Take me back to the night we met

When you shuffle to the breakfast table with Satoru, Shoko’s eyes glint over the rim of her mug.

Out of all his friends, she feels the hardest to read. Aloof. Neutral. And dangerously observant — like she’s already written your character analysis in her head. You try not to squirm under the weight of it.

“Good morning!” Yuji chirps, scooting over and patting the floor cushion beside him. “C’mon, sit. Nanami made pancakes. It’ll get cold.”

But Yuji’s kindness?

Effortless.

It’s like he’s already decided you belong, no questions asked. His warmth is instinct, not something you have to deserve.

God. You’re not sure if that makes you feel better… or worse.

“I—uh, thank you.” You offer a sheepish smile, taking a seat as Nanami sets down a plate in front of you with surgical precision.

“Eat,” he commands, wiping his hands on his apron. “You’ll need the energy. The time change is brutal,” and he sits across from you with a sigh. “Plus, being around Satoru is exhausting enough.”

“Excuse you?!”

Satoru flops onto the cushion beside you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him — but not close enough to touch.

“I’m a delight. A gift. A national treasure,” And with zero shame, he snags a piece of bacon off Nanami’s plate like it’s his god-given right.

“Itadakimaaaasu~”

You smile, because you’re supposed to. Because last night you cried into the snow, and this morning you’re apparently someone’s girlfriend.

“Oh, hey!” Satoru grins, mouth full. “What’s the occasion, Kento? Pancakes?? Shit. Must be my lucky day – you never make my favorite.”

“That’s because you never clean up after yourself,” Nanami deadpans.

But Satoru shrugs, completely unabashed, diving in.

“The pancakes were Yuji’s idea,” Megumi mutters around a bite. “He thought it would be right to do something special.”

“Yup!” Yuji beams, nudging the syrup your way. “Had to commemorate the occasion! Right?! Welcome to Japan!”

You blink.

Ugh…

It’s sweet. Too sweet. And that’s the problem.

Because the more comfortable they make you feel, the worse it feels to lie.

But… lying’s what Satoru does best, isn’t it?

Your chest tightens as you plaster on a tight smile. This trip wasn’t what you’d thought it would be. And that… hurts. You wish things were different.

As you reach for the syrup, Satoru does as well, making your fingers brush. The contact is brief, nothing like the way you woke up tangled together. And as that memory floods back, your cheeks burn and—

“S-Sorry…” you murmur, pulling back. “Oh… s’fine,” he says softly, eyes on his plate.

Shoko’s gaze flicks between you and Satoru — once, twice — like she’s clocking something invisible.

Fuck.

Now you’ve made it weirder. Perfect. You’re really not a good liar. Not since you were six and tried to convince your mom the fucking cat ate your homework — even then, you burst into tears before you finished the sentence.

But you’re already in it now. And Yuji, at least, is still oblivious.

“Man… this is great!!” he beams, gesturing at you both with a fork. “It’s not every day Satoru is honest in the romance department!”

Satoru chokes on a strawberry. You hold back a snort.

Honest?

Now that is comedy. Because if this is honesty? You’d hate to see what he calls lying.

Though, hearing that… kind of intrigues you. The petty part of you wants to ask — what exactly has he lied about before?

You can’t help yourself. Glancing up sweetly, you slide your fork through syrup-slick pancake.

“Oh, really?” you ask smugly, trying not to smile. “Aww… that’s so sweet. Honesty is so important in our relationship. Isn’t that right, ‘toru?”

Satoru clears his throat. “Obviously,” he says, forcing a crooked smile. “With you? I’m honest to a fault. Ask anyone.”

“Oh, totally,” Yuji snorts. “The Gabumon scarf told me everything I needed to know.” He grins at you, shoving in another bite.

And you tilt your head while Megumi adds, “Yup. Only, like… four people on the planet even know he’s a closeted nerd. He wouldn’t tell just anyone.”

…

Huh?

Your brows pinch as you glance over at Satoru. His gaze is fixed on his plate, rearranging his strawberries like it’s a fucking art project. He doesn’t say a word.

Weird…

Because the Satoru you know? The one who texted you memes and rambled about Digimon lore at 2 a.m.? He’d be bragging right now. Insisting Gabumon is S-tier, end of discussion.

Wait, wait, wait…

Now that you think about it, Satoru has always been proudly nerdy in your chats. Him being a nerd is like… the only thing you believe to be true. Hell, he once sent you a ten-minute voice memo breaking down Naruto filler arcs. He ranked Pokémon gym leaders with scary precision. He’s got takes on the Star Wars prequels that would get him cancelled on Twitter.

And now Yuji’s calling him closeted?

“Anyways,” Yuji continues, breaking your thoughts, “m’sorry if Sukuna came off kinda intense last night. Hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable—”

“Wait—WHAT?” Satoru snaps, so fast you jump. “The fuck did he do this time?” And his head whips toward you, eyes narrowing. “He say something to you, sweetheart?”

The heat behind his tone makes you blink. There’s a sharpness you’ve never heard. Not the typical teasing cadence, where you could hear his lopsided grin. No. It’s just a raw, immediate protectiveness. One that doesn’t feel like a lie.

You’re not sure why you feel the need to reassure him but—

“O-Oh! No, it’s really not a big deal,” you rush out, waving a hand. “He didn’t make me uncomfortable. He just… caught me off guard, is all.”

But Satoru’s already scanning the estate, not buying it.

“Where is that asshole, anyway…” his jaw clenches. “Swear to god, he—"

“Relax,” Shoko drawls. “He had an early shift. Where else? Otherwise, he’d be here being loud as hell.”

“The idiot works mornings and still parties like he’s nineteen?” Nanami mutters, cutting into his pancakes. “Unbelievable…”

“Yeah…” Yuji chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck before glancing at you. “Sukuna’s my brother, by the way. I know he can be… a lot. But he means well. Usually.”

“Debatable,” Satoru mutters, stabbing his pancake like it insulted his mother.

And you glance between them, unsure what to say.

Because even on the phone, Satoru’s rants were more dramatic than serious. Hell, even last night, after everything you said to him —the names, the accusations — he’d stayed gentle. Apologetic.

But now, he looks… angry? Bitter?

The silence stretches thin. Cutlery clinks. A throat clears.

Awkward.

Then, Yuji’s phone buzzes. He pulls it out, thumbs a quick reply.

“Oh hey! Guess what?” he brightens, turning the screen toward you. “Sukuna said he convinced his boss to let him leave. Wants to celebrate you coming! Isn’t that great?!”

Satoru stiffens.

“Oh—um, really?” You blink at the unreadable kanji, offering a polite smile. “That’s nice of him. I’m sure he—”

Before you can finish, Satoru’s on it.

“Hey, uh. Babe!” he blurts, snapping his fingers like he just remembered something vital. “Didn’t I… uh. Promise you a tour today?”

“O-Oh!” You stammer, thrown off by the sudden shift. “Um… tour?”

“Y-Yeah! Don’t you remember?” He’s already in motion, steamrolling ahead like he’s speed running an escape room. “Our big, romantic tour! Let’s see… spiritual enlightenment. Scenic views. Tourist traps. Maybe a cat café?”

His hands are flailing through the air, ticking off imaginary bullet points, and you scramble to catch up.

“R-Right! Of course! Our tour!” You echo. “How could I forget?!”

Fucking hell. It feels like a bad improv scene. No script. No direction. Just panic. And everyone at the table is frozen, stoned face. Clearly not buying this bullshit. But then, Satoru’s fingers curl around yours — warm, unyielding — and you hate the way it makes your heart flutter.

…because it’s the same hand that held you steady when you were falling apart.

“This has been so much fun, guys,” he says with fake cheer, tugging you upright. “But I promised her the best of Japan. And if we stay, Nanami’s gonna make us scrub dishes like it’s team-building.”

He’s ushering you away, and Nanami scowls.

“Satoru Gojo,” he scolds, setting his cutlery down with a disapproving glare. “You will be doing the dishes when you return.”

“Huh?” Satoru calls, already halfway down the hall. “Can’t hear you Nanamin~ Bye-bye~”

You watch Satoru’s back as he tugs you, like he’s dragging you out of a fire he doesn’t know he started.

“What was that about?” you stumble, trying to keep up with his pace. “I mean, seriously Satoru… what the hell. That was a disaster. A tour?”

You’re still dazed, still reeling — still pretending this isn’t the weirdest day of your goddamn life. And your fingers tingle where his hand is wrapped around yours, like your body hasn’t gotten the memo that you’re supposed to hate him now.

No. Instead, your heart is doing something traitorous — twisting, fluttering, reaching. And you can’t stop thinking about how protective he got at the mention of Sukuna.

Does… he not want you near him? Does he hate his guts? Or is it something else?

Jealousy?

Possessiveness?

You don’t want to think it. But you do.

And worse — some foolish part of you wants it to be true. Because some aching piece of you is starving for proof. That he felt it too. That this—whatever this strange, tangled thing is—wasn’t just some elaborate game to him. That he didn’t just play with your heart and leave it out in the cold.

But then, he drops your hand, shoving both into the pockets of his hoodie like nothing happened.

“Yeeeah… um. Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he drops his gaze. “That was just an excuse to get you out of there.”

Your chest tightens.

“…really?”

There’s a softness in your voice, a hitch. And god, you hate it. Hate how hopeful is sounds, how obvious. He must hear it too – because his gaze flickers toward you, then away.

“Yeah. I—I mean…” he fumbles, exhaling through his nose, almost like he’s scolding himself. “A deal’s a deal, right? I was gonna introduce you to Suguru today. Needed an excuse to get you away from them.”

Oh...

Right. Of course that’s it. Of course that’s all it was. If he wanted you, he wouldn’t be setting you up with someone else. If he wanted you… he wouldn’t have lied.

“Great… sounds good.”

You look away, blinking hard. Your hand is still tingling.

Stupid.

Why would it be anything else?

With that, you’re layered up in silence — scarf, gloves, coat zipped to your chin — trailing after Satoru as he leads you through Kyoto’s backstreets.

He parks near a quiet plaza, and you shuffle through the snow, winding between shrines and vending machines, until you reach some weathered wooden storefront. A noren flutters gently in the winter air, painted with kanji you can’t decipher.

When he pulls the curtain back, you blink. “Is this a bakery?” you ask, stepping in. And he grins. “Yup! Only the best one in the city.”

Shelves glisten with sweets behind polished glass, and the scent of sugar hugs the air, blanketing you in warmth. You can’t help but think of all those late-night calls where he’d ramble about dessert with the passion of a food critic.

It makes you snort. “Typical,” you huff, unwrapping your scarf with a shake of your head. “I should’ve known you’d bring me to a bakery of all places.”

The playfulness in your tone slips out, like muscle memory. And he grins, crooked and charming.

“Uh—excuse you little missy?” he gasps, hand to chest. “What’s that supposed to mean? This isn’t your typical bakery. It’s life-altering, okay? I should be charging you for the honor, brat.”

You scoff. “Charging me? Nah, I think I paid my dues hearing you whine on the phone about craving mochi at 3 a.m.”

“Wow.” He points a dramatic finger. “That was a genuine crisis, thank you very much.” And suddenly, his whole face is lighting up, boyish and bright. “But seriously, the shikifuku mochi here? It ruins you. Nothing else compares. The outer layer’s perfectly chewy, and the inside—god, don’t even get me started—”

Too late.

He’s started, and you can’t help but grin as he spins around to face you, walking backward as he launches into full rant mode.

“It’s this stupid good black sesame filling that just melts on your tongue,” he says, animated and unfiltered. “I used to hoard, like, six at a time. Honestly though? Could’ve eaten like, twenty. Easy.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re gonna die of a sugar overdose and I’m not dragging your dramatic ass to the hospital.”

“Pshhh. Worth it.”

For a second? It’s like nothing’s changed.

“I’m tellin’ you,” he says, nudging your shoulder lightly. “I know sweets aren’t usually your thing, miss salty girl. But… I think you’d love it.”

“…yeah?” your smile softens. And he matches yours, humming, “Mhm! I mean… I used to come here all the time with Suguru and—"

That’s all it takes.

Stopping himself, you see it; the hitch in his breath, the way his mouth stills like it’s said too much. Like something warm and instinctive slipped out before he could rein it back in.

“O-Oh… um. I mean…” He’s clearing his throat, suddenly distant. “Suguru’s always loved this place…” he mumbles, gaze sliding away as he gestures toward an empty table. “Anyways. C’mon. Take a seat.”

And just like that, the moment collapses while both of you remember why you’re here. And it shouldn’t hurt — but it does. Worse than if he’d never let himself soften at all. Because it’s one thing to miss what you had. It’s another to glimpse it before he pulls away like it never meant anything.

This isn’t a date. Not with Satoru.

“Right…” you slide into the corner booth, unzipping your coat. “So… is he here then?” you murmur.

“Nah… but he’ll show up. Probably,” and he’s striding toward the counter, shouting. “Just stay put, kay? I’ll be right back!”

You frown.

…Probably?

What does that even mean?

And while his back drifts father away, you try to get it together. But your breath is uneven as you tug your sleeves over your hands.

It’s stupid. You don’t know why you’re nervous. This whole damn trip’s already gone off the rails. You’ve already been lied to, catfished, humiliated, and now? Emotionally whiplashed. What’s one more twist in this sitcom from hell?

Still…

When you glance toward the counter — at Satoru’s silhouette, laughing softly in Japanese as he chats with the barista — something in you twists. Because… you used to talk about everything.

