Hoejo for Gojo 💕

 You chewed on your lip when his thumb curled around your panty-line, pointedly tugging on the fabric. 

“Why aren’t you showing me any love?” he whispered, freeing his hand so it could travel up your front. You leaned into his touch, your skin burning where he was caressing your stomach. “I’m just tired..it's been a day.” 

Satoru sighed in feigned sympathy, but not offering more. He already claimed his victory when you surrendered to his touch. Nothing would be on your mind when he was finished. You could already feel the world slipping away when his hands scaled upwards to your chest, squeezing your breasts and retreating south again, cupping you through your panties. 

It was hard to hold yourself up when his fingertip pressed up against your clit, slipping through the fabric to rub you slow and rough. Your body moved on its own, clamping your thighs around his arm to drag yourself down into his rhythm, letting him work your bud against his thumb. He kissed your neck and throat the whole time, careful not to leave a mark but firm enough for you to feel it. His other hand kneaded and caressed your chest, pinching and rolling each nipple in turn. 

You let out a breath when he slipped his fingers inside, he shifted you over to lay on your back, making his home between your legs. The squelching sounds of your wet pussy were obnoxious, lewd little palps taking up all the space in the room. 

Satoru’s quiet grunts and words of encouragement were the only things you could make sense of through the haze, your senses completely forfeit control when his face is buried between your thighs, lapping up your fluids like he was made for it, and you liked to think that he was. 

His tongue tweaked and tuned your body unlike anybody else before. It was like he memorized every button to press, which dials he needed to turn to leave you just like this, worn down and at his mercy, electrified as you reached your high. Satoru gave you exactly what you needed, a wave of heat pulsed through your nerves as he rode you out through your orgasm, mewling for him when he pulled his soiled fingers out of you just to hold your pretty pussy open for him, his tongue working tight circles over your swollen clit. Satoru tortured you, sucking wet,  sloppy kisses over the bud, your fluids decorating his nose and lips with a thin, wet sheen.  

When he was done, Satoru let you lay there in peace. He reached over and plucked the clip from earlier off of the ash try, finishing it off while you laid next to him, buzzing. 

 'After' was oddly the hardest part about all of this. He cleaned you up with a wet wipe before rolling back over to his side of the bed. Satoru threw a lazy “ goodnight” over his shoulder from under the covers, disappearing into a bundle of white just peeking over his comforter. Unconcerned, like he's given you just enough. 

 The silence gnawed at you, It always felt like this, like an important step was missing. But it also felt like you swallowed hot lava every time you even thought about asking for more. As if telling him to hold you just once would in and of itself pull you out of this moment and drop you right outside, left to be bare and broken under the freezing rain.

Instead, you waited until he settled. Not really caring if he was truly asleep or not before you got up and padded to his bathroom.

Stopping in front of the mirror, you couldn’t help but stare at yourself, trying to ignore the weird sting you felt in your chest.  

How long can you really endure this ? 

You were forced to reckon with his ghost for years afterward, and with age came a sobering realization that what you mistook as intimacy was codependency. 

Did you have any friends outside of him? Hobbies that didn’t involve his participation? It even came down to the books you read. Did you enjoy scifi as a genre because it truly resonated, or was it yet another commonality that could allow you to exist in his orbit? 

A year after his departure, you found friendship in unexpected places. An impromptu high school reunion—one he decidedly didn’t attend—led you to Shoko, Ijichi, and Yuki. A spontaneous night out connected you with Choso and his younger brothers, who own a cafe down the street from your shop. Higuruma, the one person you tried dating (and failed) after Satoru, introduced you to his colleague, Nanami, who frequents your shelves almost as often as Suguru. 

Your bubble before Satoru had been small, limited, almost suffocating. It was all you ever knew, and you never fathomed that it’d expand to what it is now: vast, free, fully yours. 

Still a ghost, but with less force, Satoru haunts you as a bestseller in Japanese Literature, in the form of a 300-page novel that you begrudgingly sell to your patrons. (You hate that it’s good.) He remains two-dimensional, strictly on print, occasionally visiting you in dreams that get foggier by the day. 

Your time apart, you learned, has taught you that there is, and always has been, a you without him. And you like her better.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

   “Mmm, it’s been a while,” you echo, drumming your nails on your laptop. Seven years, but who’s counting? 

Satoru flicks his eyes to Suguru, who mirrors him with muted contempt, then back at you. You keep your expression carefully empty, almost looking bored. As if the love of your life—a previous life—hasn’t somehow found your bookstore and crossed the threshold of your sanctuary ever so casually, just because he could. Bastard. You want to feel nothing for him, yet the edge of your vision darkens, and your chest aches as if crushed.

