Chapter Text
He was quite tall, to say the least.
He has to be at least six feet, Hina thought, allowing her mind to wander and play at the thought as she eyed the tall man. He had already been tall for his age when he was a ten-year-old boy. During Hina’s childhood, her head had always reached the base of his neck.
She was staring.
And in doing so, it brought back flush-inducing memories of all the times she did stare at his mesmerizing form when she was a child.
And oh goodness, she was staring.
Hina blinked, finally being sensible enough to recollect her words. But she spluttered over them, like tripping over her own shoelaces.
“Uh . . I—“ Hina tightened her grip on her daifuku bag, suddenly uncomposed and stuttering, just as she did when she was a child.
She couldn’t walk away now, could she? The inevitable had happened, really happened.
Don’t be scared, she mentally reminded herself, gulping down the lump down her throat.
He still stood there.
Okay, she internally sweated, how can I not be scared? Even more so, how can I not be nervous? Will he say anything? And then, an insistent, almost ambitious voice whispered, Just do it, just do it, just do it.
It’ll be fine.
She breathed in slowly. “Young . . .” She hesitated, voice small yet hopefully loud enough for him to hear. She swallowed again, forcing the title out of her lips.
“Young master.”
It felt light on her lips, saying such a title again after so long. Like a rhythm she hadn’t found in years.
It nerved her—to have absolutely no reaction from the blindfolded man. A terrible, embarrassing thought trickled down the walls of her mind, what if he wasn’t Gojo Satoru? She didn’t think she was wrong, but still— What if he was just some random stranger, who was just expecting a regular apology?
She felt trepidation anxiety dread stir in her stomach.
She cleared her throat, “Forgive me, I should have watched where I was going.” Casting her eyes away from the dips of the blindfold where she assumed his eyes were, she fluttered her gaze down below, bowing quickly before rushing herself out of the scene. The world resumed its play, and that ambitious (now stupid ) voice snarled idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot—
“Hina.”
She halted in her tracks. She had only walked a mere few steps away before his voice grabbed her back, willing her to stop. She felt the world around her stop once more.
His voice was different from how it was all those years ago, yet Hina had no doubt in her mind that it was him.
The way he said her name was still the same. Unchanging.
Hina slowly turned herself back around, her eyes flickering back to him. His eyelids, noticeably traced from the white bandages he was wearing around his head. His head was veered in her direction, staring right back at her. With unrelenting certainty, she slowly advanced towards him, watching as he carefully spun on his heel, turning his entire body in her direction. Once again, they stood in front of each other, taking in the other’s presence as a whole.
She tilted her head to the side. “Young mas . . . no,” Hina paused, before testing out a new title, “Gojo -sama.”
It tasted weird and foreign, as if it didn’t belong there, as if it had no place on her tongue. But he wasn’t “Young master” anymore—he wasn’t the same child she knew seventeen years ago—he had grown up, and he had grown stronger. No other title would fit him.
His reaction was to take a step towards her, until Hina had to veer her head all the way up to look at him. Goodness, he really was tall. Hina only reached his shoulder.
Hina smiled warmly at him.
She was here.
She found herself walking along a trail of a vast park, where the air was clear and the sun shone brightly, people of all ages enjoying their recreational activities.
She wasn’t alone, however.
“What’s your profession?” Gojo asked, one of the many questions and topics they had conversed about as they strolled on the path. Hina let out a small hum, grinning at the question.
“I’m a teacher.” She smiled warmly as she spoke, thinking of her students. “I teach at Joshibi Preschool.”
She heard Gojo hum in understanding. “You teach children?”
“I do.”
He laughed.
Hina furrowed her eyebrows, chuckling, “What?”
“No, it’s just,” He wore a wide grin. “It fits you, oddly enough.”
She giggled, “Gojo- sama, is that a compliment? Should I feel praised?”
“You should always feel praised,” He shot back, still grinning from ear to ear. “At every single thing I say.”
A grin.
He was so different. So much more approachable. So loose, and wonderful. When he was child, he was incredibly stoic, icy, untouchable. Until, he was touchable, and that’s when Hina’s fondness of him began to stir in her chest.
Still, it was strange.
“Then,” She looked down at her shoes., “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She held up her coffee-cream daifuku. She held back a giggle as Gojo eyed it, licking his lips.
“Would you like to share?” She offered, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. He cocked his head to the side.
“What’s the flavor?”
“Coffee cream.”
His grin widened.
Hina dropped her arm back to her side. “Come on,.” She ushered them both to a bench underneath a giant tree, the leaves painting patterns of shadow on the ground and the wood of the bench. Hina popped open the box carefully, letting out a sound of awe as she caught sight of the cream-colored edibles. She handed the plastic tray over to him, and he practically drooled, staring (most likely staring) starry-eyed through his white blindfold.
He’s smiling. It was an unusual image to witness, and Hina could never draw such an image in her head. The Young master never smiled—at least, from what she remembered. His expression was always as icy as his personality.
Hina blinked at the man—the man-child sitting next to her, who was grinning cheekily like a little boy. Was this really Gojo Satoru?
She pushed the thought aside, holding out a pair of unopened wooden chopsticks that came with the box. Luckily, there were two pairs.
She snapped her chopsticks apart. “You still enjoy sweets I see, Yo—Gojo- sama.” Hina cleared her throat quietly, then chuckled at the man next to her. His chopsticks were stuck in his mouth as he chewed, glancing innocently at her. He tapped the side of his head with two fingers.
“It stimulates my brain, you know. Gets me going.” He paid no attention to her slight slip-up in words.
“Glad to know.” Hina reached in with her chopsticks, picking up a daifuku piece and stuffing it into her mouth. She let out a small, pleased sound, almost analytical, “Oh, it’s good.”
“Is this your first time trying coffee-cream daifuku?” He questioned, his cheek swollen as he chewed delicately.
Hina shook her head, “No, it’s just my first time trying it from that place.”
He hummed in acknowledgment, nodding. He scratched his skin through his blindfold, and Hina couldn’t help but ask. “Gojo- sama, forgive me for being curious.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
She touched her own head, the same spot where his blindfold covered his eyes. “You wear bandages, Gojo- sama. Around your head.” Over your eyes. “Why is that?”
Was it selfish of Hina, to be curious about why she couldn’t see those blue crystal hues?
He swallowed a chunk of daifuku down his throat. Hina swallowed.
He didn’t respond immediately. He just sat there, staring off into some space ahead of him. It sent nervous tremors crawling from Hina’s arms to her feet. She frowned, “Forgive me, Gojo -sama, I was too forward—“
“Would you like to see?”
Hina blinked.
“Yes.”
She spoke before she could even think. It was, perhaps, too forward of her. Too selfish of her.
Gojo set the tray along with his chopsticks down on the bench. Hina watched with silent eagerness as his fingers reached up to tuck under the bottom fold of his blindfold, pulling the white cloth up.
A heartbeat, and then Hina’s eyes met with a vast, cloudy-blue sky.
Beautiful. Hina stared, taking in every line and brushstroke within his blue irises. The sunlight along with shadows dotted his skin, creating intricate designs. His eyelashes, long and feather-like, were just so utterly perfect.
Her lips curved into a small smile.
This was, indeed, Gojo Satoru.