Favorite books that wrecked you. Childhood dreams you forgot you had. The ache in your chest when certain songs came on. Hell, even the reason you haven’t spoken to your dad in three years.

And now?

The silence between you is unbearable — swollen with all the things your heart still aches to say, but knows it wouldn’t survive hearing spoken out loud. Why bother? You’ve humiliated yourself enough. And he’s a damn good liar, unlike you.

He’s playing you. No other reason makes sense. Because someone that good looking, wouldn’t need to catfish you.

What other reason is there?

You’re still stewing in that thought when—

“Alrighty then…” Satoru saunters over, carrying two drinks and a plate stacked with mochi. “—told ya I’d be right back!”

You blink, startled out of your spiral, while he sets one glass down in front of you with far too much flair. A drink you certainly didn’t request. And wouldn’t. Because it’s murky. Pale greenish-brown. Completely unappetizing.

“…what is this?” you ask, nudging it like it might grow legs. And he grins, smug. “Trust me,” he says, sliding into the booth like he settling in for a show. “It’s Suguru’s favorite. He comes here almost every morning.”

Your brow creases. “So… it’s for him?”

“Nope.” He sighs, reclining like it’s some elaborate plan. “It’s for you, sweetheart.”

Your frown deepens. “Okay. I’m confused.” And he pops a mochi into his mouth, chewing like a man with a mission. “Here’s the thing,” he says, voice muffled, propping an elbow on the table like you’re about to get educated.

“Suguru’s, like… really into fate. Like, weirdly into it. Thinks the universe talks to him through coincidences.”

You blink. “You’re joking.”

“Oh, I wish,” he huffs, holding up a finger mid-chew. “Same music? Cosmic. Same drink order? Boom. Soulmates.” His head tilts. “Oh! Bonus points if you share hobbies. Maybe you surf too?”

“…what? No.”

He frowns.

“…but you’re from California.”

“And?”

He deadpans. “Doesn’t everyone surf there?”

You roll your eyes, lifting the drink to your lips; and against your better judgement, you take a sip.

Only to immediately gag.

“Oh my god—” you choke, pushing the glass away like it’s radioactive. “What the fuck?” And Satoru is already snickering, nearly spitting out his drink.

“Awww, what’s wrong? Not a fan?!”

You cough wheezing. “No!” And you’re smiling now, because his laughter is contagious. “God, why the hell would anyone voluntarily drink this? It tastes like… expired matcha and regret had a lovechild.”

“Yup.” He sighs dreamily, smug as ever. “That’s the one~”

But it’s not long before he’s stiffening. His eyes flick toward the entrance, past the hanging noren, and the playfulness drains from his face.

“Shit,” he mutters, straightening. “Okay. Showtime. He’s here.”

And you blink, still catching your breath. “Wait—what?” But before you can look over, Satoru’s already rising. “Stay here,” he says. “I’m gonna act like we ran into each other. Then I’ll bring him over.”

What he’s saying doesn’t make any sense, and the nerves instantly return.

Panic spikes through you. “Satoru—wait, wait—” you grip his sleeve before he leaves. “He doesn’t know he’s meeting me?! I-I thought you were setting us up!”

“This is me setting you up.” He flashes a grin that’s equal parts charming and chaotic. “I told you—the guy’s obsessed with fate. So? We’re giving him fate.”

Your stomach twists. Fuck.

That definitely doesn’t help your nerves.

Lying more?

When he tries to leave, you pull him again.

“S-Satoru…”

Your expression is pleading, and his smile softens.

“Shhh. Relax, sweetheart.” He pats your hand, before backing toward the entrance. “Just remember—you love that drink, you love surfing, and you definitely love hiking. Act natural.”

Act natural?

That’s not you. That’s not natural!

And as he slips toward his ex-best friend, you take one last sip of the abomination he calls a drink — and try not to choke on the taste of your own bad decisions.

Suguru Geto.

Not the name you saw popping up on your phone, but the face of the man you’ve been imagining every time it did.

And god, he’s beautiful.

But not in the same way Satoru is… it’s something quieter. Like someone carved out of calm, with long raven hair pulled into a low bun, a few loose strands brushing his cheekbones.

You’re already staring.

And you know you shouldn’t be — fuck, you’re supposed to be acting natural, remember?

“え？久しぶりだな、傑。” (Eh? It’s been a long time, Suguru.)

Satoru steps forward, and a small smile curves Suguru’s lips.

“悟…久しいな。元気だったか？” (Satoru… it has, huh? You been well?)

Satoru chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“まあね。” (More or less.)

You watch, curiously, as they fall into the rhythm of people who once moved in sync, with just enough distance to let silence rest without tension. You can’t understand a lick of what they’re saying, but there appears to be no coldness, no edge. Just a gentle, unspoken awareness of shared history.

You’re trying not to gag on the world’s worst drink, until suddenly, Satoru glances over at you. When his eyes meet yours, something about the way he smirks makes your stomach twist worse than the drink itself.

Fuckfuckfuck.

They’re headed this way.

“Suguru, I wanna introduce you to someone,” Satoru says, in English now. They stop at the table, and Satoru shoves his hands in his pockets, grinning. “This is my cousin, from the States. She’s visiting for the holidays.”

Cousin?

Fucking hell. More lies? How are you going to keep track of them?

Those violet eyes shift to you, and suddenly, you’re holding your breath. “H-Hi,” you manage, trying to smile while your hands wrap around the glass, hoping it’ll save you from drowning. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he says with a soft smile. “Welcome to Japan. Hope you enjoy your—” but then his gaze flicks down to your drink, and his eyes widen. “Wait… is that—” he gestures toward your glass. “Matcha shōga tonic?”

You blink down at it. “Oh. Um… yeah?”

And for the first time since he walked in, Suguru genuinely lights up.

“What?! No way!!” he huffs in awe, lips curling in pure delight. “That’s awesome! It’s my all-time favorite! Though I haven’t met anyone else who orders it, because most people can’t handle it.”

Yeah. No shit. You’d rather drink battery acid. But somehow, you force a smile so wide it borders on manic and raise the glass in a toast.

“What can I say?” you chirp, lying through your damn teeth. “It’s soooo good.”

And somehow, miraculously, that works. He brightens even more — like you just passed some kind of obscure test.

“That’s really cool…” he murmurs. “Dude, what the hell?” he glances at Satoru, but his eyes keep drifting back to you like candy. “You never mentioned you had a cousin from the States?”

“Huh… I didn’t?” Satoru shrugs innocently as he flops into the seat across from you. “Weird. Thought I did. She just got in a few days ago from California.”

Satoru lies so easily; you almost believe it.

“California?!” Suguru repeats, lighting up all over again. “No way. I’ve always wanted to go. You guys have everything there—beaches, cliffs, trails. I’ve heard the climbing out there is supposed to be insane.”

“Oh, totally,” you say, swirling your drink like it’ll whisper instructions. “Yosemite’s a classic. And, uh, Joshua Tree—real… gritty stone. So many… rocks.”

Wow. Great job. Your description is so vivid.

But to your surprise, Suguru’s somehow more intrigued.

“Yeah?” His brows lift. “So do you rock-climb then?”

Your brain is blue-screening, but you barrel on. “Oh. Yeah. For sure!!” you say way too fast. “I’m a huge climber. Big… rock person. Love the rocks. Boulders. I mean, obviously. When I’m not trail running. Or—y’know—surfing. Chasing the waves. Being one with the ocean. And chillin’ with the sharks, I guess, but like—spiritually.”

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

You sound like a walking Sporting Goods catalog had a stroke. What’s next? Saying you love sitting in LA traffic because it gives you “time to reflect”?

But Suguru’s interest only grows.

“Wow… surfing too?”

“Mhm!”

Your pitch jumps, and before your brain can pull the emergency brake, you take another brave sip of the drink, just to sell the lie.

Instant regret.

“I—” you wheeze, half-choking, blinking through the burn. “I surf. I hike. I’ll… climb anything that moves!”

Why.

Why would you say that.

Why are you like this.

You want to melt into the floor. You want to slide under the table and never return. But to your shock? He’s…

Laughing.

It’s a gentle, genuine laugh that’s almost…

Charmed?

“You’re really funny,” he says, grinning as he pulls out his phone. “Hey, can I get your number? There’s a climbing spot I’ve been dying to check out. Was thinking of going tomorrow—if you’re free?”

You blink.

He’s kidding, right?

But he’s not. He’s smiling. He’s hot. And he’s asking for your number like this is normal. Like you’re normal.

“Oh—yeah! Totally!” you say, nearly knocking your drink over as you fumble for your phone. “Let me just—yep, here—there you go!”

And with that, numbers are exchanged. Smiles, too.

“Cool,” he says, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Anyways… uh. It was nice seeing you, Satoru.” He lifts two fingers in a casual wave, then turns back to you with a warm, lopsided smile. “I’m really looking forward to tomorrow. I’ll text you, yeah?”

“Sounds… rockin’.” You blurt. “I’ll, uh… climb ya later then!”

…oh no.

Please. Please stop talking.

“…climb you later?” Satoru echoed, deadpan. “What the fuck was that?”

This? This is why you don’t lie.

You don’t know what’s worse: the mortifying words that came out of your mouth… or the fact that now you actually have to follow through on them. Because you can’t actually climb. Not the wall, not a rope, not even a pull-up bar without getting a little dizzy and needing to sit down with your head between your knees.

Satoru, to his credit, didn’t laugh at you. You’re not sure why.

“Don’t worry…” he assured. “I’ll teach you.”

And he did.

Immediately after meeting Suguru, he dragged you to an indoor climbing gym.

So now you’re here — at the base of a thirty-foot climbing wall with your shoes too tight, your palms too sweaty, and your dignity hanging by a carabiner. Pretending your harness isn’t the only thing holding you together.

Across from you, Satoru’s in his gym clothes, strapping himself in like he’s done it a hundred times. Confident. Casual. Chatting with the instructor in Japanese, when you glance over and—

Oh…

As he adjusts the waist strap, his shirt rides up, and you pause, because—are those…

Abs?!

You promptly forget how to breathe as you take sight of the sharp lines, carved into his torso like it has no fucking business on a man who once earnestly debated which is better, Pokémon or Digimon, for twenty minutes.

His sleeves are shoved up, too, and you’re blinking, face growing hot as you admire his forearms flexing while he tightens his buckle. How can you be normal about this? How is he normal?! He’s just casually fiddling with his harness like his body isn’t actively lighting your brain on fire – like you’re not staring.

Which you are.

Fuck. You definitely are.

“Hey.” His voice cuts in. “C’mere.”

You blink, face burning like you’ve been caught red-handed.

Shit. Get it together.

He’s a liar. A catfish. You’re not here to ogle the subtle definition in his shoulders or wonder how his voice would sound against your neck while his hands are your hips and he—

“Oh, sweetheart?” he hums, clearly entertained now, crooking two fingers at you. “I said c’mere. What’s the deal? Don’t make me beg. Gotta check your harness, yeah?”

Oh, fuck you.

“R-Right!” You stammer, stepping forward. And when you’re in front of him, his fingers are already on you. Warm, gentle hands… tugging at your straps, checking for tension.

“Jus’ a little more…” he murmurs, more to himself.

You catch sight of a pink little tongue, peaking out the side of his lips, and those pale lashes are low behind his glasses. But when they flick up briefly, checking in while his fingers tug the buckle, you catch sight of that blue.

Soft. Startling. Stupidly beautiful, it steals the breath out of your chest.

“There,” he breathes. “It’s… not to tight, is it?”

His voice is quiet, and he’s close, too close. Warm breath fanning your skin.

“Mm-mm…” you mumble, shaking your head, unable to hold his gaze. He’s not tugging anymore… but his hands linger on your waist.

“You… um,” he whispers. “Nervous?”

You are.

Of the wall. Of falling. Of the way your chest feels like it’s come loose from its hinges, fluttering wildly at his touch — like something has come unfastened, and it sure as hell isn’t the harness.

You’re nervous of the fact that this man is starting to feel like a goddamn contradiction. Dangerous and safe… in the same breath.

But instead?

“Oh… nope.”

You lie. Again.

Satoru gives the rope a gentle tug, testing the tension.

“Alright! Let’s show ‘em what you’ve got, California girl.”

The second your foot leaves the ground, regret sets in. Your balance is questionable at best, and your fingers tremble while you grasp the first hold. Satoru stands below, spotting you with that infuriatingly cheerful tone.

“Thaaaat’s it,” he calls. “Niiice and slow… don’t overthink it, ‘kay?”

Easy for him to say.

He’s not the one whose legs already feel like they’re vibrating out of sheer spite.

You push yourself higher, one shaky hold at a time. And to your surprise, you make some impressive distance. But by the time you’re fifteen feet up, everything starts to blur — your sense of control, your breathing, your grip on reality.

Perhaps the altitude is messing with your head. So naturally? You look down.

Big mistake.

“Ohmygod—shitshitshit,” you gasp, clinging tightly to a red handhold as your foot scrapes, slipping just enough to send your heart into freefall.

“Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. I can’t do this. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna—”

“Hey—hey,” he cuts in quickly, voice gentling. “Stop that. You’re okay, you hear me? I’m right here.”

Shutting your eyes, your breath stutters, too fast, too shallow. Your heartbeat is trying to climb out of your ribs and your palms are sweating.

You’re not built for this. You’re built for flat, horizontal surfaces.

“I’m… really high,” you whimper. “Like… alarmingly high, Satoru.”

You hear him sigh below; not annoyed, not exasperated, but soft and laced with quiet concern. Like he’s trying to mask how much he wants to climb up there and carry you down himself.

