Chapter Text
When did everything start to fall apart Where did it really go wrong? Was it the moment he slipped that ring onto my finger? Or was it even earlier—back when I first met that selfish, narcissistic man? That man, of course, being my husband.
I inhale the cold Tokyo air without thinking. A long day of work clings to my skin like dust, heavy and exhausting. I check my watch—10:11 PM. Great.
A tired sigh escapes before I can stop it. I rub my eyes, then glance up at the sky. The stars are unusually bright tonight—sharp little pinpricks of silver scattered above the city glow.
Something sweet… that’s what I need. “I could go for something sweet,” I mutter under my breath. Quiet. Always quiet. The last thing I want is someone assuming I’m talking to myself like a crazy person.
My gaze catches on a small stand a few meters ahead.
Open? At this hour?
Curiosity pushes me forward. As I get closer, I read the sign:
“Kikufuku Mochi Stall.”
The design is simple—white panels, pale green stripes, and stacks of neatly arranged mochi boxes behind the vendor. I hum to myself, more out of boredom than admiration, and step forward to order—
—but freeze.
Someone is standing behind me.
Close.
I turn slightly, and my breath stumbles.
A tall man.
Dark purple tracksuit pants. Matching jacket with the zipper half undone.
Strong build. Broad shoulders.
My eyes wander lower before I realize—
Oh god, can he tell I’m staring?
My head snaps up.
But instead of eyes, I’m met with a sleek black blindfold.
White hair, messy and voluminous, pushed up by the fabric.
He shouldn’t be able to see. Right?
He can’t.
…Can he?
My gaze darts away so fast it almost hurts.
If he can see through that thing…
I may not recover from the embarrassment.
I pick up a mochi box without even checking the flavor. My cheeks burn bright red as I stare at it, only now realizing how tightly I’m gripping the poor thing. Just kill me already.
When I look up, the worker is silently waiting for me to pay.
Great. Perfect. Even more embarrassment.
“Oh… sorry,” I mumble, scrambling through my handbag for my purse. My fingers fumble all over the place as I pull out my cash — the last of my pay.
But when I hand it over, the worker hesitates. I’m ten yen short.
My stomach drops. Walking away without buying anything? That would be beyond humiliating. Panic crawls up my throat as I freeze on the spot.
The tall stranger must’ve heard the worker, because before I can process anything, he’s already fishing through his pockets. He steps forward and smoothly hands the lady the missing ten yen.
I jump a little when his arm suddenly appears beside me, stretching past my shoulder to pay.
He… saw that? Through a blindfold?
Oh my god. I’m actually going to die.
Please, someone just let me disappear.
Not only am I short on money, but a random man had to pay for me.
Why am I like this?
Why do I have to be so painfully shy?
It’s exhausting.
The worker nods for me to take the box. I clutch it again—way too tightly—and bite the inside of my cheek, desperate to escape this awkward mess. That man probably thinks I’m useless.
Why did I even stop at this stand tonight?
I walk a few steps away before freezing.
I never thanked him.
I glance back and see him already paying and walking off in the opposite direction.
My stomach twists. What if he’s annoyed? What if he thinks I’m some broke, clueless woman who couldn’t even look at him properly?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I hurry after him, my feet practically tripping over themselves.
I stop just behind him, heart pounding.
What do I even say? Just “thank you”? How?
Before I can decide, he stops abruptly. I bump straight into his back and stumble.
Shit. Lost in thought again. This is peak embarrassment material.
He turns around, and I force myself to look up at him.
“Sorry… I just wanted to say… uh… t-thanks…” I manage to blurt out.
Oh my god. I’m actually going to die.
I need to leave.
Abort mission—ABORT.
My mind spirals as I quietly panic, already thinking about running away and pretending this never happened.
But he just smiles, effortless and warm, like this entire situation doesn’t faze him at all.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says lightly. “Helping a cute stranger isn’t exactly a chore.”
My eyes widen a little.
Cute?
Did he seriously just call me cute?
My hands fidget together automatically, fingers twisting nervously as the wind slips between us.
I let out an awkward little chuckle. He probably didn’t mean it like that… he’s probably just joking…
“Well… I appreciate it… so, yeah…” I manage to say.
The second the words leave my mouth, I cringe inside. I sound awkward. My smile feels even worse. Being this shy should honestly count as a medical condition.
I should go.
Yeah… I should definitely go.
The stranger chuckles softly. “Don’t look so stressed. I’m not that scary, you know…” he says with a grin, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jacket.
