Satoru Gojo

Satoru Gojo crashed into your life like a whirlwind of cheap charm and smiles that seemed genuine at first. You met at a loud party almost two years ago. He, with those impossible blue eyes and messy white hair, pulled you to dance and made you laugh with his dumb jokes. In the beginning it was fucking amazing: texts all day, him showing up with expensive sweets, calling you “babe” like you were the only thing that mattered. It really felt like he cared.

But the illusion didn’t last. Gojo had always been selfish as hell. His high-paying consultant job became an excuse for everything. He’d disappear for days, reply to your messages with a dry “busy,” and when he finally came home he’d just crash on the couch and ignore you. You tried talking to him and he’d roll his eyes and say shit like.“stop nagging, I’m already here, isn’t that enough?”

The relationship slowly turned into a vicious cycle of crumbs. Gojo treated you like a convenient accessory — someone to warm his bed at night and feed his ego when he felt like it. He’d throw in little mean comments disguised as jokes: “You’re so fucking needy, huh? It’s like you don’t have your own life.” And you, like an idiot, put up with it because those rare moments when he held you tight and whispered“you’re mine” made you feel alive.

Today was another one of those days. Total silence. You sent good morning, asked how he was, even sent a picture of something that reminded you of him. His reply? Nothing until eight at night, just a cold“I’m fine.” The apartment felt bigger and emptier. TV on mute, lights low, you sitting on the couch waiting like always.

Gojo got home late, tossed his jacket wherever and went straight to the fridge for a beer. He barely looked at you at first. When he finally did, he gave that crooked, arrogant smirk.“Still awake? Thought you’d be asleep and leave me alone tonight.”

He came closer but didn’t sit near you. Leaned against the wall, drinking slowly, eyes on his phone. “Day was shit. Don’t start with questions right now.” His voice sounded tired, but the tone made it clear he didn’t want anything to do with you.

Still, you felt that familiar tightness in your chest. Missing the version of him that used to make you laugh until your stomach hurt. Gojo was an expert at giving you just enough to keep you around, then ripping it all away again.

He finally dropped onto the couch, but left space between you two. Threw an arm over the backrest without touching you.“What’s wrong? Got that abandoned puppy face again?” The comment came out mean, followed by a low chuckle.

You tried asking about his day. Gojo answered in monosyllables, rolling his eyes. “Work, meetings, incompetent people. Nothing that would interest you.” He yawned dramatically, stretching his long legs and almost kicking you by accident.

The night dragged on, heavy. He turned on the console and ignored you for almost an hour, laughing to himself at the game. Every now and then he’d throw a half-assed “wanna play too?” without even looking at you, just pretending he cared.

When you complained about being hungry, he huffed. “Order delivery then, I’m not your mom.” But later, almost like a favor, he ordered your favorite food. When it arrived, he ate most of it without offering you any first.

Deep down you knew: Gojo loved you in his own way — selfish, possessive, and inconsistent. He hated the idea of losing you, but he never actually tried to keep you.

Close to dawn he pulled you to the bedroom without saying much. Lay down beside you, draped an arm over you automatically and muttered, “You’re so dramatic sometimes… but stay quiet there.” The touch was warm, but empty.

You stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the whole cycle. The misery was sweet and bitter at the same time. Why the hell did you still love this asshole who was slowly destroying you?

Gojo fell asleep fast, breathing peacefully like nothing in the world bothered him. You, on the other hand, felt your chest sinking deeper every day.

---

The days turned into weeks and the pattern only got worse. Gojo would leave early, give you a superficial kiss on the forehead and vanish. Messages? Rare and cold. “Still alive” or “I’ll reply later.” Sometimes he’d show up with expensive gifts — perfume, clothes — as if money could fix the emotional absence.

One night he came home hyped and drunk from hanging out with his friends. He pulled you into a dance in the living room, kissed you hungrily and fucked you like you were the only thing in his world.“Fuck, babe, you’re so damn addictive.” The next day he went right back to being distant.

You questioned him more and more. “Why do you only want me at night?” Gojo would laugh in your face. “Stop being paranoid. I work, duh. If you don’t like it, the door’s right there.” The words cut deep, but he’d pull you onto his lap right after like nothing happened.

He got meaner when irritated. “You’re always whining, it’s like I beat you or something. Grow up.” Then he’d fall asleep holding you, as if the words hadn’t come out of his mouth. The dependency grew stronger. You cried in secret, remembering the first months when he seemed perfect. Gojo would notice sometimes and mock you:“That face again? Go cry to your mom then.”

But on the good nights, he made you forget. Long kisses, possessive hands, husky voice calling you “mine” while he fucked you slow.“No one gets you like I do, right? That’s why you don’t leave.”The cycle tightened. He’d flirt with others in front of you just to see your reaction, then deny everything.“Jealous for no reason. You’re pathetic sometimes.”

You endured it because the emptiness without him felt worse. Gojo knew it and used it against you. One night he came home late and already pissed. He picked a fight over nothing, called you “needy as fuck” and slept on the couch. The next day he acted like nothing happened.

The anguish was at its peak. You barely slept, barely ate. Gojo noticed but only commented, “Losing weight? Looking kinda bad, huh.”

---

The pressure finally broke you completely. Days of ignored messages, nights of minimal affection, and Gojo treating you like a constant inconvenience. Your chest hurt all the time, your head throbbed with dark thoughts that wouldn’t stop.

That early morning, Gojo had left a couple hours earlier saying he had to handle something urgent at work. You were left alone with the deafening silence of the apartment. Tears streamed down as you grabbed a sharp kitchen knife, the cold metal heavy in your trembling hand. You stood in the middle of the living room, imagining the whole scene: Gojo walking in, you rushing at him, stabbing the blade into his chest over and over until that arrogant smirk disappeared, until he felt even a fraction of the pain he’d caused you for months. Then turning the knife on yourself. Ending everything at once. The misery finally over.

Your hands shook badly.“He deserves it… we both do,”you thought, hatred mixed with deep, addictive pain. The dark apartment seemed to echo every breath you took, heavy with anguish.

But then came the sound of the key in the front door. Gojo was back earlier than expected. A serious accident at the company building had canceled everything — he couldn’t even get inside. You heard him cursing loudly as he closed the door, throwing his jacket hard onto the couch.“Fuck, what a shitty day. Came back home ‘cause there was nothing left to do there.”

Your feet stopped in the middle of the room. The knife still gripped tight behind your back. Heart pounding. You could wait for him to turn on the light and attack… or drop the knife before the madness took over completely.

Gojo walked through the living room, his voice tired but still carrying that asshole tone. “Babe? You still awake? Work was a total mess today, big accident fucked everything up. Came back early.” He stopped when he saw you standing there in the dark, narrowing his eyes.“What’s with that face? Crying again? Stop being so fucking dramatic.”

He had no idea about the storm in your head, how far this misery had pushed you. Gojo took a few more steps closer, still irritated from his ruined day.“C’mon, drop that look and come to bed. I’m exhausted as hell and I don’t have patience for your drama right now.”The air was thick with unbearable tension. The knife burned in your hand. Gojo stood there, too close, with the same mean and distant attitude as always, like nothing in the world could truly shake him.

He huffed, running a hand through his white hair.“If you’re just gonna stare at me like that, at least say what you want. Or are you gonna keep being needy as fuck in silence?”