SYNOPSIS You agree to go to group counselling because you can't fix grief the same way you fix everything else. Every week, the same people sit in a circle talking about the things they lost, the things they regret, the things they can't change. You say you're fine, Satoru says he's busy. Neither of you believe each other. Each session ends the same way, with both of you heading to the door at the same time, pretending it doesn't mean anything.
Sirens by Sonder - 'If i closed the door and shut my mouth, I wouldn't be here right now'
PAIRING Lawyer Gojo x Surgeon Fem reader
CONTENT mdni, mentions of death, grief, depression, anxiety, grief group counselling, forced proximity, modern au, surgeon reader and lawyer gojo, nurse choso, surgeon Nanami, slight toji heheh, mentions of blood, mentions of medical content, mentions of legal content, friends to lovers, strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, SLOW BURN, please understand this is a slow burn
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SYNOPSIS You agree to go to group counselling because you can't fix grief the same way you fix everything else. Every week, the same people sit in a circle talking about the things they lost, the things they regret, the things they can't change. You say you're fine, Satoru says he's busy. Neither of you believe each other. Each session ends the same way, with both of you heading to the door at the same time, pretending it doesn't mean anything.
Sirens by Sonder - 'If i closed the door and shut my mouth, I wouldn't be here right now'
PAIRING Lawyer Gojo x Surgeon Fem reader
CONTENT mdni, mentions of death, grief, depression, anxiety, CUTIEPIE YUJIII and nonchalant choso (not really), yuji and choso are brothers, college student yuji, mentions of PTSD, girl is deep in her pain :(
WORD COUNT 6.8K
CHAPTER INDEX <<CHAPTER SIX >>CHAPTER EIGHT (PENDING...)
ARE WE MERE PUPPETS FOR THE ORGULOUS DEITIES?
The intolerant Vrykolakas sit by the steps to intemperance, their wings hanging low, fangs drenched with the vitality of their prey, hunters in a world of abundance. The lowly humans pass them without notice, their swaying bodies moving to other motions to inhibit their spirits.
Were the creatures blind to the ignorant, or had they blended in with the other ghouls? They wander through the flock of humans, their claws gripping life they wished to cease, they wished to capture, for the taste of disillusionment might free them from chastisements.
The thick, deep blue drapes covering the horizon prevented the wicked from entering the ruined lands. But it didn’t prevent the corrupt from gaining sustenance from the starved, for the absence of light masked the sin lurking in the corners.
Balls of fire lit up across the sky, the size minute to the passerby, the glint not enough to shine in the shade.
But you squinted through the fogged-up window to see the glimmers that blessed the city.
You were slouched on a stained fabric-padded seat, on a bus that seemed far more sluggish than the cars that passed it.
The vehicle was littered with various individuals on their own atypical journeys. Some had their foreheads pressed against the window whilst their eyes fluttered shut, their monotonous days slowly eating at their flesh.
A group of teenage girls sat behind you, their voices pitched to a key too high for human hearing, squealing to themselves about things that you wished to care for.
A scruffy man stumbled whilst mumbling incoherent sayings to himself, and the stench of alcohol and cigarettes wafted through the enclosed space.
Your eyes flickered towards the skyline scattered with stars; it was unusual in a congested city, where the illumination was normally dimmed by pollution that had been infecting any semblance of nature. But you guessed their tenacity must have been too potent not to shine.
You blinked and moved your gaze to the phone clenched in your hand, the minutes ticking by as your screen glowed. You were about to skip the song that was blasting in your headphones, but a notification caught your attention.
You reluctantly pressed it, and when the chain popped up you saw that Yuji had messaged you.
LIL YUJI
10 MARCH 18:42
Hey doc you on your way?
You huffed out an airy laugh at the text. He would never let go of the ridiculous nickname he had endowed you with.
Your thumbs hovered over the screen as you swallowed, disparate responses bouncing through the walls of your mind, none of them settling.
Your thumbs moved without instruction as you typed:
Hey I’m not feeling the best maybe another day :)
The text cursor blinked at you whilst you decided whether or not to hit reply. Your eyebrows scrunched up, and you bit the skin at your bottom lip in thought, but another part of your brain took over, and you hit the delete key, retyping the text and hitting send without hesitation.
YOU
10 MARCH 18:44
Yeah i’m on the bus i’ll get there soon :)
His reply buzzed a second after.
LIL YUJI
10 MARCH 18:44
YAAAAY
WILL SEE YOU SOON
A strangled breath caught in your chest, turning your phone off and shoving it deep into your pocket. At the front of the bus the display wavered, shifting to show your stop. The vehicle slowed to a halt, and you shuffled through the aisle.
The soles of your sneakers landed onto rough concrete, and a breath of chilled wind touched your skin, goosebumps rising.
The bus rumbled behind you as it departed. You had come to this stop more times than you could count, but for reasons you wished not to divulge, an unsettling feeling crawled up your spine.
You stepped forward on muscle memory alone, watching the space exist absently. The street had lost its source of protection, the sun had departed from its duty, leaving the area dusky, with no real light penetrating the space.
The only glow came from the abundant windows of the apartments and houses, and some tired orange streetlights that stood high.
The sidewalk had a few residents dotted along it as they walked to their destination, but it lacked any life or character. It was farther from the city's main part, an area designed for functionality rather than for those seeking a nesting sanctuary. Where rent was cheap, but felt hollow and lifeless.
Your footsteps were almost sluggish, as if you were trying to delay the journey, but nothing within could force the habitual skipping or speed walking. That urge seemed to have depleted.
The familiar, towering red-brick building loomed ahead, with small windows decked across, some bright and some covered by curtains. An independent lamppost stood in front, the bulb twitching, clear signs of its near termination.
A heavy locked door sat between you and the apartment complex as the buzzer echoed. The door opened with urgency, almost immediately after you pressed their doornumber button.
Inside the choice was essentially instinctive, stairs over the elevator. Mounting ten flight of stairs felt safer for your thumping pulse. It was like hiking a phrosphised trail, the result were inevitable despite your decisions. The bubble of excitement was awaiting behind the door, and it would pop from your arrival.
The ascension to their apartment wasn’t smooth, not that there would be any other outcome; your shoulders rose to your ears, chest falling and rising in short beats from breathlessness.
You gripped the cold metal railing at the top of the stairs, trying to control your breaths, trying to ease the exhaustion that sat in your bones. But manual breathing wouldn’t resolve that, so you just dragged a sweat-ridden hand across your face.
The row of apartment doors were arranged with no desire to stand out; each door had been constructed by the same polished wood and brass; the only difference being the ascending numbers.
Your footsteps slowed as you reached number 1003. The buffed number gaped at you; wanting to turn on your heel, but a fist hovered in the air order, ready to knock.
Before the knuckles could even touch the wood, the door burst open so harshly that the wind dried out your tongue.
Not even seconds had passed until two arms tightly wrapped around your shoulders and a head nuzzled into the crook of your shoulder, causing your brows to raise in an arch and lips to part.
Your shock melted as you looked down to see soft, messy strands of light pink hair. A small smile formed on your lips, the kind that grew without obligation and awareness. His grip tightened, like he didn’t trust you were really there.
After a moment, your arms wrapped around him, returning his affection. He was warm and smelled like freshly baked cookies, soft in a way that couldn’t be replicated.
You looked up, and in your eyeline, Choso, the older of the two, stood behind the door. His obsidian locks touched his shoulders, and a gentle smile stained his lips, expression serene.
Eventually, Yuji unwrapped his arms from you and stood up straight. He had grown even taller in the months that had passed, but from your eyes tracing his features, the bubbly boy within him hadn’t altered.
His grin was bright, teeth shining underneath the fluorescent hallway lights. A comfortable silence had stretched since your arrival, just flickering your gaze between the brothers with a bundle of ease, something that didn’t flow through your veins but had now kindled within your concrete walls.
“Yuji at least let her come in before attacking her with a hug.” Choso teased lightly, stepping closer to ruffle his hair.
Yuji raised his brows as if a thought had struck him. He then swept his arms to the door, dramatically extending them as if he was completing a magic trick.
“Please enter Miss.” His voice turned theatrically posh.
You moved one foot behind the other, bending your knees outwards, and pretended to hold the edges of a skirt, curtseying. “Thank you kind sir.”
Choso had walked into the apartment by the time you stepped in and Yuji shut the door whilst you removed your shoes.
The aged wooden floorboards whined under your padded footsteps, feet moving in a steady, unhurried rhythm to map the room with heavy eyes.
The living room hadn’t changed at all, not that it would in the short span of time, but time didn’t seem relative to you in that moment.
The plush, pale green couches were decorated in the same mismatched pillows, one of them being a fluffy pink one that you purchased because it reminded you of Yuji’s hair.
The dinosaur rug that sat in the middle of the room still held faint stains from old game nights, and the indoor plants scattered around the place seemed to have bloomed, their leaves more vividly green.
“How do you get taller but younger at the same time?” You tilted your head to the side and let out an impromptu laugh once you both stood in the middle of the room.
You then leaned in to pinch his cheek between your fingers; he winced in response, a scowl forming on his face as he rubbed the pained spot.
The hand fell back at your side as the faint smile tugged your lips. The dense tension that clutched your back loosened, in a way it never did anywhere else.
“When will you stop doing that?” He grumbled, but his tone was nothing but jovial.
“Never.” You raised your pointer finger and swished it back and forth in amusement. “Not until you stop poking my forehead.”
You plopped yourself down on the plush fabric, shoes abandoned by the doorstep, and Yuji followed, sprawling onto the pillows beside you.
The floorboards creaked softly under Choso’s footsteps as he walked over. Yuji had sunk deep into the throw cushions, his back pressed against the couch, legs sprawled out in front of him, head tipped backwards in relaxation.
You curled into the corner beside him, peering at his relaxed demeanour for a moment. Then Choso was standing in front of the sofa, his arms crossed and hair tied back into a low bun.
“Don’t get too comfortable, guys.” Choso spoke, looking down at both of you. “You’re both on vegetable chopping duty.”
Yuji let out a dramatic groan, flinging an arm over his face. “Ughh…why can’t I do something else. I hate chopping vegetables.” He lifted his head and looked at his brother, pursing his lips in annoyance.
“Because last time you tried to cook something, you set shin ramen on fire,” Choso replied with a deadpan expression.
You snorted. “How did you manage to do that?”
“It said on the instructions that I had to heat it up. And that’s what I did.” He turned his head to face you, his voice assured.
Choso rolled his eyes, then shook his head once. “He didn’t even add water, just put it in the microwave.”
An unrestrained laugh left your lips, a hand covering your mouth. “Why didn’t you add water?”
The pink-haired boy's brows furrowed. “I added it after. Wait, was I supposed to heat it up before? No wonder it didn’t taste good…” He pressed a finger on his lips in genuine shock.
You and Choso just looked at each other, dumbfounded by the boy. Choso sighed and didn’t respond to his epiphany but just pressed his fingers against his temple as if he was holding back a headache.
“I’m not even gonna entertain this right now. Both of you in the kitchen. Now.” He uttered.
“Okay, boss.” You said in an amused tone, whilst standing up. Yuji reluctantly got up, trudging toward the kitchen.
A warm yellow glow poured throughout the kitchen, wrapping the room in a sense of comfort. The cluttered counters sat beneath the spotlight, the area overtaken by uneven piles of various vegetables, a cutting board in the middle, and three knives circling it.
“Why are there so many…why do we need this many?” Yuji complained, poking a mushroom with the tip of a knife.
“Because we are cooking real food, not instant ramen,” Choso said flatly, tying the strings of his apron behind his back.
“Pfffft.” You stifled a laugh as your eyes traced the front of his apron. Yuji immediately looked up at the sound and peered at the sight, a loud wheeze leaving his lungs.
A hard line grew on Choso’s forehead from confusion as he stared at both of you blankly. “What?”
You pointed at his apron as another chuckle slipped past your lips. “Look at your apron.”
Choso frowned slightly and glanced down at himself, eyes landing on the bikini silhouette at the front, matching the baby bikini top and bottom where his body was.
His expression didn’t change. “What about it?”
Yuji wheezed even louder, gripping the edge of the granite counter. “You said you’d never wear that again!”
“You bought it,” Choso replied nonchalantly.
You placed your hand on top of your mouth, trying to prevent the inevitable giggles from leaving your lips, but it was difficult when Yuji was howling with laughter.
“It was funny.” Yuji eventually replied through the burst of his laughter.
He took a few breaths, calming himself, but his pink-stained cheeks remained prominent. Signs of real life were prevalent within his being; his laughter was so soft and free. It was enough for your heart to pool something you rejected from a time before you could fathom, envy was lurking by the doorstep, with nothing but wrath.
“It still is.” You muttered, holding in another laugh as you picked up one of the knives.
Choso let out a slow breath through his nose, but the crinkles of his mouth settled for a moment, like a smile was itching to surface.
“It was the only clean one.” He slyly rolled his eyes, then pushed the cutting board closer to you, with an expression that only stern elders held.
“Don’t lie, I know you just wanted to wear it.” Yuji snickered, nudging you with his elbow whilst puckering his brows.
Choso ignored his words and walked to the stove, prepping the chicken that he had just taken out of the fridge.
“Leave Cho alone, he just wants to match with Andrea.” You mumbled as you began to chop a carrot with your head down.
“Andrea?” Yuji questioned, pausing for a moment. “Ohhh is she the one he keeps calling mommy???”
You paused, knife in hand, mid- air, then you slowly turned toward Choso.
When you peered at him, his pale cheeks were stained bright red, a shade you didn’t know existed and his lips were parted like he was caught in something undeniable.
“I..I just..” He looked down at the tiles below, jaw tight. “....Sometimes I like it when someone else’s in charge.” He eventually blurted out.
“Makes sense.” You hummed, holding a knowing look.
Yuji just stared at him with a look of disgust, grimacing. “I don’t wanna know about that…part of your life.” He gagged, pretending to throw up.
“You’re the one who started talking about it!” Choso narrowed his eyes at him with a light scowl, not one of anger but just slight annoyance.
“I thought it was a joke…” His younger brother rubbed the back of his neck, uttering under his breath.
“Just get back to chopping.” Choso shook his head, his tone dropping to his calmer demeanour.
Yuji rolled his eyes and turned back to start on the task at hand. He grabbed a carrot from the bowl and inspected it between his fingers.
“Jeez someone’s mad,” Yuji muttered, speaking to no one in particular. “Andrea not doing her job right.”
An unrestrained laugh spilled through your lips before you could hold it back.
Choso immediately turned around and lightly hit the back of Yuji’s head. “Do your job before you’re fired.”
“Please fire me, I don’t wanna cut these gross vegetables.” He begged, clasping his hands as if in prayer.
“If you’re fired, you can’t eat,” Choso stated, turning back around as another sigh left him.
You giggled under your breath, nudging Yuji to face you, who snorted, then covered his mouth to contain any laughter. Muffled laughter bounced across the walls and right into Choso’s eardrums.
“I hear a lot of laughing and not enough chopping.” The dark-haired man spoke out, his voice an octave louder than your laughter.
“Fine….” You gripped the handle of the knife and began to cut thin slices of a mushroom.
Yuji stared down at the vegetables in the bowl and pouted, arms at his sides. “Ughh, I don’t wanna.” He mumbled under his breath.
“You have to,” Choso said behind him as he was seasoning the chicken pieces.
The pink-haired boy huffed out a frustrated sigh, gripping the carrot between his fingers with some disgust, like it had personally offended him.
He sliced through the vegetables harshly, eyes narrowed as if he were entering a state of focus.
Choso turned on the speaker sitting in the corner of the kitchen, and the soft sounds of indie music drifted through the air. The soft thuds of the knife against the chopping board added to the melody, like a strange, calming beat.
For the duration of a song, no one spoke, the gentle warmth of the room settling around you. Like it had done from the dozens of moments you cooked in that kitchen.
This time, the quietude wasn’t drawn from pure routine and attunement; it dragged slightly, like the screech of a lead pencil against paper. It held guarded curiosity and concern that pricked at your skin.
“So….you haven’t been here in a while.” Yuji’s voice filled the air, cutting through the mute atmosphere as harshly as he chopped.
Your hand stilled for a fraction of a second before continuing. “I’ve just been busy.”
Yuji looked up from his position, knife between his fingers, staring at the top of your head as you chopped. “You always say that.” He spoke, voice edged with a whine of a toddler.
“Because I always am.”
Yuji stood still beside you, but you could feel his gaze burn into you, like his thoughts were attempting to crystallise. “It’s not just about work, is it?” He gently probed.
“Yuji.” You heard Choso utter, his voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but the weight of it was enough to land in his brother's head.
“I was just asking.” Yuji frowned, facing away from you to begin cutting another poor carrot.
“Not like that,” Choso stated, like a warning.
Yuji gripped the handle more firmly, reluctantly pressing his knife into the vegetable, his movements harsher and more disorganised.
The previous chatter subsided between the three of you, the room growing quiet. But it was searing, like his restrained words finally broke the surface, and the world didn’t know how to handle its unpredictability.
You lifted your head slowly to look at his ruffled pink hair and his hunched shoulders as your chest rose from heavy breaths.
“I’m here now, though.” The knife slipped from your fingers to rest on the counter whilst your voice travelled through the air.
Choso turned his head over his shoulder for a second before he fully turned his body toward you. His arms crossed over his chest as the chicken sizzled in the pan.
A new wave of savoury scents whirled around you. His cooking was always comforting; a meal from his efforts was far tastier than anything you could create.
“You look exhausted. Have you been sleeping?” He asked, glancing at you, his gaze wasn’t infiltrating, just steady.
“Yeah, I have, works just been rough.” You replied, your words even so that countering wasn’t needed.
Choso briefly flicked his eyes around the room like an answer was hidden behind one of the closed cabinets. But it didn’t seem as though he found anything.
“You already said that.” His straight, thick brows raised into an arch, and his expression moulded into one of cognisance.
You didn’t feed into his heed, just forcing a small smile on your lips. He hummed, knowing it was a losing battle and moved his gaze to his younger brother, whose attention had shifted to the pile of chopped vegetables in your bowl.
“Yours look so different.” He squinted at the pieces, poking one of them with his finger, then glancing at his pile.
The vegetables he attempted to chop were spread across his board and the counter; each piece was unique, with uneven sizes and shapes. He tried to cut them into triangles and circles, as if they were his own masterpiece.
Choso stepped to stand between the two of you and let out an exhausted sigh. “What is this?” He asked his brother, who looked up at him and huffed out a nervous laugh.
“My creation.” Yuji smiled, bright teeth glinting under the soft overhead lights.
Choso picked up a piece of one of the chopped carrots, holding it between his fingers, then looked back at the rest, then held his palm in the air to signal he wanted the knife passed over.
“I’ll finish the rest, just go watch over the chicken and noodles.” He spoke softly.
“Fine…” Yuji hummed, reluctantly passing Choso the knife even though he initially didn’t even want to help.
Choso took over Yuji’s position, the handle of the knife sat more naturally between his fingers, and his focus quickly shifted to cutting the vegetables. Obsidian stray hairs stuck to his forehead, and some loose strands fell from his bun as he nimbly chopped.
The last mushroom waited on your chopping board, and you cut a thin slice, but as you began to move your hand, a loud siren wailed outside, the sound cutting through the thick apartment walls.
Your hand stilled, knife hovering in the now suffocating air. You swallowed the twinge of ache that was beginning to simmer at the back of your throat as your shoulders and muscles tightened without you realising.
The sound grew even louder as the ambulance rushed past the building, the high-pitched noise slipping past the crack of the window as you squeezed your eyes shut for a second.
Choso gently placed the knife on the counter, and you felt his sharp eyes attempting to decipher you.
“You good?” His voice was lighter than the wafts of steam that simmered from the stove, but you could sense his worry that always sat between his words.
You looked up with the corner of your lips lifted. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”
He blinked down at you for a few moments, no emotion crystallising on his features. “You’re very bad at hiding, you know.” He treaded carefully, “You don’t have to pretend.” He added, as if he were requesting something so painless.
You inhaled a breath that was tangled with the savoury aroma and perturbation.
Of whose? You didn’t want to know.
“I’m not.” Tone more airy and melancholic than you intended.
Your words seemed to stir something in his mind as his dark brows knitted together and laced the wooden handle between his fingers, and he began chopping the remaining vegetables.
You looked down at your hands that were beginning to crack from the lack of true attention, but instead of dwelling on it, you gathered the chopped pieces from the cutting board and placed them into the bowl resting on the counter, layers of colour piled up.
You held the bowl between your hands and brought it over to Yuji, who was flipping the grilled chicken in the pan; the gas had been off for a while.
You cleared your throat for him to finally sense your presence beside him, as his focus was intense for someone cooking basically nothing.
“You know the gas is off?” You spoke up, cutting through the daydream he resided in.
The boy snapped his head at you, then looked down at the stove, but there was no flame glinting. He groaned and shook his head, a deep scowl forming on his face.
A string of giggles left your lips from seeing his expression. “You look like a sad puppy.” You teased.
His frown soon shifted into a smile, as if annoyance was something he couldn’t truly feel. Choso walked over toward the two of you and grinned at Yuji.
“Did you not see that there was no flame?....” He spoke with a bemused look.
Yuji’s smile was short-lived as his lips turned into a small pout as he stared at the hob. “No…..” His shoulders slumped. “I thought it was just so high that it became invisible…”
You snorted from the shock of his words, and Choso spewed out a laugh from a mix of disbelief and amusement.
