SAINTS || Gojo Satoru

5

Miyazō fell asleep with the doll tucked into her side, head resting on the back of the seat, allowing tendrils of her dark hair to spill over her cheekbones. The glow of the television cast a harsh light over her cheeks, outlining the contours.

The doll lay peaceful beside her, quiet and docile under the steady stream of cursed energy it was being supplied.

Gojo stood silent before the sleeping woman, brows furrowed as he studied her. It was very surprising, alarming even, how quickly she'd managed to control her cursed energy.

He had his arms folded as he glared over her sleeping form. He scrutinised her entire form, she was wearing a tank top and joggers, so at least he had a good view of her upper body.

And he could see it all, he could see how hard she had trained her body. He could see how much effort she'd taken to cultivate.

Discipline, control. Sports like figure skating and ballet, sports that required its athletes to look lithe and angelic like swans and pack the strength of bulls under there. Sports that forced its athlete's bodies to their breaking points.

Then pushed them even further.

Miyazō's shoulder blades were so visible due to her sleeping position, and then the harsh light of the television even added to it. Her limbs were thin, strained under lean muscles, the ridges looking ever so enticing.

He walked closer so he loomed over her, his own shadow blocking out just enough of the television lights so she looked just right.

She moved a bit, just the twitch of her left brow, then the shift of her head in that position, and then the tendrils of her hair that were already resting over her cheekbone fell over to obscure her features, more following, letting loose from the haphazard braid she'd put it in.

He leaned forward to scoop her into his arms and when his hands glided over her arms, her eyes twitched and he stopped, his infinity coming on immediately, out of reflex. But when she became still once more, he turned it off and let his hands go round to her back and then her thighs.

Her skin wasn't as soft as he'd expected. There were bruises and a sort of roughness to her skin. Just how many times has she fallen down on that ice? Or did she just not have enough time on her hands to devote to rigorous skin care? How tough was the life of an athlete, especially one as successful as her?

He was so silent as he carried her over to the room he assumed was hers when he'd helped himself to a tour earlier. The carpet was soft under his feet, further aiding to his inhuman quietness and when he leaned over her bed to drop her, he didn't rise.

Gojo stayed in that position, right above Miyazō's sleeping frame. His hands were on either side of her and his face was close, close enough to see her twitching lashes but not close enough to feel her breath fan his face.

He rose then, deciding that he'd rather look round her room once more.

The walls of her bedroom were a plain cream and on it, she'd hung many family photos, yet all of them were taken at the prize ceremony of her skating competitions, with her parents on both sides as she held up ribbons or trophies.

It just seemed out of place, that the only memories she had with her parents were at competitions. But Gojo paid no mind. What business did he have with her broken family? Whether or not, it was actually broken.

Entering her walk-in closet, he was once again greeted with a tall rack of ice skates of all colours and designs. And that rack was mounted next to a wardrobe in which were hung dresses, skating dresses. It spanned the entire left wall. A myriad of colours and designs, some of which he could only imagine how sexy they would have looked on her.

She was definitely devoted.

"What are you doing, Gojo?" He paused and grinned at the sound of her voice.

"Giving myself a tour since you couldn't do it for me," He placed his hands in his pockets as he slowly turned around.

Miyazō was sitting up on her bed, eyes narrowed at the man standing in her closet. There was something about Gojo that intimidated Miyazō despite how he often played around and smiled. He didn't seem human, like there was something greater hiding beneath his skin.

"You're invading my privacy." She said.

Gojo smiled, "I'm simply getting to know the place."

"Getting to know my closet?" He'd begun a walk in her direction, slow and lazy, yet so certain and aware.

That same 'snake in sheep's clothing' mannerism that Miyazō didn't like. His grin never left his face, and neither did his blindfold. Seijin wanted it off, she wanted to know where his eyes were whenever they spoke. It wasn't fair that she couldn't track his gaze.

Soon he'd taken a spot on her bed so close that if he bent his torso to the left, their chests would be squashed against each other. He supported himself by placing his hand in the space between her legs.

"Your eyes," He said, not caring about the palpable tension surrounding them, "What colour are they?" His words left breaths of air tickling the skin of her cheek.

"Magenta," She said and she raised her hands towards his face.

So close, she thought as her fingers hit his Infinity, that smirk still stretching his lips. She made a futile attempt of reaching his cheek, but finally took her hand away and sighed in defeat.

"Try again," He hastily whispered and she knew he was aware of how his breath was reaching her face. "Take it off."

Miyazō tried again. She brought her hand to the black fabric and Gojo almost sighed at the contact. It'd been so long since he'd been touched that way.

Miyazō hooked her thin fingers underneath the blindfold and tugged it downwards, just a little, exposed pale brows. Then she tugged a bit more and brought down the black fabric.

She sucked in a breath.

"Why didn't they call you Sorano?" She said.

Heavens; Of the sky.

"Do I seem the least bit feminine to you?" He moved so his chest met hers, showing just how hard his was.

She kept quiet, just looking at his irises.

"Did you know," Gojo began as he stood and walked away from her, "I've never seen someone else with eyes more unnatural and beautiful than ours."