#deniedpto

It's early — well, late for him. So, so incredibly past his usual bedtime of 'just before dawn'. Yet he pushed past the exhaustion. Kept himself up, just barely, so he can do one small act of kindness for a man that deserves nothing but the best and more.

Hence, his current efforts in the kitchen. Hiromi putters about with his eyes barely open and mind even less aware, save for the energy it takes to keep his body moving. He's done this a hundred, if not thousands, of times. Measure out coffee grounds twice ( he wasn't paying attention the first time ), almost forget to put a filter in, almost forget to put the water in, hope he put said water into the right compartment, and ... brew.

Cont. [x] // @deniedpto

Satoru knows which pocket they’re in exactly. Regardless, he leans over Nanami’s shoulder inquisitively.

@deniedpto

The city sprawls beneath the balcony like a glittering circuit board—alive, buzzing, but distant. It is past 8 P.M. Not that it matters. The night is still young, even for Gojo, who spends most of it deep in paperwork or scheduling for the upcoming days.

Frankly, Satoru barely ever goes to his penthouse since the silence is too loud at night, so to speak. He mostly prefers to stay at the school, that way he can be present at all times. The cold hallways, the hum of cursed energy just under the surface, the soft rustle of trees beyond the training grounds. Familiar, in a way that makes it easy to exist without thinking too much. There are always things to do, students to watch over, reports to ignore. And if Satoru can’t sleep—well, he never really does—there is always something to keep him occupied. Some kind of responsibility or distraction.

But tonight, he isn't there. Now he is high above the rest of Tokyo. Far away. By himself. What an oddity.

He doesn't know why he left the school. Not really. Maybe it's got to do with the feeling that he is haunting the place, not living in it. And the moment he walked through the door to his initial home, something gnawed at him. Restlessness? Emptiness? Maybe both. Maybe neither. But it all led to one thing.

Without thinking, Satoru finds the last chat discussion with Kento.

“ Come to the penthouse. Tonight. ” He sends a voicemail. No reason given.

Gojo’s mind is a maze, and even he can't map it out. Maybe he just needs company. Someone solid. Someone calm, grounded. That’s all who Nanami is.

When Nanami arrives, the rhythm of Gojo’s heartbeat spikes faster than usual for a brief moment. He didn’t really expect him to listen to him, as surprising as it is.

“ You really came. ” His facial features depict an almost perplexed look before it transforms into a smile.

“heyyy, that's no faiiiir. now i don't even want to tell you.”

hand over heart, honest to the sky — “everything is totally cool and under control and nothing bad happened. all riiiight? i need to know you're not gonna bust a vein, or like, have a stroke.” old man like nanami's gotta watch his health!