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Executive dysfunction fucking sucks.
Cleaning his bedroom, homework, laundry… Nothing he hasn’t done before, many times, but he can’t even muster the energy to toss away the few candy wrappers strewn across his floor into the nearby trash can.
Gojo is so exhausted by the unceasing cycle of monotonous, dreadful chores that he could squeak out a tear or two—absolutely, he could. However, crying would reinforce the idea of how pathetic he truly is, and he can’t handle that blow to his self-esteem right now; that would worsen his already despondent mood. He just wishes that his brain would cooperate with him, to allow him to do, at minimum, the things he needs to do, but that lump of electrical flesh within his skull is on strike.
Simply put, Gojo is having a bad day. It is his free day from undergoing any missions, but he can’t even manage to do the things he likes. Too many options and choices, too much responsibility, too much energy, too much effort.
Overwhelmed, Gojo lies prone on the floor—the only free space on the ground without dirty clothes or miscellaneous pieces of… whatever.
He does nothing but lie there.
Although he isn’t particularly sure why, lying on the floor and doing nothing helps him feel a bit better—less overwhelmed, maybe. However, despite the minor improvement in his mood, lying on the ground doesn’t solve all his problems.
His mind goes blank. He closes his eyes but does not sleep.
The passage of time becomes a foreign concept to him, but he is still aware of everything he needs to accomplish. He has so much time to do all the things he needs to do, yet somehow there is never enough time in one day.
Suddenly, Gojo feels his cellphone vibrate several times in the pocket of his pants, and he already knows who is trying to call him without checking the caller ID. He knows, because no one else would attempt to call Gojo five times in a row. They have this sort of system in which five unanswered calls is an understood message that simply translates to: ‘please come over, now.’
It took a while for them to come to this system, mostly because Gojo thought it was embarrassing. He is fully capable of taking care of himself… until he reaches a point where he can’t take care of himself anymore. He absolutely hates admitting that he needs help , so… five unanswered phone calls, it is.
Anyway, Gojo can’t quite remember if the door to his dorm is unlocked or not, but he supposes that it doesn’t matter; Geto has a key.
He isn’t certain how much time passes before he hears a knock at his door, but he doesn’t bother to rise from the floorboards to answer. Soon enough, he hears the door being unlocked from the other side. He hums, idly acknowledging how that metallic sound answers his question.
“Satoru?” Geto calls.
Gojo grunts.
”Ah,” Gojo hears, “floor time, huh?”
Gojo grunts again in affirmation.
Gojo hears the door close with a click, which sends a slight panic through his heart for a split second, his mind attempting to trick him into believing that Geto took one look at his disaster of a bedroom and fucking left. However, that is not the case; the air in the room seems to shift as Geto crouches by his side, and then he feels a gentle hand card through his messy hair.
“It’s almost time for dinner. How long have you been like this, Satoru?” Geto asks with concern in his voice.
“… I’unno,” he responds, and his voice sounds all… froggy with disuse. “A while?”
Geto hums in response.
Gojo appreciates how Geto avoids asking if he is okay when it is clear that he is not and how he wordlessly rises from his side. Keeping his eyes closed, he hears Geto shifting around his dorm, picking up and tossing articles of his clothing, his uniforms and casualwear, into his nearby hamper—something that he could have done on his own.
Agitated, Gojo has to bite back his tongue to keep himself from snapping at Geto because—goddamn it, he is fucking capable.
Gojo is only the most capable person ever, and he just—it’s just…
He just wants to lie here and let Geto clean his mess, and, for whatever reason, Geto is willing to put up with his bullshit.
His eyes remain closed as he listens to Geto maneuver around him, picking up after his mess—trash, laundry, old and miscellaneous papers—and organizing his belongings, surely into some neat arrangement that is very Geto-esque.
It is humiliating how Geto is able to accomplish the tasks he finds overwhelming so quickly, and Gojo exhales a deep, shuddering sigh through his nose. Although he feels humiliated and embarrassed, Geto isn’t humiliating him, and that means everything to someone like Gojo.
The next thing he realizes is that Geto is crouching at his side again, running his fingers through his white hair.
“Satoru,” Geto murmurs, saying his name so gently that Gojo just… listens to him without a fuss. Gojo opens his mouth to say something, but his response is not prompt enough for Geto, who quietly sing-songs, a puff of laughter escaping from his nose, “Satoruuu.”
Gojo unearths his hidden face from the floor to glance at the other, whose face carries an easy, kind smile.
Flustered, Gojo sticks his tongue out at him.
Geto laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile, “Ouch.”
Retracting his tongue, Gojo huffs, trying a little too hard to hide the growing smile worming its way onto his disgruntled features. By Geto’s reaction, he thinks he just ends up making a funny face when Geto laughs again, and suddenly Gojo is grinning.
“How are your eyes?” Geto cocks his head, scrutinizing his face for any trace of a migraine. “The lighting is pretty dim here.”
“Fine—for once,” Gojo mumbles. “… Dimmed the lights just in case.”
Geto nods in acknowledgement.
“Then, how’s the floor?” Geto asks pleasantly.
”… Pretty good,” Gojo shrugs in a concerted effort at nonchalance, smushing his cheek against the floorboard. Peering around his room, it looks clean, based on what he can see, and he relaxes. “Solid and stable,” he half-jokes, “as all floors should be.”
“That’s good—I’m glad you aren’t in danger of falling through the floor. You wanna go take a shower while I start your laundry and get us some food?” Geto suggests.
“… Yeah, okay.”
Gojo hesitates because there are lots of steps involved when taking a shower, but he relents in the end, recognizing that Geto is providing Gojo a starting point and some direction. Also, as much as he enjoys lying on the floor for—what?—hours, it would probably do some good for his head to get cleaned up, so he rises from the floor. He glances around his clean bedroom, and then he notes the small bedside trash can and the hamper—both of which are, honestly, not really that full. At least, they are not as full as they were the last time, overflowing and demanding.
He notes the folded towel on his made bed and picks it up, tucking it under his arm before he is shuffling toward the door.
“Ah, Satoru?” Geto calls, and Gojo turns to look at him.
When Geto silently beckons him, it takes a few moments for Gojo to register the request before shuffling toward Geto. When he stands within his reach, Geto cups the back of his neck to bring down his head so that he can plant a firm kiss on the center of his forehead. Gojo blushes at the casual affection, at the warmth of his lips against his skin, and he wonders what he did to deserve it.
“You’re okay,” Geto murmurs against his forehead, and it doesn’t sound like a question—because it isn’t a question. He repeats and adds, “You’re okay, Satoru. If you need anything, let me know.”
Gojo chokes up and blinks rapidly, and he waits for his whirling emotions to calm before he can trust his voice to not waver. He nods after Geto releases the gentle hold on the back of his neck.
“After we eat, stay with me until I finish my homework,” Gojo wants to say, but perhaps it’s fine if he doesn’t say it for now. It can wait when he knows that Geto will help with his laundry after dinner.
So, again, he just nods, clears his throat, and instead says, “I’ll, uh… I’m gonna go take that shower now. Grab me some dessert, too?”
“Sure.” Geto smiles kindly at him again, and, well…
It’s been a shitty day and asking for help is still hard, but Geto tends to make the tough days tolerable and the hard things easier.
Next time, he’ll ask if Geto could join him on the floor.
Surely, he could make floor time better, too.