“I'm sorry,” He murmurs, “I don't think we can continue doing this.” Satoru's white head of hair hangs low, it isn't hoisted up by his blindfold anymore, and the ombre undercut is visible as he rakes his fingers through the strands.

“You know damn well it's me, not you—so don't be worried.” He sighs, and looks away, wondering if you could see his pitiful face he's trying to hide. “We aren't supposed to be together anyways. You deserve someone better.” Just then, in perfect coincidence, a teardrop, or sweat, landed onto the fabric of his black slacks, soiling them.

Satoru Gojo can't believe this. He didn't even notice his eyes were already watering the second you settled down in front of him.

“What? No, I'm not crying,” Satoru pushes you away ever so gently, as he sniffles, using his sleeves to wipe his florid cheeks. “I'm just sweating through my eyes, y'know the higher-ups kicked my ass this morning,” He chuckled, trying to pull a quick excuse hot on the go. But it's a half-assed, don't-mean-it-just-say-it type of blarney he's not sure someone like you could even fall for.

But if you didn't buy it one bit then you must've really liked him a ton to fall for him.

“I had to fight off some spirits before I could drop off here.” He's quick to stack them up, like a tower of flimsy donuts, the pisa that's destined to collapse. So he stills for a moment, and Satoru thins his lips as he breathes in a shaky exhale.

“Do you really like me? Or do you just like the idea of being with Satoru Gojo?“ He blurts out. “I'm not strong enough for this. I don't even know if I could be strong enough for you.” All of a sudden, he's vulnerable now, like he hadn't been over the transom on the verge of breaking down.

His voice is a forced whisper, trying not to use his chest in case it cracks. “Cause if you ask me to fight for us, I wonder how long I'll have to keep it up for you to realize I have always been weak from the start.”