the sacred texts.

Touya shook his head in disbelief. “I find you sulking out in the rain. Let you change into my clothes. Dry off using my towels. And now you want me to apologize?”

He seemed genuinely confused, which only made you angrier.

“Yes! Of course I want an apology. Did you think that kissing me would erase the fact that you’ve spent the last six months systematically destroying my self-esteem?”

Sighing, Touya ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck you’re so needy. Can’t you just let it go already?”

“No, I can’t.” Clenching your fists at your sides, you took a step back, worried that you’d slap him if you stayed within an arms length. “And while we’re on the subject of needy, let’s dive into the fact that you’re desperate to get my attention. All. The. Time.”

He stiffened, his lips pressing into a thin line, and that reaction alone was enough to tell you that you’d read him right.

“It’s so… it’s so fucking junevile,” you said, taking advantage of his silence to process your own feelings. “Like we’re in grade school or something. I’m tired of it, and I don’t want to reward your shitty behavior by letting you do whatever you want.”

Turning away from him, you reached for the doorknob, your fingers brushing the cold metal before you felt Touya’s hand lock around your wrist.

“You’ve got it wrong,” he said, pulling you back towards him. The motion was sharp enough that you stumbled, bumping into his chest. His other hand found your hip, holding you in place.

“Let me go,” you snapped, but he only tightened his grip.

“You said you don’t want to reward my shitty behavior…” His voice was quiet, more serious than it had been. “…But that’s a pretty messed up way to think about it if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask y—”

“Not taking your own feelings into account is just as inconsiderate as anything I’ve done. If I get with someone it’s because I want to, not because I think they’ve earned it.”

Slowly, his arms wound around you, making every muscle in your body tense.

“Nice to know you have some kind of moral code.” Clenching your hands at your sides, you stared at the wood grain of the door. “Seriously, though. It was just a kiss, Touya.”

Your heart raced, your pulse pounding in your ears. It was so loud that you barely caught his next words, spoken quietly and with an unfamiliar sweetness that set you on edge.

“It was just a kiss, but I think we both know it won’t stay the way.” His hands found their way to your chest, squeezing gently. “I can tell that you want this as much as I do. Why are you still holding back?”

You set your jaw, determined not to acknowledge the steady creep of arousal stoked by his touches. His lips were on your neck - when had that happened? - pressing a trail of slow, sensual kisses up towards your jaw. Oh, how badly you wanted to lean into him, to let him take what he wanted.

No, not just what he wanted— what you both wanted. It was wrong to remove yourself from the equation, on that at least he’d been right.

Touya nipped at the soft skin of your throat and you sucked in a sharp breath. His hands slid lower, his thumb catching the waistband of the boxers he’d lent you and tugging it down an inch or so.

“And if I do want this…” you began, breaking off when he moved his hand to your stomach, allowing the elastic snap back into. “If I do want this, what comes next?”

“You. Or me, I guess. Whoever gets there first.”

Exhaling in irritation, you caught his wrists, holding his hands in place while you waited for a proper answer.

“I’m serious, Touya.”

“I am too.”

He kissed you again, his mouth working its way up towards your chin. You forced yourself to pull away, but this time you both knew that it was a half hearted attempt.

“You’re surprisingly well behaved tonight,” Kakashi says, watching his companion out of the corner of his eye.

Jiraiya pours the last of the sake into his cup and drains it in one go. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m always well behaved.”

Something’s going on here, Kakashi can sense it. He’s been to this pub a few times and while the food is quite good, it’s got nothing on Ichiraku. So when Jiraiya had suggested it as a meeting place, Kakashi’s mind immediately jumped to you, the owner and bartender. It would be so totally Jiraiya to pick a spot based solely on a hot bartender, and Kakashi had arrived fully prepared to keep the sage on a fucking leash if need be. Except that’s not how things are going.

“I’m just surprised is all,” he says mildly. “I assumed you came here with your research in mind.”

Kakashi’s gaze drifts to you as he speaks, lingering on the sliver of thigh peeking out from your yukata. The sash is askew, tied just above your hip as if you’d gotten dressed in a hurry, and Kakashi looks away when he feels his cock start to stir. Shit. This is why he doesn’t come here often. He can usually keep his cool around beautiful women, but there’s something about you that fucks with his head.

Maybe it’s that none of your clothes fit quite right. Yukata are meant to be high necked and modest, smoothing the lines of the body and erasing any preexisting curves. Yours do neither of those things, instead providing tantalizing flashes of skin as the oversized fabric falls away from your chest and hips.

Somehow you never seem to notice, always propping your head on your hand when you listen to your customers, completely unaware of the torture you’re inflicting on them. It’s not fair. How can you be so beautiful and so messy at the same time?

