Dear Hamlet | YANDERE!GOJO SATORU/READER

FOUR: STORIES ABOUT LEAVING.

Gojo warps you back in front of your home, and you don't even address him or thank him, and it takes him a hand on your shoulder to pull you back from storming into your house. You whip your head back and glare at him, to which he says,

"You're still crying," He thumbs a tear that's trickling down the corner of your eye. "Let's go for a walk before you return home."

"What?"

"I said–"

"I heard you for the first time. Don't you see I need to do this?"

"You and your mother would only clash so violently there would be nothing to salvage the relationship," He says. "Let's go for a walk. Let's calm you down."

You open your mouth to argue, but all the words that you could have said are reduced to an exhausted sigh. Your arm that was extended to open the door falls to your side and your head drops to face the ground.

"I've been searching all my life to find out why he died," You admit. "Half my diary entries are filled with it. You've read it to know that, haven't you?"

"I'm guilty of that," He hums. You shoot him a dirty look.

"So you were snooping around my diary entries."

He puts his hands up as surrender.

"What? I was curious~"

You sigh. "Yeah. Everyone is."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not very popular in school," You walk beside him, your side profile shining as if the darkness of your words illuminated it harder. "My friends say that I have a thing to me that makes them feel flattered by my regard." And it was true; they said that you would look at them as if you were fully listening, as if what they were saying was worthy of your full attention, though you would never say so exactly. You generated awe–not an overwhelming amount of it, though, but enough. They thought your absent father and step-father exuded potential–but potential for what? Only literary experts could guess. So people were wary of you. All of this with a permanent black look in your eyes.

"Is that why you took English literature as a major?" Gojo surmises, putting a finger on his chin. You shrug.

"I guess."

You continue walking around your house, the streets empty of cars. There was a black-and-white stray cat that was napping underneath the lamplight, illuminating it an amber shade, and it stirred one whisker when you walked past it.

"You know, as a literary major, I've come to a conclusion that seems objective," You stop and tilt your head up so that you are staring at the stars sprayed across the black skies. Gojo tilts his head.

"What is it?"

"All stories are about someone leaving," Your words strike a special chord in Gojo that he didn't know he had. Something painful. "That's the only way to get somewhere. To leave something behind."

He feels the urge to tell you that you are not alone. But he doesn't know how. He's dealt with grief, for sure, but he doesn't know how to comprehend it other than just suppressing it.

"My dad left to do good in this...jujutsu sorcery world," You say, carefully. "But he left us behind. That's his story. He left us behind to fuck around in a world that–"

"He did not fuck around," Gojo says.

"Yeah? Then why'd he leave us? Why'd he have to die in the way that he did?" You challenge, and you realise your hackles are rising. You bite your lower lip to stop the sob from coming out. But it's pointless, it comes out as a hiccup. "Why did he leave me? Why was he crazy enough to do that to me?"

Gojo doesn't answer for a moment, before he takes his sunglasses off and looks at the stars with you. "Jujutsu sorcerers are expected to be crazy. That's the only way we deal with the things we do. You think a normal human being could process the thing you saw today on a daily basis? Cursed spirits are made of negative emotions: despair, hardships, anger," He says. "Your father was crazy to leave his family behind. You're right. But he died in a noble way. He wanted to save people from the fate he suffered."

"Died in a noble way or in the garbage, doesn't matter. It doesn't change the fact he died," You spit out.

Gojo's blue eyes seemed serene, and a slow smile cracked open his lips. You stare on, angrily stomping around and crushing a soda can under your shoe, before Gojo says, with an air of acceptance,

"Your conclusion is correct, you know."

You quirk an eyebrow. "What, did it happen to you too?"

"My best friend," He says. "My one and only."

"Both of us, I guess. Cheers," You sigh and crouch down to pet the cat, which lets out a surprised meow. It purrs once you start stroking its head. "Dead?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, man," You say. "What killed him?"

He smiles. "Me."

–

You return home after your brief conversation with Gojo, who insists you call him by his first name, level headed and cool. Your mother greets you and you coldly greet her back, walking up to your room and slamming the door shut. She tuts behind the closed door.

"Honestly, she got her stubbornness from her father." She sighs as your step-father puts an arm around her shoulder.

"Give her some time. Death is something no one should get used to."

You begin emptying your backpack and throwing your red diary onto your table, alongside your books that you toss onto the bed. You fling yourself onto your chair and take out a pen, click it, and open a page to your diary. A paper book is nice, in the sense that no one hack it, like an online diary. It is wrinkled from water and rain, and you have to straighten it out with your palm before beginning to write.

Dear Hamlet,

Today I met a really weird guy. His name was Gojo Satoru (I'm not gonna call him by his first name) and he took me to a place called Jujutsu Tech. I saw dad. It was like something exploded inside of him–everything about him was warped and wrong. It's weird, isn't it? After spending my entire childhood dedicating to how he died, only to find out just in a singular day? My universe feels shattered. I feel like I'm losing my mind. I feel like I've just discovered a whole new world where I have to keep quiet about. And Gojo said he knew what it felt like, to feel loss, because his best friend died in his hands. I guess in some weird jujutsu law, he had to do it. It must have been difficult for him; at least I didn't have to kill dad.

You stare up at your ceiling before resuming your entry.

It must be just as bad for you, though. You who can't reverse your mother's image, who has to live with the task of carrying out a revenge. We both don't have dads, and we're struggling to live with our fake dads. In a sense, your dad appeared before you as a ghost, and cursed you with the knowledge that blistered all your relationships. Maybe in your case it's more miserable knowing you have to kill your new dad. With me, I just have to live with him. Your misery is that the punishment can never fit the crime because it can never outdo it. 

What a miserable world we live in.

Sincerely,

(first name).