“So are you,” Gojo said, flicking his forehead. “We’ll clean it up. Together.”
His hands trembled.
But for this one evening, standing in the ruin of his grandfather’s apartment, with the strongest sorcerer in the world pretending to sweep the floor, Yuji Itadori felt the smallest, most dangerous emotion of all. Home RESULT FOR- JUJUTSU
Gojo stopped. He turned, and for the first time, Yuji saw the exhaustion behind the smile. It was the same exhaustion Yuji felt in his own bones.
“Gojo-sensei…”
Inside, the air was stale. The small kitchen table was still set for two. A half-empty cup of tea had grown a fuzzy kingdom of mold. The TV was off, but a thin layer of dust covered everything like a silent scream.
Yuji spun around. A figure leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Dark hair, tired eyes, a patch over one eye. Satoru Gojo. “So are you,” Gojo said, flicking his forehead
Yuji’s throat closed up. He looked around the dusty, moldy, broken-down little apartment. And for the first time since Sukuna had ripped control away from him, since he’d watched Nanami die, since he’d heard Nobara’s scream—he felt a crack in the wall he’d built around his heart.