the table and not participating in the conversation anymore.
that is until you feel warm hands grip your own, effectively halting their movement. "you okay?" you can barely hear satoru over the blood pumping in your ears, and you're unaware of the laughs shoko and geto are trying desperately to hold back whilst watching the scene as you try to speak.
you start to wish your friends had kept their observations to themselves.
Kdj headcannon. Kdj obvi has the feelings that he's unimportant and ofc no one would ever truly want him around excetera. But on top of that, past that there are also feeling that even if someone somehow loved him, that he couldn't love them back. Not the right way. How could he know how to love someone right? When he himself has never been shown, he never had the chance to learn, and all thats left now is the shell that barely keeps on moving. Not for food or water or for better days, but for a story that helps him get away. He thinks he doesn't know how to love, and so he doesn't think he should try.
Draken: Why are you so quiet today? Anything happen?
Baji: I saw Chifuyu tackle a dude twice his size . I could have never expected that of him.
Kazutora: Ha, that pipsqueak?
Draken: Baji, we are in a gang. We beat up people on a daily basis.
Mitsuya: And you shouldn't underestimate Chifuyu just because of his appearance. You of all people should know that he is a very violent guy.
Mikey: Was the other guy a creep or something?
Baji: No, we were at the bookstore and this guy was going to buy the last volume of the new romance manga Chifuyu is reading. So Chifuyu just charged towards him.