Messy. Yeah, that’s what he likes so much. It resonates with a very primal part of him.

Jiraiya laughs when he sees Kakashi’s eyes dart away from you. “My research, huh? Yeah, no. The only thing on my mind tonight is having a drink with an old friend.”

He signals for another bottle, and Kakashi feels a blush begin to creep over the edges of his mask as he tries not to stare at how you look reaching up to snag one from the shelf.

“Here you go,” you say, setting it down in front of them. “I’m glad to see you again, Master Jiraiya. It’s been awhile.”

“Too long, perhaps.” Jiraiya pushes his cup forwards, letting you fill it. “Have you met my friend here?”

He nods towards Kakashi, who tries not to sink lower into his seat when you fix your eyes on him.

“We’ve met, though I don’t think you’ve ever told me your name.”

Leaning forwards to rest your elbows on the counter, you offer your hand as you introduce yourself.

“I’m Kakashi Hatake,” he says coolly, shaking it. He tries not to think about how soft your skin feels against his own.

“Ah, you’re the Copy Ninja, right?”

“Yes, I am.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jiraiya pouring him another cup of sake.

“I had no idea.” Drawing back, you rest your elbows on the counter again. “It makes sense though. The mask and all.”

You gesture to your lips. Kakashi manages to keep his focus on your eyes, a feat that can only be described as Herculean when the collar of your yukata slips over your shoulder. Neither you nor Jiraiya seem particularly bothered by it. He’s saved from any further embarrassment when another customer signals for you.

“Be right there,” you call, straightening up. The bar has begun to fill up as the after dinner crowd filters in.

You turn back to Kakashi and Jiraiya, giving them a little wave with the tips of your fingers. “It was good to see both of you. Let me know if I can get you anything else, okay?”

Once you’re safely out of earshot, Jiraiya lets out a low whistle. There’s a smug smile on his face that Kakashi would do just about anything to wipe off.

“Well, look at you. You’ve got it bad, don’t you Kakashi?”

Kakashi doesn't reply right away, pulling down his mask to take a sip of his drink. His visible eye rakes over Jiraiya, brows furrowing as he frowns.

“Seriously, what is going on tonight? Not even a nosebleed?”

“It’s complicated,” Jiraiya says with a shrug. “But I know you won’t believe me if I tell you I’m not into her like that.”

Well, Kakashi has to admit that he’s right on that one. He doesn’t believe him.

“It’s not that she’s not beautiful,” Jiraiya continues, folding his arms. “It’s just… ah, how do I put this? She reminds me too much of myself.”

“Of yourself,” Kakashi echoes, his tone flat. “Care to elaborate on that?”

“It’s kind of like looking in a mirror. I can’t think of another way to explain it.”

Nodding slowly, Kakashi watches you recline against the counter as you chat with another group of patrons. His eyes flick from you to Jiraiya to you again. Unless Jiraiya is hiding some very lovely curves beneath his sage’s tunic, he can’t see any obvious similarities. “I think I must be missing something here. Are you two related or something?”

Jiraiya laughs, shaking his head. “Oh, you’re way off.”

“Okay…”

Kakashi stops, racking his brain for another possible explanation. This would be so much easier if the sake weren’t fogging up his synapses, but even so he does his best to take stock of what little information he has.

Right now he knows three things for sure:

You’re not related to Jiraiya.

You’re an adult.

You have a body that most of the men in the bar can’t take their eyes off of.

Those should be a winning combination for the sage. After a long moment Kakashi slumps forwards, sipping at his drink to numb the sting of defeat.

“…I’ve got nothing.”

It’s a Thursday night, and Gojo is putting on a face mask. It’s one of those pink clay ones— he’s not even sure where it came from but now seems as good a time as ever to try it. The bathroom mirror is still a little foggy from the shower he just took, but not so bad that he feels the need to reach out and wipe it away.

When he steps out into the hall, still with a towel wrapped low around his hips and that day’s clothing slung over one arm, his mind is miles away. And then his eyes lock with yours, and he freezes.

“Oh. Hey.” It’s the only thing he can think of to say.

“Hey,” you echo, sounding way more calm than he feels right now.

You’re across the room, sitting at the kitchen counter, laptop open in front of you. He catches when your gaze starts to slip down the contours of his body, snapping back up to meet his own admirably fast.

“I should get dressed,” he says, though he’s still frozen in place.

“That’s probably a good idea.”

