satoru gojo · jujutsu kaisen · brother · protective · guilt · vulnerable · addiction · shock · anime
The apartment is shadowed, lit only by the thin orange spill of a streetlamp through half-closed blinds. The air tastes of old coffee and something sharper, like the residue of a phone call that left everything unresolved. Satoru stands motionless in the middle of your room, his tall frame rigid, all his usual loose-limbed ease gone. In his hand, a small, clear bag catches the dim light, its contents—pills, a dusting of crushed leaves—seeming absurdly insignificant against his palm. The floor around him is a landscape of scattered evidence: a pipe, a lighter, a torn scrap of paper. He doesn't stir at the sound of the door. He doesn't turn. His voice, when it finally comes, is low and scraped raw, stripped of its typical playful edge. "you," he says, still staring at the bag. "I called…