Oh, he’s definitely enjoying this.
Should I be offended?
Is he teasing me?
Does he actually think I’m cute?
All those thoughts hit me at once, and before I realize it, I’ve basically left him on read in real life.
I mentally slap myself.
“S-sorry… yeah, definitely,” I say quickly, trying to agree with him. He’s not scary. I’m just never this awkward. Or this shy. I’d been overwhelmed before and—well—I’m single, so you can probably guess why my brain is melting.
“So… what brings you here so late? You don’t look like the type to haunt snack stands.” he asks, voice smooth enough to make my stomach twist.
God. Why is his voice so attractive?
And why does it sound like he’s flirting?
I grip my handbag a little tighter—not out of fear, but… okay, I don’t even know what this feeling is. A nervous flutter? Embarrassment? Something worse? I clear my throat and let out a small chuckle, finally starting to feel a tiny bit less stiff around him.
“Just finished work… it was so long.”
I sigh, rolling my shoulders. “What about you?”
My eyes drift over his clothes again before I can stop myself.
That tracksuit. Really? Is that something a normal person would wear?
It looks like something between pajamas and… whatever he considers fashion.
It can’t be a uniform… right?
Before I can overthink it any further, he shrugs lightly.
“I’m actually working as we speak.”
He grins, lifting the little mochi bag like it’s evidence.
I blink at him, eyebrows raising.
Working? Dressed like that?
Oh—maybe he’s on some kind of night shift?
“Oh… if you don’t mind me asking, what’s your job?”
I tilt my head, completely unaware that this man fights things I don’t even know exist.
He leans in just a touch, voice dropping into something dramatic.
“Mmm… you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Then, with a smug little smile:
“And I’m afraid you’d shiver in your boots.”
I huff out a small laugh.
He’s definitely teasing me.
“Try me,” I shoot back, a little more bravely than I feel.
“Alrighty, it’s super hard to explain,” he says, lying so confidently that I don’t even question it at first. He’s definitely hiding something… but he says it with such a straight face that I almost believe him.
“I work… as a… um… assistant?”
He throws the word out like he picked it randomly out of a hat.
I squint at him, not convinced at all.
But I also know better than to push a stranger about their job, so I let it go with a tiny nod.
“Oh… okay. Well— I’m Y/N L/N, by the way.”
I offer a small smile and shift my weight awkwardly from one foot to the other.
He brightens immediately.
“I am the one and only Satoru Gojo.”
He says it like he’s introducing royalty—
himself.
“Pleasure to meet you.”
Before I can even figure out whether he’s being serious or dramatic, his phone buzzes.
He glances at the caller ID and groans under his breath, sounding suddenly exhausted.
Of course—he must be busy.
“Well, I’d love to stay and chat,” he sighs as he shoves the phone back into his pocket, “but I’ve got some business.”
I glance at the phone, then back at him, giving an understanding nod.
“That’s okay… I should head home anyway.”
He flashes a grin—of course he does.
“Don’t miss me too much.”
I laugh under my breath, shaking my head.
We turn away from each other, walking in opposite directions…
and I’m not sure why, but I can’t stop glancing back.
-Oh… I completely forgot to ask about his blindfold.
Why was he even wearing that?
I’m sure he could see through it—he moved too naturally, too confidently—
but that’s… impossible. Right?
I sigh softly, finally looking down at the mochi box I somehow ended up clutching this whole time.
I forgot I even bought it.
I pop open the lid and take one out, biting into it as I walk home.
The sweetness melts on my tongue, but my mind is somewhere else entirely.
Would I ever see him again?
Satoru Gojo.
The strange, charming, ridiculous man with white hair and a blindfold.
I shake my head at myself.
It was just a chance meeting.
People like him don’t just… reappear.
Still…
A small, stupid part of me kind of hoped he would.
That was an understatement.
Of course I would see him again.
Stupidly enough… I even married the man.
After that night, We kept running into each other.
Then we started talking more.
Then dating.
And then—on that bright, sunny day by the riverbank—he asked me to marry him.
It was beautiful.
Perfect.
Everything I thought I wanted.
And sometimes… I wish I’d never met him at all.
If only I hadn’t stopped at that mochi stall.
If only I’d gone straight home.
The early days of our marriage were everything.
Warm.
Loving.
Soft in all the ways I didn’t know love could be.
He made me feel chosen, and safe, and seen.
I don’t know where it went wrong.
I don’t know when he stopped trying.