“Okay, well—just… don’t look down, yeah?” he says gently, like you’re negotiating a minor inconvenience instead of impending doom. “Let’s just… look at the wall. Or better yet—talk to me.”

You close your eyes, pressing your forehead to the plastic. “About what?”

“Anything,” he says. “Distract yourself. I’m all ears.”

“I—I…”

You try. You really do. But your thoughts scatter the second you reach for them — your breath coming too fast, your chest too tight, panic slipping through you like water through your fingers.

“I can’t—” your voice cracks, eyes building with tears. “I can’t do this. Ohmygod, I—"

“Okay, okay—counterpoint,” he jumps in smoothly. “Did you know they released a Digimon Tamagotchi in 1997? And the only way to evolve your Greymon into SkullGreymon was to neglect him?”

Your eyes snap open.

“W-What?”

And before you know it, he’s racing ahead of your spiral.

“Yeah… shame I couldn’t get my hands on one,” he huffs, mock offended. “Like… you had to mistreat your virtual pet to get the cool, edgy one. No care. No affection. Just emotional abandonment.” He hums thoughtfully. “Isn’t that fucked up?”

The absurdity of it punches the breath out of your lungs — and this time, not from fear.

You choke on a laugh. “S-Satoru—” and your body trembles in relief. “I… ugh. I can’t with you,” you manage, giggling through sobs as you sag against the wall, head shaking with something dangerously close to affection. “You’re seriously doing this right now?!”

“What?” he calls back innocently, like this is a totally appropriate moment for virtual pet lore. “It’s injustice! SkullGreymon literally got abandoned, and became metal. Talk about childhood trauma, y’know?”

Huffing another laugh, you press your forehead briefly to the wall, before lifting your head up again. Your grip has changed without noticing. Less white-knuckled desperation, more… trust. A foothold.

Suddenly?

The top doesn’t feel so impossibly far.

You’re moving again, and sure – your arms burn, your legs tremble, but each hold comes after the other. Because for the first time since leaving the ground—

You can breathe.

“Okaaayyy—there we go! Look at you?!” he laughs, pride unmistakable now. “Atta girl. Didn’t I tell you? Keep going—juuuuust like that.”

When your fingers curl the top, victory has never tasted so sweet. You pull yourself up, chest heaving, heart pounding — but smiling.

“I—I made it,” you breathe, disbelief flooding your voice. “Look, Satoru! I—”

But when you straighten? The bottom is all you see.

The gym tilts. The wall drops away. Your knees buckle as your vision blurs — and the last thing you hear is Satoru shouting your name.

Satoru doesn’t remember climbing. He scaled that wall like it owed him answers. Like it had stolen you. Because one moment, you were standing at the edge, blinking too long, and the next? Dropped back like a puppet.

“Hey—shit—hold on, I-I’m coming!” he calls up, fingers scrambling against holds. “Sweetheart?? You there? You okay?”

When he finally hauls himself over the ledge, relief hits him so hard it almost knocks him over. You’re on your back, limbs slack, staring up at the ceiling lights like they’re stars. But you’re conscious. Breathing.

Alive.

“Oh—thank fuck,” he groans, voice cracking as his knees hit the mat.

Adrenaline is screaming through his veins while he stumbles over, dropping both hands to brace beside your head, while his legs cage you beneath him – needing to be close, needing to shield you from whatever just stole your strength from within.

“H-Hey…” he pants, hovering. “There she is… look at me, yeah? You with me?”

“Oh…” Your gaze drifts for a moment, unfocused — before finally settling on him. You blink. His glasses are fogged, blue eyes blinking wildly, with snowy white hair, curtaining your face.

“…hi.”

Your whisper is so quiet, so casual. Like nothing just happened. And his chest tightens painfully.

“Hi?” he breathes out a shaky laugh, frayed at the edges. “Hi yourself. You scared the absolute shit outta me,” he mutters. “Don’t… don’t ever do that again. Ever.”

His admission is playful, but you can hear the underlying concern underneath. And your lips twitch faintly, like you’re trying to smile, but haven’t quite found the strength.

“Sorry…” you whisper. “Everything just went… weird.”

Satoru swallows. Because… yeah. It did. Hell—it is.

You’re here, under him. Real. Warm. Close enough that he feels your breath mingling with his, close enough that it would take just one stupid tilt of his head to—

“U-Um… okay,” he murmurs, forcing himself back into focus. “How’re you feelin’ right now? Dizzy? Nauseous?” He pulls back a bit. “Think you can stand? We still gotta get you down…”

“…don’t wanna” you mumble, wrinkling your nose as you let your head fall sideways against the mat. “Jus’… abandon me here,” you sigh, closing your eyes. “This is the end for me.”

He huffs something between a laugh and a groan.

“Wow…” he rolls his eyes, because your pout is too cute. “And here I thought I was dramatic. You trying to one up me?”

Your lips twitch into the faintest smirk, and before he can stop himself, his hand lifts, brushing the stray wisps of hair from your face.

Your breath hitches, eyes flicking back to his before you exhale.

“Yeah… well. If I’m lucky,” you murmur, the grin returning — lazy, a little loopy, but bright. “Maybe this is how I finally evolve. Am I metal yet?”

And the words shake Satoru to his core. He’s blinking in awe, because how? How are you still smiling up at him, dazed and soft and teasing through the aftermath, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to meet him beat for beat.

It’s not fair — he’s so stupidly fond of you it almost scares him.

Because despite everything, despite this entire ridiculous day, despite literally being on your back, motionless, you continue to speak his language; never calling him childish, never making him feel like he’s gotta grow up and out of the things that kept him alive when the world started hurting.

Why are you so perfect? He wants to kiss you so badly it almost hurts.

“I always knew you had it in you,” he huffs softly, trying to match your grin. “You’re definitely digivolving.”

You hum. “Yeah?” and he chuckles. “Yup… probably’ll get lasers or a missile chest, or somethin’ real badass. Trust me.”

With fluttering lashes, your lips part, and Satoru can feel the tension so thick now, he’s holding his breath. But when you murmur—

“Trust you…” with a lilt, soft and teasing as you snort innocently. “Mmm… mmkay. Trust the guy who catfished me, huh?”

It’s like reality slams him straight in the chest. There’s no cruelty to your words, but still… they burn. Burn with the reminder of what he’s done, how really, you wanted Suguru. Not him. And he knows this is for the best, because he has no right to have you.

“Yeah…” he murmurs, smile faltering as he nods, eyes dropping. “Yeah… but c’mon. We should head back.”

And his hands slip away from your sides as he pushes himself up.

“It’s getting late,” he says. “And… you’ve got a date to catch.”

Your journey home is quiet — the kind of quiet that doesn’t settle, but smolders. Like Satoru’s pulled back from you entirely.

Not that you blame him. You’re the one who said it — that dumb little joke that knocked all the air out of the moment. It just slipped out. You didn’t mean it to land like that. You didn’t mean to hurt him. But now… he won’t even look at you.

And as the silence between you thickens, you can’t decide what’s worse — the guilt for hurting him, or the fact that you want to apologize for something he did.

What is wrong with you?

Always saying the wrong things. Feeling the wrong things. Twisting yourself into shapes for people who never ask — and still managing to fall short. Perhaps, it’s like some part of you still thinks love is a trick mirror — one wrong move and you’re the joke again.

Because sometimes, he gives you this look — like he’s not sure he’s allowed to enjoy your company. And you… you’re not sure you’re allowed to want him.

Now, as the streetlights blur past the car windows, all you can do is sit in the wreckage of almost, trying to breathe through the ache of what was never supposed to happen.

Because love is messy.

Love is slow.

Love is… hard.

a/n. okay... don’t hate me for ending on an angsty note 🥲 i promise pt. 3 will deliver the happy, fluffy, smutty payoff you deserve, hehe 😉 you'll see that this is where i will begin to shift from the movie a bit - bc the movie fully leans into the chaos of the plot, and i want to focus more on the characters and their dynamics, simplifying the storyline so i can really dig into the emotional beats i love most. i hope you all enjoy my rendition of this story, and tysm for reading and for all the love on pt 1. every single comment has filled my heart sm 💖 kisses!

when things start to get suffocating, your feet always move their way to the garden. running from a life that's, practically, a bird cage with iron shackles which holds every part of you tight. unrelenting, even.

if you're allowed to be truthful, you wish for a life where you're able to become a librarian and spend yourself drowned in limitless words that someone has carefully arranged for another soul to see and dive in.

a life that's way out of your arm reach. a life that would never, ever be a part of your life; dreams that would hover you for a lifetime—taunting—like the stars in the sky.

you let out a soft sigh when you finally reach the gazebo that's hidden in the garden of your family's estate. a white, small enough for four kinds of people to fit in the gazebo. one that has vines wrapped around it, painting it as an abandoned place no one has brushed their fingertips on.

that wouldn't be true, though. since you always came here after another lesson on how to properly laugh as a respectable lady. because it turns out, your mother thought the sound of your happiness is noisy and similar to one of a cat screeching. unladylike.

and like any other day, after running through the pathways to your garden to reach the gazebo, you'd place down your stack of books on the table and set yourself down on one of the chairs.

your tangled fingers stretched to your front as your body arch out of reflex from having the tension melts from your body. a low, groan of relief and satisfaction let itself free from between your lips when you feel the creak of joints uncoiled.

it has been an exhausting week, to say the least.

a few minutes past, then, as you flipped pages after pages of the novel spread on the table in front of you. a romance book that has you in the palm of the author's hand. of course it'd be a love story that you're reading. a lady like you is nothing but a hopeless romantic, who wishes a life with a man who'd desire your company and affection.

when you're born into a family full of people with an expectation of you being married to someone with a blessing background—one that may bring honor to the family—you're left with little to no option about falling in love and ending up with that someone.

it's something that many ladies experience. and their way to ease the yearning of the reality that's unable to be brushed off is in the form of a romance novel.

you let out a giggle when the male lead leans in to whisper sweet things into the ear of his lover, the main character of the story. it's a story about a knight whose entrance by a baker who gifted him a piece of bread before he heads to war. a simple gesture, yet it leaves him craving for a feel of her soft skin against him.

“ah, if only i could experience something similar to this.” you heard yourself whisper to the air.

maybe, just maybe, the cool breeze will be kind enough to deliver your wish to the deities of this world. no one knows, really, it could be granted in the snap of a finger.

hums of a song you heard played during a party from months ago weave into the air from your mouth. your body sways, dancing along the calming melody as you flip to the next page. and when a sound of grass rustling reached your ears, your movement halted abruptly.

your gaze darting to your right side, cautiously, as you take in the sight before you— a rabbit. each of your senses felt sharpened in that moment. you became hyper aware. in a way that has you questioning if the feelings you have gone through in your whole life were even yours to feel.

it doesn't make sense, does it? well, the scene that's in your view is far from making sense. it defies all the possibilities that this world has offered to you since the very first breath you take.

a rabbit, wearing a whole noble-like outfit greets your gaze the very second it landed to the source of the rustling sounds. it's standing on its two little feet, too, with its little feet wrapped in navy blue fur. one that's weirdly similar to a blue rose.

some sight that's uncanny.

to make it even out of this world, it's wearing glasses while its hand is holding a pocket watch. the rabbit's appearance is oddly mirroring one of a prime minister; formal, slightly out of date, and with a little touch of someone who spends their life with their brows furrowing at the little things.

can you even refer to a rabbit with the word ‘someone’?

you blink a few times before both of your hands flew to your cheeks. letting a harsh sound echoes in the air, that now is wrapped with an overwhelming intensity of accidentally discovering a part of the world that you're not allowed to have knowledge about.

the rabbit jumps at the slapping sound, letting out a high pitched gasp before muttering something to itself. its mouth moves in a way that's similar to a human talking, scary enough. no, that's not exactly right.

it is moving like how when a human speaks.

without thinking twice, you stand up in a haste and run towards that side of the garden, causing the rabbit's eyes to widen before it gets on four of its feet and hop away from where it stands before.

your curiosity and adrenaline at the revelation of a rabbit dressing as well as acting like a human had you throw all the what-if of danger that might face you from following it.

chasing the rabbit in this already enormous garden became tiring quickly. for some reason, the garden that you've memorized every corner of since you were young feels as if it's growing bigger, bigger, and bigger with every step you take.

and it didn't really help the fact that the rabbit hopped away fast knowing that you're chasing it.

the two of you finally reached the end of the garden, where the tree that your great grandfather's plants stood tall. a tree that he poured all his love, time, and everything the man is: an ash tree.

for all its worth, the ash tree has many different meanings. life, magic, healing— it varies from greek mythology, a certain nation folklore, and kinds of meaning people can think of. though, from what you heard from mouth to mouth, the reason your great grandfather planted this specific tree is because of norse mythology.

in norse mythology, the ash tree is symbolized by ‘yggdrasil’. a sacred world tree connecting the nine worlds and piecing the cosmos together. it's also said that the ash tree is the place where the gods meet. serving as a place where divine beings gather together daily.

that, and also due to the lore of it being a tree where it creates the first humans, ask and embla. showcasing its strength, life-giving properties, and connection to destiny as well as spiritual growth.

a perfect tree to grow and symbolize the family, your great grandfather thought. from the very reason that he thinks he's the ash tree itself, where the roots that the trees grow are his children and grandchildren; continuing his bloodline, spreading the influence of their name, and also strengthening the power that the family holds.

befitting the very truth that he sees himself as a god. after all, this kind of man craves for an acknowledgement that may satisfy their ego as a male in which superior to a woman.

you've never really strolled close to the tree since it's quite far from the gazebo. but now that you're at a close distance, oh dear god, it's exceptionally stunning and huge. truly a painting came to life.

when you're too far lost at the sight of the ash tree, the rabbit that you're chasing hop onto a hole near the tree, leaving you stunned. your heart drops when it suddenly goes missing from your sight, making you scramble away to where it disappears.

it was a gamble.

the moment your eyes lay to the endless darkness the rabbit hole welcomes you, your feet instinctively back away a step back. the very realization that you don't know what will greet you on the other side had you taking another step away, contemplating your decisions.

nonetheless, the possibilities of what might be on the other end is what had you jumping through the rabbit hole, then falling far deep into another realm.

you didn't quite remember what happened when you fell through the rabbit hole.

what you did remember is that it was a tunnel of imaginary things, truly. the walls of the hole that surrounds you were one of a checkered board with kinds of things floating around. it had you spiraling.

there's thousands of books, a variety of hats, tea cups with still tea pouring from a pot, even a table and chairs were there as if it's inviting you to a tea party; welcoming you to another side of the world.

it was tortuously long, you thought that you were thrown out of an endless tunnel as punishment from the deities for being a person who asked many things rather than being grateful for the life they had given you.

so, when it ends and you finally reach the other side of the rabbit hole, you couldn't help but feel grateful and terrified.

how come? you were thrown into a vibrant, colorful forest that looks as if it's your childhood storybook comes to life. the one where your maid would read to you before sleep. it could be a delightful fantasy dream where you're a fairy who decides to leave their beautiful home to travel the world, too.

the point is: the scenery that welcomes you with open arms is one out of your earth.

you forgot every single word you've learned growing up. it felt as if your brain were rewired and you're left with an empty mind, desperate for something to fill in the void that has you gasping for air.

in a few distance from you, stand the rabbit with its wary expression aimed at you. it’s being cautious of the human that had followed them through the rabbit hole.

