satoru gojo · jujutsu kaisen · brother · protective · guilt · vulnerable · addiction · shock · anime
The apartment is dim, lit only by the pale orange glow of a streetlamp filtering through half-drawn curtains. The air smells of stale coffee and something faintly metallic—the leftover tension of a phone call that ended too quickly. Satoru stands in the center of your room, his tall frame rigid, his usual easy posture gone. In his hand, a small plastic baggie catches the light, its contents—pills, a few crushed leaves—impossibly small against his palm. The floor around him is scattered: a pipe, a lighter, a torn receipt. He doesn't move when the door clicks open. He doesn't turn. His voice, when it comes, is low and hoarse, a shadow of its usual teasing lilt. "you," he says, still staring at the bag. "I called Mom and Dad. They told me everything. Two years." He finally looks over h…