(THO) CHAPTER FIFTEEN

From the shadows of the rooftop across the street, Taylor watched people hand him items. They didn’t act like criminals, didn’t look like thugs, and didn’t seem

From the shadows of the rooftop across the street, Taylor watched people hand him items. They didn’t act like criminals, didn’t look like thugs, and didn’t seem like anyone who looked like they needed to bribe or appease him.

They were just random people, and they did what they did not out of fear, but because they wanted to.

A woman in a crisp business skirt suit got out from her car and approached him, bowed—surprisingly, her legs trembling—and passed him a thick wad of folded bills, no words exchanged. A teenager on a skateboard dropped a can of soda in his lap mid-glide, barely slowing down. A baker, flour still dusting his apron, set a box of pastries beside him on the bench and walked away without so much as a nod.

And through it all, Gojo Satoru just sat there, eyes hidden behind that damn blindfold, the wind tugging at his hair. Always at ease, as if he didn't have a care in the world, or wasn't a source of headache for every cape in Brockton Bay.

He never asked for a specific thing, and never moved to accept or reject. They just gave, and he let them.

Beside her, Tattletale let out a long whistle.

“That’s power,” she said. “Neither fear or coercion, but actual reverence.”

“He hasn't done anything worth it,” Taylor muttered.

“He has,” Tattletale refuted. “The ABB’s scattered, the Merchants are paranoid, and even the Empire has gone into hiding. Everyone, including the PRT, is cautious of him.”

Grue crossed his arms. “I haven't seen him in action—don’t think I want to—but from what I've heard, he doesn’t need to do anything to be terrifying.”

Taylor didn’t respond because she didn’t trust herself to. Her last encounter with Gojo had left her more shaken than she’d admitted, even to herself.

Tattletale glanced sideways. “Still thinking about it?”

She hunched into herself. “Yeah.”

“Can you talk to him again?”

Taylor turned her head to her slowly. “Why me?”

“Because he talked to you already. While he might just be friendly, I don't want to risk it by asking any of the others.”

Taylor frowned behind her mask. “He’s insane.”

“Yes,” Tattletale said, almost cheerfully. “But he's also interesting. Big difference.”

Grue glanced between them. “I think it’s worth it. If we’re going to have to operate in the same city as him, better to know more about him in order to avoid him.”

“Or manipulate him, if necessary,” Tattletale added.

Taylor didn’t agree, not out loud, but she nodded. And hours later, she climbed the same rooftop she’d found him on the last time.

He was already there, sitting cross-legged, hands resting on his knees, and face turned toward the night sky. He seemed to be enjoying the sight, and a part of her—the part that didn't want to do this—was almost tempted to leave him to it. 

But she couldn't. She couldn't even move. 

For a moment, all she could do was stare at his exposed features. He wore no blindfold this time, but his eyes were closed, and there was the barest hint of tension in his jaw. 

It was unfair how pretty he was, but she could see why people were inclined to give him things for free. 

“I know you heard me coming,” she said quietly.

His eyes opened. As always, they were breathtakingly blue.

“I am aware of everything,” he replied.

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she stepped closer and sat down, leaving a healthy gap between them.

“Curious again?” he asked without looking at her.

“Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

“I’m used to danger.”

He smiled faintly, and silence ensued between them. It wasn’t exactly kind, but it wasn’t mocking either. It was just there. 

He broke the stillness first.

“You wear it well,” he said.

“What?”

“The mask. The fear. The single-minded focus. You wear them like armor.” His head bent slightly to its side. “The question is whether they’re armor you put on… or skin you’re growing into.”

Taylor swallowed, not sure she liked where this was going. “You don’t know me.”

“I don’t need to,” he said. “You’re not that different from someone I knew: a lonely kid with too much power and not enough sense.”

She looked away, slightly offended by his words. “I didn’t ask for power.”

He hummed. “That’s a lie.”

She clenched her hands in her lap.

“Power is the mask,” Gojo said. “In the end, you’re the one still deciding if you want to wear it... or become it.”

She stood quickly. 

Nope, nope, nope.

She had enough existential crisis to deal with after their last conversation. She didn’t need more, nor was she in the mood to listen to a misguided attempt at a lecture. 

Gojo laughed. It wasn’t loud, but it was filled with genuine amusement, as if she’d just told him the punchline to a joke he wasn’t expecting.

“You always run away like that?” he asked, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Or is that just reserved for people who make you uncomfortable?”

Taylor crossed her arms. “You’re not exactly easy to talk to.”

“I’m easy. I just don’t lie to make people feel better.” He leaned back on his hands, posture relaxed. “You came up here again. That tells me you do want to talk.”

“I didn’t come up here to get psychoanalyzed. Again.”

“Sure you did,” he said, smiling beneath the weight of his own certainty. “You wanted to know what I see when I look at you. Still do.”

Taylor didn’t answer.

“Alright,” he said, shrugging. “Let’s try this: what do you see when you look at me?”

She hesitated. “Someone unpredictable, arrogant, and dangerous.”

“That’s fair.” He nodded. “But you came back anyway.”

“I’m not scared of you.”

Gojo looked at her, an eyebrow raised almost teasingly. “You should be.”

There was no threat in it, just truth spoken plainly.

Taylor swallowed. “You’re not like anyone else in this city.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” He looked out over the rooftops. “This world is heavy because everyone’s carrying trauma. You, your friends, the capes, the villains… even the civilians. It’s all pain and mistakes and pretending that surviving makes you strong.”

He glanced back at her, continuing, “You’re all playing a game you didn’t ask to be in, and I’m the piece that doesn’t fit.”

Taylor didn’t argue with his assertion. She watched him instead. 

Gojo tilted his head. “You ever think about just walking away from it? All of it?”

“Sometimes.”

“Then why don’t you?”

She looked down. “Because if I don’t do something, who will?”

Gojo was quiet for a beat. Then he stood, balancing easily on the edge of the roof.

“That,” he said, “is why you’re interesting.”

He turned, started to walk away, then paused.

“And don’t worry,” he added, glancing over his shoulder. “Next time I’ll bring a therapist’s couch. Might help.”

He disappeared over the edge of the roof. 

Taylor sighed.

At least this conversation went better than the last. But somehow… she still felt like he’d seen more of her than she wanted him to.