“... no. are you the one of the prophecy?”

oh, what again now? you thought to yourself.

as if everything isn't already absurdly insane enough to have you question your whole existence, the rabbit decided to talk. it spoke to you. the rabbit is trying to engage in a conversation with you, a human who's now left standing struck.

“w— what prophecy? and, you … you can talk? what is this place? is this a dream?” you asked as your gaze trails around the scene that's painted before you.

the rabbit eyes narrowed at you. its gaze carefully inspect you as if it might give the information that the rabbit is trying to gauge from you. “no, this isn't a dream. this is wonderland.”

“... that's a perfect name for a place that has me wondering. do the creatures here also, always, left pondering?”

“aren't you a smart one?” you heard the rabbit reply in a sarcastic tone.

and suddenly, before you're able to respond to the rabbit's words, a loud sound from the rabbit pocket watch bounces through every tree that’s planted there, before it reaches the rabbit's head. a look of realization settling in its face at the ringing sound of the alarm.

“oh no, the tea party! she's going to be furious!” the rabbit exclaimed as it hops higher in panic mannerisms. “satoru, come out and accompany this lost soul!”

your brows furrowing at the rabbit words. it just yelled to the air, asking—or rather forcing—to appear before you whom the rabbit referred to as ‘lost soul’.

“shouldn't you be more polite to me?”

on your right ear, a voice went through it and left your left. too close to your liking, if you're allowed to say it. the sound of it travels from your ears through every fiber in you before it arrives at the designated harbor, your heart.

in a swift moment, your head turns facing the source of the voice. and for the love of everything you hold dear, the moment your gaze fell onto the one that uttered those words, you jumped from where you stood while letting a high pitch scream of surprise.

what came to your view is a cat. an exceptionally divine appearance for a cat, too. its furs are stripes of two colors that go beautifully with one another— a white that's whiter than the first drop of snowflake on your palm when you were younger, and blue that's deeper than the ocean you traveled a month ago.

the cat who the rabbit called with ‘satoru’ is floating around you with its sharp eyes roaming over your whole being in a way that's both similar to a prayer waiting to be granted and one of a wish come true.

“it really is the girl of the prophecy. the one called ‘alice’ finally blessed us with her presence,” the cat purred as it flew away to the rabbit side.

“oh, i never thought it'd be the anti-social lady of that family.” the rabbit then, once again, examines you with eyes that sparkles amusement.

your head tilted in a disapproving manner at the rabbit words. “pardon, little rabbit?”

“who are you calling a little rabbit?” its eyes sharpen at the way you called the rabbit. long gone the sparkles of amusement and came a gaze full of disapproval.

“now, now, you should head your way to the party before she's pissed off. i shall follow up with the lady later.”

at the cat's voice of reason, the rabbit sighs with reluctance. "don't be too late, she's not exactly fond of late arrival.”

with that, the rabbit hops away deeper to the forest—magical forest, you now decided— and leaves you alone with the cat that attention is glued to you again. after casting a one side glance at you, if you might add it.

“apologies for that, little lady. the rabbit despises being called little.” it spoke to you after a few minutes of silence.

“you just called me little lady.”

“oh, do you hate it?”

you stay quiet at the question. you're not sure whether the idea of a cat calling you ‘little lady’ appealing or not. it sounded weird hearing the term from a cat that now starts floating close to where you stand; erasing the distance.

and the silence is the only answer the cat needed for his question that has faded into the air. you're now standing—well, floating for the cat—eye to eye.

the silence stretches for a few more minutes before the cat grins in a way that has your heart fluttering. a grin that's both full of mischief and tease. it's the kind that's menacing, taunting you with an amplified painting of how it’d be if the cat is a human. because oh well, the grin it offers you is so, oh annoyingly enchanting.

it's the one that has you wanting to grab the cat and throw it across the forest in an aggressive, full of adore kind of mannerism.

“i know what you're thinking,” the cat said to you.

you blink a few times. the thought of the cat being able to hear your thoughts crosses your mind. flashes as fast as the light, even. this world isn't an ordinary world. it's a realm where nothing makes sense— the cat having an ability to hear the whispers in your mind isn't exactly out of the possibilities.

“no, you don't.”

“i do know. anything is possible in wonderland, if you haven't quite caught it.”

as the breeze of the forest kisses your skin delicately while the petals of flowers that are scattered on the ground dance along with the wind, you're left stunned. because the cat's words aren't exactly wrong, no. rather than having yet to catch it, it's more on the side where your mind is still trying to comprehend that you fell to another realm.

the cat floats around circling you during the crisis you're feeling inside. its tail brushes your cheek every so often, causing shudder runs down your spine. the cat is inspecting you intensely, you can't help but feel as if you're bare and undressed for it to see.

before you're able to answer the words he uttered, for the umpteenth time, the cat suddenly glows brightly. it's as scorching as the sun during summer and as bright as a fireflies light in the darkness. above it all, the light that it radiates is blue.

for the minutes spent on the cat beaming in a way that almost had you blind, you can see a glimpse of a human that's taller than you standing in front of you. the sudden sight of it has you taking a step back, looking around for the cat before the realization settles in: the human is the cat.

in the process of transforming into a human, precisely.

to say that you're startled is an understatement. by now, you genuinely thought that you almost comprehend how this world doesn't work the same way yours does and that there's no need to pay too much attention to everything. then again, you just fell your way to this part of the universe a couple minutes ago.

and truthfully, you don't think that you'll ever live down all the things that's happening in this world and whatever that comes with it.

your breath hitched at the view in front of you as air leaves your lungs and leaves you breathless. depriving you from the need and desperation of wanting to breathe because the cat in front of you had just turned into a human.

the sight that’s gracing you is one of a magnificent, divinely sculpted form of a man for your pair of eyes to behold. forever and evermore, in this lifetime of yours.

he has turned into a charming man. his whole appearance mirroring the fur of his cat form; hair whiter than the clouds above, blue eyes that's as clear as the sky, and a skin oh so annoyingly tainted in this pale yet warm tone. he's dressed in this noble like clothes similar to those of duke characters you read on those romance novels.

a grin as dangerous as the thorn of a rose laced his lips and completed the whole new appearance of him.

“satoru. you may call me satoru, our alice.”

it's the name that this man mused to the rabbit’s ears earlier. the one they piece side-by-side with ‘the prophecy’ for countless times now. a prophecy that apparently has connection with you because, well, you're their ‘alice’.

before you question everything that's wandering your mind, you clear your throat and decide that perhaps this is the appropriate as well as perfect time to introduce yourself, with the name that was bestowed upon you from your father's mouth.

satoru, the now-turned-into-human-cat eyebrows raise at the sudden whisper of your name. your name rolled out of your tongue in a bewitching, alluring melody that has the man's mouth open and closes a few times; loss of words.

and really, it seems as if the expression that painted his face, the state of him in this moment is one of pretending. it lacks the realness of a living creature after hearing someone's name for the first time.

his pair of ocean blue eyes are glimmering with fondness and something dangerously close to familiarity.

“come now, we're late to the tea party. we don't want to enrage the host, don't we?” he said before latching his hand with yours delicately.

the now-turned-into-human-cat gently pulls you deeper to the forest while your eyes locked in the way your hand tangled with his.

it feels odd and a sense of familiarity starts creeping up on you. an overwhelming, eating you from inside kind.

on your way to the tea party you're heading to, satoru—ever so kindly—decided to tell you the prophecy that have been clouding your mind in a haze.

apparently, in this place they call ‘wonderland’ there's a prophecy of a human from another realm sent to their way, as the universe way to help for the disaster that has wrapped the wonderland.

what disaster? well, the wonderland that's supposed to be a place where weirdness, funkyness, and playfulness stand with one another has gradually started losing its color. the once vibrant color place became as dull as an unsharpened sword.

you didn't understand what he meant by ‘losing’ color at first. the wonderland is, truly, a painting that came to life. you've never seen anything near close to the sight that has been blessing your eyes.

that's what you thought before your feet reached deeper into the forest where all the plants are dying, vibrant colors that you see on the other side of the forest are nowhere for you to see; a catastrophic in any meaning possible.

from satoru's side of story, a witch has cursed the wonderland in envy of living accompanied by loneliness on the farthest part of this place. the witch said that only ‘alice’, from another realm, is able to release the curse and turned everything back to the way it was.

and ‘alice’ itself in wonderland has turned from someone's name into a living being who'll ‘return everything back to normal’. no one knows when the long-awaited light will come to their world through the world tree.

nothing else is known about it. they who live in wonderland only understand that ‘alice’ will some day come as their saviour.

you.

the one and only creature that has come to the wonderland from the world tree in their world is you. never once before you have they been graced by another living being from another realm. you're the only one.

“... let's say that it's true— that i'm this so-called ‘alice’ that everyone has been waiting for. but, how am i supposed to break the curse?”

another beat of silence stretches between you and satoru. the now-turned-into-human-cat has been quiet since he tells the story of what has bestowed on the wonderful place, wonderland. it seems that it's quite a traumatizing event for him.

of course, he's traumatized. his home is cursed, you whisper in your head.

“isn't that for you to figure out, little lady?” he responded after a while. the grin that decorated his lips earlier is back in full-view as he glances at you over his shoulder.

you huff in annoyance at his words. how are you supposed to know anything when you've only been here for a short time? not to mention, you only figured out about this prophecy that apparently you took part of.

“you're the one who lives here and tells me the prophecy,” you took a deep breath as you paused. “are you really telling me that there's not a single word about how i will return everything back to normal?”

“i'm heartbroken to say that the witch is quite uncooperative.”

“mhm … tell me all about it.”

he laughs, then, at your remarks. “you have an interesting manner of speaking, it seems.” his hand that's curled against yours tightening slightly.

“what are you talking about? we talked similarly,” you reply with brows furrowing. unamused expression scattered on your face.

satoru shakes his head, eyes zeroed to the front as he leads the way to the tea party. “no, no, no. your way of talking is quite weird. maybe it's your tone?”

maybe he should shut his mouth, you think.

truthfully, the words almost left between your lips in a snarky tone. you truly don't understand what he meant. the two of you talk similarly, you're sure of it. either that or you're tone-deaf. or he's trying to get a raise from you on purpose.

“have you always been this … infuriating?”

the question was something you tried to hold on in fear of offending him. however, when the man itself has been offending you, why would you hold back? and truthfully, this isn't how you usually act back in your world, but again— the now-turned-into-human-cat has been poking the bear, which is you.

“that’s a little too harsh, little lady. i’d call it entertaining,” he so-called corrected, as he playfully shot you a wink. one that has your eyes twitching in agitation.

“is that how you act towards the so-called 'alice'? who's supposed to be the one to save your wonderland?”

satoru hums hearing your words. the corner of his lips tugs upward even more as the grin became more prominent on his face. like it's not already quite annoying enough.

“you're still, supposedly, the ‘alice’ we're searching for. let's not go around claiming that, shall we?”

“YOU'RE THE ONE— you know what? fine. i shall not argue with the now-turned-into-human-cat in the wonderland full of wonder.”

he said it himself to the rabbit that you're ‘alice’ earlier and now he's pretending he didn't say that is beyond your mind. you almost melt into a puddle at how welcoming he has been to you, treating you as if you're a part of this realm. now you feel nothing but fury at his personality.

you might not be the best person to exist, you understand that as you're more than self-aware about the very reality of it. but still, you're not infuriating enough to pull strings of anger from someone you just met.

even if sparks of familiarity are lighting up between both of you, while showing its sharp edges directly towards you, you wouldn't do it.

from the corner of your eyes as you mumble curse words under your breath, you catch satoru blinking a few times before halting in front of a bush.