Gojo excuses himself with as much grace as it’s possible to have when your very indifferent crush catches you in nothing but a towel, shutting his bedroom door and leaning against it. Or maybe you’re not so indifferent after all. He’d seen the way you’d looked at him, the closest thing to flustered he’s ever seen you. Is that how you’d look the first time he—

No, not right now. He can save that for when you’re out of earshot. Even so, Gojo can’t help but wonder if you’re suppressing your own dirty thoughts. He swears under his breath, running a hand through his still damp hair. His wrist comes away smudged with pink, and with a jolt he remembers he’s wearing the face mask. Because of fucking course he is. How does he always manage to embarrass himself in front of you?

When he’s dried off and dressed in what could pass for loungewear but is actually a very carefully curated outfit, Gojo sneaks back into the bathroom to wash off the mask. It really doesn’t make much of a difference— he’s blushing so hard that his cheeks are nearly the same color as the clay.

You’re still sitting in the same place, your laptop in front of you. A notebook rests on the counter beside you, open to a page crowded with what he immediately recognizes as your handwriting.

“Sorry about that,” he says, trying to keep his voice casual. “I thought it was just me in the apartment.”

“Suguru didn’t tell you I was coming over?”

Gojo knows there’s a couple texts from Geto unopened in his messages app and curses himself for not bothering to read them. Thankfully you don’t seem to expect an answer.

“He told me to let myself in since he’s running late. Sorry, I assumed you’d be out.”

“Well, since you’re here, can I get you anything?” he offers. “I was going to make myself some tea.”

This is a lie. Gojo rarely (if ever) drinks tea, but he knows you like it. Geto had mentioned it in passing a while ago and he’d filed it away in his brain for a time such as this. Totally worth it, since you visibly brighten up at the suggestion.

“I’d love some. Thank you.”

Shutting your laptop, you watch as he fills the kettle and sets it to boil. You’re never an overly formal person, at least not in terms of your appearance, but there’s something different about you right now. You look relaxed, swimming in a t-shirt that’s a couple sizes too big, clearly having taken a shower of your own not too long ago. Your hair is still wet in some places, the stray hairs along the back of your neck sticking to your skin. Even your expression seems less guarded, and Gojo wonders how many times you and Geto have spent the afternoon studying here. He’s usually out until later in the evening, busy with either school or more likely social engagements. Maybe he’s been missing out.

“What are you and Suguru working on?” he asks, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms.

“We have to lead a discussion tomorrow in Women’s Lit. I’m glad we got paired together— he’s good at that kind of thing.”

I’m glad you got paired together too, Gojo thinks, his eyes shifting to the kettle. How long does it even take for water to boil? He looks away, remembering that saying about watched pots.

“Suguru’s always been a strong public speaker. He’s very charismatic when he wants to be,” Gojo says. “And he’s good at getting people to like him.”

“What about you?” you ask, propping your cheek in your hand. “Would you say you’re good at that too?”

“I’m good at everything.”

“Right, how could I forget.”

If he didn’t know better, he’d say you’re suppressing a smile right now. The two of you lapse into silence again and Gojo looks down at his hands, his mind drifting back to the last time you’d smiled at him. He’s been thinking about that conversation a lot lately, especially after his talk with Manami, replaying it in his mind as if somehow it’ll help him glean new insight into your personality.

It hasn’t. He knows if he wants to get to know you better he’s going to have to start putting in work, which is going to be a real pain because effort is the only skill that doesn’t come naturally to him. When the kettle finally boils, Gojo pours hot water into the two cups on the counter and watches as color begins to leech from the teabags. It’s almost hypnotic; maybe he should try drinking this stuff more often.

He blinks at the sound of your chair against the floor, looking up as you rise from it to join him in the kitchen.

“The tea’s finished,” he says, offering you a mug. “Be careful, it’s still hot.”

He cringes inwardly as you reach out and take it from him. Why had he felt the need to explain that to you? ‘It’s still hot.’ No shit, Satoru. It’s tea, of course it’s hot.

“Thank you,” you say, blowing away some of the steam rising from the cup. He expects you to return to your spot at the counter and pick up where you’d left off, but instead he’s pleasantly surprised when you make your way over to the couch. Trailing after you, he sits down on the opposite side, fighting the urge to fidget as he tries to think of something to say. For your part you seem content to enjoy the silence, but Gojo isn’t going to waste this opportunity, acutely aware that Geto could walk in at any moment and put an end to your time together. He tries to mask his own nerves by taking a sip of his own tea. It’s still too hot (as he’d so thoughtfully reminded you), not to mention horribly bitter, and he almost grimaces but stops himself just in time.

So much for drinking it more often, he thinks, setting it down on the coffee table.

“Hey, Gojo?”

“What’s up?” He turns to you, startled when he realizes you’ve been studying his face.

You tilt your head to one side, looking him up and down. “You don’t really like tea, do you?”