   “I…” His voice dies, and you see him swallow heavily before finding the rest of his words. “I wanted to talk.” 

   “I’m about to close, actually,” you reply. “If you have any inquiries about hosting an event or signing, you can email me at—” 

   “God, no. I mean, yes, I’m here for that too, but—”

You slam your laptop shut, and he jumps, your name tumbling pitifully out of his mouth. Suguru begins to rise from his seat, his book neatly tucked away in his pocket, and swiftly makes his way toward you. For nearly a minute, your uneven breaths fill the silence. Then, the tears come. 

Angry, confused, and hurt, you wipe with your palms furiously, ignoring the panic emanating from both men, which you would have found funny if you weren’t so miserable. Suguru puts your belongings into your bag, zips it up, and drapes your sweater over your trembling shoulders. 

   “I think you should leave, man,” he murmurs, throwing a charged glare. What you told him about Satoru is limited, but he knows enough that your visitor is capable of ripping your stitches apart—stitches that he tries to preserve every day he spends with you. “Come by at a better time.” Or never. Turn around and leave her life for good. 

Satoru clenches his fists, a helpless, guilty witness to your undoing. He knows what he’s done is unforgivable—no amount of time or explanation will exonerate him. How he conveniently chose to erase himself, disappearing for years before resurfacing as a published writer with a book he swore you’d be a part of. 

He has no excuse, only that he’d allowed fear to control him, his insecurities and doubts greater than the love you poured into his entire being. And for what? How has he fared after choosing your absence, believing that leaving you would be better than working out the wrinkles in your relationship? 

   “I’m…so sorry,” You barely hear him, can’t even look at him fully because his head hangs low, but you know him well enough that he’s crying, too. Still, after all these years, he’s an open book. You’ve read him from front to back, and you fear that his story is one you may never forget. 

   “I’m doing really, really well without you,” you laugh dryly, and Suguru intertwines his fingers with yours, squeezing you gently. His solid grip grounds you in the present, because the past, though it stabs you, is merely a chapter. You’ve lived many chapters since then, when you thought you lost everything. “Satoru, we can do business. But nothing beyond that, okay?” 

Satoru doesn’t respond, just basks in your unexpected warmth. Most likely pity, because here he stands, successful but brutally alone, and there you are, healed and accompanied by a stranger that looks at you like you’re the sun. 

You were his light, too. Still are, and he realizes you always will be. 

What can he do about that? 

He nods, smiles weakly, and leaves the way he came. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

   “I’m assuming that was him?” Suguru asks, rubbing meditative circles into your lower back. You rest against his chest, the two of you nestled in your thick sheets. He’d taken you to a simple dinner (spicy katsu curry, much to your delight) that lifted your spirits, and not only because your meal was delicious. You nod gingerly, your cheek resting against his bare skin, and you mindlessly twirl a lock of his hair between your fingers. 

   “He was my best friend. S’ known me longer than anyone else.” 

   “Has he ever told you why he left?” 

   “Not directly, no,” you laugh humorlessly. “...but I’m pretty sure his book is about me, from what I’ve heard. It sells well.” 

Suguru twitches, then hums deeply. “A coward, I see.” 

    “Always has been, that idiot. But I loved him despite it.” 

You close your eyes to block out the rest of your senses, finding solace in the steady, rhythmic pulse of his heart. 

   “...And now?” 

Your mind blanks, as if submerged in murky water, then floats to the surface with a collage of faded memories. Of softer days and lighthearted tiffs before adulthood hardened you and Satoru, separating your paths before anything truly real could bloom from the malleability of your youth. 

   “I don’t know what I feel, honestly,” you admit, exhaling sharply. Suguru continues to pat you, giving you space to process. “I know I was able to find myself without him. My world got so much bigger after he broke up with me. I don’t want it to shrink again.” 

You lift your chin to face Suguru, boring into his gaze. What would you do if he were to leave? Take your half a year’s worth of long nights and shared secrets? Would you be as devastated, withered into an empty husk? 

No, you think. You would keep moving forward, exploring the undiscovered. You would be a little chipped, sure, but remain as whole as you'll ever be. 

As if reading your thoughts, he lowers himself to kiss you softly, distracting you (and himself, frankly) from the uncertainty of what comes next. You reciprocate with more fervor, your plush lips melding against his with startling clarity. He groans in mild surprise but welcomes you in, his grasp moving further down and disappearing under your flimsy pajamas. 