… did we trail off the pathways? why are we standing here? you asked yourself.

you watch him take a deep, long breath before exhaling. and may god help you because this single action he did has your heart pounding in panic; he's making you nervous by acting serious all of a sudden. really, it was in a blink of an eye.

satoru turns around to face you and it's only then that you're able to catch an emotion that was buried under the thousands of faces he has— sympathy.

“they're all nothing but madness. everything here is quite unique,” he informed. “so, be prepared, little lady. you might catch a heart attack,” satoru whispers softly.

and that softness that he let you have only lasts a second before he starts smiling. infuriatingly so. the smile that's a painting perfect of the smug as well as the self-confidence expression that painters desperately tried to replicate on a canvas. it's gracing his ethereal face infuriatingly.

oh god, this man sure loves to place his hands on your nerves in all the right and wrong places.

before you're able to make snarky remarks both in irritation and confusion at the little amount of explanation from his words, he has already pushed you through the bush. a push that has you yelping out of surprise because, well, even if it's oh so gentle, you're being pushed towards a bush. and yelping is the only reasonable reaction, to say the least.

you're not used to anything abnormal that's the way it is in wonderland, yet.

to your already surprised state of being suddenly pushed towards a bush, you're welcome by sounds of chaotic mess which rings in your ears, making you startled. its sounds that came from many kinds of chattering, voices of a ceramic clashing against each other, water splashing to a surface and mouth munching something.

in front of you, then, is a crowd of humans as well as animals that gaze now has fallen to you; acknowledging your existence. every movement that was in the making came to stop abruptly, hanging in the air. each of them had turned into a mannequin with curious wide eyes as their intention became yours solely.

satoru stopped beside you, waving at the scene in front of you two as he finally muttered his proper greetings to you, the first wanderer of this part of the universe. the long-awaited sign of you being gratefully accepted into this realm, precisely.

“welcome to your first wonderland tea party.”

the second your feet securely rooted on the ground after being pushed, you're surrounded by the group that greets your eyesight earlier.

“oh my, is this the anti-social lady of that house you mentioned earlier, megumi?!” a short-haired girl mused as she strode around you, taking in your appearance.

she's wearing quite an interesting outfit, you must say. everything that she's wearing is a combined patchwork of kinds of fabrics sewn into one piece. and the cherry on top of it all is the decorative hat that's placed on the girl's head.

a truly befitting ‘madness’ satoru had been mentioned earlier.

“look at her outfit, she's matching with satoru! their outfit is a similar blue!” beside you, a boy with pinkish hair chimes in as he points at your outfit scandalously.

you open your mouth, wanting to dive into the conversation, before being cut-off from seeing another figure standing not so far away from you. and creepily enough, you have this ringing of bells in your head that you've seen the boy before. he almost looks like the rabbit you followed here.

“he is indeed the rabbit from earlier. the name is megumi,” satoru informed. he's gesturing at megumi to move closer in which the boy responded with a huff.

oh so, apparently all the animals have turned into humans. right, this is the wonderland where everything is a wonder— no need to ponder too much about the things that's happening here; you might lose your mind.

… you may already lose it, if you're being true to yourself.

everything happens in a heartbeat before you realize that you're sitting in a chair with a hat decorating the top of your head. you blink a few times, mind reeling from how fast things are moving and at the view before you— everything is floating around.

it truly never gets old how you keep being surprised one after another, truly.

“sooo, tell me all about this outfit of yours!” the short-haired girl said to you as she poured tea herself into the cup in front of you.

satoru who's now sitting beside you popped a macaron inside his mouth, he munch on it as his hand reached for a strawberry shortcake displayed on the table. “the proper manner is for you to introduce yourself first, nobara.”

the short-haired girl whom satoru called ‘nobara’ huffed when she heard the man's words, eyes narrowing slightly as she watched the man nibbling on the cake.

“i was going to!” she pointed. her eyes return to yours, not noticing how the tea she's pouring is over spilling to the tablecloth, staining it. you wanted to inform her about it, but she's one step faster than you to let a word out.

oh, so everyone here loves to cut-off before another person even speaks, you notice.

her corner eyes crinkled as she shot you the most wide, full of joy smile you've ever seen. one that's really aimed at you. she leans closer to you, face only some inches away.

“i'm nobara, the host of this party! i've heard about you from megumi there,” she babbled as she pointed at megumi who's sitting across from you.

you nodded slowly, unsure of how to approach this smiley and quite aggressive host of the party without coming out awkward. “... yes, um, the rabbit.”

sounds of an instrument played all of a sudden, causing you to jump in your seat. a chaotic melody of piano, trumpet, violin, and other instrumental music clashing against one another— adding another layer of madness in the tea party.

“you're co-rr-ect! what did i saaay?” her arms raise to the air as everyone that attends the tea party responded to her with a high-pitched scream of, “correct!”

at this point, you're more than surprised by the very reality that your ears haven't bleed from the chaotic sounds that's bouncing around the whole place. well, you supposed it's a blessing in a way.

“he is indeed a rabbit! aren't you a bright ‘alice’, oh our dearest savior!” the pink haired boy whistles to the breeze.

maybe satoru, the now-turned-into-human-cat, should've warned you before you two even took a step away from the part of the forest where you fell into. the atmosphere that's wrapping you isn't a blanket of comfort, no. it's a blanket of overwhelming chaos that has your mind railing as well as desperately wishing to let itself free from this place.

what a lady that's, practically, confined to the cage that's her house to do in a place where everyone is the embodiment of pure madness?

it's truly a wonder that you have yet passed out from how you feel your whole soul starts to fade away due the intensity of everything that's happening all at once.

“your tea.”

your head snapped to your right side where satoru sits. he's eyeing you as if he's looking past through your skin to the core of your soul. his head tilted slightly towards your cup of tea, signaling for you to take a sip.

a forceful smile graces your lips before your fingers carefully wrapped around the cup's handle. the reflection of you, wearing a funky hat, on the tea almost had you shedding a tear of ridiculousness; a sight that's far from the lady of a respectable household.

it almost had you let out a loud, screeching laugh that your mother despised. the one that, for all it's worth, a perfect laugh for a place like wonderland.

the tea tasted delightful. a soothing, faint flavour of rose and apple tickle your taste buds. a pair of two things you never thought would go well together, if you're being honest. turns out, it's really a treat in the midst of this haze of falling into another realm.

drops of tea trickle down from the rim edges of the cup, halting your movement of taking another sip. you look around at the table, gaze wandering around looking for a napkin of some sort.

none. you should've expected it, really. it's a tea party where everything floats around and throws common sense into the trash bin. still though, no one's allowed to blame you for wondering if in the place where everything seems possible, a napkin will be in view.

you sigh at how the fabric of your dress is slowly absorbing the fluid, staining your pretty blue sky dress that you adore. the one you always wear to the garden of your estate— ah, right, your estate.

how much time have passed in your world while you're sitting here at a tea party is something that hasn't crossed your mind. surely, the time works differently between two worlds in this universe. though, rather than being curious or concern about that, the one thing that's gnawing at you now is whether anyone search for you.

a missing lady of the infamous family would be a huge hit as the headlines in the newspaper. whether it's a popular company or not, that's a topic everyone would want to get their hands on and try to unfold.

if you're a journalist of some sort, you would've run to your family's estate and demand to interview them. taking your chances in leading the whole catastrophe.

when you're lost in thoughts, attention roaming around the place, satoru is leaning towards you. only a breath away. and the moment his snowy hair greeted your view, you're caught off guard. “what—”

satoru doesn't respond or let a single word leave his mouth at your confused state. his attention is zeroed on the spill of tea on your clothes, taking the sight of the blue tainted tea dress. it splatters in an amount that's quite noticable.

his hand, holding a handkerchief, brushes against the fabric of your dress; wiping off the liquid that's left.

your mouth fell open. that action of his causes your heart to beat rapidly, it's pounding in a harsh manner you swear it almost popped out of your ribcage, your body. short-circuiting is an understatement on how you feel at his gesture.

“i thought a lady would know the proper etiquette of a tea party. guess i shouldn't assume anything about someone, huh?”

hearing his words, you can't help the pout that starts to lace your lips. truthfully, he's not entirely wrong. you have the knowledge on proper etiquette and everything to learn about a tea party. as a lady from a prosperous household, it's expected of you.

though, you feel that everything is too much for you at the moment. your senses are as sharp as it can be, heightened taller than the whole sky; overwhelming you.

and as if it's not frustrating enough with these turns of events, you keep thinking that your surroundings are either shrinking or blooming larger than you. like a miniature of a doll house, you can't help the surging terrifies as if someone's watching you and about to move you around.

you clears your throat, blinking a few times before flashing a soft, small smile at satoru who's watching you intently. before this, you didn't really notice it— but although he's in a human form, satoru's pair of eyes still have the unique vertical slit pupils that all cats are known for.

it caught you off guard, truly. as if piercing through both your skin and bones, his stare stings similar to a sharp blade. if you didn't know any better, you swear that a part of you must've been cut open and bleeds down.

“... thank you.” you can't seem to find any words to mutter other than your gratitude at his actions. your mind involuntarily let his remarks about tea party etiquette slip away.

satoru let out a soft humming, tossing the napkin to the table before him as he leaned back to the chair. “you're oddly a bland person. or are you just, i don't know, what's the word they usually use …?”

his foot taps against the grass, letting a sound of it brushing with one another filling your already intense, overwhelming senses. “oh, isn't it called ‘boring’?” he continues.

“pardon?” no, you're not exactly offended at his remarks. you're more confused at how he's comfortable enough to tell you that you're ‘boring’ when you two barely know each other.

calling you ‘bland’ is one thing. it's understandable on a certain level. but outright saying that you're ‘boring’ is far more than what your already mixed feelings state can take.

at this point you're sure that you're, pretty much, a barrel filled with water placed on a ship— rolling all around the place, disarray and an absolute mess of an inside.

“this is wonderland,” he stated. satoru's eyebrow raises as his gaze trails over you, “and you're supposedly our ‘alice’, yet you're as bland as a potato.”

“potatoes aren't necessarily bland.” you heard yourself immediately went to reply to his words. and again, the whole thing about being their ‘alice’ who's the savior of wonderland is too much when they don't even know how you're supposed to help.

if they, people of wonderland, have no knowledge of how you'll save them— how are you, an outsider of their realm, able to help?

satoru just shrugs, paying no mind to what you're saying. “you have no freakiness that's supposed to be the identity of our beautiful wonderland.”

“because i’m not a part of your world. this is practically nowhere for me,” you answer with a defiant tone. your head starts throbbing terribly every second that passes.

your wince at how you feel you're twirling around, having no control of yourself. your hands immediately went to your head, holding for dear life as your fingers found its way to tangle with the strands of your hair; pulling them in a desperate manner.

“OH! the ‘alice’ is dancing! why didn't you invite us, oh, dearest savior?”

nobara’s voice bounces around the space, causing everyone and their mothers attention to drift away at you, focusing solely on you.

and really, you didn't even notice that you had stood up from where you sat, stumbling your way to the crowd of people. you have no clue how you ended up in that place, you have zero idea why you were moving there when you're anything but yourself right now.

everyone started to gather around you, moving along to your rhythm as they laughed and chattering amongst one another. they're surrounding every space that's there for you to breathe; stealing air from your lungs as they keep moving closer, closer, and closer to you.

“she's so hilarious! look at the way she's moving! she's slowly becoming a part of wonderland!”

“oh, yuuji, you're so riiight! she's turning into one of us!” nobara squeaks excitedly, patting the pink haired boy name ‘yuuji’ on his shoulder.

the boy just shrugs, his arms crossed in front of his chest as he puffs out the chest with a satisfied, wide grin. the expression painted on his face makes it seem as if he just won the largest lottery in the world.

not that you're sure there's such a thing there.

you keep moving around before eventually falling on your knees, hands pressed into the grass. your breathing became more ragged than it already is, making your heart ache from the lack of air. it didn't help that your head is pounding more than ever now.

something stings.

a sharp, cutting through your skin type of stings.

the painful gasp that left your lips is more than understandable, because the moment you lift up your hand, you catch a piece of ceramic piercing through your skin.

“oh my goodness! the ‘alice’ is in pain! who breaks the cups again? didn't i remind all of you to be careful? it's a pretty set!” nobara shouted as she crouched down to your side.

once again, everyone is erasing their distance with you. your personal space is nothing but a dream out of reach with how they're surrounding you; stealing all what you have in this world as someone who came far, far away.

“don't surround her, she's overwhelmed.”

satoru’s voice went right through your ears before you felt everyone taking some steps away from you. “clean up the shattered ceramics,” satoru told everyone. in a way that felt like an order.

he's on your side a minute later, a hand on your back as it rubs circles softly— trying to soothe you, somehow. he whispers sweet nothings to your ears, ones that you can't quite pinpoint what he's saying. you can't catch what he's whispering as you're too far gone at this moment.

“... it's vibrant.”

megumi’s voice, as loud as it can be, as matter of fact as anything that's true in wonderland catches everyone's attention. their movement halted abruptly, looking at the surroundings that in all truth turned into one as it was before the witch cursed it.

yuuji was the first one to find his voice after the state of surprise that washes them in a trance. “he's right … everything is blooming again!”

and with that, all the residents of the wonderland: humans, animals, nature are singing in pure happiness. as if they're trying to write a melody that's out of this world, everyone's voices are replying to one another in this rhythm that's bewitching.

while you, on the other hand, are nothing but a mess of a human. you can't quite catch whether you're the one that's shrinking and growing bigger or if it's your surroundings. you feel more, more, and more out of place each passing moment.

the blood that trickles down your hand is all you can see. hands shaking in fear as you feel everything, slowly but surely, crumbling under your touch. it's getting too much and you can't do anything about it as you're frozen in place.