“You need to recap basic chemistry.” You patted his shoulder, your words mixed in with the remaining laughter that bubbled from your stomach.
He lightly rolled his eyes. “At least I tried.”
Choso offered him a sympathetic look, patting his head. “Yes, you did,” almost sounding sincere, “Now go set up the table so none of us gets salmonella.”
You suppressed another laugh from rising, your hand placed over your lips, but it sputtered through.
Yuji pointed at you gleefully. “That was a real laugh.”
Your arms fell at your sides, head cocked to the side as your nose scrunched up in confusion. “I do laugh.”
“Yeah, but not like that.” His glee turned into something more sombre, like he was brushing against something that could burn. “Not lately…” His voice lowered, but it was clear enough for everyone to hear.
The whisper of his words didn’t ease the prickling sensation that began to stab at your skin. It was like the most delicate parts of your anatomy had decided to expose themselves as your body felt a rawness that only happened when fear lurked at the back of your mind.
Your hand gripped the cold counter, as if it would be enough to cut the growing suffocation in the room; it was subtle to the world around, but you could feel your fingers tighten.
“Yuji.” Choso stated simply, glancing at you apologetically, but you knew that his expression was only compensation for something too close to the truth.
“Sorry….” Yuji rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
You shook your head dismissively, shrugging off the pins dragging across your open skin. “It’s okay, don’t worry.”
The tension didn’t stretch for long; it never really did with them.
Choso clapped his hands together and glanced between the two of you. “Let’s finish cooking, please, or I’ll get hangry soon.”
Yuji raised his brows, mumbling under his breath. “You always are.”
You crossed your arms over your chest as you raised a brow. “Says you.”
He scoffed at your comment, but ironically, he grabbed a piece of the chopped carrots from the pile and tossed it straight into his mouth without thought.
You and Choso turned your heads to face each other and sighed. Yuji grabbed another piece right after, and once he tried to reach his third, you smacked his hand away from the bowl.
“Ow, what was that for?” He winced, recoiling his hand away, then clutching his hand dramatically.
You leaned your hip onto the counter. “You’re gonna eat all the food before it's even cooked.”
“You’ve gotten even meaner since the last time you came.” He mumbled, still clutching his hand as if he had a serious injury.
“You’ve gotten dumber.”
Choso let out an audible sigh, rubbing his temple with his fingers, clearly sick of the pettiness nature you and his brother possessed.
“You’re both annoying, what about that?” He muttered whilst stirring the vegetables in the pan, the sizzling of the oil growing louder.
“But you still love us.” Yuji stuck his tongue out at him, then leaned in closer to pinch his cheek.
Choso hummed, a small smile playing on his lips, as you and Yuji continued to bicker nonsensically.
Eventually, Yuji went to set up the table for you to supervise, and Choso finished cooking the noodle stir-fry, which should have taken a quarter of the time it did. The aroma of the various sauces and seasonings filled the apartment.
The table was small, but the chairs were soft and worn in; the seating arrangement was always the same, like it had been set in stone. You sat on one side, and Yuji and Choso on the other.
Choso placed the pan in the middle of the table before he took his seat, curls of steam twisting in the air.
“Don’t touch it yet, it's still hot.” He stated, even though his words wouldn’t reach the intended ears.
Yuji’s mind had clearly wandered off as his hand was reaching the pan, and you slapped his hand away again, like swatting a fly.
“Ow! Why are you so abusive today?” He glared at you, but his eyes never held any contempt.
“Because you don’t listen.”
Choso chuckled under his breath, passing you a pair of chopsticks. For a moment, it was like the months hadn’t drifted without transformation, like the tranquillity in the room was weightless.
Yuji raised his hands in the air. “Wait before we eat.” He exclaimed, then you and Choso both turned your attention to him. “Let’s say one thing we are grateful for.” He added, smiling brightly.
You grimaced, “Hell no.”
“We aren’t doing that.” Choso shook his head immediately.
The pink-haired boy pouted dramatically, his eyes looking more puppy-like. “Pleaaaaaseeeeee.” He pleaded.
You couldn’t help but smile at him, letting out a small laugh at his antics. Choso wasn’t as easily convinced, just ignoring him and giving him a deadpan expression.
“Fine.” You placed your head in your palm, still smiling. “I’m grateful for Cho cooking us a delicious meal.” You nodded once at the mentioned man.
“We don’t know if it's good yet.” Yuji immediately replied.
Choso took the empty plate that was sitting in front of Yuji as a form of retaliation, moving it to the empty spot next to you. “Then you’re not getting any.”
Yuji’s lips parted, and he tried to grab the plate, but you grabbed it before he could, holding it tightly as Yuji tried to snatch it from you like you were in a game of tug of war.
“Give it back!”
Your grip on the plate was firm, but Yuji’s strength was something you never expected, as you put in all your might, but he grabbed it and held it up in the air as a form of victory, cheesing brightly.
“Loser.” He quipped, sticking his tongue at you.
You rolled your eyes in amusement. “You’re strong, I gotta give it to you.”
He placed the plate back down gently. “Not as strong as Todo, though.” Humble as always.
You raised your brows in response, and he turned his attention to his brother beside him, staring at him silently with his hands interlocked into one another, his elbows sinking into the oak.
“What?” The black-haired man looked at him in confusion.
“What are you grateful for?” He asked again, voice sweeter and softer.
Choso flickered his gaze at you for a second before looking back at him. “I’m grateful we’re all here together again.” He smiled softly, glancing between the two of you.
You smiled back, and Yuji beamed, staring right at you. “I’m grateful that you came today.”
Their words settled in the air like something soft but prominent, like fresh snow on a cold day; it was hard to ignore.
The sounds of dishes and cutlery clashing filled the room. Choso took your plate first and filled it with the stir-fry as he told you to eat without adding pressure to his statement.
Yuji grabbed the tongs from the pan the second after his brother put them back, piling his plate with the food, the aroma of garlic and soy sauce travelled to your nostrils.
The first bite burnt his tongue, clearly not learning his lesson. He downed his glass of ice-cold water and took yours. Once he had finished his, he grabbed yours and finished that as well.
“That’s what you get for not listening.” You held the wooden chopsticks between your fingers, blowing on the noodles between them to cool them down.
“You alright?” Choso looked at the boy beside him, who had finally calmed down. He nodded and started blowing air onto the whole plate instead of individual pieces.
You watched him in disbelief as you chewed. The flavours were familiar and comforting, as with all his meals. Even if vast amounts of time could pass, you could always recognise his meals.
“This is so good, thank you for making dinner Cho.” You uttered softly.
Choso titled his forehead once with a closed eye smile, not responding through words, but he never needed to.
“..So what have you been up to Yuji.” You turned your focus back to the younger brother and saw that his mouth was stuffed, cheeks all puffed up.
He swallowed before speaking, thankfully so no food sputtered across the table. “I’m doing anatomy and fitness health right now, it’s so hard I don’t get anything.” He confessed.
Your elbow sank into the wood as you held the chopsticks up in the air. “I can tutor you if you want, I’m not sure about fitness, but I can deffo teach anatomy.”
His eyes lit up, twinkling under the overhead lights. “Really?! I would love that, thank you.”
A breathy giggle fell from your lips, then you peered at Choso with your lips pursed. “Have you not asked Cho for help? He’s a nurse…”
Yuji rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he nervously laughed, and Choso exhaled an exhausted breath.
“Last time I tried to tutor him he fell asleep, don’t think it’s the best idea.” Choso remarked.
“Sorry….” Yuji muttered in embarrassment, his head low as he gathered the noodles with his chopsticks.
A few moments of quiet ripened, your bites were starting to shrink in size, even though more than three-quarters of your plate was filled.
Yuji had almost finished his meal in the short time that had passed, and you were not picking the noodles with the sticks. Choso flickered his gaze to you in short bursts. You could sense that something was manifesting on his tongue, but he didn’t let anything trickle down yet.
Yuji looked up and shifted his attention to you. “....So how's the group counselling thing going?” He hesitantly asked.
Your hand paused, blinking at him with no readable expression. Choso glanced at him from the corner of his eye but didn’t intervene.
“It’s going good.” You replied after a moment, voice steady to avoid raising suspicion.
Yuji nodded, but it clearly didn’t satisfy his curiosity about the matter. “What do you do there?”
You drifted your eyes off absently, not looking at anything in particular, like it would free you. “They ask questions and stuff.”
“What kinda questions?” He peered at you with his inquisitive eyes, like his words were nothing but comments on the weather.
A huff of breath spilt through your nose, almost resembling a laugh that wasn’t given permission.
“About her.”
The word collided with the mirage of placidity surrounding you. You didn’t even need to define her identity, as it already carried a weight far too heavy for your tongue.
You registered the room at a distance as your eyes focused on the empty pan that adorned the table. “They ask me to talk about how I feel, how I’m dealing with it.” You continued unable to see their reactions, but the gravity from the silence and their attentive gaze was enough.
“...But I don’t think I actually feel anything.”
You looked up to see Yuji watching you with a solemn expression, with pity so intense it poured over you in waves. You despised it, despised the piteous swirls in his irises and how it made you feel pathetic, like you’re drowning in the sea instead of trying to keep afloat.
Choso studied you as his hands gripped the wood, fingers slowly tightening. He could see through the prevarications as if staring into an unstained glass.
Yuji bit the inside of his cheek in thought, succumbing to an internal debate. “Do you think it’s helping?” He asked after a beat.
You blinked at him, feeling your mind trying to create a puzzle with missing pieces. “..I’m not sure yet, I’ve only been to two sessions.”
The answer might not have held the substance they valued, but it was the only thing you could endow them with.
Yuji swallowed the remaining noodles from his plate, his expression settling before he spoke. “She’d be happy that you’re going, though.” He said, absentmindedly, like it was obvious.
Your brows drew together, and muscles taunted, feeling caught off guard by his observations, carefully letting go of the chopsticks in your fingers.
“She always used to say that you never talked about things properly.” He added, with a small smile, as if he were reminiscing about a fond memory. “Remember?”
No hint of deceit lingered in his words; you knew what he was referencing and that it wasn’t even incorrect. But it still pricked at your open nerves, it still twisted the muscles in your gut, it still pained you. That was the problem.
Choso’s eyes darted toward his brother for a second, his look unreadable, but you could detect his premonition.
A sharp ache tingled at the back of your throat, and you parted your lips before any evaluation was conducted.
“Don’t.” You said sharply, too quickly.
Yuji’s eyes slightly widened, taken aback. “I was jus-.”
“Don’t say anything.” Your voice cracked; any steadiness you might have had dissipated.
Your head dropped, staring at the plate, but the lines and edges blurred, like a fog interrupted your senses. Your vision was unfocused, as if the time on the present land were nothing but a fallacy, and you were being transported to your own haven.
A newfound silence magnified in the dimly lit room, and the unprotected enigmas that had been dusted under the rug were now starting to expose themselves, straining the confines of your mind.
You couldn’t tell if a shield of glass took over your corneas, so you just squeezed them shut, wanting to disappear within the blackness.
“She’s not here to say that anymore.” You muttered under your breath, but the waves of sound bounced across their eardrums, enough to settle.
Finality was truly the foe of the pious, the end goal of all life that could never be refuted or debated. Your harsh words were a reminder that as the devout clasped their hands in veneration, demise had already infected the estranged spirits. No one was excluded from destiny.
Your hands lay on the table, fingers fidgeting with the stray cutlery to stabilise your heartbeat.
A strained airy laugh left your lips, quick and hollow. “So it doesn’t really matter anymore.”
It wasn’t comical; you knew it wasn’t, but you didn’t know how else to react when the sharp ache that was tingling in your throat started to move down to the pit of your stomach, every organ in your body feeling foreign to the claws of disarray.
“I- I’m trying, I’m speaking, I’m trying to do everything I can.” You blurted out too fast, voice cracking. “I’m doing what I’m supposed to do…”
You paused for a moment, chest rising and falling faster. “But I just can’t feel anything….”
Your jaw tightened, teeth clenching as your hands balled into tight fists; control was slipping from you without choice, and that was harder to fathom than your eyes blurring and burning, and your stomach twisting into knots. Why was control the requirement for survival?
The two brothers sat frozen in their seats, just watching your eyes glisten, not from their humour or comfort but from your own torment.
Yuji couldn’t sit and watch you tremble, so he reached out with some hesitancy, unsure if you would recoil and pull away. His warm hand rested on top of your fist, holding you in place.
You didn’t move, letting his hand sit there.
You looked up to see his eyes, widened and softened at the edges, a light sheen covering them, but they didn’t hold the pity you detested. They held the kind of care that you didn’t know how to return.
Choso flickered his dark eyes to your hands; his pale hand moved to sit atop Yuji’s, firmer, steadier, grounding you silently.
The corners of your mouth rose faintly, not obvious to the plain eye but obvious to the ones sitting opposite you.
You said you couldn’t feel, but a kindle of something unnamed seeped through the cracks of your joints; it wasn’t warmth, it wasn’t comfort.
Presence.
Something that refused to be ignored, no matter how tightly your eyes were sewn shut.
Your fingers loosened before you could stop them, and instead of pulling away, you curled them over theirs.
PICK UP THE PIECES THAT YOU BELIEVED NEVER EXISTED.
A/N:
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SYNOPSIS You agree to go to group counselling because you can't fix grief the same way you fix everything else. Every week, the same people sit in a circle talking about the things they lost, the things they regret, the things they can't change. You say you're fine, Satoru says he's busy. Neither of you believe each other. Each session ends the same way, with both of you heading to the door at the same time, pretending it doesn't mean anything.
Sirens by Sonder - 'If i closed the door and shut my mouth, I wouldn't be here right now'
PAIRING Lawyer Gojo x Surgeon Fem reader
CONTENT mdni, mentions of death, grief, depression, anxiety, grief group counselling, forced proximity, first conversation lol, modern au, surgeon reader and lawyer gojo, silly gojo, SLOW BURNNNN, please understand this is a slow burn.
WORD COUNT 5.9K
CHAPTER INDEX <<CHAPTER FIVE >>CHAPTER SEVEN
CURSING AT FATE WILL NOT REWIND THE BOOK OF TIME
An altar adorned with the sacred verses of manumission awaits in the pits of the netherworld for sepulchral souls like you. A sanctuary where the lone spirits intertwine in blind faith, a crescendo of illusion lingering as a silent canticle.
Strings of golden glitter trickled down onto the swaying leaves as they played a waltz, trying to attract the attention of the bitter humans. The glimmers were a rarity in a world where light had been replaced with ash-consumed skies.
Your soles caressed the harsh concrete as you sauntered through the vast park, oak trees dominating the land, their manes fading from light brown into a pale green, the vibrancy still not potent.
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:
i hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, THEIR FIRST CONVERSATION AAAAAAAAY
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SYNOPSIS You agree to go to group counselling because you can't fix grief the same way you fix everything else. Every week, the same people sit in a circle talking about the things they lost, the things they regret, the things they can't change. You say you're fine, Satoru says he's busy. Neither of you believe each other. Each session ends the same way, with both of you heading to the door at the same time, pretending it doesn't mean anything.
Sirens by Sonder - 'If i closed the door and shut my mouth, I wouldn't be here right now'
PAIRING Lawyer Gojo x Surgeon Fem reader
CONTENT mdni, mentions of death, medical content, mentions of blood, reader doing a surgery, Mei Mei as attending ew, Nanami resident surgeon MEOW, Yuki and Choso being cute friends, mentions of car accident, wound descriptions, anxiety, use of poetry
WORD COUNT 4.5K
CHAPTER INDEX <<CHAPTER FOUR >>CHAPTER SIX
IS THE SUN ONLY MEANT TO SUPPLY ILLUMINATION?
The lowly condemned souls held their palms out to their benevolent leader, imploring for a fragment of liberation. Why were such bare requests shrouded in humiliation? Their chains cutting arteries made for asphyxiation, it seemed as though their crimes weren’t considered pardonable.
The smouldering liquid poured recklessly from the silver-coated showerhead, blasting a heat that Hades himself would find damning as the water ran like a river of melted crystals against your skin.
The glass encircling you had altered its authenticity, the clear material misting up, condensation forming on the walls and windows, as droplets of water dripped down.
It was a miracle that your blood vessels didn’t dilate as you stood within the smothering bathroom, your skin raw from the loofah in hand, scrubbing your skin with an intensity that wasn’t necessary.
You sanded down your limbs, reaching for your legs, and your lips were slightly parted to draw in any unobstructed oxygen. In the quiet cruelty of the night, it felt like there must have been something embedded against your skin from the way you scrubbed, but when you looked down, there was nothing.
You lathered soap onto your body, a cleansing ritual for those whose hands were stained crimson by other souls.
You straightened your back, leaning slightly forward as you placed the palm of your hand against the cold tiles in front of you, an odd feeling considering you were draped in suffocation.
The session of melancholy was merely hours before; it felt like days as you didn’t let the words sit on your skin for too long, brushing them off the second your feet touched the wet gravel.
Was change so ghastly that walking towards it would cause you to recoil, repelling like matching poles of a magnet?
The hot water poured with no means of finality as your shoulders rose and fell slowly, you looked at the shower rack, a mix of antibacterial soaps and faux bodywash scents, a mirage of delight.
You repeated the ritual more times than you could count, the clinical scent never disappearing as the bar of soap was starting to melt between your fingers.
The coconut shampoo stood high, the bottle filled to the brim, and you replaced the bar with the large bottle. Your hands quivered as you let it drip into your fingers; the liquid trickled between the gaps.
The scent reached your nose the second the lid opened, your hands still trembling, the aroma was so familiar yet so distant. You could feel your pulse quicken, such small acts that led to the growing pit in your chest.
Your hand hovered for a few moments, the bodywash lingering on your palm and fingers, dripping down slowly. You put your hand under the showerhead, the liquid dissipating with no care.
Your cleansing ritual had eventually reached its conclusion; you were now sprawled across your plush couch, a light, fluffy blanket draped over your body as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone.
A bag of salty chips sat in your lap, the sounds of plastic crinkling and nonsensical audio filled the void, and the apartment was hollow, with no other forms of life awakened.
A sudden ringing of your phone interrupted your trance. You blinked at the screen to see an incoming video call notification from your two closest companions fill your screen. You answered, and the large, toothy smiles from the two greeted you.
“Did you get in a fight or something?” Choso leaned towards the camera and squinted, his tone teasing. He was at the bottom of your screen, sitting up on his bed as his charcoal locks sat on his shoulders.
His room was completely dark, the phone's light his only illumination. Yuki was at the top of your screen. She seemed to be in the middle of cooking, her phone set up on her counter as she mixed something in a pan.
“Yeah, I got jumped in the shower.” You replied flatly, placing a chip between your lips.
He shook his head and chuckled lightly before speaking. “Did the old lady next door get sick of you screaming when you rewatch Business Proposal?”
Yuki snorted whilst placing her food onto her plate. “I can’t even blame her, they are too fine.” She picked up her phone and walked towards her dining table, stabbing her fork into a piece of pasta once she sat down.
“I don’t even watch it that much.” You rolled your eyes, trying to defend your position. Choso’s eyes widened, and a small knowing smile grew on Yuki’s lips.
“You watch it once a month without fail, we have watched it with you so many times as well.” Choso argued back, his eyes bright despite the darkness.
“Not even…. once a month is a stretch.” You disputed, pulling your blanket up to cover you further, as a slight chill filled your apartment.
“Yeah, you're right, it’s like twice.” Yuki chuckled.
The corner of your lips slightly lifted whilst looking at the two. “Doesn’t matter, I haven’t rewatched it in ages anyway.” You mumbled.
The two paused for a second, Choso’s brows furrowing. “Why not?” He questioned, his voice laced with hesitation, but you didn’t read into it, just merely shrugging in response.
“I don’t know, just haven’t”, you uttered quietly. The pair didn’t retort, so you continued. “What do you guys want?” You added, your tone teasing as you crunched down on another chip.
Choso blinked at you; his lips were no longer in a smile, but his expression was not serious either. “Yuji keeps asking if you’re alive.”
You paused mid-chew and raised your brows. “I am clearly alive.” You retorted.
Choso rolled his eyes, unimpressed by your response. “He means like….emotionally.” He replied, slouching against his pillows.
You exhaled through your nose and looked across you towards the TV to avoid his prying eyes; they were sharp even through the screen. “Tell him I have just been busy.” You mumbled, not even convinced by your own words.
“He said you’re not replying to him as much.” Choso added lightly, like he was treading on ice that was about to break.
“He misses you.” His last words almost came out as a whisper, like a plea.
You inhaled a deep breath and kept your eyes off the screen. “I’ve just been working.” It was the only response you could offer; any other would have been refuted.
Yuki placed her fork down, the sound of metal and glass clinking drawing your attention. “Okay, but what do you do when you’re not working?” She questioned, the previous humour that entangled their tunes was replaced with something your mind couldn’t properly decipher.
You blinked at the phone, your grip on the phone tightening without instruction. “Just sleep, I guess.”
“And….?” Yuki hummed knowingly.
You scrunched your brows, and your lips contorted into a small pout. “And lay down….horizontally,” you answered with assurance.
Choso’s lips twitched, “That almost sounds like depression.” His tone was one of someone clearly amused; however, you weren’t ignorant of seeing the truth behind his sentiment.
“It’s called efficiency.” You corrected, ironically, now lying down across the sofa. “Why stand when you can lay down?”
