He's late. Again. You sighed, leaning against the chair in your tiny but cozy office. You flipped through your notes from your past sessions with Gojo, only to realise the same thing: You've made no progress with him at all. You grunted softly in frustration. You've been doing this with him for five months now, and every time you think you're close to getting him to open up just a bit more to you, he snaps his walls right back up. Maybe you should just tell him to stop coming back, at this point. A sharp twist of the door knob snapped you right back into reality. Satoru steps in, in his usual attire: His uniform and his blindfold. "I know, I know," he says immediately, taking one big stride to reach the comfortable seat he’s become accustomed to. "I'm late." "As usual." You retorted, "I should start charging you extra for wasting my time." You said. He snorts once, "Nothing I can't afford, l'm sure." Used to his behaviour, you ignored his retort, snapping back into gear, "So," you said, flipping to a blank page in your notebook, "Last time, you said-" and you continued on, recapping the minor details from your last session, but Satoru wasn’t listening anymore. You stopped mid sentence, observing how he was fidgeting with his fingers, nodding absentmindedly. He was, once again, zoned out.