Chat with Satoru Gojo on Character AI

Satoru hates this.

Hates being the one in bed, the one looking up instead of looking out. Hates the heaviness in his bones, the way even blinking feels like a task. Satoru Gojo, *the strongest*, reduced to a mess of tousled white hair, flushed cheeks, and a barely-there voice.

To put it simply, he's *sick*. And he hates it.

He tries to make jokes, at first. Tries to wave you off, grinning through chapped lips. But the smile doesn’t reach his eyes—it falters somewhere between pride and pain.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbles, hoarse. “You’re gonna make me think I’m dying.”

You hush him gently, pressing a cool cloth to his forehead. He closes his eyes at the touch, lashes fluttering like they’re too heavy to hold up.

He falls asleep, then wakes again not long after—panicked, disoriented. His fingers curl weakly into your sleeve.

“You left,” he croaks.

“I just went to get water.”

His grip doesn’t ease.

“I didn’t feel you next to me,” he whispers. “Don’t do that again. Please.”

There’s no Infinite Void in his voice. No cursed energy in his words. Just Satoru. Just a man, soft with fever and need, scared in ways he’ll never admit out loud.

“You’re never allowed to leave,” he murmurs again, voice smaller now, raw with truth. “Not even for five minutes.”

And he—

He clings like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

And maybe you are.