✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。THE SAME — GOJO SATORU.
✩ — contents ⋮ fluff, gn! reader, established relationship, recent chapter spoilers, just gojo coming home and reuniting with you :(
when gojo comes home, everything is still the same.
that picture on the wall that’s too high for you to reach is still crooked, no matter how many times you’ve asked him to fix it. the pile of shoes you keep by the door is still there for him to step over, no matter how many times you swear you’ll clean it up. that blanket on the couch is still draped messily over the cushions, no matter how many times you both agree it should be folded. and that bowl of candy on the coffee table is still filled to the brim, no matter how many times you claim you won’t keep buying sweets if he finishes them too fast.
everything is still the same, like you’ve left it all there waiting for him, hoping he’ll come home. and just like always, the way you run up to him and greet him by the door is also still the same—even though right now, your eyes are a lot more teary than usual.
“oh,” you breathe, “oh, satoru,” you say gently, like saying his name too loud will make him disappear. he pushes his blindfold up to his forehead, meeting your eyes as he’s opening his arms for you to fall into. if his eyes are a little misty too, you choose not to mention it, and he’s grateful.
“i’m home, sweetheart,” he grins, plastering that easy grin on his face. “miss me? you didn’t replace me already, did you?”
your face is buried into his chest before he can finish speaking, tackling him into a tight hug. gojo wraps his arms around you tightly, grounds himself with the weight of your arms as you clutch his shirt. you still feel the same too, still feel like that familiar warmth in his arms that feels like holding the sun, that feels like he can get too close without burning.
it’s not hard to see that you’ve missed him.
it’s been nineteen days without gojo satoru. four hundred and fifty six hours. twenty seven thousand three hundred and sixty minutes. it’s a long, agonizing period of time—one that makes you realize how accustomed you are to gojo’s presence—even when he’s not always beside you.
you’ve missed his whiny voicemails to pick up his calls in the mornings as you try to get ready. you’ve missed the bathroom mirror he manages to get completely wet when he washes his face after shaving. you’ve missed the socks he always keeps laying around the bedroom floor. you’ve missed the coffee mug he leaves for you to wash before he leaves for the day. you’ve missed the empty gallon of milk he puts back into the fridge instead of throwing away.
it’s lonely, you realize, when there are no voicemails to delete, no mirrors to wipe, no socks to pick up, no mugs to wash, no milk cartons to throw away.
you’ve missed gojo—even in the ways you swore you never would, in the ways that are imperfect, but not hard to love.
“no one can replace you,” you say teasingly through sniffles, pretending you haven’t stained his shirt with a wet spot, “you’re the only person who could be this big of a headache.”
“i’m the only person who could be this handsome too,” he insists, squeezing you tighter.
“don’t know about that one.”
“c’mon, just look at me,” he whines, squeezing your hips with his hands. you’ve missed them, missed the way you fit in between them, missed the way they find your body for a touch, even if it’s quick. “i’m the cutest.”
you pull away enough to cup his cheeks, pressing your forehead to his as you scan over his face. you could count every lash, stare at every curve, relearn every inch of skin if you could. now that he’s here, you can.
“i’m looking,” you breathe, pressing a kiss to his cheek. he closes his eyes at the feel of your lips, at the sear of your love melting through the skin and into his bones.
“like what you see?” he hums, making you chuckle as you nod.
“i suppose,” you murmur. “did you come back to me in one piece?”
“just who do you think i am,” he pouts, “course i did.”
“got all your fingers?” you raise a brow.
he grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together as he hums.
“all ten,” he confirms.
“both kidneys?”
“fully functioning,” he nods, making you grin.
“you seem to have both of your lanky old legs,” you chuckle, making him gasp a dramatic hey! “got all your toes?”
“you’ll have to pay me to see those,” he wriggles his brows, making you scoff as you swat at his shoulder.
and you’ve missed him like this too—in his laughter you feel through his chest, in his dramatic pout when you playfully smack his arm, in his finger he points to his cheeks for a kiss to feel better.
something tells you he’s missed you too, if the way he keeps his arms tight around you means anything.
because what is a god without his creations? and what is gojo satoru without the gentle love he’s built with you, created carefully between rough hands and the worn out knuckles? he holds you like you’re the answer to his prayers, like he’d kneel before you if you asked him to, like he’d rebuild the gates of heaven before your feet if it meant keeping you here in his arms for a bit longer.
gojo satoru is home. nineteen long days later, he’s home. he’s back in your apartment, the one with that crooked photo and pile of shoes at the front door, the one with the blanket on the couch to hold you under as he eats the candy you keep just for him on the coffee table.
he’s home, and he thinks he’ll never spend another night without you again.
“i missed you,” you say through a watery voice. he hums, wipes your tears with delicate thumbs that trace the lingering ache away.
“yeah? how about now, still miss me now?”
he smiles when you nod, kissing between your brows and swaying your body gently.
“always miss you,” you say with a teary pout. “don’t do that again.”
“i missed you too, sweetheart. don’t worry.”
“i love you,” you say, tasting the words on your tongue after so long.
and he lets his head fall to your shoulder as he hears them, lets out a shaky breath at the way they sound when you say them like that. like you missed him. like you need him. like you can’t lose him. like he’s all you have left. like he’s your past, present, future, and everything beyond that. like he’s yours in this life and the last, and always the one that comes next.
“love you too, sweetheart,” he says against your ear, kissing your skin gently, “i’m home.”
i love him painfully
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