Yuki laughed softly, but her eyes didn’t leave you. Her fork gripped between her fingers again, but her hand hovered. “You haven’t come out with us in ages.” She commented; her statement sounded like an invitation to an external listener; however, you were aware she meant it as a way to unweave you from your debateful dismay.
You shrugged, “Work’s been insane…surgeries every day and shit.” Your lips turned into a half-smile.
Yuki rested her chin on her palm, but her eyes never left you. “You always say that.” She replied, her voice soft and gentle, like she was tending to an intangible wound. “We miss you as well.” She added.
Silence brewed between the three of you, concern the key note. Stillnesses like this created an itch in the back of your mind that was impossible to scratch; you couldn’t reside in a space where silence wasn’t filled, you didn’t dare acknowledge it.
You popped another chip in your mouth, earning some time to breathe. “I’ll come out soon.” You concluded, wanting to erase this talking point from their consciousness. “When I feel like a functioning member of society.” You let out an airy chuckle.
Choso chuckled in response and smiled. “That might take forever then.” Choso quipped.
You scoffed in return, rolling your eyes. Yuki had her eyes glued to the screen whilst she slowly ate her food, speaking up only once, swallowing her bite.
“How was today?” She asked, despite your attempted freedom from their interrogations, she was holding you captive, as her words hung in the air between the three of you like something fragile.
You looked away from the screen, your gaze focusing on the coffee table in front of you. You swallowed and inhaled a deep breath.
“It was fine.” You blurted, but neither of them responded. “It was just….a lot loads of stories….hard to register.” adding quickly, faster than you needed to.
Choso nodded, no amusement tainting his actions, just a simple. “Yeah,” and Yuki’s voice softened in understanding, but not wanting to push. “That makes sense.”
A few beats passed, the stillness growing yet again, but it seemed as if the gods were in your favour as Yuki’s energy burst in like a tsunami, her words cutting through any discomfort that had arisen.
“Well…I have a date next week.” She said lightly, your brows raised in response, and Choso’s eyes widened.
“With the gym guy?” Choso questioned, a quick laugh leaving his lips.
“Yes.” She answered, already rolling her eyes from the upcoming jests.
“The one with the pedo stache?” You blinked back at the screen as you joined his laughter.
Choso snorted and bit his lip in an effort to contain his insults and quips.
“He does not have a pedo stache.” Yuki defended, shaking her hands in the air in protest. “It’s just unique….” She trailed off.
You huffed out a laugh. “It's unique for a reason.” Taunting lightly, Choso snickered, covering his mouth with one hand.
Yuki narrowed her eyes playfully, “If it goes shit, you better come pick me up.” She smiled at you, soft and sweet.
“Oh yeah, you know I'm there.” A small smile had formed on your lips; it hadn’t grown from any pressure or force but from rare placidity.
“See, you are alive.” He tilted his head; the pearls of his teeth peeked out. You looked down at your lap as your smile slipped off as fast as it landed.
The hours amalgamated into days like time had bled through a loose bandage. You were now fulfilling your obligations within the hospital, leaning forward in your seat in the nurse’s station with your chin resting in your palm as you scrolled through and double-checked the patient notes you had typed.
Other residents dreaded tasks like this because they believed it was a waste of their supposed talents, yet you found comfort in the reflections, as it deepened your understanding of your own knowledge.
You noted your surroundings by habit, the trolleys being pushed by one of many nurses, and various patients dotted around the ward. Sounds that were never meant to mix together all blended into one anthem.
You mindlessly flickered your eyes around, only for them to be glued onto a particular spot. In a corridor opposite, a flash of white hair invaded your vision, too tall and towering to miss.
You cocked your head to the side and squinted, a line appearing on your forehead from the strain; however, before you could register it, the sight vanished.
You exhaled and returned your attention to your screen, your hands dry and coarse, skin cracking slowly as it enveloped the mouse to finish the note.
Just as you submitted the note, you felt a harsh buzzing on the desk; your pager had gone off unforgivably. You stood up swiftly and held the device between your fingers.
Large bold letters dominated the small screen: LEVEL 1 TRAUMA ALERT - MVA - UNSTABLE, a motor vehicle accident.
Your fingers tightened around the device for half a second before you blinked and looked up, unaware of the presence standing in front of you.
Nanami looked down, his chest rising and falling rapidly; it was clear he was in a rush. “Let's go.” He alerted you, already on his feet again.
You swallowed and blinked hard yet again, forcing your legs to move through the impalpable quicksand in your path. “Yeah, sorry I'm coming.” You blurted out before running down the corridor with him toward the trauma bay.
The sound of your shoes slapping against the floor filled the narrow space, but that was minute compared to the noise that would strike you once you arrived at the doors. The sharp voices of various practitioners and monitors pinging brought to your unjust reality.
The double doors knocked against one another as you both pushed through, a stretcher already residing in the room, as the mixture of sounds was starting to drown out the noise cultivating in your mind.
“Twenty seven year old male, driver, high-speed crash, hypotensive.” A paramedic stated, “Smelled like alcohol at the scene.” He added, the overlapping voices becoming a grating tune.
You felt your throat dry up as you inhaled a sharp breath. You looked towards Nanami, who nudged his head towards the right side of the bed. “You take vitals, I'll get an IV in.” He explained quietly, your work split up like a drill set in stone.
You moved immediately without thought, hands shifting on autopilot. You wrapped the blood pressure cuff around the patient's feeble arms and clipped the pulse oximeter to a finger streaked with dried crimson, the liquid no longer alive as it dried into maroon.
The man on the stretcher was one of many you had assisted, the faces and names clouding into one, but anytime you looked into their pained eyes, it was a solemn reminder of their injustice, that some would prosper and that some would wilt.
His dilated irises were focused on the ceiling above as the bright illumination overpowered him. His corneas were tinged pink and glassy, his hairline stained red, the colour spread down to his pale cheeks.
“Hey, can you tell me your name?” You asked, voice airy and thinner than you preferred. You were no longer looking at the man; your eyes were fixed on the rapidly changing numbers.
“I….Alex…..” He slurred, and you felt the stench of cheap vodka hit your nostrils from the moment he parted his lips.
You winced, nose scrunching up from the smell. Your hands trembled slightly, not enough for anyone to notice, but enough for you to feel.
Nanami turned toward you and Alex. “What’s his pressure?” His voice was more assertive, reflecting the tension of the situation.
You jerked your head towards the monitor. The numbers were now stagnant, waiting for you. “Uh… eighty-one over fifty… and heart rate one forty.” You stumbled over the numbers and mouthed the digits afterwards to confirm what was before you.
“A…ar..are th- they ok…okay.” You looked down to see the man attempting to converse, his mouth moving slowly. You gulped and didn’t respond, hearing another doctor say that you were to take him to the OR.
You looked back at the blonde-haired man who was helping a nurse hang one of many units of blood. His movements were practised and efficient. “You good?” He asked as he turned his head toward you for a second.
Your fingers went to grip the side railing. Latex coated your hands, but that didn't stop your nail beds from sinking into your palms. “I’m fine.”
A nurse directed you to assist with another task; she shoved gauze into your hands and told you to apply pressure to a wound. You pressed your hands onto the damaged skin to cease the bleeding, leading to disgruntled grumbles leaving the man’s lips in reaction.
You kept your head low as you held the gauze down; the room around you overflowed with noise, rushed voices from the emergency, and some not as unnerved.
“He was over the limit.” One of the paramedics quietly spoke to another nurse. Your ears perked up at their voices. “A single car collision into a barrier.”
You felt yourself still as your eyes traced your gloved fingers, the digits marginally twitching from his words.
The man’s chest rose and fell with distortion, groans and grumbles leaving his lips. “I- I..I’m s- s...sorry.” You heard him whisper, it was barely fathomable from the cracks of his voice, but you noticed a streak of liquid drip from the corner of his eye, not the opaque red that tainted his figure, but a clear liquid.
Tears gathered around the corner of his eyes, freely spilling against his cheeks. He shut his lids tightly and pressed his lips into a hard smile, his jaw set like he was holding an eruption in his very soul.
Despite the clear calamity his body was enduring, he lay on the stretcher stiff and cold, like rigor trying to set in. You weren’t sure whether it was the cuts searing in his organs or the acknowledgement of his own remorse.
“I..i- didn’t me..mean to.” He muttered, his glazed eyes flicking toward you for the first time. “I..i don’t w…wanna di-.” He trailed off, his voice a lot more airy than before.
You swallowed and cleared your throat. “We think you’re bleeding inside.” You said, forcing your voice to stay steady. “We’re going to take you to surgery to help fix it.”
His eyelids fluttered. “Will I…” He didn’t conclude his question, but you could predict his words. You responded quickly, as time was as fragile as glass in spaces like this.
“We’re going as fast as we can.” You stated, not a promise, promises were forbidden when one’s vitality could disintegrate. “Just keep breathing for me, okay?”
His head twitched; you assumed it was an answer to your request as his chest rose and fell, but it slowed with each breath.
Nanami showed up beside you, wrapping his gloved hand around the stretcher rail. His hazel eyes peered at you, almost as if there was a question itching at the top of his tongue. “We’re ready.” He confirmed.
You and Nanami stood in your respective positions and pulled the stretcher towards the operating theatre. Your focus was on the trail in front of you, but you could feel him burn holes at the side of your head. You didn’t pay it any attention, wanting to concentrate on the task at hand.
The bitter air prickled your skin through your scrubs; the mask that sat delicately on your face was enough to conceal your expression.
It was not one of chord; it juxtaposed the relaxed demeanours of the other medical practitioners who stood within the chamber of execution or retribution.
You used to find it so alarming that those who held the delicate parts of humanity between their fingers seemed to lack the sentimental nature of your mentors. However, as your experience developed, it became increasingly evident to you that some sort of disconnect was the only path to survival.
The artificial glare above you spat out a brightness that could impair your vision as you stood in the theatre, whilst the monitors beeped steadily. The patient known as Alex was unconscious in the middle of the room, a green drape framed his abdomen like a blank canvas waiting for its first paintstroke.
Mei waltzed in, mask and gown covering her. Her eyes were not as harsh as what you were used to, and for some reason, it brought you a strange sense of fear. Did the fleeting pressure ground you in unknown ways?
Her voice was calm and regular. “Mr Alex Wilson, emergency laparotomy.” She confirmed as she scanned the room.
The room answered with haste, everyone agreeing with no dissent. The glare from the scalpel indicated the start of the procedure. The metal sank into his pale skin with undivided focus. The incision was enough to allow dark fluid to pool at the surface.
“Suction.” Mei asserted, not looking at anyone in particular.
Nanami handed you the suction unit, and your hand closed around the device. You leaned in steadily. The mix of antiseptic and metallic encompassed your nose; it was familiar yet distinct. You made sure to focus on the rhythm that was taught to you: suck, empty, then repeat.
Your wandering eyes caught onto dull ink peeking from under the drape on his bicep, a four-leaf clover. A testament to luck and fortune, you bit your bottom lip to prevent a scoff from leaving your lips.
Not everyone had such protections; the small tattoo became a shield against his mishap, yet it was ironic that the man who wore that sentiment had brought misery to others.
Your focus weakened for half a second, leading your suction to slip once. A sparse splash of red struck across the drape. You blinked and moved your hand immediately.
The small blunder wasn’t spotted by anyone in the room but Nanami, who had been flickering his attention to you from the start of the procedure.
“You got it, the left side.” He murmured under his breath. His words had reassured you, prompting you to nod once in acknowledgement.
Mei was always someone who desired speed and acceleration; she worked under the rapid ticking of a clock's hands as a catalyst, not a strain that ruptured her amygdala.
She studied the abdomen to detect any irregularities, and from her murmurs to herself, you understood that the spleen was mangled and active bleeding was inherent at that moment.
She continued, clamping the vessels and then tying them off. You assisted when she asked; your arms were burning from holding it steady, but you didn’t falter. She looked for any other issues in the remaining organs; none were found.
She lifted her head, placing the tools away and surveyed you and Nanami, her beady eyes flickering between the two of you. “Both of you, close him up.” She asserted.
You felt your eyes widen, a newfound light growing in them from her request, such small feats due to not being able to assist more than what you were used to.
You stood between your formidable mentor and your fatigued friend, and Mei guided you through the routine she was accustomed to. You dug the needle in the raw skin, and Nanami stapled, narrowing the gap as you moved through the flesh.
Once completed, you stepped back to see the canvas before you, not the masterpiece that was promised, but it was one that would evolve without your mediation. The patient's chest moved like a low tide, the movements even and safe.
The metal tap released its waterfall, and the rushing refined liquid was the only sound to fill the scrub room. Your own hushed breaths mixed in with the water slamming the metal sink.
Your hands were now free from their constricts, raw skin drowning in the unenthusiastic water. Your head dropped as you studied the crevices of your palms, the lines chiselled into the skin. When you brushed your fingers against the heel of your palm, it felt more like sandpaper than a softness that was formalised.
Perhaps it was the recurrent solvents that graced your hands that coarsened the surface of your skin, how that it wasn’t sterilised like a newborn but tainted from the iniquitous lands you wandered.
The blond-haired man stood on the other end of you at the same station, a large gap standing between.
His fingers interlocked into one another to spread the disinfectant. He was one to prevent time from racing by; he always made sure his tasks were completed with urgency, never with leniency.
He would complete his duty with regulation, never wanting to overstay when unnecessary, but you noted at that moment that his company had passed its scheduled time, and he had left the tap running far later than usual.
“Are you okay?” He finally spoke up, looking up from his own hands as he turned his head to face you.
His question lingered in the sterile air for a few beats. You swallowed like an itch was protruding in your throat, but it hadn’t dispersed, leading you to clear your throat louder than you intended.
“I’m fine.” Your voice hollow, like it had been sucked out.
“You turned pale when the paramedic mentioned the alcohol.” He added, finally turning his tap off, the water ceasing. He moved to face you, making his quiet yet prominent presence known.
You paused, wanting to scrabble your mind for an answer; it seemed as though it had become your first point of call when being asked unsolicited questions, your truth not propagated.
“I was just shocked someone could drink that much.” You said, wanting to shed humour onto his questioning.
You looked upon the man, no expression tainting your visage, but you registered his cloaked, unsettled features.
It wasn’t obvious to those who wouldn’t know him, but you could decipher it from the crinkling of his forehead and the slight tightness in his jaw.
“I don’t think it’s that.” Nanami contended, his eyes narrowing at you like he was searching for his own resolution.
He was fighting a war with no weaponry; you didn’t waver, instead letting an airy laugh slip past your lips. It wasn’t planned, but it was the only response to his relentlessness.
“I’m just tired, don’t worry.” You stated candidly, not wanting to entertain his words, brushing them off like dust on a shelf.
You returned your attention to your hands, pressing your fingers against the dispenser to allow more solvent to fill your palms, then started scrubbing the pads of your fingers again.
A relinquished sigh left him before his footsteps filled the silence, probably wanting to depart from the room.
From the corner of your eye, you could see that his body was towards the door, but he wasn't holding the handle just yet, pausing for a moment whilst the water saturated your hands.
“You’ve washed your hands more than enough.” He spoke curtly through the tenseness of his jaw.
It was almost as if he had surrendered the one-sided war; his hand moved in the intention of pushing through, yet they didn’t, his hand hovered, palm facing the door in hesitation.
A short silence brewed in the dense air, but it didn’t last more than a beat before he pushed past the double doors.
The slamming of the doors together was his methodology for waving a white flag; no questions thrown at you.
Leaving you in solitary, with the never ending cascade of running water and your hands relentlessly scrubbing against one another like an inimical battle.
WE MUST LIVE THROUGH DELIRIUM TO REACH EXTRICATION.
A/N:
i hope you guys enjoyed the chapter.. chapter 5 and they still haven't spoken properly, give it time the slow burn will be worth it i promise.
I am also going to add songs for each chapter that i think fits it in the title, if you guys dont like this please let me kow
Please like and comment I would love to hear your thoughts!
Please comment if you would like to be added to the taglist
SYNOPSIS You agree to go to group counselling because you can't fix grief the same way you fix everything else. Every week, the same people sit in a circle talking about the things they lost, the things they regret, the things they can't change. You say you're fine, Satoru says he's busy. Neither of you believe each other. Each session ends the same way, with both of you heading to the door at the same time, pretending it doesn't mean anything.
Sirens by Sonder - 'If i closed the door and shut my mouth, I wouldn't be here right now'
PAIRING Lawyer Gojo x Surgeon Fem reader
CONTENT mdni, mentions of death, grief, depression, anxiety, grief group counselling, forced proximity, modern au, surgeon reader and lawyer gojo, reader is lowkey awkward asf, mentions of car accident, therapy, mentions of death, superstore reference lol, use of poetry, use of greek mythology.
WORD COUNT 3.6k
CHAPTER INDEX <<CHAPTER THREE >>CHAPTER FIVE
WHAT ARE WE WITHOUT TRIBULATION
Zeus conducted the veil of oxidised haze across the dull horizon to unleash their howls, pellets of liquid torture poured from above. He seemed to have held the measly humans in contempt as the sky darkened a shade too dark for the time of day.
You sat, perched on the edge of the metal frigid bench, your knees drawn together and shoulders hunched up towards your ears, your fingers curling into your palms inside the sleeves of your rain jacket.
You watched the droplets bounce against the pavement as cars rushed past, an occasional spray of water from the puddles hit the edge of the bus stop. The roof was slowly caving in; immediate reconstruction was due.
You inhaled a deep breath, wanting to free yourself from the imminent dread that was crawling up your spine.
It was enough that you subsisted through a shift filled with emergency surgeries and monotonous paperwork. However the worst was yet to come.
A large bus dragged itself onto the road, stopping right in front of you, doors hissing open. You stepped into the vehicle, which was filled with rowdy students and commuters fulfillingtheir routines.
You found an empty seat, your shoes squelching on the cheap flooring, and you slumped into the damp fabric once sat. The trapped air fogged the windows, suffocation leering its intangible arms around you.
A jolt of vibration spread through your fingers, your phone resting between them, a notification from Yuki, just a simple message of:
Good luck <3.
The corners of your mouth slightly raised from the text, her support always from quiet care.
Your headphones dampened the commotion around you but didn’t ease the scratching in your mind, its claws sharp and predatory.
You cast your gaze upon the window beside you, a mix of condensation and streaks of rainwater, which raced down the glass.
The city blurred into colours and noise as the bus moved, crawling with no indication of speeding up.
A flash of blue and red blasted through the space, the crawling transforming into stillness.
You moved your gaze to the front-view mirror, the flashing blue and red more commanding.
You carefully removed your headphones, now hearing the hushed voices of the passengers, something about a crash, how it just happened, the poor people involved.
Your eyes darted across the area, and your body moved without permission.
Walking to the front of the bus, hands trembling in a dissonant rhythm, the red and the blue reflected its shades on your features as you asked the driver to open the doors.
He merely scoffed, and the doors pried themselves open, the cold rushing in.
No one else stood as you exited the moving sauna; the juxtaposition of the hot, sweaty bodies in the crammed bus and the chill dampness of reality could cause thermal shock.
The demanding pellets slammed themselves against you, your jacket soaking all its tremors as you rushed across the pavement, shoes soaking slowly.
The flashes alarmed you again, quickly glancing to see two cars smashed into one another, you gulped and looked ahead, not submerging yourself into the scene.
Red brick towered over you like its spine was curved, intently observing you, as your fingers traced the damp doorknob, the coolness from the metal shocking your skin.
You inhaled yet again, as you twisted the metal, an immediate warmth clashing against you.
The door shut softly behind you, the room not too big or small, just filled with a small plastic table, littered with pastries and an array of tissues, biscuits, dispensers of tea, coffee and water.
There was a loose circle of fabric-padded wooden chairs, the setup almost clinical yet soft, the spaces between not close enough to touch but not far enough where sound was blocked.
The walls were scattered with arbitrary paintings, a clear attempt to create a soothing atmosphere.
You were one of a few participants dotted across the room, some on their phones before the session began, one fidgeting with their fingers.
Your chest was reverberating from the rushed journey, slightly breathless and your demeanour more dishevelled than you liked, skin raw from any cosmetics, the darkness around your eyes evident. You blinked at the chairs, their figures empty of guests.
An unknown man's back faced you. He placed a box of tissues onto a small table in the centre of the circle. Once he straightened up, he turned to face you with a small, collegial smile.
“Hi, welcome, I hope the journey wasn’t too difficult.” He spoke, voice sweet as the smile he carried.
You huffed out an airy laugh, clearing your throat before speaking. “The weather is horrific but it was fine.” You replied, exchanging small talk to fill the uneasiness that filled the space.
He smiled again before nudging his body towards the circle of seats. “You can take a seat if you want, the session should begin soon.” He stated.
The other partakers moved their attention to him once he spoke, slowly congregating to their seats, the spaces being filled.
You nodded and stepped towards an empty seat facing the doorway, shrugging off the raincoat, left only in a leisurely outfit.
You lightly bit the inside of your cheek and flickered your eyes across the other people, their behaviour fidgety and nervous.
After a few moments, the man walked towards his seat, sitting directly next to you. The chairs were all filled except one; the one right opposite you was barren.
A silence stretched like the pulling of an elastic, the man's lips prying open before the door slammed open, the cool air filtering through.
A tall figure entered the door, the sound of small breaths filling the silence as you looked up to see a man trodding against the wooden flooring.
