#lowkey inspo for the multichapter Gojo fic that I'm planning....

[arvandus]

The Slow Death of Dreaming

Gojo had that dream again. The same one he’d been having for the past six months.  It was an unwelcome dream, deeply unwanted and entirely forbidden, more nightmare than dream. Not in a classically horror sort of way, but in a way that left him in pain each time he woke up, his lungs gasping for air, and his heart shredded beneath his ribcage.  It made him scared; but not scared of his safety, oh no.  Gojo never felt scared like that; his jujutsu inheritance made sure of that.  It was a different kind of fear; a fear of desire, a fear of wanting; a fear of what he was capable of in the deep imaginations of his mind, but would never, ever, act on.  Above all else, it was a fear of loss.  Not the kind of loss that comes with losing what one already had; no, this was a fear of a loss that already happened, a never-has-been that never-will-be.

He dreamed of love.  Sappy and stupid, he knew it.  He dreamed of a familiar smile that smiled only for him, of the touch of hands that cherished, of soft moans meant only for his ears.  He dreamed of a name; your name, whispered in the quiet of early mornings beneath covers, of late night cups of coffee in an empty kitchen.

He dreamed of family.  Of the sound of laughter, of the running of little feet.  He dreamed of his own eyes staring back at him, with little cheeks flushed in skin like yours.

He dreamed of the mundane; of a boring 9-5 job that made him want to gouge his eyes out if it meant that you’d be safe.  He dreamed of a house, a modest one, that didn’t stand out, where he could blend in unnoticed. A life of normalcy, where his only titles were “sensei,” “father,” and “husband.”

These were the dreams that plagued him, making him toss and turn, and wake late at night to sweaty sheets and a lonely room.  Dreams that tortured, mocking him for wanting more than he could have, more than he deserved.

Gojo hadn’t wanted these things before you. He had learned to accept his role, his life, his title, and all the impending risk and loss that would come with it.  And yet...

When he first met you, you’d been so... opposite of him, the antithesis of who and what he was.  You were plain, simple.  You were kind yet strong; sweet, with a tangy bite if he chewed too long.  And you were painfully, blissfully, human; ignorant of the dangerous world you lived in.

He could never coexist with someone like you.

And yet, maybe it was that novelty, that taste of the mundane, that initially caught his attention. It was like eating a simple slice of warm, buttered bread after feasting too long on spicy foods.  The world of Jujutsu was wild and dangerous, and you were not.  In a way, your presence was palette cleansing.

It unlocked something in him, something forbidden.

He had brushed it off at first; a casual dismissal of you and all you represented. Why would he possibly want that?  There was too much risk involved, the weight of commitment too heavy, the cost of loss too high.

But he learned quickly that feelings (he refused to call it love) didn’t work that way. It didn’t care how he felt, or what he wanted, or what the dangers were.  It just... existed, given life from the mundane things that he’d always sneered at before; little moments and actions that he’d never bothered to give thought or weight to.

A warm smile, a greeting, a gift, a welcoming into the home for a warm meal.  Teasing, jokes, the sound of laughter.  A warm hand on his arm, a concerned gaze that was far too perceptive for a normal person.  In an odd twist, you had a way of making him feel seen without ever truly seeing him completely, without ever learning about the world he came from.

Bit by bit, you stole parts of him without even knowing it.  It didn’t matter that your heart was already filled with someone else’s love; it didn’t matter that you had a gold ring on your finger and Gojo didn’t.  Even when your belly began to swell, growing with a new life that wasn’t his, it. Still. Didn’t. Matter.  It only made the ache worse, the longing more torturous until it felt like Gojo was slowly dying, watching the life he’d never get to have be lived for him.

Because no matter what, the things he dreamed of would never happen. Not with you.  And certainly not while you were married to his best friend.