His eyes drift to his abandoned cup and he shakes his head, defeated. “No, I don’t. I think I might hate it, actually.”

You smile again. It’s faint, but this time he’s sure of what he’s seeing. “Thank you for making it. That was sweet of you.”

Gojo wishes he could reach out and catch those words. He’d frame them, maybe put them up on a wall next to all your other comments that have made his heart speed up. They’ve become almost as precious to him as your smiles. Almost.

You lean forward to place your cup next to his, making him jump when your thigh presses against him. The understuffed couch has begun its nefarious work, the pillows in the middle buckling just enough to force the two of you closer together. It doesn’t seem to bother you, though he knows by now that physical contact isn’t something that makes you uncomfortable.

“How’s Creative Writing been?”

Again he turns to find you’ve been studying him, your arms wrapped around your middle.

“I’m learning things,” he says, shrugging. “For instance, I now know that I’m not a poetry person.”

“You didn’t know that before?”

“Fair point. I guess I’m not learning things.”

The two of you are definitely closer than you had been a moment before, though you don’t seem to notice the way the couch is pushing you together. Gojo on the other hand, always hyper aware of your proximity to him, has definitely noticed. He’s trying not to think about it too much, a goal which he believes might be unattainable when you reach for your tea and again your knee brushes his. This is ridiculous. He’s not that touch starved, is he?

“I have to write one,” he says, trying to distract himself. “A poem, I mean, before the end of the semester. I have no idea where to start.”

“Do you have any specific guidelines?”

“Not really.” Leaning back, Gojo fixes his eyes on the ceiling, absently staring at the smoke detector while his brain focuses on other things. “It needs to be a similar format to something we’ve covered, but that doesn’t narrow it down much. We’ve done a bunch of journal entries to prepare for it but they haven’t helped either.”

You nod thoughtfully. “That definitely makes things more difficult. You’ve still got plenty of time though.”

He does have plenty of time. From an objective standpoint, Gojo recognizes that it’s a little more than halfway through the term, but thinking about his final project has his mind drifting to what other classes will be coming to an end.

Biology, for one.

The thought makes him nervous, even sad when he realizes that there’s a good chance he won’t see you as often once you no longer need him as a tutor. It’s the same thing he’d felt when he’d walked you home, painfully aware that his time with you is limited. Beside him you sense something’s off, looking over.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says, though he can tell you don’t believe him. “I guess I’m just worried about the poem.”

You give him a dubious look but don’t press him, instead shifting back to your original spot on the couch and putting some space between you. Gojo frowns. Did you think it was your closeness that had bothered him? No, he realizes, that wasn’t it. It was the lie that had made you uncomfortable. His lies are always what make you pull away.

“Actually you’re right,” he says, clearing his throat. “There is something wrong. I just… I don’t really want to think about it right now.”

You nod, your body relaxing. He’s not even sure if it’s a conscious response to the truth, but that’s something he can dissect later. The only thing Gojo cares about right now is that you’re close to him again.

“What would you rather think about?” you ask, and finish the last of your tea.

He remembers the walk home from dinner, remembers the things he wondered about as he stood under the cold stream of the shower that night. What was it he’d asked himself? He blurts out the first thing that comes into his head.

“What’s your favorite color?”

You look up from your mug, bemused. “My favorite color?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Your favorite color.”

“Hm.” Your eyes wander to the middle distance as you consider the question. “Blue, I think. What about you?”

“The same, I think. Or maybe purple.”

You reflect on his answer before nodding your agreement. “Purple’s good. Are you going to drink the rest of that?”

He follows your gaze to his teacup, still sitting on the coffee table.

“Nah. It’s all yours if you want it.”

Clearly you do, if the speed with which you switch the mugs is anything to go by. Neither of you say much after that, and while Gojo would usually consider that a bad sign, this time it feels different. It’s the silence of two people content in each other’s company, as opposed to the silence of two people who have nothing to say. You finish off his tea impressively fast, setting the cup down and returning to your position at his side.

Outside of work, you and Nanami have been alone together on exactly one occasion. It was last autumn, back before you’d sworn off alcohol (completely unrelated— more on that later), when the two of you had ended up at an izakaya near the train station after a particularly grueling Tuesday. 

Nanami had been an unknown variable back then. He was always pleasant enough, but there was something about him that made you nervous. It’s not like he’d ever done anything to make you uneasy, more that he was too professional. Too polite. Too put together. His perfection made you conscious of all your faults, so you avoided him when you could, even when it was to the detriment of your performance at work.