The open space was cluttered with various souls, students after school eating snacks and gossiping on benches, older couples whose hands were moulded into one whilst strolling aimlessly, mothers who seemed to have more tasks than they could handle, either pushing prams or adoring their offspring and others who used the grounds for their own commuting convenience.

Yet you found shelter in the land; it was obscure that a place with no real constraints had become an area where you sought solace. Noise-cancelling earphones were stuffed into your ears with a melody you couldn’t recall. And you strolled down the trail, the hum of your surroundings becoming a blur.

A wandering breeze waved through the atmosphere, goosebumps growing on your skin. It was a solemn reminder that spring hadn’t fully graced the city; the transition was still underway.

Your irenic journey had finally reached its conclusion. Your feet were now planted on the warm paving stone below, and your eyes were glued to the steep door in front.

You reached for your phone in your jacket pocket, pulling it out to check the time. Ten minutes until the session, you were early, early enough that small talk would get uneasy, and any lingering glances would make you wince.

You gripped the handle and carefully opened the door to prevent others from noticing your presence.

You slipped through the door and headed straight to the toilets, making sure that Noah hadn’t spotted you, before quickly rushing into an empty cubicle, locking it shut.

A fatigued breath whispered through your lips. How did the walls of inner remedy cause such anxiety? You plopped yourself down on the closed toilet seat and bit the inside of your cheek.

You had ten minutes of self-indulgence before the session, so you grabbed your phone from your pocket and held it between your fingers, the screen lighting up once you turned it on. Your thumb skimmed through the strings of notifications hoarding your screen.

You opened your messages and saw a recent message from Yuji. Once you tapped it, your eyebrows furrowed, and your lips parted from guilt.

You would have to scroll up to see the abundant texts he had sent, and read each message slowly.

LIL YUJI

10 JANUARY 11:15

HEYYYYYYYYYY

I MISSS YOUUUU

12 JANUARY 16:50

Choso made the pasta you like you should come over and eat with us!

23 JANUARY 8:12

We are learning about some anatomy today idk how you do this

1 FEBRUARY 13:45

HI

HI

HI 

WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN UP TO?!!!

5 FEBRUARY 12:05

I am hosting game night please come you always win

10 FEBRUARY 9:02

Choso and me are worried about you he keeps on saying that ur not doing well but doesn’t know what to do

Let us come over we will bake your favourite cookies

12 FEBRUARY 10:04

Me and megumi played your fave video game you should come play with us

I know you would win

20 FEBRUARY 16:06

todo was asking about you

Said he missed choso’s fine best friend lol

Dw nobara made fun of him for you

23 FEBRUARY 19:17

Choso said you are going to group counselling im happy for you

I hope it helps :)

You studied the messages with your brows drawn together, then scrolled down to the most recent message and let out a sigh of frustration.

3 MARCH 10:04

Choso said you are busy at work but ik thats not it

Come for dinner please we wanna see you 

Your hands trembled from the messages, thumbs hovering over the keyboard whilst you thought about the best way to avoid alarming the boy. Yet also acknowledge your disappearance from the social realm.

YOU

10 MARCH 16:57

Hi sorry i have been MIA choso was right work has been killing me

I’m sorry for not replying i didnt wanna worry you

His response came almost immediately, giving you barely any time to breathe.

LIL YUJI

OMG HIIIIII

HOW ARE YOU

YOU

10 MARCH 16:58

Im not bad how are you?

LIL YUJI

I AM GOOD

COME TO DINNER TONIGHT 

You stared at the message for a few moments, contemplating your response, and then typed.

YOU

10 MARCH 16:58

I’ll come after the session :)

LIL YUJI

YAAAAAY

EXCITED TO SEE YOU

You switched off your phone and turned to the four walls that surrounded you, covered in nonsensical graffiti. You drifted your gaze around the words and stopped at IT GETS BETTER.

You exited the cubicle, walking towards the array of sinks, and pressed the soap dispenser, the solvent filling your palms. You lathered your hands, scrubbing your fingertips and palms with stark precision, like you were scrubbing in for surgery instead of group counselling.

You interlocked your fingers, making sure each crevice of your skin was covered with solvent. And then put your hands under the rush of tepid water to wash away the soap.

Once your routine was complete, you walked through the doors into the room, believing you still had time to spare before the session.

When you entered, silence enveloped the room, and the faces of the inhabitants in the circle stared at you, some wide-eyed and some uncaring.

Your eyes widened when you realised the ten minutes you'd given yourself had rushed by without warning.

You stood on the outskirts of the group, your arms awkwardly at your sides and your lips in an uncomfortable smile.