“my lady.”

a voice as soft as silk, as gentle as the sun at morning times graces your ears in a soothing manner. in a way that's trying to get you back into reality, helping you to ground yourself.

it calls your name a few times. first, it sounds alluring; pulling you carefully from the mess that you can't hold. second, it starts to turn into a firm one; panic creeping up faintly. third, it cracks; the breaking point before you hear it turns into a shout of panic.

“my lady!”

you're startled at the loud sound of someone calling at you. eyes closing shut at the sudden scream at your ear and all you can see is white.

they started to shake you, then. it was firm, slightly harsh, but a hint of fear can be felt in the way this person shakes you senseless. and when you slowly start to feel the world under your fingertips again, you open your eyes.

as your eyes flicker open slowly, letting the light in, you feel the blood that trickles down on your hand run through your arm.

“ah, thank god …” the voice sigh in relief. their hold on you softens, rubbing delicately against the spot they grip you before.

when your eyes finally start to function again, you're greeted by the sight of the man who has been accompanying you for a while now. his eyes are boring into yours, the eyebrows of his are scrutinizing in worry.

“you were gone for a while. everyone keep searching for you,” he muses. his gaze dropping to the blood that's staining your skin. and the ones on your blue dress.

he pressed his lips into a thin line. the face of his twisted into one of pain and worry. “you should've run inside the moment you feel it happening again.”

“... satoru,” you whisper, voice cracking.

“there you are,” satoru answered with a soft, relief tone of voice. as if he's coaxing you to the reality that you were taken away from.

his hand finds its way to wipe away the blood on your arm. “we should head back. you need to clean up and change, my lady. everyone is worried.”

you blink once. twice. “it happened again. i was panicking and i didn't know how— why am i here …”

satoru nod at your words, his hand finds its way to gently cup your cheek. he caresses your skin carefully like it's his other way of kissing your skin with his touch.

the man in front of you, who has been by your side for quite some time as he's always there for every step you take, is none other than satoru gojo; your fiance, your doctor.

he's been by your side for as long as you know, since you were diagnosed with the one and only rare syndrome— alice in wonderland syndrome. one that he helps you with as a doctor, before it blooms into something romantic. where now you two find one another as each other's partners.

alice in wonderland syndrome: a brain-related condition. a rare neurological condition that causes distorted perceptions of one's body and surroundings. or both. making things seem bigger, smaller, farther, or closer. it can alter the sense of time, too.

it's a condition where it disrupts how you perceive yourself and the world around you.

you're not sure when it started, but it has been something that lives alongside you for as long as you know. and unfortunately, there's only a little amount to know about the syndrome at the time. it's a rare condition where it's still being learned by professionals.

one time, at night, you find yourself in one of those days when the syndrome comes to life and causes you to lose your grasp on reality. it wasn't planned when you accidentally knocked on your flower vase, as you thought it was farther and when you stepped on it— the pain brought you back to your senses.

the stinging was something that tickles a part of your brain. it felt like someone punched you in your guts, you found yourself gasping for air that night. and ever since that time, you keep sauntering your way to search for something that might hurt you.

all to bring you back to reality; returning what's lost of your life back to normal.

your gaze fell to the bushes of white roses on your side. the once whiter than snow and fluffy as the cloud rose is now stained with maroon scattered all over it, from your blood which came from the hand of yours that was pierced to the thorns.

“hey,” satoru calls you softly, trying to return your attention back to him. “let's head inside, hm? you should clean up and rest.”

his hand that was on your cheek raised to brush away the strands of your hair that covers your face, tucking it behind your ear as he pulls you closer. “you must be tired.”

“... alright.”

you reluctantly followed him when he delicately tangled your hand with his, paving both of your way back to the estates of your family. his steps as careful as it can be— paying mind to your current state after facing the relapse of the syndrome.

“my books are in the gazebo,” you mumbled, mind still trying to recover from everything you've been through.

satoru nod at your words, “i’ll grab it for you later.” his hand squeeze yours, as if he's afraid you're going to slip from his fingers again. “you walk quite far this time around.”

at his words, your head tilted slightly. “me? what do you mean?” confusion laced the tone of yours. and the pounding of your heart that was stabilized just a moment ago, starts to feel as if it's trying to let itself free for the umpteenth time.

“you went as far as to the ash tree.”

it's only then that you notice where both of you are standing— the end of the garden, where the ash tree that your great grandfather's plants stood. a place that's somewhere far, far away from the gazebo.

the tree that in norse mythology symbolized by ‘yggdrasil’ which is known as ‘tree of life’. a sacred world tree encompassing the nine worlds and piecing the cosmos together.

connecting the world, traveling to another realm, some people might say. like a time travel machine, except it's to a world far from yours instead of jumping into another timeline.

“did you drink tea at the gazebo?” satoru asked, he's pulling you closer to him. casting a side glance on your way as he examines you from head to toe, assessing you.

you shake your head. “not that i remember. why are you asking?” you blink at him, wondering at the sudden question about tea.

“there's a stain of tea on your dress, too.” satoru gestures at your dress, pointing at the one of the many stains that tainted your dress.

it was silent, then. your mind trying to process what he said while your gaze roamed over your dress to find the stain that he mentioned. and when you catch what he's referring to? you're left with nothing but confusion.

were you drinking tea earlier? you're not sure, you can't seem to remember anything. isn't it your blood? or is it not?

you take a deep breath before exhaling, letting out the overwhelming feelings that's starting to creep up on you again. like an endless rabbit hole, there's almost no way of telling when it'll end.

satoru's intent eyes are on you, trailing over your disheveled appearance; hair a mess as if it had been pulled by something, dress stained with blood and what he assumes tea, and your hands that's dripping blood from being pierced.

“no need to think too much about it, maybe it really is the blood,” he tried to assure you.

right. there's no need to ponder about something out of your reach. you're still a tangled mess of a yarn that's waiting to be untangled, there's no point in fussing over whether you drink tea or not.

you let a low hummed as an answer to his words, walking a step quicker to walk by his side. “yeah … maybe.”

it's probably the stain of blood that dries brown instead of the other maroon ones. it happens sometimes, right? it's nothing but blood, you're sure of it. it can't be tea, since you're almost certain you didn't drink anything at the gazebo earlier.

a brown stain of blood, you're sure of it.

… right?

[ ✦ ] guys, i know blood can dries brown, but let's just pretend it can't here, okay! muah.

“Uh... thanks. I think?” 

You weren’t entirely sure if that was praise or exploitation — because with Mei-Mei, the line was always blurred. 

“Of course, baby!” she cooed. “Your ratings are exceptionally high. But... let’s kick it up a notch, shall we?” And grinning like a cheshire cat, she slid a detailed spreadsheet in front of you encouragingly. 

“We need a story so massive before Christmas. Don’t ask me why, but holiday trauma performs extremely well. I expect your report by early-December. Get back out there, hm?” 

Apparently, love is dead. Because people live for drama. For tragedy. It’s unfortunate, but it gets the clicks. And despite all the ‘new material’ you’re looking for? A part of you still aches — still yearns — for love. 

So, like a well-trained masochist, you swipe. Again. 

| Brett, 27 — Los Angeles, CA |   “Hey, kitten. I’m Sapiosexual. An INTJ. Love your profile. Let’s chat, yeah?” 

Sent a dick pic and texted “U up?” at 3:17 a.m. on a Tuesday. (You weren’t) 

Swipe. 

| Colin, 32 — Santa Monica, CA |   “Sup. I’m just a nice guy. Totally not like other guys.” 

Sent a three-paragraph spiral about how nice guys finish last due to unrequited love. (With his childhood best friend.) 

Swipe. 

| Naoya, 22 — Orange County, CA |   “What do you do for fun? Because let me set the record straight. I love a woman who knows their place. Preferably, three steps behind me. Or in the kitchen.” 

You reported him. Twice. (Just to be sure…) 

Swipe. 

| Greg, 25 — San Francisco, CA |   “Hey. Uh... I’m married btw. But it’s complicated, u know?” 

You almost admire the honesty. (Almost.) 

Swipe. 

Swipe. 

Swipe. 

You were about five more red flags away from joining a monastery when suddenly, you got an idea. Perhaps... it’s just California? You’ve been living here your whole damn life. Let’s try escaping the endless sea of self-proclaimed “entrepreneurs” — the gym bros, the surfer stoners. The men who think that being emotionally available is a liability.  

So? You expand your distance radius. 

Like...  

Way out.  

Just to see what would happen. 

| Satoru, 26 — Kyoto, Japan |   “Hey. I’m not here to play games. Unless it’s Mario Kart. But don’t cry, because I’d totally win, sweetheart.” 

It’s a miracle. Because for once, there’s no shirtless mirror selfie. It’s just a guy on a front porch, wearing a hoodie. There’s a coffee cupped in his hands, with long raven hair falling against the violet hue of his eyes.  

He has gauges, a sleepy smile, and oh my god he’s— 

…gorgeous.  

And not the curated, flex-for-attention kind of gorgeous you’ve learned to dodge. No. There’s something… approachable about him. Soft. Stupidly warm. Like if you sat beside him, he wouldn’t talk — he’d listen. 

~  ♡ ︎ You’ve matched with Satoru Gojo!  ♡ ︎  ~  ...typing  Satoru: Did you know that the universe is 13.8 billion years old? There are billions of galaxies. Trillions of stars. And yet… here we are. Matched on a dating app.  Satoru: So… hi! Satoru: Wanna test fate?  You: lol 😂 You: well then... You: that’s one way to say hello!! 😝 Satoru: Yeah... figured I’d lead with existential dread instead of wyd 😉

He was... normal. 

Stupidly normal. Maybe a bit nerdy.  But somehow? It worked. He made you smile. 

...typing  Satoru: Okayokayokay... but REAL question...   Satoru: Do you pour milk before cereal??? 🤨 Or are you a functioning member of society?  You: 😨😨 You: excuse you!!   You: what kind of monster do you think i am??? 😒 Satoru: Phew 😩 Satoru: Just needed to be sure!! People have surprised me before 

And just like that, you were hooked. 

You talked while brushing your teeth. On your lunch break. In bed, half-asleep, phone screen dimmed but still open to his thread. He’s got opinions on everything. 

Anime, horror movies, why candy canes are overrated, the superiority of old-school consoles, and the tragic fall of Yahoo Answers. 

One day he asked: 

...typing  Satoru: Are you more of a salty girl or a sweet girl? 

You paused, halfway through folding laundry, holding one sock while you reach for your phone. 

...typing  You: hmmm..... You: are we talking snacks?? or personality type?  Satoru: 👀 Satoru: Well shit... Satoru: Now I wanna know the answer to both...  You: hehehe 😇 You: what do YOU think i am?  Satoru: Oh, hell no... Satoru: I’m not falling for that Satoru: Bc if I guess wrong, you’ll never let me hear the end of it.  You: pshhh...  You: that response answers for me 😛  You: but hmm... i guess i’m both? You: bc it depends on the day... OR the person.  Satoru: Okay cool Satoru: Soooo... I’m either incredibly lucky, or you’re about to ruin my life in a really interesting way. You: ruin you?? You: never!! You: ...you're one of the few people i actually wanna be sweet to ❤️  Satoru: ❤️  Satoru: Guess it's a good thing that I'm a sweet guy 😉 both snack AND personality wise Satoru: Which brings me back to the important question... Satoru: Snacks Satoru: Salty or sweet. Answer wisely, sweetheart. You: hmm...  Satoru: This data could make or break us 🤨 You: imma salty kinda girl Satoru: ...  You: but i don’t dislike sweet things! 😘 Satoru: Siiiiiigh...  Satoru: Fine. I respect it Satoru: Even though it’s OBJECTIVELY the wrong answer 🙄 guess I’ll just have to be the sweet one in this relationship

Somehow, it never felt forced. You didn’t have to explain your jokes. You didn’t have to shrink yourself or play dumb or brace for silence. He got it. He got you. And he made you laugh — constantly. But more than that… he made you feel safe. 

It was easy to forget you’d never seen him move. Never heard his laugh in real life. 

Until you started calling each other. 

What started as a five-minute “just wanted to hear your voice” spiraled into two hours. Then three. Now it’s just… what you do. The sound of his voice has become background music — familiar and warm, the kind of thing you could fall asleep to. Soft, a little raspy, warm around the edges when he laughs. 

He talks fast when he gets excited — usually about Digimon lore, bad anime dubs, or some absurd theory he read online at 3 a.m. He jumps from tangent to tangent like he’s chasing thoughts through constellations — but somehow, never leaves you behind. 

And when he’s really into something, you can hear it. His voice lifts like gravity can’t hold it. 

“Hmm… if we were two particles traveling at the speed of light,” he murmured, “do you think we’d still find each other in another timeline?” 

“Oh my god…” you smiled against your pillow; voice thick with sleep. “Is this your version of ‘Would you still love me if I was a worm’ Satoru?” 

His laugh was soft and breathy, wrapping around your ribs like ribbon.

“Pshh… no,” he scoffed, and you could hear the pout in his voice as he shuffled against his own bedsheets. Then, with a huff he drawled. “This is my scientifically superior version of that question.” 