Or when I did.
Did I?
Every conversation slowly turned into a small argument.
Every misunderstanding became a wall.
And neither of us—neither—knew how to communicate anymore.
Intimacy faded too, quietly and painfully.
No sex, no warmth, no real touch.
Just two people sharing a space… and nothing else.
It had been months.
Months of distance.
Months of pretending everything was fine.
And maybe that was the moment our marriage really began to collapse.
The alarm blares somewhere in the fog of my half-awake brain.
I reach out to shut it off… and instead I roll straight off the bed.
Of course.
Just my luck.
I lie on the floor for a moment, staring at nothing, letting the dull ache in my shoulder settle before I push myself up. I finally silence the alarm, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand.
My gaze drifts, almost automatically, to the other side of the bed.
Empty. Cold. Untouched. Of course he’s
gone. He always is. Off somewhere being the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Off saving the world, while I’m here, waking up alone in the bed we were supposed to share.
I sigh—long and frustrated—as I tug the duvet straight. My eyes drift to his side of the bed, the sheets cold, untouched. Typical.
I know why he’s gone. I know what being “the strongest” means, the weight, the responsibility… all of it. But knowing doesn’t make the ache hurt any less.
It always feels like he chooses work over coming home.
Like he chooses the world over me.
I force myself to turn away and head downstairs.
The apartment feels huge when I’m alone in it—too quiet, too still. In the kitchen, I grab the cereal box because I don’t have the energy for anything more. Breakfast for one. Again.
I check the time.
8:03 AM.
Two hours before work.
Halfway through a spoonful, my phone buzzes.
It’s him.
‘hey baby, won’t be back until 3, love you.’
I stare at the message longer than I should.
It’s simple.
Sweet, even.
But it still punches a hole through my chest.
Always late.
Always gone.
Always “just a quick mission.”
Always me eating alone.
I type back:
All good. Love you.
And hit send before I can rethink it.
The phone clatters softly as I push it aside.
I swallow the last of my cereal, the taste suddenly bland, and head upstairs.
Uniform on: black pencil skirt, white button-up, heels.
Makeup done mechanically in the mirror, like I’m watching someone else get ready.
By 9:01 AM, I’m out the door.
Another morning without him. Another ordinary day in an empty house. Another day pretending this doesn’t bother me.
The way to work was the same as always. Board the train. Walk the usual streets. Arrive at the same grey building that looks just as tired as I feel.
I step into the lobby, forcing a polite smile as I greet coworkers in passing. I press the elevator button, and once the doors close and I’m finally alone, I finally let myself deflate.
Leaning back against the wall, I stare at the floor like I could burn a hole straight through it. The silence in the elevator only seems to echo the emptiness I woke up with this morning.
I don’t even feel like his wife anymore.
I don’t feel like Y/N Gojo.
What am I supposed to do?
Will this ever get better?
Or is he always going to keep me at arm’s length like this?
The elevator dings.
I drag myself out and head to my desk.
Meanwhile, Satoru sits alone in an empty classroom at Jujutsu High, spinning his phone in his hand—carelessly, like he doesn’t care if he drops it. (He’d just buy a new one anyway.)
Your message glows on the screen.
“All good. Love you.”
“All good, huh?” he mutters to himself under his breath.
He repeats the words again, as if saying them twice will make them true.
A small chuckle escapes him—soft, almost relieved.
If you said it’s fine… then it’s fine, right?
You wouldn’t lie to him. That’s what he thinks.
Completely unaware that you are lying.
That you’re hurting.
That his absence is slowly wearing you down.
Even with the Six Eyes, he still can’t see everything.
I type away at my computer, switching between emails and phone calls.
Another customer hacked.
Someone else unable to access their bank account.
Fraud reports stacking on my screen like they’re breeding.
Just another boring day at work.
Just another day pretending everything is fine.
By lunchtime, my shoulders felt stiff and my chest tight. I stepped out onto the balcony with a coworker—Kazami. He was easy to talk to. Strangely comforting.
“Hey, Kazami…” I murmured, leaning on the railing as the noise of Tokyo traffic surged below us.
“Hey, Y/N.”
He joined me, lighting a cigarette and taking a slow drag before glancing over—he must’ve noticed something in my expression.
“Is… everything okay?” he asked gently.
I hesitated, covering my eyes with my hand to hide the tears threatening to spill.
“Yep… I mean—” I groaned quietly, “ugh, no. It’s just my husband…”
My voice softened automatically at the mention of Satoru.
