dear hamlet | YANDERE!GOJO SATORU

NINE: DREAMS ABOUT KNOCKING.

It frightened him, really, if he was being honest with himself.

How lenient he was becoming with you. He let himself become doused in your essence, let himself be vulnerable around you, let his infinity down. Thanks to that diary of yours, he had learned quite a few things about you. Remove all the basic things like favourite food and hobbies and he had the core: What moved you and what vacated you. Who you loved and who you hated.

Dear Hamlet, dear Hamlet, dear Hamlet. It was so cute that you were writing to a fictional character, and even cuter you had bothered to entertain him on who exactly Hamlet was. Is that what writing amounted to? The voice your ghost would have, if it had a voice, and you were communicating with Hamlet on another plane of existence? If so, call him jealous. He wished he was your Hamlet–someone you devoutly trusted and cared for.

You didn't seem impressed with his title of being the strongest. Maybe it was because it was too far-fetched of a concept for you to grasp, especially with you being in the dark about the jujutsu world. Maybe it was because even if he was the strongest, it wasn't enough to save your father. Maybe you considered him a failure in a sense.

"Teach?" A familiar voice cuts him out of his thoughts. Gojo slaps himself and smiles, looking through his black blindfold.

"What's up, Yuuji?"

"You've been staring at that tree for about," A pause. "Two minutes. Is something bothering you?"

"Just thinking," Gojo says, then claps his hands together. The moon was plump out in black sky. "Say, Yuuji, remember that woman you saw before? The one that commented about your face?"

"The one who accused me of having face tattoos?" Yuuji puts a finger to his chin, surmising. "Yeah, why?"

"Her father died because of Mahito, just like your friend Junpei did," Gojo says, though his voice is clear of any sort of grief, as if grief was some far away thing he had expertise in distancing himself from. "You have someone to sympathise with."

"But sympathising might be hard when she can't see curses," Yuuji says.

"She can see them, just not as clearly as we can," Gojo says. "Well, excuse me, but I have to see how the residential princess is doing."

"Princess?" Yuuji echoes.

"(first name)."

–

You're dreaming about running. Your dreams are always about running, but you've always been curious as to whether you were running away from something or towards something. But you're running in a hallway: tears on your cheeks. Wind whipping at your face like a slap. The platforms behind your feet as you launch yourself into the next step are falling down, sinking, disappearing. You supposed it was natural for them to fall: the fall of Man was, after all, multinatural and bound to happen. The ancestral primates fell out of trees; then they fell from vegetarianism into meat-eating. Then they fell from instincts to reason, and thus into technology; from simple signals into complex grammar, and thus into humanity.

The fall was ongoing, but its trajectory led ever downward. Sucked into the well of knowledge, you could only plummet, learning more and more, but not getting any happier.

You thought that it was the same for you. You had gone from not knowing about your father into knowing; you had gone from not knowing what love felt like into heartbreak. But the platforms fall and you continue to run, smashing yourself against a wall before turning a sharp left. You stumble and trip but continue to run. The noise of splintering and breaking wood slashes your ears as you huff and pant.