Maybe that same performance drop is how he’d figured out you were in a bad place. There’s no one specific thing you can point to, no singular event that set things off, but Nanami must’ve sensed that something was wrong because he’d broken his ‘no overtime’ rule and stayed late that night. After that, the two of you walked down to a bar just down the street and you sat across from him and started to say something completely normal like ‘thank you for staying to help me’ or ‘it’s nice seeing you outside of the office’ except instead you burst into tears. He didn’t look surprised, which somehow made things worse. 

You cried for nearly two hours - even now, you’re not sure why - and Nanami sat there and let you tire yourself out while you talked at him like you were reciting a damn soliloquy. He listened and watched with those soft brown eyes and god, it was so humiliating to let him see such an ugly side of you, but at the same time you needed to tell someone, anyone, that things weren’t okay and Nanami seemed content to be that person. 

He didn’t speak much as you spilled your life story. Had you been sober this would’ve been enough to make you clam up, embarrassed and unwilling to bother him any more than you already had. But you were most certainly not sober, so though you made note of his silence, it wasn’t something you paid much attention to.

At one point your hand caught the lip of the nearly empty tokkuri and set it off balance, a few drops of mediocre sake spilling onto the table. Nanami righted it and slid the ceramic away from you, catching your wrists and setting them gently on the table to keep your gestures from becoming too wild. Even through the haze of tears and alcohol you were keenly aware of how long his fingers were and how easy it was for him to hold both your wrists with just one hand. 

He released you a moment later, wiping up the spilled sake with a napkin, and you could only stare at him as you tried to process what you were feeling. It was a different brand of anxiety than what you were used to, one that would take a while to decipher. He tucked the napkin into his empty glass and asked you a question. You can’t remember what it was, just that it proved he’d been listening to you, and that was what allowed the pieces of the puzzle that was Nanami to finally click into place. 

He wasn’t aloof or disinterested— quite the opposite, in fact. He was someone who listened, someone who took the time to let others finish speaking before sharing his own thoughts. The knowledge that he’d actually been paying attention nearly set you off crying all over again, but you managed to keep it together. 

And then you started to sober up because at some point (probably after the tokkuri incident) you’d both switched to drinking water. With sobriety came self awareness and with self awareness came shame. You spent five minutes in the bathroom scrubbing smeared mascara from your cheeks with a rough paper towel until your skin felt raw. Then Nanami gave you a ride home and you watched him out of the corner of your eye as he drove, thinking about all the ways you’d felt when he pinned your hands to the counter.

Your first move upon arriving at your apartment was to take a very cold shower, desperate to cool your blushes and wash the salt from your cheeks. As you stood under the spray of icy water, staring at the tiled wall of your bathroom, you realized that you might be in love with Kento Nanami. It was a ridiculous thought, one that, at the time, you attributed to the sake still running through your veins.

The next day, when you arrived at work with what was (at the time) the worst hangover of your life, Nanami greeted you as though nothing had happened. You’ve never spoken to him about your conversation in the izakaya, never even thanked him for his kindness and patience, but things were different after that.  Those thoughts you’d been so quick to write off lingered in the back of your mind, becoming harder to ignore as the time went on. 

 You know that you’re doing this all wrong, but that’s just how things are with Nanami. Always backwards. Feelings before words and love before like.

The unfortunate caveat to an office AU is that it takes place in an office. At the end of the day it’s still a workplace, and both you and Gojo find yourselves too busy to do much scheming until he finishes his stint in solitary. On Friday, exactly one week before his final presentation, you steal another brief conversation by the coffee machine, lingering there a little longer than necessary while you stir sugar into your cup.

“Looks like I’m not the only one with a sweet tooth.” 

You shake your head in disgust, not looking up. “I like sugar with my coffee. You like coffee with your sugar. We are not the same.”

“And who’s that second one for?” Gojo asks, peering over your shoulder. “Don’t tell me I have another rival. One is more than enough.”

You finally turn to face him, frowning as you gesture to the other cup. “Don’t play dumb, you know damn well it’s for Itadori. Who else would have a Human Earthworm themed mug?”

“Fair point,” he concedes, leaning an elbow on the counter. “It’s nice of you to bring him some. Poor kid’s been all over the place lately.”

Itadori is one of the few interns you have much contact with, and even then it’s only because your desk is next to his. He’s sweet— too sweet for a corporate setting, and it’s clear that he’s not the kind of person who’s wired to sit still for long periods of time. Caffeine is probably the last thing he needs, but you always offer to grab him a cup anyway just to see how his face lights up.

Gojo’s voice rouses you from your thoughts. “You seem tired. Not staying late again, are you?”

“Not staying late,” you confirm. “Any progress on starting that rumor?”

“Nah, still waiting on the right opportunity, but I’ll—” He cuts himself off with a huge yawn, not even bothering to cover his mouth. “—I’ll know it when I see it.”