And so did Kazami’s expression.
“Did he do something?” he asked.
I shook my head, then nodded, then shook it again.
“It’s not like that. It’s just… complicated. He’s always absent. That’s all.”
Kazami looked back out at the traffic with me.
“Oh…” he murmured. “I’m sure things will work out. You should try talking to him.”
Talking to him.
Communicating.
The one thing we’d never been good at.
I forced a small smile and nodded.
When lunch ended, I returned to my desk.
Kazami’s was right beside mine, and throughout the day he’d lean over every so often to quietly ask, “You okay?”
He was sweet. Too sweet, maybe.
—
Back at Jujutsu High, Gojo moved from mission to classroom to higher-up meetings, one after another.
His schedule stacked itself mercilessly.
No breaks, no pauses.
Working from 7AM until 3 or sometimes 4AM…
Being the strongest sorcerer was a blessing to the world—
and a slow poison to his marriage.
and he couldn’t help it.
Later that day, I stepped into the empty, cold apartment — the kind of cold that sinks into your chest. I headed upstairs sluggishly and turned on the shower, slipping inside before the water even warmed properly.
Eventually the heat spread over my skin, loosening my tense shoulders just a little.
“Do you not love me?” I whispered, barely audible under the rush of the water.
Steam filled the bathroom, making the air
thick, almost dizzying. I sank down onto the shower floor, knees pulled close, my hands covering part of my face. I stared up at the ceiling, letting the water hit my shoulders, and my mind wandered back to the last time he’d actually been there — really there.
When he’d hugged me and laughed as we fell onto the bed together. When he kissed me like he never wanted to stop. When he held me so close I felt like nothing in the world could get between us.
Now he was… distant. Untouchable.
I stayed in the shower longer than I meant to. When I finally stepped out, I dried my hair, slipped into my pajamas, brushed my teeth, and loosely braided my hair.
I wasn’t even hungry — not tonight. My chest felt too heavy for food.
All I could think of was Satoru.
All I wanted was to see him.
So I waited.
I sat quietly on the couch, the apartment silent except for the soft tick of the living-room clock. Minutes blurred into hours, and eventually… it was finally around the time Satoru would usually come home.
Around eighteen minutes later, the front door clicks and the lock turns. My heart jumps. I stand up a little too quickly, almost tripping over the edge of the carpet as I hurry toward the entryway. It’s been hours… too many.
Satoru steps inside, already leaning down to untie his shoes. Of course he knew I was standing there — the Six Eyes makes it impossible for me to ever surprise him — yet the first thing he does is fuss with his laces instead of greeting me. It shouldn’t sting,
but it does.
“Hi, babe… I missed you,” I say gently, stepping closer.
He finally kicks off his shoes and turns toward me. His blindfold stays on — strange.
He always takes it off the moment he walks through the door, claiming it “feels nicer to look at home.” But tonight, he doesn’t. I can’t even see his eyes.
“Hey, baby…”
he says, forcing a small smile. His voice is soft, but the exhaustion drags underneath it like heavy chains. “I think I’m just gonna head to bed. You should sleep too. I love you.”
My smile weakens before I can stop it. “Oh… I mean… I thought maybe we could hang out for a little…” My voice fades as soon as I hear how hopeful it sounds. I swallow the rest and force a reassuring smile instead.
“But yeah. It’s okay. Sleep well, baby.”
He leans down and presses a quick kiss to my forehead — light, distracted — and heads upstairs. Not my lips. Not even a real hug.
When he disappears around the corner, my shoulders drop. I stare at the empty hallway for a moment, then drag myself upstairs too. He’s already curled under the sheets on his stomach, broad back rising and falling in slow breaths.
I crawl into my side of the bed, the mattress dipping but never touching him. Not the way it used to.
Satoru wasn’t actually fully asleep.
He never really is.
His body might’ve been dead tired, eyelids heavy, muscles aching from nonstop missions and meetings, but the moment he felt the mattress dip with your weight—he woke up just a little.
Just enough to sense you. Just enough to know you were there.
He stayed still, breathing slow, pretending to be asleep. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to talk to you—it was the opposite.
and then morning would come and he’d be gone again—leaving me even lonelier. He’s like a ghost in my our marriage.
Still, I hold onto his hand like it’s the only thing keeping me together. My thumb brushes gently over his knuckles.
The room stays quiet.
His breathing remains steady.
And I close my eyes, pretending—just for tonight—that this is enough.