The white-haired man known as Satoru casually turned his body to face you, his visage undecipherable as nothing graced his features. He met your eyes for a fraction of a second before turning back around.

Noah, who seemed to be in the middle of a sentence, smiled at you softly and nudged his head towards the empty seat beside him. It seemed like everyone had stuck with their previously chosen seats.

You painfully shuffled towards your seat whilst trying to avoid the prying eyes of the group, then slid into it, flicking your gaze over to Noah to ease the discomfort in your chest.

“Now that everyone in the group is here, I wanted to ask you all how this last week has been since our last session. Feel free to pass if you don’t want to answer.” He asked gently, scanning the individuals before him. 

He then looked at you with a small smile, his hands in his palms, inviting you to answer.

You blinked at the man for a second, then swallowed, your mind short-circuiting for an answer since you were put on the spot; it felt almost like a punishment for your late arrival.

“It was fine. I just slept and worked.” You candidly replied, looking at Noah with an assured expression, praying he wouldn’t follow up on your words and just accept what you handed.

But your punishment seemed to have developed as he nodded once before he spoke, not letting your absent reply slide. “When you say you just slept and worked, which of those felt harder this week?”

You lightly chewed your bottom lip and looked down at your hands before looking up at him. “Work.” You answered sharply, tone certain.

Noah’s brow lightly raised, a clear sign he was going to follow up on your words. “Why is that?” 

You pursed your lips together and breathed through your nose, trying to think, but your mouth moved faster than your mind.

“I had to help with some difficult surgeries.” You spoke, looking down at your hands as your fingers fidgeted.

“It’s hard to accept that some people will die even with your intervention and help, and the ones that deserve to live might not get a chance, no matter what you do.” Your voice lowered, like you regretted being heard.

Noah’s expression softened. “That sounds incredibly heavy.” He said after a beat. “Holding life and death but then walking away when it’s no longer in your hands is a hard burden to carry.” 

You offered him a light, grateful smile, then let your eyes drift absently. You caught Satoru’s clenched jaw before you could look away, his gaze distant. 

You looked back at Noah, who briefly looked around the circle before speaking. “I’m sure there are others who have been in similar situations in different ways, feeling helpless or stuck.”

He focused his attention on the woman beside you, known as Mariah, who had lost her son.

“This week has been hard.” She spoke, her voice sounding much clearer than in the last session, but her features were still moulded by despair; no amount of work would reshape that. 

“My son's best friend came over this week….he comes over once a week. But this week we cooked my son's favourite food, he loves tamales.....but I didn’t make them as much because it takes a lot of time to make.” She explained as she fiddled with the edge of her sleeve whilst speaking, maintaining eye contact with Noah, who was intently digesting her words.

“But I decided to make them when his best friend came….and we sat together on the dinner table and ate.” Her eyebrows drew together, and a crease grew on her forehead.

Her lips twitched into an almost smile, like she wanted to seek the joy but didn’t permit herself to.

“His reaction was just like my sons, he was so happy and kept raving how good they were and how I needed to make them more.” She paused for a moment, now moving her focus to her hands.

“And I burst out crying in front of him…and he consoled me…I was so embarrassed. I'm older, I am supposed to support him, but he was trying to make me feel better ....” A singular tear fell from the corner of Mariah’s eye, but this time she didn’t make any attempts to stop it, letting it run free with no care.

“I wish he was there….I wish I made it one more time..” She trailed off. You blinked at the woman beside you. Her teeth clenched, grinding against each other, her words coming out through gritted teeth, like a plea to whoever would listen.

You swallowed, watching her face and body consequently react to her own words. Her eyes glistened under the white lights, the corners of them beading up as her gaze settled onto the shoes in the circle opposite her, mind absent.

Silence brewed for a few moments, letting her words sink into the desolate atmosphere. Noah cleared his throat, prompting Mariah and the others to focus on him. You observed his features, noting the faint creases around his eyes, the green in his irises soft and warm, holding an understanding that nobody could snatch.

“Thank you for sharing that, Mariah.” He said quietly, his voice soft like it was enough to heal any open wounds.

“It sounds like you gave your son’s friend something important even though you feel like you lost a lot.”

Her jaw slackened, and her hands stilled in her lap. You could see her chest rise and fall more heavily, as if she were absorbing his comments.

Noah paused, letting his words hang in the air before continuing. “You aren’t weak for crying in front of him, you were remembering and missing, just as his friend is. It’s really meaningful you have one another to hold a piece of him no matter how much time passes.” 

His gaze stayed on her, not overwhelming but steady, and he leaned forward in his seat. “How was it afterwards, having that moment with him?” 