He rushed his soaked woolen jacket from his shoulders, plopping into the padded chair, his hair an intriguing shade, you weren’t sure if it was white or grey, but liquid crystals dripped from the tips.
His cheeks were speckled with light pink from the cold. Soft ‘sorry’s’ hurried through his lips, the facilitator not paying it any mind as he smiled.
The facilitator cast his gaze upon the circle around him before speaking, “Hi all, welcome to the first session, my name is Noah, I will be facilitating these sessions.” He paused with a smile before continuing.
“These sessions are for support, not a class and are centred around grief, not curing it, but for listening and sharing if you can.” His hands were loosely folded together, and his eyes never lingered on a single individual.
“I just wanted to say thank you for coming. I know how hard this must be for all of you.” He commented, wanting to ease the participants' nerves, and you felt yourself unconsciously fiddling with your hoodie sleeve, an action without thought.
You looked around to see the uncomfortable postures, the fidgeting, and the gazes on the floor beneath.
“I just wanted to lay out some things before we start. This space is open for everyone, but everything said stays here. We will all respect each other and not judge. Everyone gets a space to speak, but it's okay if you would like to pass and just listen. You are allowed to say as much or as little as possible.”
He hesitated briefly before adding. “And please make sure your phones are on silent so we don't interrupt each other.” Noah set out, explaining the ground rules. He was extremely careful with his words, his tone welcoming.
“As it is the first session today, let's start with introductions, your name and who you’ve lost, but only share what feels okay today, don’t feel pressured to share more than you’re ready for.” He offered a gentle smile as his gaze swept the room.
His attention moved to face you, lips still in a welcoming smile. Your eyes flicked towards the others in the circle in haste.
You weren’t warned that your chosen spot would put you in the hot seat. You felt your palms grow slightly sweaty as you nervously gulped.
You stood up faster than your thoughts could catch up, your back straight, and your eyes widened.
“Uhhh…” You stammered, looking around, as everyone’s focus was on you. You cleared your throat. You quickly introduced yourself, fiddling with your hands as you looked towards Noah, his lips upturned and hands placed in his lap.
“Am I supposed to stand…?” You questioned, voice slightly strangled.
“You can do whatever feels most comfortable.” He replied evenly.
Your brows slightly furrowed as you looked back at the circle. “I guess I'll roll with standing…I hope the rest of you stand so I don't look like such a weirdo.” You nervously laughed, then awkwardly smiled.
An uncomfortable silence brewed for a few seconds until a soft snort broke the stillness.
You flinched at the sound and faced the owner, the focus shifting from you to the man with the distinctive hair, his eyes wide with shock, his mouth covered by both hands.
“My bad.” He spoke up, glancing between you and Noah. “That was..yeah…very inappropriate.” He added, looking back at you apologetically.
You remained standing, your body frozen from embarrassment and unease. Noah blinked at you and the perpetrator.
“It’s okay, humour can help ease the tension in these sessions, we just can’t make anyone feel uncomfortable.” He commented softly.
The man rubbed the back of his neck, equally embarrassed as you now as he whispered more ‘sorry’s.’ Noah looked back at you and nudged his head for you to continue.
You wished the ground would swallow you whole as you quickly rambled through the other part of your introduction. “And uh, my mom died recently.” You babbled, plopping into your seat the second your body melted.
Your heart had doubled its initial course after the interaction. You looked upon the man who had worsened it, his gaze already settled on you, his brows drawn together as he bit the inside of his cheek, stifling something that threatened to surface.
He looked away before you could fully register it. Your own lips pressed together instinctively, holding in a laugh of your own.
The woman who sat beside you spoke up, her voice coarse and stilted, looking down at her feet. “My name is Mariah, and I lost my son.” She mumbled.
The rest of the circle moved with their own versions of introductions, the man after who had lost his wife, over-explaining as he rambled, the woman after who merely said ‘I’m not ready’.
Someone who cried and apologised for doing so, an array of emotions and people, each in their own circumstance and own level of grief.
It eventually reached the unique-haired man, his strands dried, the shade a milky white.
His figure was too broad for the small chair, as he flickered his eyes across the room. “My name is Satoru, and I lost my best friend.” He spoke, voice gravely yet sharp.
The circle had completed their introductions, the first step feeling like you had walked four steps instead of one, the simple beginnings hadn’t even scratched the surface, as Noah cleared his throat and addressed the room.
“Thank you all for that, it must be incredibly difficult for you all to share.” He soothed, pausing for a moment to let a quiet moment settle.
“If you’re comfortable, I would like to ask you all what brought you here today?” Noah added, “We’ll go round the circle, remember you can always say ‘pass’ if you would just like to listen today.” He smiled, turning his head to face the woman beside him, on the other side of you. Fortunately, you weren’t first to speak this time.
The woman had her hands balled into small fists on her lap, her head dropped down to face them.
She was an older woman, older than your mom would be, her hair a mix of silver, black and white coils framing her face. You could see her chest sinking in and out, deep breaths manufactured into creating a false sense of peace.
When she looked up, her eyes were slightly unfocused as if she was in a daydream in real time.
“M…my sister was always the strong one.” She said after a moment, her voice hoarse as if she hadn’t used it in a while.
“She was the one who everyone went to when things went wrong.” She mumbled, her shoulders rising with each breath.
“She always fought, she always stood up when things were rocky, always by my side.” Her lips pulled into a tight smile, humour not lying between them.
“She kept on saying she was fine, that she was just tired or stressed, or that work was busy.” Her fingers were now wrapped around her knees, tightening them the longer she spoke.
“I told myself that if she wasn’t okay, she would tell me, that if she was in pain, she would come to me, so I… I didn’t push.” She spoke, her words were tinged with ache, her own voice coarse.
“I came here…because I didn’t see her pain as much as I thought I did, I didn’t see how bad it was until it was too late.” She whispered loud enough for the rest of the circle to hear.
“I kept on thinking if I pushed more ... .if I just asked one more time, if I went to see her more instead of texting ... .maybe she would still be here.” She muttered, a single tear slowly cascaded down her cheek, swallowing like she was trying to eradicate the truth altogether.
Noah nodded, pausing to let her words sink in. “It sounds like you’ve been carrying a lot Angela, a lot of guilt and what if’s.” His voice gentle. “Thank you for trusting us with that.”
Angela turned her gaze to him, looking at him for a few moments, his small comment seeming to affirm something burning within her.
A silence settled into the space, her words carrying a weight which felt distant yet familiar despite her story not being yours; her reflections were burnt into your own chapters.
The man beside Angela passed, the circle moving as another participant admitted how they felt like they didn’t want to feel alone, the voices wove together like fabric being created by each participant. It eventually reached the man sitting opposite you.
Satoru was slumped in his seat, his long legs slightly stretched out. Once he learnt it was his turn, he straightened up and looked towards Noah, his posture leaning over.
“My friend said it would be good for me to come here… just to listen,” he stated curtly. He didn’t elaborate; the reason stayed cloaked, mirroring your own.
Noah smiled at him, "I'm glad you decided to join.” He said softly. Satoru nodded once, his head dropping, his gaze focused on his hands.
Separate stories drifted, each one lingering in your chest. The baton was handed to Mariah, the woman who sat beside you.
You felt her shift in her seat, her hands trembling lightly. She fidgeted with the edge of her sweater as she swallowed.
“I came he…here because I can’t process how it happened….it was just a normal morning.” Her voice was shaky as she recounted the events.
“He was getting late for school…so I shouted at him and told him to hur..hurry up.” You eyed her, seeing her glazed eyes, liquid damnation slowly spilling from them, her trembling fingers contracting into fists.
You reached over to grab a few tissues, silently handing them over to her. She mouthed ‘thank you’ and wiped her eyes. “I..I was waiting for his message that he got there safely….bu..but it never came.” Her previous shaky voice turned into a soft wail.
“I…I waited…maybe he just forgot…but it was way past the time he was supposed to be home…I called him hundreds of times….but he never picked up,” She cried.
“I- I’m sorry..” She blurted, apologising for her tears, for her sobs.
Noah’s brows knitted together, empathising with the grieving mother. “You don’t need to apologise for crying, this is the place where you're allowed to express how you feel.” He explained softly.
She nodded in acceptance before continuing. “I called the police….they told me a lorry hit him when he was on the way to school…my emergency contact was wrong……I wish I never shouted, I wish I told him to stay home…” She trailed off, the tissues damp from her agony.
There would never be enough trees in the world to contain her sorrow, the whites of her eyes tinting red as her body quivered.
You felt yourself still from her words, fingers digging into your palms as you watched her. You flicked your attention back to the room, maybe it would drown the noise scraping inside your skull, maybe it would swallow her words so that they never left her lips. Your mouth was completely dry as you assimilated her story.
It was wrenching how the gods never dismantled the chain burned into your ankle, how they continued to add more links, how the woman sitting beside you was a cruel reflection of your own chapters that were written with invisible ink, her words searing into you as you let your eyes trace the individuals before you.
They caught sight of the white-haired man, his jaw tight, brows furrowed, his eyes focused on nothing, as if he were in his own illusion.
You looked down at your hands, seeing the crescent-shaped indents in your palms, your chest rose and sank, regulation the first step in order to formulate tranquilisation.
It was an obscure sensation of how silence was permitted after each story between the four walls, a shared understanding of not needing to console but to sit.
In the world beyond, sympathy would be shown through rehearsed condolences more than true convention.
Mariah’s quiet sobs filled the circle, and a pile of tissues were starting to stack in her lap gradually. “That sounds very painful,” Noah spoke, compassion surrounding him.
“You’ve been carrying so much guilt and shock from the loss.”
He tilted his head slightly whilst looking at her. “A lot of parents wish they did something differently, but you loving him and wanting the best for him doesn’t mean you caused what happened.” He explained, trying to change the narrative she had produced in her mind.
Mariah just nodded and wiped her eyes, skin raw from the salty liquid.
He moved his attention onto you, lips slightly upturned in order to ease you. You were the last to hold the baton, reluctantly accepting it as you tried to draft something you could express, yet the words couldn’t be found.
“Um, I…decided to come here because people could see that something was going on with me.” You mumbled, a ramble starting that you hoped would end as fast as you spoke.
“I guess pretending didn’t work anymore.” You let out a nervous airy laugh, a habit that lingered with you from a time that was hazier.
Noah’s fingers were interlocked in his lap, looking at you gently. “Thank you for sharing that.” He acknowledged, “It takes a lot of courage to stop pretending, even if others can see you’re struggling.”
He added, and the corner of your lips rose slightly at his words, an unspoken appreciation for his understanding.
Even though his responses were clinically tainted, it was more than a surgeon could provide.
“We are nearing the end of the session, so before we leave, let’s go round once more and share one word or phrase to show how you feel leaving tonight, if you’d like to share.”
Noah glanced at the individuals before him, their postures still uneasy, yet he detected a noticeable shift, slight comfort growing, a seed planted.
Answers of all forms poured from the mouths of the desolate souls. Angela stated she felt less alone. Some said they felt overwhelmed, drained, and a bit calmer.
Satoru shifted in his seat when his answer was expected, voice even and clear. “Tired but still here.”
When it reached Mariah, she clarified that she felt vulnerable but safe. Your answer was directly after you fiddled with your fingers, just a simple, ‘exhausted’, nothing more and nothing less, your muscles stripped of their role as your limbs slump against you.
Once the closing statements of the session had been completed, Noah clapped his palms together once and smiled at everyone before speaking.
“Thank you all for showing up tonight, next session will be same time next week, please take care of yourselves.” He announced.
The room slowly dispersed, the sounds of chairs scraping across the floor and light mumbles filled the space.
Your jacket had dried by now, and you slipped it on, not in a rush to depart as you expected, each movement slow, your body and mind drained from the session. You didn’t seem to be the only one in that state.
Across the room, Satoru stood, his jacket back on and back facing you, slowly walking towards the door. He was the last to arrive and first to depart.
You followed moments later, he reached the door first, his fingers gripping the knob and prying it open as you approached. The cold air poured through, biting your open skin as he held the door for you.
You looked up at the taller man to find him blinking down at you, his expression unreadable.
You offered a small smile and stepped outside. A light drizzle of rain fell from the ashy clouds, the sky darker as you walked towards the bus stop.
Maybe it was the idea that within those four walls, mending wasn’t expected. Just being present was substantial.
That notion could turn one meeting into another, a feeling that felt foreign, and as you walked away, you didn’t dread the idea of returning.
MODIFICATION IS A FALSE IDEOLOGY
A/N:
Please like and comment I would love to hear your thoughts!
Love the minimal conversation they had...hehehe
I am not sure if any of you have watched the show superstore but I thought of the reader standing up and being awkward being like Amy in management training scene! if you haven't watched the show its such a good sitcom
Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist
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SYNOPSIS You agree to go to group counselling because you can't fix grief the same way you fix everything else. Every week, the same people sit in a circle talking about the things they lost, the things they regret, the things they can't change. You say you're fine, Satoru says he's busy. Neither of you believe each other. Each session ends the same way, with both of you heading to the door at the same time, pretending it doesn't mean anything.
Sirens by Sonder - 'If i closed the door and shut my mouth, I wouldn't be here right now'
PAIRING Lawyer Gojo x Surgeon Fem reader
CONTENT mdni, mentions of death, medical content, mentions of blood, reader doing a surgery, Mei Mei as attending ew, Nanami resident surgeon MEOW, alcohol, Naoya being annoying, misogynistic comments, mysoginy, Intern Maki and Yuta, Yuta being a cutie, Shoko a baddie friend, breakdowns, Satoru being silly, Yuki and Choso real dawgs, legal content, Gojo is a sexy lawyer with glasses RAWR
WORD COUNT 10.8k
CHAPTER INDEX <<CHAPTER TWO >>CHAPTER FOUR
DO THE WICKED EVER REST
Was the light luminous enough to satisfy the deity's? The gods who claimed that power was a malediction that incinerated benevolent beings like them. They had seemed to have overpassed their troth as their dainty fingers held the oxidised silver chains of the penitential spirits. The cuff affixed on their wrists impermeably as the nail seared the ivory scaffolding within them, the structure collapsing from erosion. They governed the chains like puppeteers with malice, the spirits imprisoned with no cognizance.
Crimson splatters decorated your latex gloves, the dried residue clinging to your fingers. Your hands hovered in the air as if a prayer was bestowed on you.
It was almost implausible that a liquid more valuable than gold could spill so freely within your fingers.
Your gaze lingered on the latex more than required as you felt a rush of percipience wash over your body, the comprehension that despite blood being a testimony to life and survival
It still stiffened you when you saw the remnants on yourself, as it could flow in rivers without dams if an error occurs or if you blink at the incorrect moment.
"Focus." Mei said sharply, her voice was enough to release the trance's hold off you, you looked in front of you to see Mei's cutting glare, the mask covering the rest of her face.
You flinched, light enough that she wasn't aware, however strong enough that you endured it.
She marched towards the exit, each step slow but calculated as if her thoughts were unfolding in her mind.
"You weren't fully present today." She halted before the door and turned her head over her shoulder slightly to face you, your feet still grounded to the floor.
"I was." you said quickly "I'm just...tired." your arms fell at your sides, defeated.
"Surgeons don't get tired, they get replaced." her voice jagged enough to bruise the skin yet not sharp enough to cut.
Your mouth opened and closed, the words not growing on your tongue except the mechanical phrase
"I'm sorry." Your voice lowered. She had left right after, her lack of response filling the operating theatre with a strain that only eased when praise was offered.
You stood for a moment after she left, feeling the dull ache within your ribs flare a scorching heat, but no amount of torment could cease your imperatives, your fear always superseded anything else.
You stood in the changing room, the tainted scrubs peeled off like you were handling substantial evidence, replaced with a ward set.
You flooded your hands with water and soap, scrubbing them until the skin thinned.
The ward was humming its regular rhythm, the monitors beeping, the carts rolling, and the low voices of the treated and those who treat.
You greeted your first patient; they were stable, smiling, and appreciative.
The next few blurred; however, you stepped into the room of one of the ones later in the day, exhaustion now sitting within your limbs. Yo
u looked up from your clipboard to see an older man, his expression one of anger, his son stood beside him with a light stare.
"Good afternoon im doct-" You tried to introduce yourself; however, your words were overpowered by the man's bellow.
His finger was pointing at you with a level of tenacity you wouldn't expect from a man who had cholecystitis.
"A woman???!!" He yelled, looking at his son then looking back at you, his fists now tight.
"Sir." You tried to intervene, you were aware of the people who still held disgusting beliefs and a skewed perception of the world, Yet you had not experienced these comments spewed at you within your profession.
"I will not have a woman operating on me!" He yelled again, his paper thin skin contorting into a bright red, you looked at the son who still glared, the values must have been passed on.
You sighed, feeling unable to rectify the situation "Sir this is very inapropr" you tried to speak again, yet the man interrupted you, his inability to let someone finish a sentence was baffling.
"I want a male doctor, someone who knows what he's doing." He glared again, and you forced yourself to be professional and sighed.
"Sir I am going to get someone else involved this behaviour is completely unacceptable." You glared back at him, your tone sharp and harsh, and you departed the room, still feeling their gaze burning the back of your head.
Once you left the room, your body immediately leaned back on the wall beside the door.
Their voices followed, sharp and unashamed, misogyny spewed like describing the weather, casual and unrestrained.
You inhaled slowly, forcing air into your lungs until the tightness in your joints eased. You straightened your back, smoothed your scrubs and walked toward the other practitioners to deal with the patient.
It wasn't until you spilled into an empty break room chair the exhaustion settled into your bones, your limbs collapsing and falling in different directions.
You stretched your body as you leaned the back of your head against the chair to stare at the ceiling, your legs fully stretched.
The room held no sound except for the light scrapes of chairs and beeping of the microwaves; conversation was undesirable between the four walls as all light had been dissolved within the ward.
You felt your eyelids slowly droop, the whiteness of the ceiling blurring into black, for a second, the lids connected a loud creak of a chair, stunning you awake, your body straightening up in response.
With wide eyes, you looked in front to see a familiar blonde man, his fingers holding a sandwich as he gazed upon you, his blinks slow.
"Good Afternoon." He murmured after swallowing a bite of his food.
You exhaled a strangled breath, dragging your hands against your face and rubbing your eyes to trigger them into waking up.
"Hi Kento.." You grumbled, looking back at him.
He turned his head slightly and squinted, probably trying to take in your appearance, the red rims that circled your eyes, drooped smile.
"You gonna have lunch?" He questioned, eating his sandwich again. You slowly nodded and stood up like a snail stuck in the rain.
You walked towards the fridge and grabbed the sandwich you had prepared the night before, and sat back down.
His gaze still stayed on you throughout all your actions whilst he ate, every movement you did was completely weak, as you forcefully shoved the sandwich in your mouth then you saw him look down.
"How was your day today?" You asked, wanting to feel some normality.
He ate the last piece of his sandwich then softly cleaned his mouth with a napkin and looked at you. "It has been good but hectic." He said, voice always somewhat stoic.
You hummed at his answer, putting half the sandwich down on the tinfoil. "Do you have any fun plans or anything?" You questioned, wanting to elongate the conversation to reduce the slumber peaking behind you.
"Not particularly, I will probably just sleep as much as I can." He replied, his arms and hands resting on the table. "What about you?" he added.
"I am going to a friend's birthday party tonight." You explained, yawning directly after.
Nanami raised a brow at you. "Maybe miss it and take a few days off work to sleep, you look exhausted." He said, still looking at your appearance.
"I have to go, it's important, and I can't miss work." You replied stretching your arms above your head.
"Rest comes first, before anything." He replied, standing up slowly to throw his rubbish away.
"I get that but I can't afford to miss work, Mei is already pissed as it is." You put your head between your hands for a few moments before looking back at him.
Nanami had his back turned against you, making a cup of coffee; you couldn't see his expression, but you could picture a light furrowing in his brow in annoyance.
"If you don't rest you will be useless." He spoke, turning his back to face you, mixing the dark liquid with a spoon.
"And for god sake don't drink too much at least." He added, sending you a stern look.
His comment earned a chuckle from you, light and airy. "No promises." You grinned slightly.
He shook his head lightly and sighed. "No one can save you." he replied before drinking his coffee in silence.
You realised the time and chucked your half eaten sandwich away, waved goodbye to Nanami and ran to your never ending responsibilities.
The blue paint decorating the skies had been replaced with a darker azure, the night's hunger seeping into the city, as the speckles of gold scattered across the canvas, simplicity not favoured in a time like this.
You sank into the passenger seat with a light exhale, the door shutting without urgency.
The car reeked of vanilla and something metallic, Yuki's overpowering perfume and a scent of a day that hadn't been washed away.
The engine hummed to life, Streetlight smeared past the windshield like a paintbrush smudging its final remnants across the page, the yellows, reds and blues all blending.
One of her hands sat loose on the wheel and the other tapped idly against the console in time with the music that was singing its tune so lightly a song couldn't be registered.
"You okay?" She asked, her eyes fixated on the road in front. You looked down at your arm that was resting by your thighs, a silver glint of a watch capturing your vision.
You nodded automatically "Yeah." Your eyes still on your wrist.
She didn't respond immediately, instead turning down the music even more, the silence setting, not uncomfortable but thick like it was enough to replace speech.
You stared out the window, observing your own reflection flicker between the darkness and glass.
Your makeup was done carefully, foundation and concealer smoothing the exhaustion, and the rest mimicking a forged life, yet you still looked off, as though something vital had been left behind.