The motion catches your attention and you shift closer to get a better look at him. He doesn’t even flinch, apparently unphased by your willingness to invade his personal space. 

“Whoa, you’re not gonna kiss me, are you?” Gojo looks down at your lips, mirroring your stance and leaning in. “I mean I wouldn’t mind but…”

You ignore him, too focused on studying his expression. Up close it’s obvious he’s running on empty. His dark circles have nothing on Nanami’s, but it’s the first time you’ve seen a blemish on his usually perfect complexion. Your first instinct is to tease him for it, maybe feel a little smug knowing that you’re not the only one who’s having trouble keeping up, but the urge fades before you can act on it. Your second instinct, the one that sticks, is to feel concerned for him. After all, he’d been working late when he’d caught you in Nanami’s office. At the time you hadn’t thought to press him on it, content to accept his excuse that he had some paperwork to finish, but now… 

“You haven’t been taking overtime, have you?” 

He smiles, the tip of his index finger catching the underside of your chin to tilt your face towards him.

“Why do you want to know?” he asks, his voice falling to a low murmur. “Thinking of staying late with me?”

“As if.” You bat his hand away, taking a step back. “I’m not an idiot, you know. I can see you’re just trying to distract me.”

“I am. Can’t help it. You’re so fun to tease.”

Maybe it’s stress, or maybe it’s that you’ve already maxed out your Gojo tolerance for today, but either way his Cheshire cat smile irritates you even more than usual and you decide to remove yourself from the situation before you lose your temper.

“I should get back to work.”

Snatching up the two coffees, you turn away before he has time to respond, mentally kicking yourself for letting him get under your skin again. You’d really thought you were making progress. Though you’ve calmed down by the time Utahime intercepts you in the hallway, her presence is still a welcome distraction. 

“Hey,” she says, falling into step beside you. “Glad I ran into you.”

You slow to a stop, in no hurry to get back to your desk despite what you’d just told Gojo. “What’s up? Everything okay?” 

“Oh yeah, it’s nothing bad. Me and Shoko were going to get a few people together and grab drinks next Friday. Nothing too crazy. Would you be up for coming too?”

You brighten up. “Yeah, that sounds like a great idea.”

She starts to reply, but her expression turns stormy. You jump when an arm drapes across your shoulders, nearly spilling your drinks as you register the newly familiar scent of Gojo’s cologne.

“Does this invitation extend to me as well?” he asks, giving Utahime an innocent smile. She looks annoyed at the display of affection, momentarily stunned before finding her voice again. 

“Like hell it does. What do you think you’re doing? Get away from her!”

Bless Utahime, she’s never one to miss an opportunity to tell Gojo off. Logically you know you should be embarrassed right now. In a few seconds’ time you probably will be, but for the moment the only thing you can think of is how nice he smells. 

“What?” he asks, and even though you can’t see his face, you can all but l hear the pout in his voice. “I can’t even put my arm around my girlfriend without you snapping at me? Sounds like somebody’s jealous.”

…And then the embarrassment hits. What does he think he’s doing, pulling a stunt like this? He’d said he was waiting for an opportunity to start a rumor but you had no idea it would be so soon. Or so obnoxious. 

Your face burns, voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Can you go five minutes without causing a scene?”

“Nah. You know me better than that.”

You try to shoot him a glare, turning your head to get a better look at him. Bad move, he’s way closer than you’d thought. Your lips graze his cheekbone and you recoil as though you’ve been burned, nearly dropping the mugs you’re still holding. 

Gojo’s hands dart forwards, catching your forearms as he all but embraces you from behind. “Whoa, take it easy. Talk about causing a scene.”

Honestly, you’re more worried about Utahime causing a scene than anyone else— she looks ready to attack him. Gojo must sense the impending danger because he’s quick to end the conversation now that the seeds of your rumor have been sown. You feel him tap your wrist, drawing you back into the present. 

“This one’s for Yuuji, right?” 

Without waiting for a reply, he pries the cup from your unresisting fingers. “I’ll make sure to get it to him.”

You breathe a sigh of relief as he begins to withdraw, though the feeling is short-lived. Before he lets you go he pauses, tugging you closer so that he can press his lips against your cheek in a needlessly theatrical kiss. 

“Mwah! I’ll see you later, okay?”

He releases you before you have the chance to squirm away from him, giving Utahime a self-satisfied smile before disappearing into the office’s main room. Bringing your hand up to your cheek, you touch the spot where he’d kissed you as you try to process what just happened. 

“I am so so sorry about that,” you say, shifting to shield your eyes. “He’s… I’m going to have to talk to him about boundaries.”

Utahime’s mouth drops open. “Wait, he was being serious? You’re dating Gojo?”