“Mmm… I see,” your hum was sleepy, curling deeper under the blanket. Grinning, your eyes fluttered closed as you murmured. “Yes. I think we would”

A comfortable silence settled, and you could hear the line crackle softly as he exhaled.

“I wish…” he said after a beat, “…we could spend Christmas together. It’s not fair you’re so far away.”

His voice was quiet, like he was afraid to say it too loud. And somehow, it landed harder than any confession. You pressed your ear closer to the phone, like maybe, if you try hard enough, you’ll feel the weight of him on the mattress beside you.

“Yeah…” you whispered. “Me too.”

You’d been talking to Satoru for a month now — and honestly, every other man you come across can’t hold a candle to him. So, when Mei Mei saunters to your desk December 1st, silk blouse pristine and judgment already locked and loaded, you know she’s not going to like what she finds.

“It’s officially December, my dear,” she hums, lowering herself into the chair across from you, tilting her head in that familiar, patronizing way. “So. Where are my lines?”

Your fingers still over the keyboard. Time to come clean.

“I know, I know…” you say, rubbing at your temples before finally looking up. Your heart thumps harder than it should. “And… don’t be mad. But… just hear me out. What if this year… I don’t write about heartbreak?”

It’s like you might as well have told her you quit. The silence is deafening while she blinks at you, deadpan — like you’ve grown a second head.

“Darling,” she says coolly, with a bitter laugh. “Christmas is in three weeks. I don’t need pleasantries — I need pain.”

“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” you push gently, sitting a little straighter in your chair. “Christmas is supposed to feel… good. Warm. Like something you lean into, not brace yourself against.” You gesture vaguely toward the window, the gray sky.

You’ve always been alone for the holidays. No family. No one asking when you’ll be home.

“I mean… people are… tired. Stressed. Lonely. The world already feels cold enough without another reminder that love is awful. Right?”

Mei scoffs, flipping her hair over one shoulder, repulsed by the suggestion. “That mushy shit doesn’t sell…” And her eyes sharpen, flicking back to you. “You sound dangerously sentimental. Very unlike you, darling.”

Your mouth opens. Closes.

Little does she know… this is you. Or at least, the you that’s been kept hidden your entire career — doing something that feels so… empty. You’re tired. Tired of pretending that love is dead. For once, you want to believe in it. Believe that all this with Satoru — the potential for love — could be real.

“…I met someone.”

That gives her pause.

“Oh?”

Her snobbish tone is hard to ignore, but you don’t let it diminish the excitement you feel from the thought of him.

Satoru.

“Yeah… he’s—” you begin with a breathless laugh, tucking your chin into your palm like it might hide your grin. “Ugh. He’s good, Mei. Like… really fucking good. Funny… smart… thoughtful…”

But Mei’s sculpted brow arches as you continue to gush.

“Ohmygod and so handsome too,” you breathe, face lighting up. “Like. It’s unfair how good-looking he is, I swear. Plus, he remembers the little things I say, and he always checks in when I’ve had a rough day. It’s like…” you pause, breath catching as your heart aches with longing.

“It’s like… he sees me, Mei.”

At that, a knowing hum rumbles through your boss.

“I see…” she nods, lips tugging upward. “Well. Can you show me a picture, then?”

“Oh, sure!” you chirp, already digging for your phone in your bag. Your heart flutters at the sight of his photo, and after navigating to his profile, you hand the device over to her.

Her eyes narrow, then flick back to you. “This guy is in Japan…” and you can already hear it, that condescending tone, syrupy sweet. “I wonder… have you seen him yet?”

“W-What?” you blink, crossing your arms, instantly on guard. “Well… no. But it’s a sixteen-hour time difference! It’s hard to line up video calls, but we talk all the time and—”

“Mm.” That’s all she needs. She’s handing the phone back with a noise you’d describe as infuriatingly smug. “No way he’s that perfect,” she says, already rising to her feet. “I bet he’s catfishing you.”

Your heart drops.

God. That’d be just your luck.

“What?! N-No!” you argue, unwilling to entertain the idea. “It’s real, Mei. He’s real.”

“Mmm. So is Santa Claus~”

You scoff, brows furrowing.

“No, seriously. He said he wanted to spend Christmas with me. I was actually thinking of surprising him — flying out and —”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful,” she interrupts, saccharine and sharp. “Flying to Japan? To meet a man you’ve never met?” a loud pompous laugh bursts out of her lips, making your blood boil. “Ahhh… what a story! I expect lines, my dear~”

And as her heels are clicking away, you glare after her, cheeks hot, heart thudding with equal parts embarrassment and fury.

That… bitch.

Fine. You’re going to prove her wrong.

You must.

It hadn’t taken much convincing to get Satoru’s address.

You told him you wanted to send a Christmas present. He teased you, of course.

“A present? For little old me?” he drawled. “Awh… what is it? Is it scandalous? Oh!! Is it Digimon related??” You could practically hear the grin in his voice. And sure enough, a minute later, he sent his address with a laughing “Fine. But only if it’s Digimon-related, sweetheart.”

Little does he know…

It’s you you’re sending.

(Though yes, he’s still getting something Digimon-related too. You spent two weeks hand-knitting a Gabumon scarf hat — complete with floppy ears, tiny claws, and a ridiculous little horn. It’s absolutely absurd. You hope he’ll love it.)

Kyoto is blanketed in snow when you land — your breath visible in the air as you drag your suitcase outside the airport, gloved fingers fumbling with your phone. You manage to request a car (thank god for global apps), but the second the driver steps out and starts speaking rapid-fire Japanese, your brain goes static.

“Uh…. sumimasen?”

It’s the only word you know that seems remotely polite. That, and arigatou. Oh, and you know, baka, (thanks to Satoru’s anime rants about how “sub is superior to dub.” He swears by it, so naturally, you’ve started watching anime. In sub. Maybe because it feels like holding onto a piece of him.)

As you enter the car, you press your face to the frosty window and Kyoto whirls past — ancient shrines nestled between sleek buildings, power lines framed by snow-laced branches, vending machines glowing like beacons in the dark. The city is beautiful. Foreign. Dreamlike.

But then, the car pulls up to his house — and suddenly, you’re the one who feels foreign.

Because what the hell.

The place is huge.

It’s walled off with an iron gate, and a winding stone path leading up to a home that looks like a cross between a modern compound and a high-end ryokan. He’d told you his family was well off, but you didn’t realize well off meant a fucking dynasty.

Great. Now you’re standing here with your thrifted suitcase, the handmade gift for him, wrapped in a flimsy bag, wearing your own knitted scarf and a coat you borrowed from your roommate because your own has a busted zipper. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of every chipped nail, every dollar you don’t have in your bank account.

God. What are you even doing here? This man seems ever more too good to be true. What if he’s playing you? What if… Mei’s right. Does he even want you? What’ll he do when he sees you? What’ll he say?

Fuck.

You take a deep breath, tugging your scarf a little higher, gripping his present like a lifeline. It’s fine. Whatever. You came all this way. No turning back now, right?

When you ring the doorbell, a faint chime echoes inside the estate. The air bites at your cheeks while voices murmur on the other side. Footsteps near the entrance and then—

Click!

The shoji slides open. You’re grinning nervously — heart hammering in your chest, steadying yourself as a figure comes into sight. A figure whom is—

A woman.

“えっ…誰？何かご用ですか？”

She stands with one hand on the frame, backlit by the warm glow of the house behind her. Dark hair pulled into a lazy bun, a cigarette balanced between two fingers, smoke curling lazily into the night air. She’s tall. Cool. Effortlessly poised in a way you’ve never been. And she looks… young. Maybe your age.

Mei’s laugh is echoing in your goddamn ears.

Double fuck…

Did Satoru lie? Is this his girlfriend? His wife? A casual fling he forgot to mention? God. Is this why he never video chatted you?

It feels like a kick to the chest.

What the hell were you thinking?? Flying across the world for a guy you’ve never met in person?!

 “ちょっと、聞こえてる？”

She’s still looking at you, head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed with vague curiosity — and you realize with a jolt you haven’t said anything. Not a word.

“Oh! I—uh—sumimasen?” you stammer, fumbling with the little Japanese you know. “S-Sorry, I… I don’t speak Japanese,” you laugh, awkward and breathless. “I think I have the wrong house, though. I was looking for someone named Satoru but—” with a glance past her, you try not to look desperate.

God. You’re such an idiot.

“Uhhh… never mind,” and clutching your suitcase, you attempt to retreat. “I’m so sorry. This was a mistake.”

Though her hand shoots out, catching your sleeve.

“Oh. Satoru? That idiot?” she says casually, in English this time — voice smooth, tinged with amusement. She flicks ash off the edge of the porch. “Yeah, you’re at the right house. He’s just at the FamilyMart with Yuji right now. Craving strawberry shortcake, apparently.”

As your brain begins to short-circuit, she takes one last drag of her cigarette, then steps aside, gesturing toward the entryway.

“C’mon. You’ll freeze your ass off.”

“Oiii,” Shoko calls. “We have a guest, guys! Say hello to—oh, um… sorry, what’s your name again?”

Before you know it, you’re stepping inside – toeing off your shoes at the entrance. Your feet pad against the tatami as you round the corner, and you’re greeted with a group of three other men sitting casually around a low table, with an abundance of snacks at the center.

Though, despite how laid-back the room appears, with pillows and drinks and half opened bags – there’s an underlying tension so thick, you swear it could cut glass.

They’re all staring at you with stone faces.

One man is blonde, with a chiseled jawline and a stern demeaner. Another has bubblegum-pink hair and tattoos crawling up both arms, and the third is a teenager with messy black hair who looks like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.

Are these Satoru’s… friends? Family? He’s never mentioned them before.

Shoko takes another drag from her cigarette, unfazed. “I’m Shoko, by the way,” she says lazily, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. “Known Satoru for years. Unfortunately.” She smirks. “This is Kento, Sukuna, and Megumi.”

“H-Hello…” you murmur, gripping the handle of your suitcase as you hold a tight, nervous smile. “Nice to meet you. Sorry for… dropping in like this. I just flew in from America and… I was hoping that — well, Satoru would be here?”

“Gojo?” Sukuna gruffs, leaning back on one elbow. He plucks a piece of pocky from the snack tray and chews it without breaking eye contact. “And who the fuck are you supposed to be? His secret girlfriend or somethin’?”

The words hits harder than it should.

Girlfriend? Secret?

God, what are you to him?

And now, it dawns on you that they haven’t a clue who you are either. Of course, they don’t. Why would they?

You feel your cheeks heat. “O-oh, no. No, it’s not like that,” you say quickly, waving your hand like it’ll brush the embarrassment away. “I mean… we talk. We’ve been talking. But—”

You trail off and they’re all looking at you with raised brows.

“We don’t have a label or anything. We’re just… friends.”

“Friends?” Sukuna perks up, grin widening. “So lemme get this straight. You flew twelve hours across the globe for that pretentious dick?” He scoffs. “And he hasn’t even put a label on you?”

There’s something dangerously amused in his tone now, and he tosses the half-eaten pocky stick back onto the tray.

“Damn. Lucky bastard.”

You blink, unsure whether to feel insulted or embarrassed or both.

"Don’t you worry sweet thing. You decide to stay and I can show ya how a real man can take care of ya, hm?"

Kento shifts, cutting him a glance. “Sukuna…”

“What?” he says, raising both hands innocently. “This girl is hot as fuck. And I’m just saying — if it were me? I’d at least make sure she knew what she was walking into. Or out of. I'm not like that asshole.”

You blink again.

Is he… hitting on you?

“Great... here we go…” Megumi mutters.

And Kento sighs, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “Please ignore him,” he tells you, voice calm but firm. “Everything is a pissing contest with Gojo where he’s concerned.”

“Okay, first of all — fuck you,” Sukuna snaps, sitting up straighter now, suddenly defensive. “It’s not about competition. I’m just not blind. Look at her!”

You blush subtly, and Megumi mutters, barely glancing up.

“Don't take him seriously... trust me. He says that. But every time Gojo brings a fangirl around, he's always trying to take her home like it’s a fucking game.”

...fangirl?

The word slams into your chest like a hammer. Is that what they think you are? You stiffen, heart dropping. Because that proves it. You shouldn’t be here. Of course someone like him would get dozens of women throwing themselves at him.

What made you think you were any different?

You shouldn’t have come.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, grip tightening around the suitcase as you fumble to gather your things. “I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean to barge in. I’ll just—”

And bowing your head, you spin on your heel, until suddenly you collide into someone. But it all happens so quickly; you don’t register who. Because with a gasp, you stumble backwards, entirely focused on how your giftbag slipped from your grip, making Satoru’s scarf fall to the floor.

“W-What… what are you doing here?!”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

'Sorry' must be your go to word tonight. You’re too embarrassed to look up and see more of Satoru’s friends judging you. You’re dropping on your knees, scrambling to gather things with shaking hands mumbling under your breath.

“I’m leaving now… god, I shouldn’t have come. Please don’t tell Satoru I was—"

“WHOA, is that Gabumon?!” a new voice exclaims, bright with curiosity. “Hey Gojo, who’s this?”

At the mention of his name, you freeze.

Your head slowly lifts, eyes tracing up to catch sight of another pink-haired boy, peeking out from behind the man directly in front of you.

But… the man doesn’t look like Satoru. Not the Satoru you’ve come to know.

No. He has snowy-white tousled hair, tucked beneath a beanie, with bright blue eyes, blinking behind thick-rimmed glasses.

Nothing like his profile pictures.

“Satoru?” you breathe.

His mouth parts, speechless while he’s looking at you like you’re a ghost.

