Chapter Text
MENTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT.
Gojo Satoru, as much as he abhorred to admit it, was human like everyone else. Perhaps a tier or so above the rest, but he was, without a doubt, utterly and unchangeably human.
He had his own quirks- like his love for all things excessively sugary and sweet, or maybe the fact that he took pride in being best friends with a guy who ate curses, but Gojo was still just a teenage boy. Even with his background and many abilities, nothing could change the fact that he was a growing teenage boy with feelings and thoughts, and weaknesses.
He hid this fact well, buried deep inside him, and safely tucked away in his brain's comforts because this fact was a liability in all shapes and sizes.
7 YEARS AGO. MARCH OF 1998.
Through back alleys and old neighborhoods, there were gangs and troublemakers making mischief and wreaking havoc on those who accidentally and unknowingly stepped foot on the wrong piece of crabby concrete.
Those who were always in the wrong place at the wrong time, the ones who attracted trouble and snagged unwanted attraction- that was you. Sweet little you. With your sparkly light-up shoes and bunny backpack. A child, bubbly and benign.
Your mother had always exclaimed at your inherent ability to attract trouble, but you just thought it was funny and would sometimes get yourself into bad situations because it got the attention from her that you otherwise lacked. You just wanted her to look at you, to hug you, kiss the top of your head like the other moms when they picked up their daughters from school, while you watched and lingered, and eventually left on your own and roamed erratically.
I guess, she made up for that absence with the gifts and the toys and the clothes and the books and the- but the absence. All you wanted was her loving and tender gaze. As a child, was that truly too much to ask of your mother?
So when your adorable little self, who kept up smiles and giggles because you were always hearing that fake it till you make it, trodded down the sidewalk with clutched hands on your backpack straps, was suddenly surrounded by a bunch of older boys, you figured maybe you had gotten yourself into a little too much trouble for once- and your absent mother, well...was the same as ever. Absent.
You hit the concrete faster than you could even say your name, the dry and rough surface immediately making you wince upon the impact. Your hands were scraped already from trying to brace your fall, but it didn't do much then leaving dents in your skin and making blood surface. The boys laughed at you.
"Stupid little girl," one said, a smile on his face. You thought for a moment, what kind of a monster liked to smile when they hurt someone, but then again, you liked trouble, so you were just getting what you deserved.
"Check if she has any money in her stupid toy," another one said, and they ripped your favorite backpack off you, ignoring your cries in protest. You watched, petrified and too scared to rebuke, as they broke the zipper open and dumped all the contents out. Your homework and drawings, the small little toys you loved and brought everywhere, the books and the coin purse for emergency cravings- all piled in a heap on the floor. They laughed and laughed, digging through the things. One of them came up behind you and held your arms against your back, dragging you up off the ground.
"Hey!" You cried out, the hurt of your arms being bent in a way they shouldn't be making your instincts speak up.
"Shut up, dumbass. Hey, one of you, follow me. Keep her shit here." The one holding you said. It was so easy for him to hold you back like this, and it angered you. You, a little kid, with no smile on her face.
One of the lingering boys stepped up and left the three that screwed with your belongings, following after the one that held you tightly.
They took you into a quieter spot, where the afternoon sun couldn't reach you. Where an absent mother could never find you.
You didn't like to think much about what followed after that- on the cold, rough floor. Two boys and one little girl, with her sparkly light-up shoes and her bright and bubbly smile, because faking it meant it would be real one day, and her mother paid attention when she got into trouble.
But you would always remember him, captivating blue eyes that rivaled the perfect sunny and clear summer's day, who picked you up and carried you out of the darkness and cold, all while wiping the blood and dirt off of you with the hem of his shirt, keeping your eyes away from the pile of bodies.
He was 3 years older than you, tall enough for you to have to crane your neck just to meet his gaze, but he would crouch down if you pulled on the hem of his shirt for long enough.
"What?" he would tilt his head.
"How did you trap the sky in your eyes?" you would ask.
He would smile and say nothing, get up and keep walking. You would follow after him, jogging to keep up with his long and swift strides.