Mariah looked upon him with her brows arched and lips slightly parted, her throat bobbing before answering. “We talked about Mateo for hours, his favourite shows, video games and foods. We laughed at how funny he is, how he lights up a room….as much as I was embarrassed at the time, talking about him like that was nice….like he is a normal kid and not gone.” She whispered.

You noted how she spoke about him in the present tense, like he wasn’t gone, but just momentarily drifted from her realm, holding onto the rope of belief and denial.

Different responses spilled from the others in the circle, some saying they felt worse, some a tinge better, and some not understanding how or what to feel. 

When it was Satoru’s turn, he didn’t hesitate, an answer flowing through his lips with ease. “It was busy, just worked.”

Noah nodded, but didn’t follow up on him as he had with you. Time was sparse in sessions like these, each participant under their own stopwatch.

Each candidate in the circle eventually said their piece, returning it to the facilitator, whose lips were upturned into a soft smile, not a sliver of anything but compassion seeding his being.

“Thank you for your answers.” Noah spoke, his fingers intertwined with one another. 

“How the week goes can come in waves, sometimes it might feel like it's the worst week of your life, and sometimes it can feel like it’s not that bad. It’s okay to have either or both, the fact that you’re here means you’re trying.” He assured.

He darted his head at each individual before him, offering a welcoming smile to ease the tension simmering in their bones. He looked at you last, the faint lines in the corner of his eyes crinkling from his lifted cheeks.

“Since feeling helpless is something a lot of you have felt or are feeling. When you do feel helpless, what do you usually do with that feeling?” 

The question lingered in the air, wafting through the room as the people around shifted their expressions and bodies in their seats. A sense of apprehension and unease began to harvest in the group. 

Such questions were not simple to answer. Their admission could have been perceived as a relinquishment of their own pride, as helplessness was seen as weakness on the battlefield beyond the four walls. Their tender scars would be poked either way, whether by clarity or by suppression due to ignorance.

Noah turned his head from the group to the woman beside him, who seemed far too disconnected from reality to fathom his words. Angela, who had lost her sister, seemed to be in a completely different headspace.

When he gently called out her name, Angela’s pupils flared, eyes widening from being reeled into the current reality. She muttered apologies under her breath and passed the question cordially despite her state.

Noah nodded once, and the question moved on to the older man sitting beside her, who had introduced himself as Joseph. From your own perception, he seemed to be quite reserved as he hadn’t spoken up much in the past two sessions, only really speaking when he had no other option.

His words had been short and sharp, and his exterior always hard as stone, as if it were the only thing he knew.

This time, it was clear something had stirred within, even though it was marginal. The pool of black that filled his eyes was usually solid, yet this time it flowed like a ripple in a pond.

“I call and message his number every night,” he answered, his voice rough and hoarse. It might have been from the years that had lapsed and his own repressed misery. 

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, readjusting his position and then crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

 “I call his voicemail just to hear his voice.” The words were tight, like it was paining him to speak.

His dark bushy brows were furrowed and creased, wrinkles indented across his face. Two harsh smile lines burned into his skin. Leading you to wonder what he looked like when he smiled, when he held joy.

What does it look like when a person who holds such anger lets it go?

Did you look like that?

Were you a distorted reflection of him?

His dark eyes narrowed as he looked at Noah, and his arms twitched sporadically even as he attempted to contain them.

“My wife says it’s me trying to hold on, but I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how to remember him without…” He trailed off, croaking mid-sentence.

“My wife told me to speak more, to say how I feel….but I don’t know what that is. I see her cry alone every night, I don’t know how to help her, so I make her sit with me in the living room and call him, to hear his voice every night….it seems to be the only thing that's helping…both of us.” He rambled, his arms now uncrossed, as they no longer brought safety; his coarse hands gripped his knees through his rugged jeans.

His dark irises, which had merely been flowing, had now become waves, as if a thunderstorm were manifesting within his gaze. 

Noah maintained direct eye contact with him to ground the older man and not let his evolving acceptance spiral into something that couldn’t be tethered. 

From your peripheral vision, you could see Satoru’s discreet clenched hands and bowed head; his shoulders rose and fell slower than the rest of the room.

Noah nodded and rested his hands in his lap. “It sounds like you’re trying to stay close with him.” He spoke after a few moments. “And maybe that makes you feel less alone in the house.” 

Joseph tightened his grip against his knees, his knuckles turning white. His head dropped down, and he squeezed his eyes shut like the simple observation was groundbreaking and earth-shattering to him.