“Shh!” Scanning the area, you try to gauge if anyone’s in earshot. Once you’re confident that your answer will be private, you give her a quick, humiliating nod, unable to conjure up any words to accompany it.

Thankfully she takes the hint and drops her voice to a whisper. “This isn’t coercive, right? Has he been harassing you?”

No more than usual, you think, though you decide to keep that particular quip to yourself. Instead you shake your head and try to reassure her. 

“It’s not like that, I promise.”

“But you don’t even like him!”

“That’s true,” you admit. “I don’t like him.”

“Then why are you—? Wait, this isn’t an ‘I can fix him’ situation, right?”

You can’t help but smile at that. “Even if I wanted to, I don’t think that’s possible.”

Maybe openly disparaging Gojo isn’t the best way to convince people that you really are dating him, but at least it comes naturally. Still, you’re going to need to do some legwork if you want this rumor to get off the ground.

“But yeah, we’re, um…” The words seem to stick to your tongue and you clear your throat, forcing them out. “...we’re dating now. It just kind of happened. Please don’t mention it to anyone.”

Utahime is silent for a long moment as she studies your expression. 

“I can see why you’d want to keep it quiet,” she says at last, sounding weary. “Your taste in men is terrible, but better you than me I guess. Just let me know if you need me to kill him. I can make it look like an accident.”

“Alright. If he breaks my heart, you can kill him.”

“Oh, heartbreak has nothing to do with it,” she says, waving the comment away. “This is strictly for love of the game.”

That gets a laugh out of you, and the last of your embarrassment at Gojo’s antics finally dissipates. “Thank you Utahime. I’ll keep that in mind. And I would like to go out next Friday, if your offer is still on the table.”

“It is, but don’t bring your boyfriend.”

Gojo says that it’ll take about a week for your rumor to circulate, but after seeing how quickly the one about Shoko and Utahime had spread, you’re pretty sure he’s overestimating. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say he’s waiting for his presentation to finish up before causing any more drama. It’s the most serious you’ve ever seen him about his work, though that’s not saying much given his usual laissez-faire attitude. 

In all honesty, you’re grateful for the delay because with the state Nanami’s in, now does not feel like a good time to amp up any mind games. The poor man looks beyond the point of exhaustion, steadily growing more stressed until you quietly decide to add him to your break room coffee runs alongside Itadori. Though you don’t get the chance to see either Gojo or Nanami on the day of their presentation, you’re pretty sure both are slated to come to Utahime’s get-together later that evening.

It’s already dark by the time you leave the office building, a cloudless sky sharpening the cold night air. Most of the other attendees are already there when you arrive, crowded around a large table near the back of the izakaya and chatting over mixed drinks or the occasional craft beer. Utahime’s definition of ‘a few people’ is clearly very different from your own, though notably Gojo is absent from the scene. You feel a twinge of guilt at the thought of him truly not being invited, but it doesn’t last long. He’d show up anyway if he really wanted to be here.

Much to your relief, the only open seat is directly next to Nanami, whom you join at the table after a quick detour to pick up a Shirley Temple. He’s still in his work clothes, which are a little more formal than usual— or, more accurately, had been more formal. His dark jacket has already been discarded, folded neatly over the back of his chair, and the sleeves of his pale dress shirt are cuffed at his elbows. 

He glances over as you sit down, nodding at your drink. “No sake tonight?”

It’s hard to mask your surprise. He’s never mentioned your previous outing before, but it’s good to know it wasn’t a fever dream.

Smiling, you shake your head. “No sake tonight.” 

“Shame,” he says, loosening his tie. “There’s karaoke here. I was hoping you’d grace us with another performance.” 

You send a glare his way and are rewarded with an exhale of amusement. Nanami is, of course, referring to your infamous rendition of Natasha Bedingfield’s ‘Unwritten’ at last year’s holiday party— coincidentally the same night that Gojo had spotted your garters. Most of the time you can resist the siren song of karaoke, but after a few too many festively themed cocktails, it had suddenly seemed like a great idea to join in. The next morning you’d woken up with the actual worst hangover of your life and a sinking feeling that you might’ve made the wrong call by deciding to participate. Drinking has been much less appealing ever since.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” you say, using your straw to chase a maraschino cherry around the bottom of your glass. “That was both the beginning and end of my musical career.”

He nods, his expression somber. “I’m honored to have witnessed it.”

You don’t respond right away and Nanami must sense that you’re embarrassed because he adds: 

“I’m serious about that, at least to some extent. It was nice seeing you enjoying yourself. I don’t usually…”

The words fade and you look over, curious as to the sudden change in tone. His gaze is on the glass in his hand, the tendons of his wrist flexing as he swirls his drink.

