Satoru Gojo

Satoru had always been a character. It wasn't like he had a luxurious life, far from it. Life often brought him problems, as if he attracted them to himself. As a student, he lived in the large house of his parents, whom, to be honest, he didn't really like. They were rich bores and always demanded that Satoru be perfect at everything and at all times. Of course, typical rich parents who wanted to maintain their public image, so Satoru winced inwardly every time from all those forced smiles, mercenary friends, all those business meetings, etc. When there were people around, of course, his parents were white and fluffy, but in the family circle, Satoru faced constant reprimands, quarrels, which he was already tired of. Hypocrisy is everywhere. Such a life deprived him of trust in everyone, and also gave rise to hidden hatred towards everyone, including his family. // It was early autumn when Satoru once again came to his unloved house after boring lectures at the university. As he walked through the door, he already knew what would happen, so he silently walked through the large living room to the stairs, watching out of the corner of his eye that his parents were getting ready to leave somewhere. Not paying any attention to it, he simply went into his room and plopped down on the bed and closed his eyes in the hope that he would fall asleep and his headache would finally go away. Satoru woke up to the buzzing of his phone and with a disgruntled grunt he rolled over, covering his head with a pillow, but after another notification he picked up the phone from the nightstand and unlocked the phone, looking at the messages. "Your parents died in an accident while driving to a meeting. The funeral is tomorrow, come to cemetery N. My condolences for your loss" Satoru just stared at the message for a few minutes, unsure of how to respond. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he rubbed his face with his hands and stood up, going through the closet, finding a black jacket and pants and hanging them on a chair to wear tomorrow. Ha-ah, screw that. I'm alone now, right? Friday, 9:30 AM. Wearing a suit he had prepared beforehand, Satoru walked down the street, a cigarette hanging between his lips and taking a drag, his hands stuffed in his pockets. It was a rainy morning, and wet strands of his hair were stuck to his face as he walked to the flower shop to buy flowers for the grave. Throwing his cigarette onto the sidewalk, he turned the corner, heading towards his destination. The door creaked open as Satoru entered the small flower shop, looking around the display of flowers, raindrops dripping from his hair. Hearing a polite and warm greeting from the other side of the shop, he turned his head, looking at the source of that voice, which he found charming. He paused for a moment, looking at the girl, his heart beating a little faster as he looked at her. That cute checkered biretta on her head, the apron with green marks from the stems of the flowers, the smile that seemed to light up the room, the glint in those beautiful eyes. She was beautiful, without a doubt, he thought. Regaining his composure, he nodded silently, keeping a calm face as he turned to the display of flowers by the cash register and pointed at one of the bouquets of flowers. "These, please," he pointed out, taking his wallet out of his jacket pocket and placing several large bills on the table. "Keep the change," he said, watching the girl wrap the bouquet. "This is a great choice. What's the occasion? For your girlfriend? I think she'll like it." The girl asked with a smile, handing the bouquet to Satoru. "To the funeral" "Oh, I beg your pardon..." After visiting the cemetery, Satoru returned home. Reading through various documents in his now deceased father's office, he saw that his parents had left him nothing. No inheritance, no money. Everything had been donated to charities. Well, yes, what kind of virtues were they. Although he was not surprised that his parents had left him nothing. After packing his things, he left the house, moving into a small, modest apartment on the outskirts of the city. While he was unpacking the apartment, he lit another cigarette, not caring that the entire apartment would smell of cigarettes. And while he was unpacking, images of that girl floated into his mind. Taking a deep drag, he tried to get it out of his head. Because he was never interested in it, and he didn't trust anyone. But something in her image drew him. Having found himself a part-time job, he devoted himself to it and to his studies, just to do something. And he began to notice that he often thought about that girl, who began to pass by that flower shop more often, thereby learning your schedule. He started coming into the store during your shifts, buying flowers, ignoring questions like "what's the occasion?" "for who?" He just wanted to see you Buying flowers after work or once again, he came home, threw another bouquet on the table and sat down at the kitchen table, not even bothering to turn on the light. Opening the window, he lit a cigarette, shaking the ashes into the ashtray, thinking about her. These flowers took up half the space of his kitchen and bedroom; he did not throw them away, he could not explain why. After work, Satoru even sometimes waited for that girl to finish work, and followed her around, to find out where she lived, what she did in her free time. He looked like a stalker, but he didn't care. It seems he's starting to have feelings for her, and maybe it's a little unhealthy love Every time he took a cigarette out of the pack and lit it, he thought of that girl. Every time he looked at those countless wilted bouquets in his apartment, he remembered her, thought of her. There were almost no things in his apartment, dim lighting, a single bed in his room, carelessly covered with a thin blanket. Every time he came home, he sat in the kitchen or in the bedroom, he took out a cigarette and lit it, staring into space and floating somewhere in his thoughts. He rarely even turned on the light. The only source of light was the smoldering end of the cigarette and the light from the moon. And what is the meaning of such a life? And now, he had already smoked the 876th cigarette, which immediately brought thoughts of her. Even he, Satoru, didn't dare to ask her number. He just came to her flower shop from time to time and bought her a bouquet, talked briefly about the weather or everyday trivialities, and as always left her a generous tip and went to his small, dark and cold apartment to smoke that damn 877th cigarette. On a rainy Saturday, Satoru, knowing that she was working, went outside and slowly walked towards a very familiar and usual place. "Hello. As always, white roses and lilies for me. Terrible weather today, isn't it?"