She was 3 years younger than him, the most colorful and sparkly girl he'd ever laid eyes on. He remembered, with disdain, her smaller figure curled up on the concrete when he found her, eyes closed and in the darkness, it made his stomach churn with pure and unadulterated anger. He took care of the other ones already, so he picked her up gently and wiped the still-wet blood off of her body, the dirt off her face. Her eyes opened, and they met. Hers were watery, this had been the only time he could ever recall her, the most bright and wonderful girl he'd ever seen, to look so pained and sad and hurt, and every day in that which he saw her, with her beautifully happy and blissful smile, that he had to will his thoughts away from remembering the pain that enclosed his entire being and those gang of older boys who smiled when they hurt a younger girl. And she thought it was her fault- because she was always getting herself into trouble.
"When you're lonely," he told her once, "come and find me. Don't look for trouble. I'm the most trouble you could possibly ever want, anyways." he ended that with a mischievous little smirk, but she smiled so warmly and wholeheartedly that it made him falter.
She clutched her backpack straps tighter, looking up at him. "Okay!"
A FEW YEARS LATER. JUNE OF 2005.
Gojo whistles nonchalantly as he walks through the park, pretending not to notice a certain girl who is following after him from a decent distance. She always does this, following him from a stretch until she gets a chance to "sneak up" on him and giggle. He stops for a second, discreetly checking her from his peripheral, before sitting on a bench.
Now that he's sitting, he man spreads and relaxes against the bench, closing his eyes. He can hear her approaching him from behind, and before she can attempt at scaring the older boy, he points her out.
"You are getting so sloppy at this, Y/n-chan."
You fumble for a second, but sigh and slouch, walking around the bench and sitting next to him. You've grown up some yourself, a little bit taller than you were when you first met, but still not (and likely never) as tall as he was.
He takes note of your disheveled appearance for a moment, your school uniform skirt exposing your dirty and dusty knees with slight bruises. Your cheery face is noticeably lacking that staple smile of yours, and you fiddle with your fingers.
He sighs, arms outstretched behind him, and yawns under the sun. "Are you going to tell me what's bothering you or am I going to have to shake it out of you?"
You stiffen just a smidge, and he lowers his sunglasses to look at you fully under the sun, sitting small next to him on the bench.
"These boys in my class...they..." you start, but quiet down. Nervous.
He shimmies a little closer to you until his leg is touching yours. "Come on, spit it out. What did they do?" His voice is eerily calm, a sharp smile on his face that reads murdermurderragekill, but you don't see it and hold your head down.
"Well, they've...been spreading these um, rumors, and I just found out...so I...went to confront them and stuff..." You gulp loudly, and Gojo sees your hands clench on the fabric of your slightly wrinkled pleated skirt. "but they, uh, pushed me around and um..." your voice grows even more quiet, like a shrinking mouse who was cornered by a big cat, "they kept...t-touching me," you sniffle a little.
Gojo's knuckles whiten as they clench the wood of the bench behind him, and he inhales quickly and sharply. 7 years ago, a gang of boys and one little girl lying on the ground covered in dirt and blood. 7 years later, she is shaking with bruised legs and a disheartened expression, small and hurt. The 16-year-old moves the long arm behind her to wrap around her shoulders and drag her into his side, thumb rubbing slow and smooth circles through the fabric of her summer uniform.
"Do you...do you want me to take care of it?" He asks, doing everything he can to ignore the tremors of her body against his. He watches her nod a silentYes, and after he gets her a treat and sees her home, he is off to her school and tracking down some boys to teach them a lesson.
Some weeks later, your absent mother is not absent for once. It's your birthday. She says, "Go have fun with your friends, and be back by 7 for dinner," and gives you her debit card, shooing you out of the house with your cutest outfit of a skirt and tight top, purse, and the pink flip phone she bought you last year. You don't have friends. Nobody wants to be friends with the girl who's always got some slutty rumor dancing around her, but you have him, so everything is fine. So when you call him, as hopeful as can be, you wait.
And wait. And call. And leave him a voicemail, before walking quietly to spend your birthday alone. Absent Mother says, be home by 7, when it is only 11 am.
You spend that day- your 14th birthday- alone in Tokyo, buying whatever you see, ignoring looks from older men, alone, alone, but your eyes still search every crowd of people for a boy 3 years older than you, tall with white hair and eyes that engulf the sky. But he's not there, even when you look.
Even though he said, "Come find me when you're lonely."