Work Text:
"When was the last time you cried?"
The question caught Satoru off-guard. Sometimes, words would leave your mouth that would make him feel so small and stupid. He straightened his back, standing tense and tall. A million thoughts raced through his head about what could have possibly prompted you to ask such a silly question.
Did he look like he cried recently? Are you asking just out of pure curiosity? What made you think about that right now in the first place?
"I cried yesterday when you punched me, remember?"
You punch him again.
"Stop fooling around, you know what I mean...like really cry." You don't look at him when you say this. Trying to get Gojo's mood to match yours was about as easy as getting him to shut up for more than 5 minutes.
But tonight, you felt extra vulnerable for no apparent reason at all.
"I don't remember. It's been a while. I probably haven't cried since I was five."
You hum in acknowledgement, your hand running up the material of the sweater you had worn that night, fingernails brushing against one of the larger loops in your knitted sweater.
And because it's Gojo, of course, this rare, vulnerable sentence must be followed up with a 3-minute monologue with the sole purpose of sucking his own dick.
"I mean... What would I even cry about? I'm pretty. I'm talented. I'm funny and smart. I have no reason to waste my tears. Tears of joy, maybe. Because I was born so pretty and smart and talented and-"
"I cried last night," you interrupted Gojo with a shrug. It was spoken with so little emotion like you were just throwing it out there. A quick, fun little life update as if you were telling him about a new show you started last night.
"...huh?!" Gojo was shocked. He was unable to process this information, as well as unsure what he was supposed to do now. Because, unbeknownst to you, in his eyes, you were just about as talented and intelligent and maybe even a little prettier than him, so this didn't make any sense.
"Why would you ever need to cry? Who made you cry?!" This sentence left his mouth in a way more harsh, belittling and "invalidating your problems" kind of tone than he had intended.
This was Gojo Satoru, after all, of course, the question is who, what else could there be but people that hurt people?
You, knowing he was just a spoiled, confused little child on the inside (and the outside), recognised his intention behind the sentence anyway and answered.
"I don't know...I just wanted to."
"Wanted to?" Gojo was beyond confused. Crying had become a distant concept to him a long time ago. Usually, whenever he felt overwhelmed or hurt, his emotions would skip sadness and instantly transform into annoyance or anger. But for you, it seemed freeing.
For Gojo, crying was a line that mustn't be crossed, a door unopened, its key buried in a drawer in the room he grew up in.
"It's okay to want to cry. Nothing to feel guilty about. The heart knows what it wants."
But for you, crying was something good, letting everything you had carried with you seep out, wipe it away with a tissue and let it dry out, long forgotten in the trash.
You had learned not to let it overflow or push yourself to test how much you can carry. Sometimes, you just felt weak, and everything else felt heavy, and you had accepted that.
Of course, Gojo Satoru wouldn't know what that's like. He had never felt weak in his life, and something inside of you told you that you wouldn't live to see many instances in which he would.
"I felt much better after," you elaborated, seeing him go through the mental turmoil you hoped to ease his mind, "I feel much better now."
Gojo doesn't understand. He understands so little he doesn't even know where he'd begin to attempt to understand.
He's physically distraught by the confusion you had just set aflame in him.
"Well...if you ever cry again, you better not come to me because I am not at all emotionally capable of handling that."
You roll your eyes but grin nonetheless, nudging him with your shoulder before stepping closer and pressing yourself into him. Instinctively, Gojo raises his arm, letting you slip underneath as he places his hand on the sleeve of your sweater.
One of his fingers gets stuck in a loop, his eyes get stuck on your smile, and he tries hard not to kiss you right then and there.
Continuing to stare, a fluttery hot feeling formed in his chest, and he realised just how braver you were than him for giving in to what your heart wanted.