“You don’t usually…?” you prompt, trying not to stare at his forearms.

He grimaces, still not meeting your eyes. “I don’t usually get to see you happy.”

You blink, trying to process what he’s just said, searching his face for some sort of tell. Something you can point to as evidence that he’s still joking. 

Nothing. Just soft eyes and sharp angles. For the first time you notice the slight flush along his delicate cheekbones. 

“How many of those have you had?” you ask, eyeing his drink with suspicion.

He doesn’t reply, just holds up three fingers. Sighing, you nudge him with your elbow.

“Don’t overdo it, okay?”

“I won’t.”

Finally you manage to stab your maraschino cherry, triumphantly eating it off of the end of your straw. He looks over, giving you a faint, fleeting smile that warms you, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? Even if you feel something for Nanami and even if Gojo insists that those feelings are reciprocated, it’s hard to believe that there could ever be something between you when a single smile is enough to make your pulse speed up. Your friendship with him is built on quiet moments like this, moments where you feel safe and content just being in his company. It’s an intimacy that usually takes time to reach and is what makes your feelings so difficult to act on. Comfort and consistency are fine once you’ve established a mutual attraction, but right now there’s nothing you can cite to prove this isn’t one sided. 

Nanami smiles at you. Sends the occasional dry joke your way. Checks on you when he can tell something’s wrong. Within the context of your friendship those are all so important, but what if you take a step back? What if you compare your dynamic to other people? Smiles, jokes, and concerns are things that they give freely— the proof is all around you, not just in your coworkers, but the rest of the bar’s patrons as well. 

“You’re quiet tonight,” Nanami says, rousing you from your thoughts. “Is everything okay?”

There’s that question again, the same one that he’d asked last week in the elevator. He’d seemed content enough to believe you then, but now there’s something cagey in his expression which you’re almost certain means he’s heard the gossip about you and Gojo. The thought sends a spike of anxiety through you, and then you feel stupid for being anxious because that was the whole point of starting a rumor.

“I’m fine,” you say. “Why do you ask?”

“Just checking in, I guess.”

He punctuates the sentence by finishing off his drink, setting it down with enough force to tell you that his motor skills aren’t quite firing on all cylinders. 

“Seems like it’s probably time to switch to water,” you say, eager to change the subject.

“Probably.” He pauses, eyeing your empty glass. “Though I could say the same for you. From what I’ve heard, this place makes a strong Shirley Temple.”

You laugh, happy to be joking with him again, and some of the tension dissipates. Pushing your chair back from the overcrowded table, you grab both cups and leave Nanami with the promise that you’ll be right back. He nods, looking a little forlorn at the prospect of being abandoned, but Ino shifts over to your now empty chair and redirects his attention with a flurry of work related questions. 

Poor Nanami, you think as you turn away. You doubt he has any desire to talk about work right now, which is the very reason you hadn’t asked about the presentation.

Though it only takes you a few moments to grab the water, the last seat has been filled by the time you get back. It seems as though your coworkers have been playing musical chairs in your absence— you’d already seen Ino take your spot but a few others have moved around too. A flash of white hair catches your attention and you stiffen in surprise. It seems Gojo was invited after all, and with him in attendance the final seat is filled, leaving you standing with a glass of water in either hand as you try to figure out what to do next.

As soon as he spots you, Gojo waves you over, waiting until he won’t have to yell to be heard. 

“You should come sit with me once you’ve dropped that off,” he says quietly, motioning to one of the drinks in your hand.

“Sit where? You took the last seat.”

“Okay, and…? I said sit with me, not next to me.” He pauses, waiting for you to catch on, and realizes he needs to clarify when he registers your look of confusion. “On my lap.”

Your eyes widen and you instinctively take a step back. “What? But I can’t—”

“Keep it down,” he hisses, looking around. Thankfully no one else seems to be paying attention. “I’m not saying you have to do it, but you wanted me to come up with a way to confirm we’re dating, right?”

“I thought you said you wanted to be caught in a compromising position!” you say, dropping your voice to match his. 

“Well if you want something less public I’m sure we could still sneak off and—”

You cut him off before he can finish. “Oh you’d like that, wouldn't you?” 

Looking down at the drinks in your hands, you try to think this through. If you’re being completely honest with yourself, you know you’re going to say yes for the same reason you’ve agreed to all his other suggestions: you’re having fun, more fun than you’ve had in a long time. What you want right now (and what you’ve always wanted) is to sit with a friend and talk about things that aren’t important and laugh about things that aren’t funny, because when you’re friends with someone, really friends with someone, those details don’t matter. You’re not there yet with Gojo - in fact, you're still not sure you even like him - but if you play your cards right, you have a feeling that someday you could be.