“It sounds like you and your wife are grieving differently, calling him might comfort you and crying might comfort her.” He interlocked his fingers together, clasping them together. “Neither is wrong.” 

Joseph nodded once, and Noah shifted his gaze to the white-haired man sitting beside him. 

Satoru sat with his shoulders slightly hunched in his fabric-padded seat, his full lashes shadowing his eyes. His hands were now unclenched and loosely clasped in his lap, as silence washed through the circle.

“Satoru?” Noah called out softly. Satoru’s eyes lifted at once, and he straightened in his seat, clearing his throat.

“What do you do when you’re helpless? And what do you do with that feeling? Feel free to pass if you don’t want to answer,” Noah repeated his question to prevent the pit of silence from deepening.

A few beats passed before Satoru cut through the stillness, voice clear. “I stay busy.” He replied, crossing his arms whilst keeping his gaze on the facilitator.

“Why do you stay busy?” Noah probed, brows lifting slightly. 

Satoru exhaled slowly in response, his shoulders raising.

“It’s easier.”

“Easier than what?” 

A brief pause entangled the room.

“It’s easier than thinking about it.” Satoru answered, leaning back in his seat slightly.

Noah hummed, nodding at the man, “If staying busy helps stop thinking, what happens in the case you’re not busy?” He gently pushed.

Satoru’s gaze stayed steady for a moment before it flickered briefly to the silver watch sitting on his wrist. “Then I think about it.” He paused. “And that’s not very productive.”

Noah’s lips twitched into an understanding smile. “It must be hard to be exhausted from being busy and also when you’re thinking.”

Satoru tipped his head forward once, his lips in a flat line. 

Noah then moved to the person beside him, the circle’s declarations bleeding into white noise as you peered at the man opposite you.

Satoru’s expression remained neutral. Yet once the gaping eyes of the circle left his figure, he let out a slow breath, almost like he avowed more than he preferred.

Your eyes floated from corner to corner of the room before they eventually landed at the barred window. The glimmer of light that had fallen through the clouds had evanesced, and the horizon faded into a dull azure.

You distantly registered the room around you; however, the settling sky seemed much more fascinating than the proclamations of anguish.

Mariah’s voice hummed beside you, leading you to slowly move your eyes from the window to the woman beside you, who was now nodding whilst holding a damp tissue between her frail fingers. 

You let your vision settle on the attentive facilitator. His hands lay face down on his lap, his posture leaning forward as his attention now examined you.

Your mind had been blank, tongue dry as you blinked at Noah, not giving your answer any thought. So you let your subconscious drip through your lips.

“I try to fix anything I’m able to.” You replied plainly, quickly looking down at your dry hands, skin tight and rough.

Noah nodded once, then adjusted in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, his ankle resting on his thigh.

“What does fixing look like for you?” He paused. “And what happens when you come across something that you’re not able to fix?” Noah gently added.

You bit the inside of your cheek and felt the metallic hint before answering, a habit that had been inked within your prefrontal cortex.

“It’s mostly doing as much as I can, working longer hours and taking extra shifts to make sure the patients are recovering well.” You murmured. “If there is ever a complication or I make a mistake, I learn everything I can about it until it’s locked in my mind.” You let out an airy chuckle, yet there was no humour in your words.

Your left leg started to bounce with no warning, but this time you didn’t immediately still it.

“I just tell myself if I work the hardest I can, no one can ever say I'm not doing enough and I’ll feel like I have done everything I can ....But I guess there’s also room for more.” You muttered the last part under your breath, but the room absorbed your words.

Your fingers brushed the calloused skin on your palm before you swallowed with apprehension.

“Outside of work,.It’s dealing with my flat, making sure it’s always clean, cooking when I can.” 

You paused for a moment, quickly licking your cracked lips. 

“I listen to other people’s problems, trying to fix them and become their ears. If I can’t fix something big, I always solve smaller things and pretend like that’s enough.” You shrugged your shoulders, expression neutral, like you rehearsed a script.

Noah’s focus stayed steady, his expression softening as you spoke. 

“Carrying that stress of feeling you need to fix everything around you, at work and at home sounds like a big burden.” Noah sympathised.

“But it makes sense you lean on that when you’re helpless, because for some people small wins and accomplishments might feel like everything is less uncomfortable, but it sounds exhausting, like it’s never ending because you feel like you’re unable to stop or turn your mind off.” He softly added.

Your lips curved up slightly, nodding in acknowledgement. Noah turned his head towards the circle, as you had been the last to answer.

“Thank you all for your responses. It’s hard to acknowledge what you might be going through or feeling, so thank you for your courage to say it out loud.” His voice, louder than the residents of the room, yet a strong calmness filled the space.