Yuki glanced at you while stationed at a red light, the colour reflected on your figure, her gaze long enough to notice the way your shoulders sagged even when you were sitting still.
"We don't need to stay long." She said casually. "We can make an appearance and slip out early." She added, looking back at the road.
You turned your head to face her, smiling, something small and rehearsed. "Don't worry, I'll wake up once I'm there." You replied.
The car moved as the light turned green. Yuki didn't argue; she just increased the volume of the music, humming along under her breath, her fingers drumming on the wheel.
You pressed your head against the cool window, hoping it would ease the tension residing in your mind.
The city ripened the closer you got, its voice holding more conviction as laughter spilled from the bars, music playing from various buildings, neon signs blinking like they were forcing you awake.
You squinted to see a building come into view, a huge apartment tower dominating the rest of its neighbours.
Yuki parked the car close to your destination, and you clutched the gift bag between your fingers.
As you exited the car you felt the chill from a breeze prickle your open skin, your figure was garnished with a burgundy halter neck top and wide legged black trousers.
Yuki is beside you in a lacy red top and dark-washed jeans. You walked in synchrony towards the building and squinted to see a familiar coal-haired man come into view, waving from the sidewalk.
"You both look gorgeous." He grinned, glancing at the two of you. You smiled back and cast your eyes at his appearance.
His top half draped in an oversized red t-shirt, his legs covered with light-washed, baggy denim, and his locks left out as the tips of his hair touched the lower part of his neck, with a bag in his hand.
"Don't even I'm praying this is enough to get some tonight." Yuki teased, causing a chuckle to spill from Choso and you.
"Oh yeah there's gonna be a line of guys begging to touch you." Choso snickered. She rolled her eyes and shoved his arm lightly.
"Fuck off, it's been a long week, did you bring a bottle?" She asked and Choso pulled a bottle of tequila from his bag, raising it in the air to showcase it.
You clapped your hands lightly with excitement. "You got the good shit." You said, grabbing the bottle from his hand, trying to open the cap.
He grabbed it from your hand immediately, placing it back in the bag. "Relax, I'll mix us some good drinks." He stated, you rolled your eyes and started walking towards the building's entrance.
Symphonic notes poured in thick, vicious swells, the bass vibrating the hallway before you even stepped inside.
The apartment was filled to the brim, a sea of red filling the space. Bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, a mixture of laughter and music blurring into a ringing echo.
The air was heavy with sickly perfume, sweat, and alcohol; your senses were flooded.
"Jesus," Yuki muttered beside you.
"I guess everyone stuck to the dress code." You leaned to speak in her ear, she giggled in response, and Choso stepped into the flock of inebriated souls first, grabbing your wrist lightly as he weaved through the crowd like muscle memory.
You followed, clutching the gift bag tighter than necessary as foreign hands brushed your arms and someone's laughter spilled too loud near your ear. Yuki held onto you as you tried to spot the birthday girl.
You spotted the birthday girl, known as Amber, on her cream sofa, which was now clearly stained with various drinks and substances. She rose to her feet once she recognised you, stumbling forward with a drink sloshing, spilling into her fingers.
She pulled you into a tight hug whilst shrieking "There you are!", her arms wrapped around you. "You made it". She pulled away to look at you, her smile widening when she saw your top.
You laughed, reaching to hold her hand between yours "Of course I did." You replied, smiling at her whilst handing her gift.
But before she could reply, a loud echo of her name reverberated across the walls.
"Thank you, I'll open it later." She said, already moving on from the conversation.
You watched her disappear into the crowd, the music swallowing her whole. Yuki and Choso were pulled away soon after, familiar faces, shouted greetings and reminiscent pioneered.
You took a few moments to take in the atmosphere, red decorations hung up across the walls, and all the guests were dressed in the same colour.
You trudged towards the kitchen, grabbing an empty cup and helping yourself to the bottles scattered across the island. The smell from your cup was enough to intoxicate you.
Yet the liquid burning through your tongue swarmed through your veins, warming your organs and flushing your boundless mind.
The music was thumping across the apartment, and the living room was completely jammed, so that faces were undistinguished.
The kitchen wasn't as animated, yet the voices of the souls residing there dominated the area. You chugged the rest of your drink, ignoring the foul taste.
You held a bottle of tequila in one hand, pouring it into your plastic cup and added a small amount of pineapple juice, just a mere splash, so that the ratio was completely uneven.
You held the cup up to your lips, the rim between them and swigged the liquor in mere seconds.
You felt your body warm up as if a match had been struck inside of you.
"Damn you tryna get fucked." You heard a voice perk up beside you.
Your reactions and movements were starting to slow, and you looked ahead to see a woman with short black hair, messy bangs covering her forehead, dark brown eyes, sharp yet hypnotic.
She was dressed in a merlot mini dress, both hands holding shot glasses filled to the brim.
You blinked at her, slow and dazed, the words hovering before they settled, she nudged one of the shot glasses toward you, acrylic nails gripping the glass.
"What is it?" You slurred, enough to embarrass you if you were sober. She shrugged her shoulders, her demeanour unbothered.
"Not sure some guy gave them to me." She replied, the glass still held towards you.
You pondered for a few moments before grabbing the glass and taking the shot, before anything could halt you. It burned, almost as if the liquid itself was punishing the void within your guts.
It tore down your throat like it was hoping to scrape something loose inside you.
You coughed in response, eyes glassy. She grinned, watching you, as if your reaction were a thesis proven right.
She took hers immediately after, no countdown waiting as her eyes shut tightly from the dreadful taste.
Your vision was starting to fog, like you were thrown underwater, expecting to see. Another glass appeared between your fingers; you don't recall asking for it.
Yet that didn't stop you as you pushed the liquid past your lips, your limbs and joints losing all rein as they moved with lawlessness. The music shifted, the bass heavier, and you could feel your bones quivering from the sound.
Your body might have been sucked into the literal instrumentals as you swayed in sync to the beat.
Somehow, you were no longer in the kitchen, your body transported to the crowd near the sofas, bodies pressing in from every side and angle, heat radiating from their frames.
Unknown hands brushed your waist and shoulders as the souls moved without apology.
You recognised the sharp eyes in the crowd, her hand finding yours as her fingers hooked them instinctively; she pulled you into the larger swarm.
The rhythm seized control over you as it drained the placid panic that had been sitting behind your ribs all day.
Your sways were uncoordinated and laughter spilled too easily and too loud.
Someone spun you, grabbed your hands and shuffled with you; someone shouted lyrics into your ear, and you reciprocated.
A drink was pressed into your palm, some of the liquid spilling onto your skin; you never checked its contents before swallowing.
The dark-haired woman danced close, her movements careless. You mimicked her movements and nearly tripped over your own feet.
Laughter fell out of your lips, a sound that almost felt foreign, and you both screamed lyrics that you barely comprehended, voice raw and unrestrained.
Maybe it was the ecstasy of not having to feel as you almost felt weightless, like your body was uplifted by the deities who you swore detested.
You felt a presence in front of you, dark hair curling at the edges and rings of red circling his irises.
Choso stood, arms crossed loosely over his chest, brow raised as he watched you twirl around the dark-haired woman.
His gaze flicked from your face to your hands and to the way your steps faltered. He stepped toward you, now a few inches away.
"Okay." He spoke calmly, reaching for the cup between your fingers. "I think that's enough, yeah."
You giggled and pulled your hand back before he could take the cup. "I'm calm." you replied trying to regulate your words.
"You've said that four times." He replied, voice still even, yet his gaze was laced with something you couldn't decipher.
You pressed the cup to your chest protectively, swaying again. "Don't be a buzz kill." You rolled your eyes at him.
His lips tightened into a line, but he didn't argue; he just watched you turn away, the music holding you once again.
The mysterious woman vanished, no trace left of her. Before you could even process a single thought, Yuki appeared at his side, breathless, yet a wide smile graced her lips.
She flicked her gaze between the two of you, picking up the strain growing.
"She's enjoying herself." She spoke, nudging his arm. "Relax."
Choso exhaled through his nose, his gaze still lingering on you. "She's drunk." He muttered.
Yuki patted his shoulder lightly before grabbing your hands between hers.
"So is everyone." Yuki quipped back, pulling you in. She spun you clumsily, both of you laughing as you nearly collided with someone else.
The room felt too discordant, too fuzzy, but you moved away, fearing that ceasing would push you into the unknown.
Eventually the music dipped and the crowd stirred, blurred figures migrating towards the kitchen.
You followed Yuki as you stumbled slightly, hand gripping hers as your vision caved at the edges.
You leaned against the island counter, cup half empty in your hand. Amber stood in front of you and Yuki beside you, conversation flowing seamlessly between the two.
You could pick up half the comments exchanged, but you felt as though you were standing behind glass, banging at it, trying to create a single crack.
A high pitched squeal managed to create a crack in the glass, your head moved towards the sound to see Amber flushed, her eyes widened and mouth in a toothy smile, her phone pressed to her ear.
"Mom!" She shouted, that singular word alone managed to shatter the barrier as the shards flew in all directions, the edges cutting, a fragment submerged itself between your ribs, the ache glaring.
"My mom's coming!" She squealed, voice cutting through the noise. "She booked a flight, she's surprising me, " she added, her lips still in a smile.
You couldn't tell how much time had passed between her phone call and her talking to you and Yuki; a few figures had popped up, hugging her from behind.
You froze, not from the pain but the discovery that your body was cemented into the floor beneath you, and the breaths leaving you were in the present day, not a blur you swum through.
The cup between your fingers was crinkling as your grip tightened. No words left your lips, but you felt the sound drain out of the room like someone had decided it was too full.
Your chest felt like it had been filled with a liquid that had been crystallised as your lungs were dense, your knuckles now white as your other hand gripped the counter.
Your pulse roared towards your ears as Amber's lips moved, her laughter all encompassing as she moved in a life that such surprises were viable.
"I-" you started, tongue dry as no words could grow, you glanced between the group of people around you, vision fragmented, slow motion like.
You turned away abruptly, pushing through the intoxicated bodies with more force than needed. Someone called your name but you didn't look back.
You slammed the bathroom door behind you, lock clicking into place with shaky fingers. You braced your hands against the porcelain sink, staring at your reflection as it splintered.
Despite your glass-coated eyes, you could see the mascara smeared beneath them, your lips trembling, and your chest faltering with shallow breaths.
Lucent tears pooled down your cheeks as your throat ached, no amount of saliva easing the tension.
You slid down until you sat on the closed toilet lid, arms wrapping around yourself like a snail in panic as the tears spilled uncontrollably, the weightlessness you felt had vanished, your figure heavier than normal, the deities deemed you unworthy of their saving.
A harsh knock prompted you to look at the door, "Hey," Yuki called out gently "Open up." She added.
You ignored the sound and her voice, hoping it would fade, yet it didn't, as there was another knock, firmer than before.
"Please." You could hear the desperation in her words, and you sat up, the weight of your legs too heavy to carry like you were trodding through quicksand.
You managed to unlock the door, barely lifting your head as it opened. Yuki stepped inside and shut it behind her, her eyes softening once she saw you.
She didn't speak but just pulled you into her arms, wrapping around you tightly, almost as if she believed you would evaporate.
You clung onto her, arms wrapped around her body as you trembled, sobbing quietly against her shoulder, the streams never ending.
She rubbed your back gently, her hands careful not to hurt you as she grounded you, always patient.
"She's never going to surprise me like that." You choked out, words in fragments between your sniffling.
"She...she used to wake me up with cake every birthday...chocolate..she would sing....to me every year." You added, a whirlpool of memories spewing from your lips, as your voice cracked, the matchstick was lit, and now you were set aflame.
"I- I'll never taste it again." You sobbed.
Yuki tightened her hold on you, resting her chin on your head, cradling you between her arms. "I know.." she murmured, "I know."
She pulled back slowly, just enough to look at your trembling face, her thumb softly brushing the tears against your cheeks, wiping them away.
"You can't keep doing this to yourself." She whispered, her own eyes glassy.
"You can't pretend you're not in pain...you're drowning yourself." She spoke softly.
You tried to swallow the ache, but it never dissipated, as your eyes focused on the bathtub behind her, not looking back at her.
"You're a doctor." She continued gently. "You know what happens when you leave an untreated wound....they get infected."
\The tears didn't flow like rivers, but they fell, light singular shedding from your eyes.
Her gaze never left you, eyes steady on you. "You don't have to go through this alone....go to the group counseling....let someone help you carry the weight." She blinked slowly, each word careful.
You didn't trust your voice, so you just nodded, slow and defeated. Yuki exhaled, pulling you into another embrace.
"Come on." She spoke quietly. "I've got you."
And as the world turned its axis, you finally acknowledged the burning in your bones, the ache in your throat and joints, the wedge in your chest.
You let it fester for a moment, letting someone lead instead of dominating the night.
The knees of the wandering transgressors were ripped into smithereens by the biting gravel beneath them.
Was prayer so desolate that the sheer cogitation of fidelity to the gods enough to provoke a dedication to sin and decay, their nights flowing with allegiance to the fallen angel, his lips dripping with fables tainted with deceit?
However, the herald of death stood by their doorstep, demanding that the veiled disciples fall to their knees. Punishment was sufficient for immediate repentance.
The golden rays of light filtered through the tall glass panes, touching the gilded furniture.
The polished oak desk was littered with loose sheets of paper, uncapped pens, highlighters and two cups of coffee, the grounds almost blending into the wood itself.
Yuta sat on the stiff leather chair, his posture uneven because the chair would not accept him into its grasp.
He leaned over the desk, a yellow highlighter gripped in his hand, tracking the mountain of clauses on the contract, each word dry.
Poetry was not welcome in spaces like this, only contempt for anything that wasn’t mechanical.
The clicking of keys filled the silence, Gojo sending one of his many emails, admin something he despised.
Why couldn’t action be more fruitful?
He let out an exasperated sigh, feeling fatigued from his tasks. Yuta looked up from his work and blinked up at his Mentor,
Gojo rolled his shoulders and clicked his knuckles, trying to release the tension residing in his bones, but no matter how much he mobilised himself, the tension never eased. At some point, it had embedded into his system.
“I think clause 20 is wrong.” Yuta spoke, his tone hesitant but words certain.
Gojo bit his bottom lip slightly in thought, Yuta believing he was deep in thought related to the large merger, but the words that left his lips had nothing to do with the merger at all.
“So last year of college, you surviving?” Gojo asked, opening his desk drawer and grabbing two pieces of wrapped chocolates. He chucked one at Yuta, and he caught it between his fingers clumsily.
“It’s okay I guess….very busy.” Yuta replied, his gaze on the white-haired man, whose glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, posture relaxed, leaning back in his office chair.
“Hmm and the social life?” He asked, opening the sweet wrapper.
Yuta hesitated for a moment, looking around the room for an answer that didn’t sound pathetic, but he knew if he lied, Gojo would see right through him.
“I don’t really….go out to be honest.” Yuta rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.
His college experience was anything but conventional. Whilst his peers were inebriated with substances he couldn’t name, he would sit in his dorm room, the lights flicked off.
The only glare came from his laptop, studying content that didn’t need to be touched and watching shows that reflected the life he aspired to for himself.
“That’s insane, it’s the best part of college” Gojo replied, his brow raised at his mentee, aware that his timid personality would probably reject the overpowering nature of college parties and students.
“I just don’t get the opportunity.” Yuta rambled, pink spotting across his cheeks.
Gojo shook his head softly, a light grin playing on his lips. “Oh you definitely get opportunities..you just don’t take them.” He responded, placing his hands behind the back of his head.
Yuta cleared his throat, attempting to recover himself, to redeem the notion of his isolation. “That’s not it..I just..” His sentence never completed, an answer not scrambling quick enough.
Gojo chuckled, wanting to probe him more. “No ladies then I assume.” He grinned as he spoke.
Yuta bit the inside of his cheeks as the tips of his ears burned into a bright pink. “Uhh, yeah no…” he mumbled.
“None of the interns as well?” Gojo teased, popping the chocolate between his lips as Yuta’s eyes widened.
“No..” He stammered, avoiding his mentor's gaze; the lines from stuck-up boss to casual mentorship had ploughed through.
It was unheard of that a man who sat in such a high hierarchy would speak to others with such casualness.
Yuta never imagined such a thing would unfold during his tenure; his fear of lawyers and their coldness stuck in his mind.
Gojo stroked his chin for a few moments before listing the names of his colleagues who currently had an intern, his fingers counting down until he reached one that elicited a reaction.
“What about Utahime’s one?” Gojo pondered.
Yuta straightened his posture immediately, the previous pink on his cheek now a raging red, freezing at the mention of the woman who would pass him every day but would never acknowledge his presence.
It was silent for a few seconds as Gojo grinned at the flushed boy, “Talk to her tonight at the work drinks.”
Yuta furrowed his brows, and looked down at the desk. “Maki isn’t the talking type….I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“Maybe start with a hi and see what happens after.” His boss replied, teasing tone tainting hi words.
Yuta cleared his throat and nodded, his nerves ignited from the night that awaited him.
Gojo chuckled again, somewhat looking forward to observing a flustered Yuta trying to talk to someone he liked.
The scene would be a diversion from the voices that would follow him, the pestering professionals who wished to seek out information that concerned anything to do with him.
He wasn’t sure if it was fascination, envy or frustration that they harboured against him.
They soon delved into their tasks at hand, words and numbers blurring into one as the hours passed by.
The need for caffeine to drive was heightening, so Gojo decided to refill both his and Yuta’s cups, a small deed, yet it was appreciated by his intern.
Gojo rarely escaped the four walls that brought him a peculiar sense of comfort, but when he did, it almost always involved an unwarranted conversation with the bothersome member of his team.
It was just past lunch, and predicting it would be quiet, he walked towards the kitchen.
His gaze darted through the open-plan section of the office, the sound of keys clacking and voices from meetings filled the docile atmosphere.
The kitchen was secluded except for one individual scowling at their phone.
He immediately recognised the fading dyed blond hair.
Naoya looked up from his phone when he heard the approaching footsteps, his brows raised as he recognised their owner.
“Hello Satoru.” Naoya hummed; however, as soon as he spoke, the sound of hurried footsteps thrummed through the kitchen.
Gojo turned to the sound and could see a young woman panting as she held a store bought cup of coffee in her hand, sweat dripping from her forehead.
“You took longer than expected.” Naoya said, sneering at her.
The young woman looked down at her shoes, her shoulders, and her chest still rising from her panic and rush.
“I- I’m sorry Mr Zenin..” She stammered, she looked up and handed him the coffee cup in both hands, her limbs trembling from what Gojo assumed was fear.
Gojo was leaning on the counter opposite them, observing the interaction.
He didn’t want to interject until he heard her say Mr Zenin, he couldn’t contain himself, which prompted an unrestrained laugh to spill from his lips.
Both of them looked at him, the blond didn’t give much away except a prominent tightening in his jaw and the young woman’s features were still contorted to one of panic.
“Mr Zenin??” Gojo taunted.
He was amused at Naoya's ability to relish in any sort of power that could even breathe beside him; he had deluded himself into a role that had never been offered to him.
Naoya waved the young woman off dismissively; she scurried out of the area. Once the two men were alone, he attempted to close the gap between them, stepping forward.
“They need to respect their seniors.” The blonde commented, crossing his arms as a form of defence.
“You're acting like you're the managing partner.” Gojo ridiculed, placing a cup in the coffee machine.
Naoya rolled his eyes; despite being the epitome of traditionality that should have perished decades ago, he harboured a conflicting identity.
His right ear was littered with silver piercings, and his hair dyed to a colour that couldn’t be far from his natural shade; his suit was pristine, evident that it had been tailored for his figure.
“Well I will be.” Naoya replied, a smirk spread across his features.
Gojo couldn’t help but snort at his words, taken aback by his boldness and delusion.
It wasn’t as though he believed that aspirations were laughable, but it was when the person standing in front of him was shrouded with arrogance, but not much to back it up.
“Yeah, sure if you manifest it enough, they might just feel bad and give you the job.” He quipped, a grin still settled on his lips.
Naoya let out a frustrated sigh. He would normally spit venom back, burning their dignity and assurance; he could not say anything of the sort.
Instead, he looked down at his watch, ignoring Gojo’s critical gaze. “We’ll see then.” He said, treading his words carefully.
Gojo turned around, facing the coffee machine, trying to end the hopeless interaction he was having, but the gods seemed unforgiving today as he heard Naoya’s voice perk up again.
“Yuta didn’t do any of the work I set for him.” The blonde spoke, his vision focused on Gojo’s back.
The white haired man rolled his eyes, his reaction hidden, before responding he took the cup out and replaced it with the second one, turning around to face him right after.
“Because my work is way more interesting.” He remarked, putting his hands in his pockets.
Naoya looked back at him in aggravation. Gojo always knew how to prick his skin, how to jab; he knew he could always leave unscathed.
“Or because you just make him do whatever you want.” Naoya spoke, his feline-like eyes squinted at him.
Gojo grabbed the second cup from the machine and placed it on the counter, smiling at Naoya “Perk of being a senior associate.”
Naoya clenched his teeth, a jab that managed to hit him right in the gut.
Subconsciously, he was aware that the high-ranking position he had self-appointed wasn’t planted in reality.
He couldn’t reply to his comment with anything but a brag to try to diminish his lopsided rival.
“Well I closed three deals last week.” Naoya smirked again whilst crossing his arms.
