Dear Hamlet | YANDERE!GOJO SATORU/READER

FOURTEEN: RUN RUN RUN.

You have class the next day. You don't speak with your mother as she sets the table for breakfast, but you do wave at her by the door. You wordlessly close the door behind you and make your way to school. You plug in your earphones and play a song on your phone as you walk over the snow-filled road, before the gates of your university come into view.

You match your footsteps to the notes of the music. It's not a happy song; it held no note of that. An unyielding song–deadly, flat shade of grey, a shade which was a negation of colour, an annihilation of any possibility of sentimentality, an ultimately dejected and miserable grey.

You hum mindlessly as you twirl your earphone wires. Someone grabs your arm.

"What?" You turn to look at the hand that was wrapped your upper arm and frown. "What do you want?"

"Let's go to the cafe," Sato implores. You shake off the hand and turn up the volume of the song. "(first name)–"

"You have no right to call me by my first name," You nearly shout over the music blaring in your ears, and turn away from him. "Leave me alone."

You walk towards class. Once in the classroom, you complete a quiz that was scheduled for, and when you are finished, you exit the classroom. Had this been the past, Sato would have been waiting for you by the entrance, with possibly a plushie or a bouquet of flowers. You begin to walk faster at the memory: it was just a memory, and that was what pained you. Your walk turns into a speed-walk, before it evolves into running, and then sprinting. You're sprinting with your bag thumping against your back, arms pumping and tears flying off your waterline. You're sprinting across campus to escape the pain of it all, the loveliness of what could have been. You're running, without any plans of stopping, with no one stopping you. But you know that even if you run a mile, a kilometre, you'll remain in the same place because it is the roots not the leaves that are grounded down in the soil.

Maybe loving Sato was the only proper thing you could do. Maybe that was why you were hurting so intensely; maybe that was why you couldn't face him for more than five seconds–you would find yourself forgiving him too easily. The charming, boyish smile would send you over the edge. You were like a house of cards. Destroying it would only prove its existence was fragile.

And Gojo didn't make it any easier. Truth be told, and scarily enough, you liked him. You would never write it in your diary because writing it down would set your feelings into stone. Your feelings are all over the place: all they can do now is fall, and break. You can't do this: please spare you from the pain that was love. Why do you love by yourself and always say goodbye all by yourself? Why do you need Gojo knowing you're going to get hurt?

You run straight out of university campus and into the arms of–

"Oomph," You collide with a solid, firm chest. You look up and you're met with,

"Ah, well if it isn't my favourite girl!" Gojo heartily chuckles as he wraps his arms around you, nestling you closer into him. "What're you doing, sprinting at the rate you were?"

"Let go of me," Your voice comes out as muffled. He smiles.

"Nah. I think I'll hold onto you for just a bit longer. It's not often I get to hold a pretty girl like yourself."

The warmth he exudes, in contrast with the chilly colds of winter makes you tear up. You couldn't remember a time where you felt so wholly held, so lovingly held. Even your mother kept a distance from you. As if you were some problem child, as if you were a reminder of what your father did to her: Knock her up and leave. Being held like this as if the hug could glue you back together had been proof that you were broken all along.