“As it is a second session, from now I’m going to suggest different tasks you could do before the next session, it isn’t like homework so don’t worry if you can’t do it, but it might help you if you can.” He let a small chuckle brush past his lips.

Noah clasped his hands together before continuing. “This week, I would like you all to notice and write about when you felt that grief was the strongest in that week, what was happening? And how did you get through it?” A gentle smile graced his lips.

The circle remained in silence, apart from the occasional foot tapping; everyone’s attention sprawled to multiple dimensions.

“Before I let you go today, I’d like to ask you all what are you leaving with tonight. It could be a feeling, a thought or something you heard that stuck with you or felt familiar?” He added.

Noah turned his head slowly to face you after a few seconds to digest his question. Your gaze drifted past the shoulders in front of you and went straight towards the door. You blinked, looking back at Noah, who was waiting for your response.

“I think I am starting to understand that fixing everything isn’t the same as helping.” You pressed your lips together for a moment.

“And I use that as a form of distraction rather than helping myself.” You breathed out, pressing two fingers against your temples as a shot of dull pain was starting to spread at your frontal bone.

Various replies bounced against the cold walls, each holding its own connotations, drenched with each of the loan souls' detriment.

Mariah said she felt seen and that, for once, she didn’t feel guilty for spending time with someone who wasn't her son. Others whispered that they felt drained; however, listening to the group's individual stories made them realise that their pain wasn’t isolating. Some were exhausted or just tired.

Joseph avoided Noah’s prying eyes and ran a hand through his sparse hair, clearly distracted. He admitted that he was going to speak to his wife and try to understand her grief instead of making her do what he thought was best.

Satoru let out a faint huff and rolled his shoulders subtly before letting any words escape him. “I guess I get that being busy doesn't mean I'm doing okay.” His tone was light, almost sounding dismissive.

Once everyone had reached their final verdicts, Noah smiled gently at the circle, scanning each face delicately. “Thank you for coming today and I hope to see you all next week.”

His words settled into the atmosphere, and when the last tinge of his voice exited the air, the sound of feet shuffling and chairs creaking was the only sound remaining.

No words left the lips of the bereaved whilst they got ready to depart. You straightened your legs and grabbed your thin raincoat, slipping your arms into each sleeve whilst marching towards the gate of subsistence.

You gripped the chilled doorknob, metal cool against your warm palms, and pried the door ajar; it felt lighter than usual.

You didn’t notice the measured footsteps behind you until you felt the steady breeze against your skin. 

You inhaled Mother Nature’s breath, your lungs filling with air that hadn’t been tainted by the craving of absolution. For the first time in the past few hours, the searing weight of silence wasn’t pressing against your chest. 

A veil of darkness cloaked the buzzing city as your soles settled into the paving stone for half a second before you ambled a few steps closer toward the edge of the pavement. 

The bustling road was packed with various vehicles under the moonlight. Patience wasn’t favoured in their realm as they roared across the smooth tarmac. White, bright beams illuminated the open space. You wondered how the drivers could see through the glare.

It felt almost ridiculous to think that the hissing of tyres scraping the ground and the purring of engines seemed quieter than the room's stillness.

Your eyes lazily traced the twinkles of concealed colour from the restaurants across the street, couples and families decorating their tables. And outside, people strolled across the pavement, mindless chatter spewing from their lips.

The night seemed to have just begun for the rest of the world as the distant giggles from a joyous group of women vibrated against the shell of your ears.

Their heels clicked on the ground as their toothy smiles gleamed under the dull orange street lights. You zipped up your jacket, preparing to walk towards the bus stop, but something in you hesitated, feeling a sharp, lingering presence behind you.

You looked over your shoulder toward the door to see the tall, white-haired man, who walked out a second after you.

His hands slid into his coat pockets as he paused in front of the doorway, like he hadn’t decided which direction to follow.

The entrance wasn’t barren yet as the rest of the group shuffled through the door, light conversation spilling into the street.

“Damn.” He said lightly, his voice cutting through the hum of traffic. “You left quicker than me this time.” Satoru added when he noticed your eyes drift toward him.

You turned on your heel to face him. There was a small distance between the two of you, not far enough that your voice wouldn't carry to him, but far enough that you would raise your voice more than needed.

Your hand gripped the strap of your backpack, the material digging into your shoulder as you stepped a little closer to close the gap.

“Didn’t realise it was a race.” You replied quickly, with a brow raised. 

His lips twitched, almost turning into a smile. “Oh, it’s always a race, I won last week and no one even congratulated me.” He exaggerated a pout as he looked down at you.