Gojo raised a brow, not phased by his so-called achievements. “That’s it?” His voice and tone were more questioning than amused.
Naoya’s smirk twitched for a second, curiosity brimming. “How many did you close?” He asked.
The rim of the mug sat between Gojo’s lips, but his gaze never left the man opposite him, taking a sip of his coffee that was dissipating faster than he liked.
“Six”, he replied, easy and smooth. He didn’t need declarations; he didn’t need to boast unless provoked.
He could see the change in Naoya's demeanour; it wasn’t evident to a wandering eye, but for Satoru, who was more perceptive than most, he detected the tension growing in his body, muscles tight and veins protruding in frustration.
A silence brewed in the kitchen. He was grateful for the conversation to finally cease, but his wishes were really not being acknowledged today.
Naoya exhaled sharply before speaking. “Well you can’t keep stealing him.”
“I’m not.” Gojo shrugged his shoulders, dismissive of his requests.
“I’m giving him work that’s going to teach him something, to help him grow.” Gojo casually stated.
He was able to decrypt Naoya’s frustration and the bruising of his ego as the seconds passed.
“What do you think I'm doing then?” Noaya questioned, words slightly gritted out due to his frustration.
Gojo didn’t want to hand him any of his scarce time; the minutes were ticking faster than a cheetah in a hunt.
He shook his head and grabbed the coffee cups in his hand, his gaze moving to Naoya. “Not that.” He stated, words abrupt.
He grinned before leaving the communal kitchen, leaving a very frustrated man with conflicting emotions about his colleague; he wasn’t sure whether it was resentment. Envy?
He couldn’t fathom what clouded his mind, how he could normally spit back, but now his tongue felt tied, like he had been twisted like he was a puppet, the grandmasters above controlling his movements.
The day passed with a dreary repetition, the blue coating the canvas above having incinerated, charring slowly into black.
It seemed as though the artists had been exiled, their work no longer satisfactory.
The clinking of glass reverberated throughout the open space, unique sounds blurring into one as the corrupt souls sank their fangs into the various canapes, claws gripping the premium glass stems.
A low hum of a neglected harmony sat in the background, as the souls chattered amongst themselves.
The bar was lavish to say the least, each section of the large space given personal attention as the manic waiters darted across, appeasing the guests that never seemed pleased.
The slight chill of the evening flowed through the air, touching each figure as the only ceiling over them was the night sky; city lights twinkled as the bar filled, the tab prepaid to a ridiculous amount.
Gojo walked through the growing crowd, his blazer no longer covering him; he was left in his white shirt, too snug against him, his navy blue tie, which was managing to sit responsibly, not threatening to unravel.
His glasses had long since gone, his bright blue eyes unprotected, as onlookers glanced at his figure as he moved.
He reached for one of the many plush sofas by the balcony. Ichiji stood chatting amongst some of his colleagues, wine glass in hand.
Gojo put both hands on his shoulders to scare him. His plan appeared to have worked as Ichiji yelped, his body startled in shock.
The crowd around him just chuckled and shook their heads; this behaviour was a common occurrence even in the workplace.
Gojo just grinned, giggling at his actions. Ichiji turned around and sighed, a displeased expression covering his features.
“Satoru, don’t scare me like that.” He mumbled, looking up at him.
Even in a crowded room, Gojo always managed to tower over almost everyone.
“Come on, it was funny.” The white-haired man teased, poking Ichiji’s arm.
Ichiji merely raised a brow, not wanting to entertain him. “How are you then?” He asked, fixing his wrinkling suit.
“I’m perfect.” Gojo beamed, “You know I closed six deals last week.” He added, pointing both thumbs at himself, a cocky expression on his face.
Ichiji huffed a laugh, “Of course I know, you’re not exactly silent about it.” He replied, a small smile growing on his lips.
Satoru’s smile never vanished; it was always flawless and polished, and it wasn’t known whether it was merely a facade or one of truth.
“Well, my greatness deserves to be witnessed.” He quipped.
Ichiji placed his glass down by one of the nearby tables, sighing. “You’re impossible.”
One of the waiters passed by, their demeanor pristine and poised, they walked towards the pair with a tray of an assortment of different deserts in hand.
Satoru glanced at the tray, his eyes widening and glimmering. “Thank you very much…”
He grabbed a handful of the miniature desserts, a chocolate cheesecake cup, a chocolate tart, a raspberry and more.
Even his palms, which were larger than an average person's, were filled to the brim.
He started to devour the treats, happiness clear as day. Ichiji raised his brow at him, even a few people who were passing by him looked at him in contempt.
Satoru was not bothered by their disdain; he enjoyed what he desired without caring about their perceptions.
“I know you love me though.” He mumbled, reaching his hand to offer one of his desserts, Ichiji shook his head to indicate no.
“More for me then.” Satoru shrugged, “How have you been then?” He asked after swallowing one of his bites.
Ichiji grabbed a napkin from the table and handed it to him, wanting him to appear polished as the crowd perceived him.
Satoru raised both his brows at him, aware that Kiyotaka would always try to assist him in any occasion, at any moment. He grabbed it from his hand hesitantly.
“I am okay, been very busy….I see you are overworking yourself.” Ichiji stated, his words not holding much emotion but the thought behind them contradictory.
Satoru rolled his eyes, using the napkin to clean his hands. “I’m not, just doing what I gotta do.” He crossed his arms, looking down at the man.
“The partner position isn’t gonna earn itself.” He added, voice no longer teasing.
“You don’t need to kill yourself for that though.” Ichiji replied, his dark eyes flashing concern.
Satoru just shook his head and chuckled, his bright eyes scanning the expansive rooftop bar as he looked around.
His attention stopped at the small group of interns who stood in a huddle.
Yuta stood in the middle of the three, his posture slouched and body language awkward, even from a distance, Gojo could see Yuta’s nerves, his feeble hands gripping the beer bottle that hadn’t been touched.
One intern whom Gojo couldn’t name was spouting off at the other two, as his audience looked on in confusion or awkwardness.
Near the group, Maki sat separately on one of the plush sofas.
Satoru looked back at Yuta, glaring at him from a distance until he felt the stare.
Yuta managed to catch it a few moments later, his expression slightly panicked as he was aware of what his mentor was indicating.
Satoru flashed his brows at him, mouthing ‘go’ and nudged his head towards the isolated girl.
Yuta pressed his lips together, his cheeks flushing red, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.
Gojo exaggerated a sigh and mimed walking with his fingers on his palm.
Ichiji stood, observing the comical scene, feeling pity for the young man who had been unlucky enough to fall victim to his friend’s ridiculous behaviour.
He could see Yuta visibly gulp before dragging his feet towards her, terrified and uneasy.
She sat leaning back on the sofa, her full focus on her phone in her hand. Yuta stood awkwardly beside the sofa, trembling.
He quickly glanced back at Gojo, who was miming even more nonsense, his hands in the air as he mouthed ‘talk to her’, giving him a thumbs up before Yuta moved again.
His intern stumbled onto the sofa, the sudden movement leading Maki to look at the boy who sat beside her, ears and cheeks flushed.
This prompted Satoru to sputter up a loud laugh, he suddenly grabbed Ichiji’s shoulder, pulling him in so their shoulders squished together, his grip unrelenting, their cheeks pressed together, too close for comfort. Ichiji stood shocked yet not alarmed.
“LOOK.” Gojo squealed, watching Yuta and Maki now starting to engage in somewhat of a conversation.
Ichiji stiffened beside him, gritting out “Satoru.”
He released his grip off his friend, Ichiji sighing in defeat as he rubbed his fingers against his temples.
“Isn’t that so cute.” Gojo cooed, giving him a theatric pout.
“You’re interfering.” The black haired man mumbled, grabbing his wine glass, needing the liquid more to brush off the last few moments that had occurred.
“I’m not.” Gojo corrected, his pointer finger raised in the air.” “I’m assisting, huge difference” Adding on, a satisfied smirk tracing his lips.
“He didn’t ask for your help.” Ichiji spoke, sipping his drink.
“He didn’t need to.” Gojo’s voice softened, “Sometimes people just need a push.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking down at the man, who didn’t respond immediately, his stare carrying a million questions, a clutter of unknown.
“Who pushes you then?” Ichiji questioned, his words carrying the weight of decades of indistinguishable anguish, of unwritten scriptures and almost nothing at the same time.
The corner of Satoru’s mouth hesitantly lifted, a smile present but no words spilled from his lips, just silence stretching between them.
The night unfolded into its authentic form, the innocence and synthetic skin that pranced through the crowds had their fangs sitting on the rim of dispirited glasses, liquid sin pooling their cups, the poison excuse for their deleterious ways.
The colleagues who always sought superiority, who doused themselves in shields of untouchability, had let their inhibitions run free.
Laughter vibrating against one another and words of untouched truths grazed their tongues, nights like these were for unravelling, their arteries filling with the only substance that eased the peril that fumigated their minds.
Satoru’s blood was clear of the venom, mind not hazy with external influence as he stood in a suffocating circle, sweat starting to cultivate on his back, his tie loosening as the hours passed but smile following its duties.
It seemed like a never-ending list of repeated conversations, questions that were asked more times than he could count.
He now stood with associates he had never had the pleasure of meeting beforehand, laughing at his ludicrous jokes.
It wasn’t clear if they were imitations, if they were fawning so their own rank would rise; he was always dubious of their true intentions.
The circle had been situated in the centre of the space, bodies pushing past groggily, exhaustion and inebriation more clear now.
His back had been faced from the bar, hands in his pockets as his juniors sought wisdom. In the midst of the conversation, he didn’t notice the haunting figure behind him until a large palm was planted on his shoulder.
He turned to face the proprietor, to see the familiar blonde-haired man.
Naoya’s pristine luxurious suit had disintegrated, he stood with a white shirt, the tie missing and top buttons undone, his collar bones showing and hair disheveled.
Gojo raised his brows slightly in surprise at the blonde's appearance, amused at his loosening.
A cocky smirk plastered itself onto Naoya’s lips. “Satoru…. nice to see you.” He slurred.
His impariness was apparent, eyes distant and words mushing together, but not too impaired where he was unable to regulate himself.
“Nice to see you too Naoya.” Gojo replied, their bodies closer than he preferred.
Naoya moved so he was standing beside his colleague, facing the circle, his arrival enticing all their attention and stares.
He placed his hand on Satoru’s shoulder again, pulling him in, not enough for faces to touch but close enough that Satoru could smell the whiskey oozing off him.
“This is Satoru Gojo.” He blurted, and the audience stood in silence, glancing upon each other, curious to see what was to come about.
“Naoya…” Gojo mumbled, indicating for him to cease this show but he carried on, either not hearing but listening but not concerned.
“He’s the best attorney here.” He pointed towards Satoru but his attention was to the crowd in front, which was growing as the seconds passed.
“He beat me in the promotion.” He added, voice growing louder at each sentence.
Gojo looked at Naoya, his nose scrunching up in annoyance, aware that his theatrics were a performance rehearsed too hard, overcompensation to tend his wounds.
“It was deserved though.” The blonde spoke, he looked away and coughed.
He mumbed something incomprehensible to everyone, but Gojo heard him sputter, ‘doesn’t really though..’
Gojo pursed his lips together, frustration brewing.
“We should all learn from him…..the youngest person to become senior associate.” Naoya babbled on.
There was now a herd of onlookers either in front or around, which pushed the pair into the middle of the circle as everyone gathered around them, like show ponies; they were interested in the blonde's words for whatever reason.
“Congrats to Satoru.” Once he ended his painful ramble.
The crowd drunkenly cheered, dispersing slowly as the moments passed. He was no longer holding him, their bodies facing each other. Satoru sighed in annoyance from the unwarranted scene.
“Why did you do that?” He asked Naoya, whose attention was focused on the waiter carrying an assortment of shot glasses.
He waved at the man to stop, grabbed two glasses in his hands, and ushered the waiter off without even a simple thank you.
A few people still stood around them, from the corner of Satoru’s eye he could see his aspiring artist of a friend, talking to another associate, but glancing at him when he noticed her.
Naoya offered Satoru a shot, pushing it close to him, hands unsteady, the liquid dripping onto his fingers. Satoru waved him off and shook his head, denying the invitation.
Naoya raised a brow, bewildered by his rejection. “Come on, take it.” He insisted, trying to push it between Gojo’s fingers.
Noaya just shrugged his shoulders and drank both shots, one after the other, exhaling loudly from the burn.
“What’s with you now?” Naoya’s brown eyes narrowed, trying to analyse why he was denying his request.
Gojo held his gaze, his internal structures made from porcelain, holding its ground, the pillars standing high.
“Nothing, what do you mean?” He replied, trying to confer on why the man sought justification.
“You’re just boring now.” Naoya announced, not regarding the harshness in his tone, Satoru wasn’t phased, just chuckling in response.
“No, I'm serious.” The blonde reiterated.
It was clear another spiel was incoming without warning.
“You were crazy in college…what happened to you?” He stood on his juncture, unwilling to move.
“Nothing did, I grew up.” Satoru articulated, his features relaxed, provocation not effortless for men like him.
“Nah nah, that’s not it.” Noaya shook his head, waving his hands in front of him.
“How does someone go from throwing house parties every week to this?” He asserted, adamance so sturdy it was vexing.
Satoru sighed, his lips in a small smile, “I dunno …..having a job and being busy.”
It was maddening how he was pressured into rationalising decisions that were not his to make.
“Look at me…I work so much and still have fun.” Naoya boasted,
“Maybe you can actually learn something from me.” He fixed his hair and smiled.
Satoru couldn’t help but scrunch his nose and grimace, he sighed slowly and looked away for a moment, wishing that Naoya had an off button.
“Yeah I remember the parties, even though we weren’t at the same college.” Naoya blubbered, his face in thought.
Gojo didn’t reply, not wanting to prompt a genuine conversation, just looking at the man in annoyance.
“Yeah you and your friend.” Noaya pondered “What was his name….??” His sentence trailing off.
Satoru’s ears perked up, hearing the word ‘friend’, he felt himself freeze, staring at the man before him, eyes widening without caution, smile slipping off like melting wax.
“Oh yeah.” Naoya announced, his gaze not sitting on Gojo but beside him.
“Suguru.”
A large crack indented itself into the pillars that held him, not falling, but crackling.
The air that grazed Satoru’s lungs had been sucked up by a force too strong to hold; his muscles were put to stone as though he had peered into the eyes of Medusa herself, and his hands slowly trembled, uncontrolled.
The echo radiating him became a blur too dull to comprehend, Naoya’s voice distant, like the trembling man was thrown into uncharted water, drowning as pressure built up in his ears and head.
He felt his chest rise and fall at an alarming pace.
He quickly muttered, “I gotta go.” Before shoving through the mountain of bodies in his path, an exit not visible like the sky was lowering itself, a cave being built just for his demise.
The edge of the building soon emerged, the balcony welcoming him as he staggered, the open air not enough to free the suffocation holding him captive.
He leaned his arms against the metal bars, safety wasn’t a priority just desperation to flee from a name not uttered even by his inner voices.
His heart beat was racing, a sprint that couldn’t hold up, his chest palpitating without rehearsal. He peered at the blinking lights.
A large hospital stood before him; maybe they would spot him and cure him of his collision.
A glass sheen coated his eyes, the view blurring as the seconds passed. The sound of heels clicking across the floors awoke him, squeezing his eyes shut to clear the liquid that was too fearful to escape.
Utahime stood behind him, her arms crossed, not too close but not too far, not enough for her presence to become an announcement.
His back faced her, his shirt tighter than before due to his muscles turning into concrete.
He let out a deep sigh, trying to swallow the rising ache in his throat.
The air surrounding him was pricking at his exposed skin, needle-like chills, not free from nature's endeavours.
Why must the sheltered infest the living?
The days rolled over like burnt film, the time passing through monotonous shots.
Satoru worked, he attempted slumber, and fortified his muscles, hoping that external strength would remedy within.
He now held a barbell between his hands, curling it up, his veins protruding as music thrummed against the walls of his home gym.
His mind, which others seeked desperately to even have a touch of, was hollow, only filled with futile information, nothing of material as he moved his arms, sweat dripping slowly off his toned figure.
The doorbell demanded attention as it rang consecutively, the sound masked by the blaring bass.
He eventually released the barbell from his fingers and grabbed his phone, only to see numerous messages and calls from his insomniac friend, her last message reading:
‘Open the door.’
He scrunched his brows, knitted in perplexity, not aware of why she stood by his doorstep.
He turned off the music and walked towards the door, his footsteps the only source of sound in the vast apartment, isolation as a form of liberation.
He opened up the wooden door to Shoko, her vacant dark eyes the first thing he saw, the bags sitting under darker than before.
The corner of her lips downturned invariably, like they were moulded to sit that way. Her body emanated of foul smoke, the lingering cigarette ash resting on her like glitter that never dissipated.
He blinked at her, still confused at her arrival. The crinkling of paper prompted him to look at the sound's origin, just to see her thin hands gripping a bag of takeout.
He scrunched his brows at her, a quiet knowing resting between them, not letting a word pass their lips. She sighed and looked away to her side then back at him before speaking.
“Can I come in?” She mumbled, voice gravely.
He stood at the doorway for a few moments, hand resting at the frame before moving aside and nudging his head inside to invite her in.
She followed him, her movements slow as she took in her surroundings.
The apartment was pristine, never showing its personality; the white sofas were left untouched, and the pillows were in perfect order.
It was virtually sterile, the spotless floors, large windows and open kitchen which had island chairs more as decoration than comfort.
They stood by the empty kitchen, ingredients missing, but the bin beside was filled with takeout boxes.
Shoko placed the bag on the counter, unpacking its contents, and it was then that Satoru opened his mouth.
“What are you doing here?” He questioned, voice treading a softness that sounded foreign.
He leaned against the counter beside her, the waft of cooked chicken floating in the air.
“I spoke to Utahime.” She stated, not looking at him, placing the boxes on the counter.
He straightened up, standing in front of her, dragging a hand down his face and sighing.
“About what?” He questioned, frustration cultivating, he was aware of what they must have discussed, but wanted to hear it from her.
“What Naoya said to you.” She turned her head to face him, expression dull.
A breath passed through his nostrils, forced and rough as he tilted his head back slightly, just enough to stare at the ceiling above, as if it could offer him patience that he didn’t possess.
He looked back at her, his lips now in a straight line, no laughter or humour blessing it.
“He was just annoying.” Satoru complained, his hands moving as he explained, his expression a form of catharsis.
“Yeah we all know that.” Shoko confirmed and turned her body to face him, her hand on the counter for support.
“I’m talking about what he said about him.” She added, her words prodding a wound that prayed for concealment, bruising the longer she spoke.
“About Suguru.”
Satoru stilled, the breath that was escaping never left his body, it just jammed inside his chest, hands trembling again, the only form of reaction that was permitted.
Her cold eyes softened, watching the man who she considered a close friend, who was right in front of him but for what she felt was miles away, like she was watching a scene on her tv instead of being at his apartment.
“His name shouldn’t cause a reaction like this.” She whispered.
It was the first time they had addressed their friend who slipped without warning by name, as if his name would serve as a reminder of the dreadful night that occurred.
She walked towards the balcony that resided at the edge of the apartment, sliding the door open.
Satoru met her eyes for a second before grabbing his hand to cease the trembling.
She faced the bustling city, perching forward on the cold metal railing, he reluctantly trodded towards the balcony and stood beside her, his forearms resting on the bar.
Her hand moved towards her pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes that were nearly barren, one left just for the occasion.
She gently grabbed the last one and held it between her fingers; it was ritualistic, bringing a sort of calm to her that religion was to others.
She placed it between her lips, lighting with the other. Satoru just observed, contemplating which number this was of the day.
Once it lit, she inhaled a long drag before exhaling a trail of silver miasma, elation settling in her.
She tapped the residual ash away, and looked back at the white haired man who was now glancing upon the city, the sounds of cars rushing and sporadic discordant chatter filled the silence.
“You can’t live like this.” She informed.
Shoko could see him grinding his jaw, as no answer left him.
“You’re going to crash and burn one day.” Inhaling directly after.
The statement wasn’t sharp; it wasn’t meant to be. It was meant to probe and slither through a crack in his shield, an attempt to trigger some sort of realisation.
“That's dramatic” He scoffed loudly, audible enough for it to overpower the bustling of the city.
Shoko didn’t take his deflection as a removal but as motivation, pressing harder.
“It’s not, you might seem like you’re okay now, but you’re slowly decaying.” Shoko affirmed.
That earned his attention, as he snapped his head toward her.
“Ignoring what happened won’t change anything.” She stated, facing the view before her, high-rise buildings that were silently competing on their strengths.
“It’s not going to change that he’s gone.” She stepped on the unspoken truths that were trapped in the loop of disallowance, not strong enough for it to halt.
His jaw visibly tightened, throat bobbing as he swallowed the tension simmering inside.
“I see the dead everyday, I never give it a second thought.” She redirected, hoping that illustrations could configure her sentiments.
“Its the living who are dying that I can never seem to forget.” She concluded, looking back at the man who seemed to be evolving into a corpse rather than prosperity.
“So what, you here to diagnose me?” He mocked, tone clipped, turning his body towards her.
She met his gaze without flinching. “No, to refer you.” She replied, tone even. His mouth parted slightly and brows lifted in bewilderment.
“The grief counseling.” She spoke, adamance seeping in her syllables. The idea sitting unpleasant within him.
