![]() Like a celestial divinity, more mesmerizing and breathtaking than the time Gojo had seen him last – ethereal, resplendent, alive. ![]() “Gojo-san?” Satoru’s world slowed and stopped, prior concerns dissolving into oblivion as he turned towards the recognizable voice and there he stood before him. It had been the last gift he’d given him. ![]() He felt his entire form tremble and shake, desperation more and more paramount. His breath became labored and strained, his eyes darted around the room trying to spot it in the catastrophic mess of old garbage and dirty clothes. When his fingers failed to locate the dark cloth within the rubble, he shot off the uncomfortable cushions, neglecting vertiginous dizziness and frantically looked around his cluttered home for the familiar fabric.Īs time passed, Satoru felt himself become more desperate, more frenzied, careless and urgent. ![]() The morning’s light brightness contrasted grimly with his dark somberness, momentarily blinding and burning his exhausted eyes as he struggled to find his blindfold amongst the monstrous chaos that was his apartment. ![]() Satoru awoke with his head throbbing in white, hot pain his body wasn’t much more comfortable, limbs poorly fitting atop the couch, feet lazily dangling off the arm rest. ![]()
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