You huffed out a laugh and rolled your eyes to the side in amusement. 

An isolated lamp post stood by the building, letting its warm fluorescence trickle down onto the pavement below. 

Satoru stood beneath, his posture loose as the tangerine glow reflected against his milky strands; the unusual white of his dishevelled locks was not as stark in the darkness.

 “Unfortunately, I don’t think leaving therapy first is a win.” You corrected him, head tilted to the side as the corners of your lips uplifted faintly.

He pulled his hands out of his pockets, and his fingers moved to stroke his chin as if he was in deep thought, his eyes looking up absently.

“So by your logic.” He hummed. “I won this week, cause you were the one running to the exit.” He looked back at you, his lips shifting into a lazy grin.

You scoffed lightly, the sound almost overtaken by the rumbling of a passing bus. “I wasn’t running.” You said, crossing your arms over your chest.

“It was more like speed walking…it was too hot in there.” You added, your voice hesitant enough that you couldn’t believe your own words.

Satoru’s brows lifted like he was considering the facts you presented. “It was not hot in there. The AC was all the way up.” He saw right through you with no struggle at all.

“Yeah…well Noah’s interrogations were stressing me out, I started sweating cause he was asking so many questions.” Your nose wrinkled, wincing from the memory.

His shoulders shook lightly with a quiet laugh. “You’re acting as if he put you on a lie detector machine.” His gaze lingered on you, eyes sharp but unreadable. “You answered every question he asked.” 

Your fingers moved to the straps of your backpack, your grip tightening around it. You believed that no one in the circle was really listening, despite its role. But it seemed like you were wrong.

“What else would I do?” You asked, voice close to mocking. “Say I’m ‘busy’ like you and avoid his questions.” 

Satoru’s gaze flickered toward the buzzing road before returning to you, the amusement in his expression fading slightly, his hands shoved back into his coat pockets.

 “I have mastered the art of avoidantism.” Amusement returned in his voice, yet it didn’t hold the same candour. “You should try it out sometime.” 

You jerked your head back and narrowed your eyes at the man before you. “Avoidantism?” You grimaced at him. “Did you make up that word?”

Satoru placed his palms on his chest, one hand overlapping the other. “Yes, I did, thank you for noticing and giving me credit.” He spoke dramatically.

The Anemoi sat in conflict above as the early-spring breeze moved with greater dexterity and purpose. A much colder breath of air caressed your open skin. The dark blue of the painting above had darkened even more as you stood under the canvas.

You shook your head as a light chuckle grazed your lips, the sound foreign even to yourself.

A beat of silence lulled between the two of you. You dipped your head slightly, the smile holding your lips diminished as if it had never appeared.

You felt your cheeks drop as your gaze trailed the compressed cigarette butts and discarded litter.

The stream of traffic and blended chatter flooded the stillness as you looked back up at him. For a second, his focus was on something behind you, on the rushing road, but as you looked back at him, he snapped his gaze onto you, as if he had been awoken from a trance.

“I should get going.” You shifted your weight on your feet, fingers curling your backpack strap. “Got dinner plans.” You said politely.

Satoru nodded once, his hands still buried in his pockets. “You celebrating surviving two sessions with Noah?” 

Your lips curved up with practice, “Yeah, something like that.” 

“Enjoy, don’t let them interrogate you too.” He teased, lips in a lopsided smile, he dug out a set of car keys from his pocket, twirling them with his finger.

“No promises.” You said, shrugging dismissively. “I’ll see you next week Mr avoidantism.” You gave him a small wave.

“See you, Miss speed-walker.” He shot back with a casual two-finger salute, his grin bright under the orange lights.

You turned on your heel and walked toward the bus stop. Behind you, the echoes of a car beep wriggled into your eardrums. It immediately followed with the door shutting and the engine starting with a gentle purr.

You turned your head back around for a second to see a glossy black car shoot off in the opposite direction.

The car vanished quicker than your eyes could catch it as you blinked at the busy two-way street. You faced toward your route and pulled the abandoned earphones into your pockets as you walked, plugging them into your ears to drown out the unsolicited sounds surrounding you.

You shuffled a random playlist and a tune prickled from the sockets, harmonies that were apparently loved by you but never paid attention to.

And as you ambled toward the neglected bus stop, it was becoming increasingly clear that your own distractions weren’t enough to shield the eventual lurching at your mind.

You would need to find new means and an answer, whether that be by creating a new thesis or succumbing to the eroding infection growing inside your chest.

WE ARE PREY TO IGNORANCE.

A/N:

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