Gojo huffed out a laugh, stunned at her relentlessness. “This again?” He retorted, hands sifting through his milky locks.
“Yeah, because you never listen to me.” She folded her arms into one another, patience still holding on.
“Give it a chance, the fact that they are group sessions will be helpful for you.”
“Helpful for who?” He snapped, his carefully crafted relaxed persona was loosening, like a hinge which lost its screws, the door slowly ripping away, not enough for it to burst, just enough that the echo of the screw hitting the floor hit him.
“I don't do that..I don’t sit in a circle and talk about my feelings and cry.” He added, moving his hands theatrically.
“Good.” She replied, emotion lacking in every fibre.
“You won’t be the only one talking.”
She pressed the cigarette against the lonesome ashtray, its purpose dissipating. He exhaled an irked breath, looking at his friend like she was wishing him harm.
“I don’t need it.” He turned away yet again, jaw tense.
“Sometimes the things you need aren’t comfortable.” Shoko urged, hoping that even a fragment of him would desire freedom from peril.
A silence cloaked them, holding them captive for a few moments, suffocation consuming them.
“What if I hate it?” He asked, looking down at his hands.
“You will.” She replied, her voice at the edge of softness.
“And if I walk out?” He added, looking back at her, her gaze still on him.
“Then you walk out.” She shrugged, “But you go once.”
Another pause broke out between the two, the low sound of a siren hummed from a distance, fading into the background.
He let out a slow controlled breath, fingers pressing against his temples. “One session.” He said, closing his eyes briefly. “That’s it.”
Shoko nodded, the corner of her lips curving up fractionally. “That’s all I'm asking.”
He turned towards the horizon, leaning against the metal once again, and Shoko moved to stand beside him, the colours on the canvas fading darker.
“One session.” He mumbled under his breath, a conviction that would need to thread his mind.
COULD REHABILITATION PURIFY CONTRITION
A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, I appreciate it was long and they have not met yet but don't worry next chapter they will finally meet after 18k words lol
Please comment your thoughts I love any sort of feedback or how you feel about anything in the chapter.
Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist
SYNOPSIS You agree to go to group counselling because you can't fix grief the same way you fix everything else. Every week, the same people sit in a circle talking about the things they lost, the things they regret, the things they can't change. You say you're fine, Satoru says he's busy. Neither of you believe each other. Each session ends the same way, with both of you heading to the door at the same time, pretending it doesn't mean anything.
Sirens by Sonder - 'If i closed the door and shut my mouth, I wouldn't be here right now'
PAIRING Lawyer Gojo x Surgeon Fem reader
CONTENT mdni, mentions of death, anxiety, legal contet, Gojo is a sexy lawyer with glasses, grief, poor gojo is greiving, Gojo centered chapter, poetry, religious poetry, Intern Yuta, mentions of bood in poetry, GLASSES GOJO RAWRRRRR
WORD COUNT 4.6k
CHAPTER INDEX <<CHAPTER ONE >>CHAPTER THREE
FOR THE STARS CRAVED CONFINEMENT UNDER THE GUARDED GALAXY
The fallen angel gripped the tainted vial between his ensanguined fingers, crimson splashes across his faded skin, remnants of the chaste hearts he had torn from devotion itself, hoping to free them from a life of agony and persecution.
It was ghastly the way his wings sagged behind him, feathers dull and fractured, whispering a low lament as the room pulsed with nocturnal hush.
The heavens had lifted their gaze from him, their conviction dissolving with the city's dim glow, the luminosity leaking through the glass.
He stood beneath the dim enclosure of the lights, leering at the lone soul, disdain pooling into the vial. The lonesome soul remained untouched by the hibernation that his counterparts had ached for, milky tresses stirred by the night.
The angel tilted the vial against the man's coffee cup, the crystal liquid bleeding into black, alchemy without salvation.
The fallen angel hopelessly pleaded that this small act of restraint may one day be weighed as penance, for he had wreaked destruction on their terms, feeding the mortals agony rather than sanctifying them.
The fluorescent lights hummed softly, the counterfeit glow blurring into the solitary office as the metropolis, beyond the vast high-rise windows, scattered into constellations.
A ponderous stillness stretched in the office, disturbed only by the rhythmic clicks of a keyboard, each click echoing against the pristine walls.
Gojo sat pitched forward, elbows sinking into the polished oak desk, his gaze fused to the pixelated screen before him.
Rows of indecipherable legal jargon stretched across the monitors, the syllables unmerciful.
The suit he had arrived in no longer clung to his figure, the fabrics dispersed as his blazer lay abandoned over the back of a chair, his charcoal tie loosened, the knot slowly undoing itself.
The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled to his forearms, the fabric creased, veins slightly bulging beneath pale skin.
Square-framed glasses rested low on the bridge of his nose as an aggrieved sigh slipped past his lips.
A stack of loose paper smeared across his desk, the restless clauses never-ending.
He gripped a highlighter between his fingers, his grasp tight as though he feared that it would escape.
His other hand clutched the handle of his mug, and his pink lips were on the rim of the glass.
The now lukewarm coffee coated his tongue, and a bitterness evaded his senses. Had the liquid been tainted?
There was almost a slight rush when the sun hid for hibernation, the ungodly hours creeping in. Gojo quickly glanced between his screen and highlighted papers.
He swiftly dialled a number, and the call connected on the second ring. Time seemed scarce to the London lawyers as their voices echoed from his phone immediately.
"Satoru, please tell me this is the part where you say you're ready to sign." The London lawyer known as Henry asked, his voice smooth.
Gojo leaned back In his chair, a faint grin plastering his lips, as he spun a pen between his fingers. "Aww Henry, you say my name like you missed me."
There was an evident pause for a few moments before Henry spoke again, this time his voice held a slight agitation. "...Right, what can we do for you then." He replied.
"Tiny thing", Gojo said lightly. "Clause eleven, the limitation on post closing liability"
He glanced back at the screen, the words reflecting in his glasses, the eyes behind them sharp and calculating.
"My client wants the cap extended from twelve months to eighteen." He stated.
Another pause grew from the other line before a huffed out laugh reverberated across the ivory walls, the sound short and disbelieving.
"You're joking..that provision was negotiated for weeks and our client won't reopen it and frankly it's too late in the process to make any changes." Henry declared.
Gojo's grin grew wider, he placed the pen down on the desk and stood up slowly, letting the silence build between the two parties, as if though he was trying to spark an uneasiness with the other side.
"Is it?" He questioned, amusement dripping into his voice.
"Because from where I'm sitting, it's actually very realistic, your client retains control of the intellectual property six months post closing and extending the cap just aligns risk with control."
A silence stretched, as Gojo lazily paced across his office, his voice still casual, almost bored "Otherwise you're asking my client to take on a risk without oversight...which is bold."
"Our position is that the risk profile has been assessed and already priced in." Henry commented, voice sharp.
"Mmmm" Gojo hummed, placing his hands in his suit trousers, "Then you shouldn't mind confirming that in writing when it blows up later."
The line stilled, Gojo sunk into his chair again, leaning back as his legs stretched out, his polished leather shoes propped up on the desk.
"I'm not trying to be difficult." He remarked before continuing, "I just want to make sure everything is accurate, eighteen months protects both sides and twelve only protects yours."
Henry let out a breath, controlled and steady. "We'll....discuss it with our client, but I wouldn't be optimistic."
Gojo smiled again, "I'm optimistic, unless you want to negotiate and talk to me more." He replied, taunting him lightly.
The call instantly ended and Gojo placed his feet back on the floor moved his hands to the keyboard, fingers clicking against the keys as he leaned forward
Within a few moments, a synchrony of knocks on the door cut through the atmosphere.
His head tilted to the side as he lightly squinted to see the person behind the small glass panes of the door.
Once he recognised the figure he spoke "Come in."
The door opened with caution and Yuta stepped inside with a stack of papers tucked against his chest, slightly jumbled like he'd gathered them in a panic.
His shoulders hunched from the weight of the copies, but also a sense of awkwardness as if he wasn't sure whether to interrupt or wait for acknowledgement.
His tie was almost loosening as if it had given up, and his hair dishevelled, evidence of his rushing around.
Dark shadows basked under his eyes, the eyelids drooping, exhaustion clinging to him like super glue.
"You called?" Yuta asked, glancing at Gojo whose gaze was focused on the lit screen in front of him, his hand wrapped around the mouse.
"I was in the middle of scanning some documents for Noaya." He added, his hold on the papers tightening as the weight was biting at his forearms.
Gojo moved his gaze from the screen to Yuta, wincing dramatically at the name "Ugh that guy?" He waved his hand dismissively.
"He can wait, I'm in the middle of something actually important." He pushed his glasses back with his finger.
Yuta blinked at him, biting the inside of his cheek, nerves tingling beneath his skin.
"More than important than Noaya yelling at me for missing a deadline?" He murmured.
"Way more important." Gojo grinned, his expression bright. "This involves me being right."
Yuta relaxed for a fraction of a second, the corner of his mouth twitching as he shifted the papers to one arm and stepped towards the desk. "What's going on?"
Gojo gestured to the chair opposite the desk with two fingers. "Take a seat, you're about to watch someone fold."
Yuta placed the copies on the desk, an exhausted sigh whispering through his lips as he sat, curiosity brimming, "Is that the London deal?" He asked.
He watched as Gojo leaned back again, arms folding loosely across his chest, eyes flicking to the muted monitor. "Mmm." Gojo hummed, moving his attention to Yuta.
"The client wants a small tweak and the other side thinks it's too late." He smiled, "Just means they can't be asked to explain It to their client."
As if they had heard his remarks, the ringtone bellowed throughout the office, his grin widening from the sound.
"Oh speak of the devil" He moved his finger towards the answer button, glancing at Yuta.
"Pay attention this'll either be very boring or very educational." Gojo remarked, and Yuta nodded in response, leaning in to listen properly.
He answered the call before the second ring could finish. "Henry!" he greeted lightly. "That was quick, I was starting to feel like you ghosted me."
There was a pause, longer, thick enough that they could hear a faint hiss on the other line.
"We spoke to our client." Henry breathed out, his tone clipped.
Gojo folded his hands behind his head, figure relaxed. "Five minutes? already, I'm flattered." Amusement in every syllable.
"Our client agrees to the eighteen month cap." Henry commented. "On the basis that this is the final change." He added, his words fast and sharp.
Yuta glanced at his smiling boss. It was almost laughable to envision Henry's expression, a man he had never met or seen.
From his voice, it was evident that his jaw was tight and held together by an incumbent patience, the perfect pawn to Gojo's taunting.
Gojo's brows lifted as an exaggerated surprised expression flashed across his face.
"Oh? I thought you said not to be optimistic." He quipped, and Yuta bit back a smile from the comment.
"They are eager to complete so please circulate execution versions asap." Henry replied flatly, completely disregarding Gojo's remark.
Gojo straightened his posture, the teasing softening enough to reflect the shift from entertainment to deliberation.
"Great, we'll circulate the documents within the hour." He stated, reaching forward, already moving the cursor.
"Thank you, hopefully this can be done quickly." Henry replied, clear that he was over the conversation.
"So quick to get rid of me Henry I'm hurt." Gojo feigned a pained tone in his voice.
There was a huffed out breath on the other end, resigned and exhausted. "...Thank you Satoru."
The call ended and for a moment the office was hushed, like the room had held in a breath, the ticking of the clock filling the space.
Gojo stared at the screen for a half a second longer than needed before turning his chair to face Yuta, who was blinking at him.
"And that." Gojo beamed, "Is why you never let someone pressure you into believing it's too late."
Yuta let out an airy chuckle, impressed by his boss's persistence. "They didn't even argue."
"They wanted the deal more than wanting to win." Gojo replied. "You can't forget that." raising his pointer finger in the air.
He stood, stretching his arms above his head with a soft groan. "Alright, your turn to suffer." he looked down at his intern, eager to assist with the task despite the timing.
Yuta laughed quietly. "What do you need?" He asked, quickly glancing at his stack of paper.
"Execution versions of the documents." Gojo said, walking back to his desk. "Updated clause, clean makeup and signature blocks ready to go." He instructed.
Yuta nodded, his brows furrowing slightly at his endless task list and fear of the blonde haired man. "What about Noaya's stuff?" he mumbled.
Gojo shrugged his shoulders, not bothered by Noaya's awaited annoyance, grinning at the thought of provoking him. "Tell him I stole you and if he complains I'll deal with him."
Yuta raised a brow, not convinced by him. "That's not reassuring." he said.
"Don't stress just do what I set you its more urgent than whatever he needs.." The white haired man added, fiddling with the metal watch that decorated his wrist.
Yuta stood from his seat and gathered the papers from the desk, holding them tight against his chest, creating a level of security to assure that nothing would be lost.
He headed towards the door, his back turned against Gojo. "I'll have the docs sent to you in twenty," he confirmed.
As his hand grasped the door handle, Gojo spoke up. "Thanks.. and also Yuta, well done for pointing out the issue in the clause earlier." There was no amusement or tease in his voice, just appreciation.
"You noticed it even before the client asked for it to be changed." He added, "Yuta turned his head to face him, his eyes widening at the praise, clearly not expecting it."
"Oh, thank you." He breathed out, a smile gracing his lips.
Gojo grinned in response, "See amazing lawyer and mentor, I need awards at this point."
Yuta chuckled and smiled at Gojo, his hand hesitating at the handle for a second like another thought evaded his mind, but he seemed to brush that away as he opened the door and slipped out of the office.
The door clicked softly shut behind him, leaving the white-haired man, whose expression dropped from a smile to something muted, his lips straight-lipped.
He exhaled a tightened sigh, his body never given the permission to decompress, as the muscles in his body were held captive by torment that even horrified Hades himself.
Who had held him?
Who had cursed his tainted spirit?
He leaned back on the chair; despite the comfort the material carried, it was not enough to soothe the anguish flowing through his veins, not enough to eradicate the tenseness in his back.
His fingers rubbed at his eyes beneath the glasses, as if his fatigue would melt away.
Victory was never worshipped by lone souls like him; why should they be rewarded with any sort of delight for their duties? Any light that might have shone on the shadow beside him had been turned off.
He could never discover the shadow hanging above him, digging a hollow space in his mind, a sort of hollowness that lived without commendation and was certified in a sort of defeated way.
Dwelling on any impositions was detrimental; a single thought could collapse the ceramic walls he had constructed, each pillar carved with the words of his repudiation, holding only by pure will and deflection.
Satoru was always sturdy enough that invasion was futile, but between his profound exhaustion and the hum of the lights, a name flickered within the depths of his mind.
He blinked once, praying that the name would dissolve within the edges of his mind, he reached for the black pool of liquid in his mug, the taste losing any relevance as he sipped, hoping it would trigger a revival in his drained body.
The phone sitting on the desk lit up, a low vibration hitting his ears, filling the suffocating silence.
Gojo placed the mug down and held the phone between his fingers, thumb on the home screen, a single notification announcing itself.
He glanced at the notification; it had looked like a missed call, but it was disguised as something else.
Phone
Voicemail.
His body tensed unconsciously, the grip on the device tightening reflexively, his teeth clenched and jaw tightened, his body transforming into concrete, indestructible and cold.
His head hung low, gaze fixated on the phone screen, each minute passing like a cheetah on the hunt; time had been blurring away.
His thumb edged closer to the notification, hovering before any action was committed. The door knocked, yet again.
He placed the phone back on the desk and exhaled softly, placing the invisible mask back on to his features, he had not cared to check who had knocked and just told them to come in.
The door opened and a familiar figure stepped inside, Utahime stood beside the door with her arms folded, her burgundy blouse crinkling in response and posture slouched in a way that encapsulated resignation rather than patience.
Gojo shifted his focus to her, his brows crinkling in perplexity "..Why are you here?"
"Didn't you have a gig tonight with your sad excuse of a band." He grinned, observing her reactions almost as if a game had initiated without any warning.
Her thin brows furrowed and her expression turned to one of grimace, teeth clenching and arm moving almost as if she was going to rebuttal against him, however she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, exhaling to calm her frustration.
She just blinked, "Had to cancel." she stated plainly.
"Oh, " he raised a brow, still grinning as he leaned forward on the desk, his forearms resting on the oak.
"Did they find out how bad you guys are?" He snickered, trying to push more of her buttons.
She seemed to have developed a sort of immunity from his remarks as her brows bunched together, and she didn't argue again.
"I didn't have a choice." She shot him a flat look, voice still stoic.
Gojo tilted his head to the side and forged an expression of concern, "Probably for the best, you don't wanna get sued for making them deaf."
Utahime scoffed, "I wish I was deaf so I didn't have to hear you speak all day."
His mouth dropped open in slight surprise, clutching his chest dramatically,
"You should be thankful you get to hear it, there's so many people who would pay just to hear me speak." He asserted, spinning in his chair slightly.
She rolled her eyes and walked towards his desk, her gaze wandering around to the lit monitors filled with an endless stream of words, enough that a glance created a dull ache in her head, the scattered paper across the desk, chaos prevalent.
She drifted her gaze to the coffee cup that seemed to have been refilled multiple times already.
"Why are you still here...it's late?" she asked squinting her eyes at the man.
His stark white hair sat in a sort of effortless disarray, the strands falling loose over his forehead, unable to be kept, always betraying the polished exterior he had perfected.
His hair always seemed to mirror a sort of looseness, glasses still perched on his nose, as he crossed his arms lazily, blinking up at his colleague.
"Because I'm addicted to drafting documents." He tilted his head, fingers stroking his chin in feigned thought.
She didn't react from his antics and just stood still, he rolled his eyes and looked back at her. "Fine, just a closing tonight." he stated.
She nodded, prepared to receive his answer, like any other would have been shocking. "Of course."
She hesitated for a moment before adding, "Did you eat?" Her tone was not one of concern but of routine.
"Wow.." Gojo said, shaking his head theatrically. "You came just to interrogate me?" He questioned.
Her expression didn't change, his comments not seeming to create a single tatter on her shield. "Yeah I ate." He simply stated.
She stared at him for half a second, "Define ate?" She raised a brow.
"It means when you eat something...get a dictionary." He grinned, chuckling at his own joke.
She exhaled through her nose, unimpressed and not humoured by him. "You're impossible.." She mumbled.
He shrugged his shoulders, grin still plastered. Utahime shook her head and walked towards the door not wanting to argue, she turned towards the door and paused.
"Make sure you sleep when you get home." She said without looking back at him "So you're still functional"
"Aww you do care." Gojo cooed, still teasing.
She glanced over her shoulder, observing the white haired man, eyes sunken in and a smile so bright it looked forged, like it had been perfected by the puppeteers that held him.
"Did Shoko tell you to check up on me." Gojo asked, the teasing dissolving into a sombre tone.
She ignored his remark and didn't answer; instead, she opened the door, holding the handle between her manicured fingers.
"Get some rest, Gojo," she said, already halfway out. "Seriously."
And then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her. Gojo remained still for a moment, his gaze lingering on the wooden door; however, he moved towards the monitor in a flash, maybe praying that the screen would tear him from the ruined lands and pull him into a whirlpool of freedom, untethered from his tattered reality.
Instead, a soft chime of an incoming email cut through the silence; his hand gripped the mouse, he clicked the notification, and saw that Yuta had sent the documents at a speed he had not even promised.
Gojo smiled without instruction and skimmed the email, brief, precise, however apologetic in the way interns like Yuta would present, almost like he felt like his mere presence was a burden.
Everything had been done with accuracy and efficiency, he replied with a simple 'good job', aware that confidence had to be nurtured with attentiveness.
Over the next few hours, the night unravelled into signatures and confirmations, emails stacking, the chimes almost a melody. The final approvals had arrived, each date sealing the finality tighter.
It should have felt like a conclusion. Instead, it felt like breathing but realising that inhaling had been stolen from him, the air unable to reside within him.
The deal might have finalised, but the weight never lightened; he had an acute mindfulness that his list of duties would spiral, that winning was futile, never meant to ease his spirit but just annihilate it.
By the time the last confirmation came through, he saw the light glowing through his door had burned away, and the office had emptied without him noticing.
Gojo stood slowly, feeling a dull ache kindle in his joints, a pain that never seemed to alleviate. He shrugged his blazer and jacket back on, fingers tugging at the fabric.
He walked to the window, his shoes creating light clacking sounds on the wooden floors, hands resting in his pockets, shoulders tight as he gazed upon the dormant city.
Darkness mostly clouded the area, windows opaque, streets quiet, the hidden buildings reduced to mere silhouettes.
The darkened skies created a sense of solace; maybe it was solely because he felt the netherworld's slaves would be merciful, their claws not dragging against his skin, unable to reach him when the heavens were also in slumber, the war paused when the skies had slept.
He looked over the desolate structures and across the street, nestled between concrete and glass, a warm light glinted, warm yet defiant.
He squinted slightly to realise it was a cafe, one he had passed repeatedly yet never gave it any mind.
He stared at for longer than necessary, home felt premature, cold and quiet, quiet in a way that was claustrophobic, so without second guessing he grabbed his things and slipped his glasses into his pocket and departed.
The clouds appeared to have sensed him as a trickle of droplets fell from the grey clouds above, each droplet landing on his figure, clinging to the ends of his hair, the white strands lightly darkening.
The fabric of his jacket absorbed the water, slowly soaking his sleeves as the city hummed its incomprehensible chant.
His hand gripped the cold doorknob, turning it slowly, as he opened the door, the bell chimed softly, an announcement of his presence.
His gaze wandered around the cafe, the tables and seats abandoned. Just a barista slouching behind the counter, time not favourable to her as well, she was mindlessly scrolling on her phone, oblivious to his entrance until he stood in front of the counter.
She glanced up, bored at first until she took in his features, freezing slightly at the sight, a flush of pink erupting on her cheeks. He blinked at her, his expression unreactive, exhaustion not permitting him to act.
"Can I get a strawberry milkshake please?" He asked pleasantly, like it wasn't past midnight and raining.
She nodded too fast, blush still present. When she handed him the drink, it almost seemed like an art piece, something too delicate for the timing and her apparent boredom.
The light pink drink filled the plastic cup with a perfect swirl of whipped cream, accessorising it. He held the cup between his fingers, her cheeks burning a dark red as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
He nodded to thank her and slid into the booth near the back of the cafe, discreet and hidden.
Gojo twirled the cup and noticed a phone number, which he assumed was the barista's, followed by a small heart. His lips curved slightly, and a quiet chuckle escaped him.
He took a sip of the drink, the sweetness blooming on his tongue, grounding him in a way that nothing else ever quite managed.
Gojo's phone sat between his fingers, scrolling through emails and messages, and it buzzed, the voicemail notification appearing again, a reminder that it had been unopened, unheard.
He stared at the screen, the cafe faded, the rain blurred, the glow dimmed as he felt himself still again.
The notification below was like an untamed thunderstorm; he could almost hear the shallow breaths racing through him as his thumb hovered over the screen again.
Without warning, his phone rang, breaking any sort of determination he had felt. Shoko, he answered before he could make any other choice.
"Hi Satoru." She muttered, her voice rough and low from fatigue.
"Hey," he replied lightly. "You know it's rude to call people this late, right?" he replied, fiddling with his straw.
There was a pause, he could hear her breathing on the other end, slow and tired. "Why are you awake?" she asked.
"Why are you awake? you called me?" He scoffed in response.
He could hear her sigh again, longer and drawn out "I asked first." she spoke.
He decided to answer, not wanting to drag the conversation more than needed. "Work, what about you?" He asked.
"Same." she replied, not giving away any information on what work or why, both their answers short and curt.
She seemed to have hesitated for a second before speaking again "Have you gone home yet?"
"Nope, I'm in a cafe." He sipped his drink, the condensation from the cup coating his fingers.
"...It's so late." She replied.
"I know." He answered, pressing the phone to his ear, as his elbow dug into the wooden table.
"Why?" she questioned a few seconds later.
Gojo leaned back on his seat, eyes drifting to the rain-slicked window, the droplets rushing down as though they were in a race.
"Didn't feel like going home yet." He mumbled, the sugar not mending his drained body.
"Go home and sleep." Shoko said flatly.
He sighed and ignored her comment "Did you ask Utahime to check on me?" He asked, slight frustration brewing in his chest.
She was silent for a few moments, clearly tying to gather her words. "I might have mentioned I was worried, but I never asked her to check on you." She explained.
He rolled her eyes despite her not being able to see it "You have no reason to worry." He remarked, his tone biting at annoyance.
She shifted the conversation, disregarding his words "Did you look at what I sent you?"
"Nope, I have been so busy." He answered immediately without a breath.
"Satoru. Her voice sharper.
"Sorry." He cut in smoothly before her words could hit the air. "I'm getting another call, its very important...byeeee."
"Wait-" she spoke but he hung up before she could say anything else.
The phone hit the table softly, as he dragged a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his temples like it would quiet something concealed.
The cafe bell chimed, dragging him out of his actions, he could sense a blur of movement enter his peripheral vision, not paying it any mind he looked down at the table, his phone screen lit up again, the voicemail notification glaring bright, the reminders more constant now as if it was a ticking time bomb.
Gojo turned his screen off, placing the phone upside down, not wanting to be reminded again, buried and silent for now.
He looked back at the entrance of the cafe, the figure exiting as fast as they had entered, the rain now a downpour of liquid glass, washing the city spotless, any impurity cleansed away.
Yet he sat in the booth, untouched by the repentance, as if the heavens had deemed him unworthy, the corruption festering within his arteries and skin.
SYNOPSIS You agree to go to group counselling because you can't fix grief the same way you fix everything else. Every week, the same people sit in a circle talking about the things they lost, the things they regret, the things they can't change. You say you're fine, Satoru says he's busy. Neither of you believe each other. Each session ends the same way, with both of you heading to the door at the same time, pretending it doesn't mean anything.
Sirens by Sonder - 'If i closed the door and shut my mouth, I wouldn't be here right now'
PAIRING Lawyer Gojo x Surgeon Fem reader
CONTENT mdni, mentions of death, medical content, mentions of blood, reader doing a surgery, Mei Mei as an attending ew, Nanami resident surgeon MEOW, mentions of car surgery, reader is a resident surgeon, wound descriptions, anxiety, use of poetry, SLOW BURNNNN, please understand this is a slowburn, nurse choso heheh
WORD COUNT 3.4k
CHAPTER INDEX >>CHAPTER TWO
FOR THE NIGHT LONGED FOR ERADICATION
The damsel of the dusk held liquid damnation between her frail fingers, the skin peeling off as she sat on the windowsill, peering at the dormant woman, her chest rippling like an enslaved current as her body twitched with every breath.
The damsel almost felt remorseful for pouring the fluid down the woman's parted lips, but remorse for such an act was futile.
She had pledged to torment the lone beings, impelling them to succumb to a life of ceaselessness as sovereignty was forbidden to beings like her.
A harsh beep bounced off the walls of the muted bedroom, shattering the already scarce slumber that was vowed to you.
A disgruntled groan whispered through your lips, already dreading the havoc that was waiting for you. You let a shallow breath enter your lungs, feeling the ache in your throat that never seemed to leave.
You pushed yourself up on your bed, the back of your head dropping against the headboard as you stared at the ceiling above, hoping it would suck you out of the mayhem that sat beneath your skin, crippling away at your muscles and burning through your bones.
You stretched out the worn muscles and sat at the edge of your bed, peering at the window before you, curtains already drawn open, as you were probably bemused the night before.
The early-morning horizon was always intriguing, the city disunited as some lights behind the curtains blazed, and others faded.
There were no stars gracing the sky, just a mere black sheet held up by whoever was instructed to. You grabbed the edge of the mattress on both sides to try to ground yourself.
You always gave yourself fifteen minutes before the day started to let yourself just be in the time you had.
The imbalance of pre-dawn was somewhat comforting, as if it were the only time when disproportion was permitted.
With one last exhale, you stood up, attempting to fortify yourself for the day. You walked towards the bathroom, feeling the frosty air nip at your skin.
As you stood in front of the sink, you couldn't help but notice your reflection; the shadows under your eyes had become more pronounced, almost concave.
Your eyes were frosted with light crimson across the edges, the vessels clearly done with pursuing you. So you did what you always did: covered the blemishes and prayed they wouldn't threaten to rise to the surface.
You peeled away the sweat-damp fabric from the night and slipped into your usual oversized hoodie and sweatpants, zipping up a jacket for extra protection against the frosty air.
You grabbed your necessities from your dresser, and as you were about to desert the apartment, a faint glint of light took you by surprise.
Beside your scattered gold jewellery, a lone silver watch glared at you. You placed it between your fingers, softly brushing your thumb against the steel, and in instinct, you shoved it in the pockets of your sweats, ready for it to follow you.
Boreas had decided to be benevolent today, as the concrete beneath your shoes wasn't as icy as you had anticipated; it was replaced with a slight dampness.
The oxidised silver clouds above were clearly distraught as you felt droplets of water graze your skin. It started light, just a mere drizzle; however, halfway through your journey, a sudden cascade of rain rushed down, almost like the concrete and the city were absorbing the cathartic wails of Oizys.
Unfortunately, it had been the one morning you had not brought an umbrella, and you were starting to get washed by the tears.
You glanced around the street; most of the stores and cafes were asleep; however, when you squinted slightly, a warm yellow light peered through the cluster of bricks.
You stepped into the warm cafe, a golden gleam pooled throughout the space, and a fatigued sigh left your lips; the faint aroma of baked pastries and crushed coffee beans wafted through your senses.
The room came into focus; you could see it was almost barren, with only a lone barista scrolling on their phone and a glimpse of milky-white hair peeking out from a booth.
The commanding squeaking of your sneakers filled the silence, leading the barista to look up at you, her expression disinterested.
"Hi what can I get you?" The barista mumbled, exhaustion lacing her voice.
"Can I get a caramel latte and a pain au chocolat please." You replied, your answer instant.
As you paid and collected the items, the downpour outside had relaxed and with one last glance you vacated the cafe, the white hair still hidden within the booth.
The vast hospital stood in front of you, its intangible limbs already grabbing you vigorously as if it were trying to drain your oesophagus of life. The energy never stopped, but it always shifted.
Despite the early rise of the day, people were dotted around the entrance. A man sat perched by the bench near the doors, his back to the doors as he yelled through the phone. A woman pranced up and down the road, her coffee untouched in her hands.
You glanced through while walking towards the staff entrance, scanning your badge as the doors parted with no ceremony.
The changing room always smelt faintly of antiseptic and laundry detergent, almost as if the air itself was trained to purify the transgression on your skin.
The room was completely still, the only anomaly being your hushed breaths. You slowly slipped off your damp clothes, and as you began to slip off your sweatpants, your nimble fingers reached into one of the pockets and brushed cool metal.
You grabbed the watch and held it between your fingers yet again. It strangely felt heavier than before.
You looked down at the piece and intently followed the silent movements of the dial's hands, each tick wordless yet a reminder that time was rushing past without even discussing it.
You swallowed the growing ache in your throat and replaced the damp clothes with scrubs, each movement practised and almost automatic.
You started folding the clothes gently and placed them in the locker, then conscientiously set the watch on top of the folded clothes, as though it would bruise if handled roughly.
With one last look you shut the locker door, the click sound rebounding off the walls and you turned away before any thoughts would cultivate in your mind.
The ward was alive, each sound brimmed with energy mixed into one harmony, the monitors beeping, the mixed pace of footsteps and the low voices rumbling throughout, each syllable indistinguishable.
You scanned the area to see a familiar coal-haired man. Choso was standing by the nursing station, his shoulder slightly slumped over as he was mid-conversation with another nurse.
You walked towards him, and he seemed to notice your presence as he looked up and caught sight of you, ending his conversation.
You stood in front of him, his figure slightly towering over you as your eyes skimmed his features, dark shadows etched under his eyes, his obsidian locks tied low, some frayed wisps flowing.
His eyes lidded, exhaustion woven into his gaze, but a soft warmth grew within them as a faint, lazy smile graced his lips.
"Damn you look like shit." He snorted, looking at your disheveled state, "Did you walk through a car wash?"
You huffed out a faint laugh. "Good morning to you too .."
You held the now cold coffee between your fingers, trying to chug the bitter liquid with efficiency. As you were trying to down the coffee you could hear his faint chuckle as background noise.
"Jeez did you not sleep?" His tone filled with amusement.
You threw the cup away and sighed, "I passed out last night but the neighbours were so loud I was basically awake."
He chuckled again, a little louder this time, "Yeah, you need to do what I did last time." a grin tugged at his lips as he knocked his knuckles lightly against the counter. "Just start banging on the wall, really loud"
You glanced at him, eyebrow quirking, a small smile tugged at your mouth before you could stop it.
"I don't know." your voice dry, "I was thinking of just blasting the SpongeBob theme tune...would probably kill the mood."
His lips were still tainted in a soft smile, eyes creasing at the corners. "Yeah Yuji would disapprove, he's still obsessed with that show, even as a college student."
You shook your head as you stepped past him to get towards the computer behind the counter. You leaned on the desk, one palm balanced on the other, and one hand on the mouse.
"Well." You muttered as you logged in, "Yuji is Yuji." Your focus stuck on the computer.
He stood beside you, his posture relaxed and composed. The screen flickered to life, and the patient list loaded; fifteen names stared back at you.
You peered at the screen longer than necessary, your shoulders tensing for a fraction of a second.
"That's rough." Choso noted, "Don't get comfortable..meany Mei is in a mood." he leaned in slightly and whispered, making sure that the information stuck with only the two of you.
You exhaled through your nose. "When is she not in a mood?" you felt your hand cementing itself with the mouse, feeling a dull ache in your ribs.
He hummed in agreement as you stretched out your arms, trying to release the familar exhaustion that had settled into your bones, a tangled exhale left your lungs as you pulled up the first chart.
You strolled through the ward, preparing for your patient rounds, and you reached your first patient. She was a woman in her late fifties, hair neatly brushed, a mauve pink cardigan neatly placed on her lap.
A gentle smile bloomed on her lips when you entered, the kind that reached her eyes, small crinkles forming at the corners.
"Good morning," you said gently. "I'm one of the surgical residents, how are you feeling today?" you smiled, glancing at the woman.
"A little sore," she admitted, "but much better than yesterday." despite the smile dissolving as she spoke, she still radiated a warmness.
You checked her vitals, examined the incision from the day before, asked about pain, nausea, bowel movements, each question and response was almost mechanical however the routine rhythm grounded you.
As you were monitoring her blood pressure, her voice filled the air. "You must be so busy," she said as you finished documenting.
"Always running around." she said. You unwrapped the cuff from her arm, and a forged smile plastered itself on your lips.
"It can be very busy but It's manageable," you replied. "I enjoy the rotation." you scribbled down her readings.
She hummed in response and nodded approvingly. "You remind me of my daughter, she's a doctor too."
You unconsciously gripped the pen in your hand tighter, your muscles tensed, it felt as though the air filtering through the vents had been confined, your lungs being plundered of their function.
You cleared your throat, feeling the decompression of the air, and as you were about to speak, the curtain rustled as someone stepped in.
A woman in professional attire smiled brightly, the pearls of her teeth glistening. "Hey mom." she gleamed.
She stood beside her mother's bed, stroking the untamed flyaway hairs away and softly placed a kiss on her cheek.
"How are you feeling?" she questioned, her voice filled with concern but care.
You felt yourself still, the dull ache in your ribs was blooming into something damaging, almost as though someone had pressed their foot upon the everlasting bruise.
"I'm okay don't worry, this young lady has been looking after me." she nudged her head towards you.
Her daughter glanced at you, she was a younger facsimile of her mother, their smiles duplicated on to one another.
"Thank you." She whispered, reaching out to hold one of her mother's ageing hands.
You stood in the space a beat too long, gaze intently observing the mother and daughter.
Then you blinked, smoothed out your expression and reentered the room. "Your incision looks good," you said, voice steady. "We'll aim to get you mobilising more today."
"Thank you dear." replied, voice tender.
You nodded and escaped the area, feeling yourself expel a breath that had balled up in the pits of your stomach.
Each patient visit had blurred past, your actions motorised. As you trotted past the nurse station again, you looked up to see sunlit tresses and a tight-lipped expression.
You ambled across the station and faced Nanami, who was reviewing charts. He always carried a sombre visage; the lines and edges of his figure were always tight.
Rectangular, clear-rimmed glasses perched on his nose bridge, his irises a muted green, never bright, never bold. He lightly raised a brow at the sight of you.
"Have you eaten?" he uttered, voice stoic.
You huffed out a sigh from his words. "Why is this always the first thing you ask me" You crossed your arms, "No hi or hello."
He placed the tablet on the counter, focusing his attention to you. "Okay hi, have you eaten?" he stated, his lips in a straight line.
You rolled your eyes, however the act was filed with a gentle undertone. "Yeah I had a pain au chocolat." you replied.
He lightly shook his head in disappointment. "That's not very nutritious." he commented.
You blinked at him, "But it's yummy." murmering, not enjoying the ongoing interrogation.
He pushed his glasses up with one finger, looking at you with a sort of spent demeanour. "You should know as a doctor that's not as important as health."
You placed a finger on your chin, pondering for a few moments. "I saw you eat a cupcake the other day." you retaliated.
His jaw narrowly twitched in reflex. "That was after my main meal." his voice edging into frustration.
"But you still ate it." you responded, a deadpan expression covering your face. Nanami looked at you for a moment before he closed his eyes and started rubbing his temples with one hand.
"What am I supposed to do with you?" He grumbled. A small smile traced your lips as you looked up at him.
"I'm fine don't worry." You said softly, trying to ease his concern. He hummed and picked up the tablet from the counter.
"Okay fine." He replied, despite the answer being accepting you could hear that he was not convinced, however not pushing.
"How has your day been though?" You asked, moving the conversation.
Nanami lifted his gaze from the tablet in his hands, eyes scanning your face for a moment before he answered. "Busy," he said evenly. "I just finished a hernia repair, straightforward It went well."
You nodded, feeling a dull relief from the word 'well', an acute awareness that nothing below that was acceptable, not a room for anything else.
He adjusted his grip on the tablet. "Dr Mei mentioned you'll be assisting on a laparoscopic cholecystectomy."
You exhaled through your nose, something between a laugh and a sigh. "Assisting is... generous. I've already been warned."
The corner of his mouth twitched, barely a smile. "She's not in the best mood today."
"Is she ever.." You said, feeling an imminent storm stirring.
Nanami hummed, noncommittal, then glanced to the ward behind you for a few moments as if a thought had preserved him. When he looked back at you, his voice carried a minor softness, concealed.
"Even if you don't get to do as much as you'd like," he said, "watch everything, positioning, decision-making, how she handles complications before they happen." he paused for half a second. "There's value in that too."
You nodded again, slower this time. "I know."
"I know you know," he replied. "But residents forget that when they're tired." he looked down at the tablet again.
That earned a faint smile from you, the knowing of shared convention and struggle.
The ubiquitous odour of antiseptic had welcomed you, its scent braiding into each particle of your being, the scent almost comforting, as you stood by the scrub station.
The tepid rush of water drowned your hands, using the soap bar to cleanse away the contaminants, your skin now purified.
You almost wished the solvent would seep into the cracks of your muscles, releasing them from the anguish that held them.
"Don't rush." You heard the voice beside you command, tone assertive, your shoulders tensed in reflex, your hands paused for a moment, and you glanced sideways.
Mei stood at the adjacent sink, already scrubbed, arms held carefully aloft. Her mouth and nose were covered by a mask, but her eyes were visible, sharp beneath the fluorescent bulbs, the kind of expression which clutched you in place.
"Yes, Dr Mei," you said, slowing your movements despite the fact that the routine had been instilled in your veins.
She gave a brief, dreary hum, it wasn't approval, she never seemed to bestow that, something only given to the incomparable souls.
The operating theatre held its breath as you stepped inside, your gown and gloves tied with exercised ease.
The monitors hummed its tune, instruments laid out with reverent precision, not daring to move as the anaesthetist murmured vitals.
Mei's gaze was focused on the board, "Laparoscopic cholecystectomy," she said, as if she was reminding herself more than you.
"Routine I don't want unnecessary delays." You could not decipher her expression behind the mask; however, there was a tightness in her body and gaze.
Your nod was immediate. "Understood."
She didn't look at you again, as you positioned yourself where indicated, not even first assist, not remotely close, just mere observation, retraction if she felt generous, the possibility of that was slim, her movements mechanical, and the energy that diverged from her skin could burn anyone in reach.
You felt a slight sting but ultimately swallowed it down, you knew which battles were worth the fight.
The surgery hastened past, the minutes passing with sharp light and the even sharper voices, where your hands hovered more than they touched, did they know that your hands had been tainted, that no serum could purge them.
You stood at the edge of the sterile field, absorbing instead of acting despite your instincts jumping at you, following the precision unfold without invitation.
Mei drove with an unmissable efficiency, her hunger overlooking the space where tutelage could have lain, leaving you to deduce in silence, presently tracing each movement, your mind stitching what your hands were denied. Invisibility didn't constrict you; it fuelled a drive that was blocked.
You became a quiet witness, your dim, staunch glow pressing to the margins of luminosity, understanding not by being elected but by refusing to disappear.
"Read more on biliary anatomy, you hesitate."
"Yes, Dr Mei."
Her words almost like a trenchant sword, critical despite not given a chance to prove otherwise.
The changing room was empty yet again, quiet in almost a merciful way, as if it had decided to hold you in place. Your marred scrubs replaced with your hoodie and sweatpants, a slight comfort caressing.
You sat for what felt like aeons, forearms resting on your knees, breath steadying itself without instruction. The watch placed in your pocket, as if containment was simpler than confrontation.
You finally held your phone between your hands, untouched and derelict, like the world was shut off and the life that lived beyond the pixelated screen was a mere illusion.
You scrolled through the forgotten notifications, emails, useless apps, but then stopped at a message, thumb hovering, careful not to open it.
Yuki:
Remember what we talked about.
Cryptic, yet it held significance that the naked eye would disregard. You exhaled a crooked breath, body not relieved.
You stared at the screen for a few seconds before turning it off, sliding the phone into your pocket without responding.
FOR WHO ARE WE IF WE AREN'T SLAVES TO NESCIENCE?
ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ
A/N: Hi welcome to Sirens and I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, please give me your thoughts. :)
I know this chapter might have seemed slow and just about her job, I just wanted to start establishing the characters individual lives and how that is before jumping into them meeting, and build the connection slowly after.
I didn't want to give too much away about the plot or context in this chapter but please give it a chance I promise it will be worth it.
The first few chapters will be intros and developments into the characters so please don't expect them to interact so quickly, I want this to be a slow burn.