“Dude, that’s so cool! Did you make that?” Yuji asks, eyes sparkling. “Gojo she’s a keeper, huh?”

“Mmm… clearly.” Nanami glances over. “Because since when do you let girls know you like Digimon?”

“About damn time,” Shoko snorts, already lighting another cigarette like this is the most amusing thing she’s seen all week.

“And, she flew here for you,” Sukuna laughs from the back, sounding far too smug for someone uninvolved. “Shit, I’ll marry her if you don’t, asshole.”

The voices layer over each other — praise, laughter, awe. But it’s too bright, too loud, and you’re frozen in the middle of it. Feeling completely detached from reality while the blatant truth stands directly in front of you.

He lied.

And the worst part? You believed him. You came all this way. Mei Mei was right.

Love is dead.

“Um, actually. I—I left something outside,” you blurt, shoving the scarf back in the bag and clutching it to your chest, blinking back the tears. “Excuse me a moment.”

And before anyone can stop you, you’re slipping past them — out the door, out of breath — your chest aching with something you can’t yet name. While behind you, footsteps follow as he calls your name.

“Wait—shit. Wait!”

Satoru knows he fucked up. And by the time he barrels out the front door, you’re already halfway down the street, boots crunching through the snow like you’re marching to war.

He feels like a grade A idiot. Because somehow, against all odds, you — this ridiculously perfect girl — came all the way to Japan thinking he was someone worth showing up for.

And now he’s watching you walk away.

“Waitwaitwaitwait…” he groans, jogging after you, breath puffing white in the air. “Slow down and just… can you just—fuck. Just stop for a second?!”

“Stop?!” You whirl around, eyes wet and furious. “Why should I? Who the fuck even are you? What kind of psycho catfishes someone for months and then just lies to their face?!”

He blinks, defensive instinct kicking in before his brain can catch up.

“W‑Well—what kind of psycho flies across the country and shows up on someone’s front lawn?” he fires back, hands flailing. “In Japan, might I add!”

A bitter scoff tears out of you. “You said—and I quote—‘I wish you were here with me for Christmas,’” your arms fold tight across your chest like you’re holding yourself together. “Why the hell would you say that if you didn’t mean it?”

He backpedals immediately. Because fuck — he did mean it. Every late‑night call. Every laugh. Every stupid wish whispered into the dark.

But instead of admitting that, panic takes over.

“L‑Look—that’s just—something people say, okay?” he rambles. “Like… ‘your baby’s so cute,’ or—um— ‘my diet starts tomorrow,’ or—”

He’s waving his hand, scrambling for humor — something to soften it — but the words die on his lips when he sees your face drop. You blink hard, like something inside you just broke. And the sight of it makes his stomach twist into knots.

Great. Now he feels like even more of an asshole.

“Shit… okay,” he blurts, voice softer now. “That was... yeah. Um. That was a dick move. I know...”

“Fuck you…” you mutter, turning back around.

“Hold up! Please… just come inside, yeah? We can talk it out. If you'll just let me explain—"

“I don’t want to talk to you. Ever again.”

He can hear the hurt underneath the edge of your voice, and he stands there, watching you trudge through the snow – your figure getting smaller against the snow-washed street. He knows there is no salvaging this. He fucked it up. But still… reality slams into him all at once.

You don’t speak the language.

You don’t know the city.

You don’t have a car.

Fuck. Do you even have anywhere to go?

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck… fuck!” he breathes, running a hand through his hair as he begins to jog back toward the house, bursting through the door.

“Guys, I’ll be right back!” he shouts to no one in particular as he grabs his keys off the counter, hands shaking. “She left something at the airport!”

Then, he’s gone again. Chasing the only girl who ever made him feel seen.

It’s cold. Too cold for someone with no plan and no fucking clue where you’re going. But the cold doesn’t sting as much as your heart does.

You don’t even know how far you’ve walked. Five minutes? Ten? Your fingers are numb, your phone battery is nearly dead, and your boots are soaked through.

By pure luck, you stumbled into some sort of Japanese bar. And the kanji on the glowing sign outside might as well be ancient runes, but the warmth spilling through the door felt like something close to safety. Like maybe if you just stepped inside, you’d stop feeling so fucking alone.

Because hey, at least the sake tastes good.

You have no Wi-Fi, no plan, not a single ounce of pride left. All you have is the stupid hope that maybe if you drown yourself in enough of this bitter rice wine, it’ll burn the ache out of your chest.

The edges of the bar blur slightly. Everything’s warm and loud. Someone’s laughing too hard in the corner. Across the room, beyond the haze, there’s a man with a dark bun and violet eyes, sipping from a bottle with his head tilted back.

Beautiful.

Almost like…

The photos on Satoru’s profile?

Are you delusional? Drunk? No... that is him. Right??

You’re blinking through the blur, trying to make sense of it. But then? The room begins to spin and sure enough, nausea hits.

“Shit—” you whisper, grabbing the edge of the bar.

You’re pushing off your stool, stumbling outside the icy curb, before you double over and hurl into the snowbank.

Great. Fucking perfect. Can this day get any worse?

“Hey—hey! There you are!”

Oh, yeah. It can.

Tires crunch as a car jerks to a stop beside the curb. The door flies open, left swinging in the cold and Satoru rushes out, barely remembering to throw the gear into park before he’s crossing to you, boots skidding slightly on slush.

“Jesus—fuck. Are you okay?” he drops beside you, crouching low. “What the hell happened—”

“Don’t touch me,” you snap, pushing at him weakly while your body sways. He pulls back like you burned him.

“I’m fffine,” you slur, though your stomach still churns and your face is damp with cold sweat. “Gooo away.”

He sighs, exasperated.

“You’re not fine. You’re pale and shaking and—wait. Are you… drunk?” He exhales, brushing his hand through his hair like he’s trying not to lose it. “Come on. Let me take you home.”

“Home?” you laugh, bitter and sharp, scoffing as you shove at him again. “You mean your home?”

“No. I meant… wherever you’re safe. I just—can we not do this right now? Please?”

You snort, head lolling as you stare at the ground. “You’re a liarrrr,” you mutter, voice thick and sloppy. “Jus’ like everyone else.”

The words land heavier than he expects. Wind howls between you, carrying the smell of snow and alcohol and regret. Satoru opens his mouth—closes it. For once, he doesn’t have a smart comeback.

“I’m gonna stay right here,” you announce suddenly, sliding down until your back hits the wall. You cross your arms, chin lifting like it’s some kind of moral victory. “I don’t need you.”

“…in the snow?” he asks flatly.

“Yup,” you nod, blinking too hard. “Maybe I’ll meet someone who doesn’t lie for fun.”

“Jesus, woman—” he drags a hand down his face. “You’re in a foreign country. You don’t speak the language. You’re drunk off your ass. I’m not just gonna abandon you in an alley behind a bar you can’t even read the name of!”

“Pffft... well I liiike this bar,” you say bitterly, voice cracking. “S'greeat. They poured the sake fast. And nobody lied to me.”

Every time you say it, it hurts him even more. Satoru exhales hard, pacing a few steps like if he stops moving, he might actually lose it. But when he turns back, ready with another argument — another plea — he freezes.

Because you’re... crying.

Not quiet tears. Not dignified ones. Ugly, shaking sobs that pull from somewhere deep in your chest, shoulders hitching as you scrub at your face with the sleeve of your coat.

“I hate you,” you mutter, voice wrecked.

His chest tightens. He doesn’t know what to do with that. With this.

“I really liked you,” you continue, words tumbling out now, unstoppable. “Like—really liked you. I don’t do this. I don’t fly across the world for people. I don’t—” you hiccup, laughing wetly through the tears. “S'bullshit…” you mutter bitterly.

He blinks, lips pressing in a thin line like he’s unsure what to say. The cold wind blows as you sniffle.

“Plus… you’re hot as fuck. I don’t get it. Like… you didn’t even need to lie…”

You mutter, shifting in the snow. And that one makes him flinch.

“S’stupid… you could’ve jus' been you,” you say, gesturing vaguely at him. “But no. Instead you make up this whole fake version. Lying about everything. Liarrr. And now I can’t trust you. Betcha lied about liking me too, huh? All of it.“

He opens his mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Because that’s the cruel part.

He didn’t lie about everything.

He thinks of the way people’s eyes light up when they recognize his last name. The way conversations shift the second they realize he’s that Gojo. He thinks of years spent being wanted for the wrong reasons — money, status, face value.

And you’re the one person who ever made him feel like it’s okay for liking what he liked. The nerdy, cocky, compulsively sarcastic guy who collects Digimon cards and corrects Wikipedia entries in his spare time.

“Oh yeah… ya know who I saw in there?” you suddenly say, jerking your thumb toward the glowing doorway behind you. “That hot guy from yer pictures.”

Satoru stiffens.

“Uh… Suguru?”

“Oh,” you sniff. “So he’s a real guy?” You laugh again, hollow and dizzy. “Figures. Y’know what? He looks like he wouldn’t lie. Bet he’s honest. Bet he doesn’t make fake profiles and pretend to be someone else.”

You’re too drunk to notice the flinch in his jaw, the way he shifts his weight like the words physically hurt. 

“Maybe I’ll go back in and see if he’ll take me home, huh?”

You try to shove off the wall and nearly trip again, but Satoru steadies you without thinking — hands warm and steady under your arms.

“Look…” he murmurs, voice gentler now. “I know you’re mad. And I deserve it. But I’m worried about you.”

His grip adjusts — one hand rising to gently cradle your elbow, the other slipping around to the small of your back as he lowers his head to meet your bleary, mascara-smudged eyes.

“It’s cold,” he says, voice pitched just above a whisper. “It’s late. You’re probably jet-lagged out of your mind. Just… come back to the house with me, alright? Sleep it off. And if you still hate me in the morning—fine. I’ll even help you hook up with Suguru… if you want.”

Your head jerks back slightly, eyes narrowing. “W-What?” You squint at him, breath curling white between you. “Seriously?”

He shrugs with the ghost of a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I mean, me and him used to be friends. I’m your best bet.”

“That’s insane,” you mutter.

“I’m aware,” he says dryly. Then, more cautiously: “All I’m asking is that you pretend to be my girlfriend. Just until Christmas is over.”

You scoff, half stumbling again as you try to push away from him. “Why the hell would I do that?”

He hesitates. Then breathes out through his nose, gaze flicking away for a second.

“Because… you saw how excited my friends were to meet you. I don’t have a great relationship with my family, okay? Those guys… they’re all I have. I’ve spent holidays alone more years than I haven’t.” His voice cracks a little, just a hair. “I don’t wanna ruin this one… please?”

Something in your expression softens. It hits you all at once, stupid and sharp: how close he is. How blue his eyes are. Maybe it’s the crack in his voice, or the tired honesty in his face, or the fact that for the first time tonight, he doesn’t look like a liar. He just looks… sad.

“…okay,” you whisper. “Fine. Let’s just… go.”

But when you step forward, you falter slightly, ankle twisting in the snow, and he moves without hesitation — an arm looping under yours, the other bracing your elbow as he helps you upright.

“Shit—okay. Easy, sweetheart. I got you,” he murmurs, adjusting his grip.

And maybe it’s the alcohol, or the heartbreak, or the fact that your guard’s been sanded down to nothing. But for a second? You let yourself lean into him. Just a little. Just enough.

He guides you carefully toward the car. The passenger door creaks open. He ducks down to guide you in, one hand braced above your head so you don’t hit it on the frame. His other hand lingers at your lower back. You glance up at him in the doorway.

“Do you… really think Suguru would like me?”

There’s a flicker in his expression. Then a tight smile.

“I think… he’d be lucky if he did.”

You frown, unsure how to read that. But you don’t press.

He closes the door behind you, gently. And as he rounds the car to take his seat, you rest your head against the window — watching snow dust the windshield like ash.

It’s going to be a long Christmas.

The drive home was quiet. When Satoru glanced through the rearview mirror, he realized you were out cold before he even hit the second red light. Your head was tilted against the window, lips slightly parted, breathing deep and even.

You looked impossibly beautiful.

By the time he pulled into the driveway, the snow picked up again, soft and powdery in the glow of the porch light. Satoru kills the engine and glances at you one more time.

“Hey… uh. We’re here?”

But you don’t wake. And honestly, he can’t find it in his heart to wake you himself. So instead, he sighs, “C’mon, sleeping beauty…” climbing out and circling the car. “Right… well. Up and at ‘em.”

He lifts you gently, bridal style. And your head lolls against his shoulder, warm breath ghosting across his collar. When he adjusts his grip, you snuggle closer, burrowing into the crook of his neck. And he tries to act like his brain wasn’t short-circuiting.

As he approaches the estate’s entrance, the door slides open before he can knock. Yuji stands there with a bag of chips in one hand and a soda in the other.

“Woah. Dude. She okay?”

“What?! Of course!” Satoru huffs. “She’s fine. Just—tired. Long flight. Jet lag hit her hard, y’know?”

Yuji nods solemnly. “RIP.”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Move. Gotta put her to bed.”

Yuji moves. Nobody presses further. Satoru doesn’t stop in the hallway, just takes the stairs two at a time, heading straight for his room, nudging the door open with his foot while he eases you inside.

He lowers you onto the bed slowly, like you might break. Your coat bunches beneath you, and he hesitates — then gently shrugs it off your shoulders, exposing some of your bare skin. You murmur something incoherent, head rolling to the side.

“Shhh… time to get some rest, sweetheart…” he breathes. “Lay back for me, yeah?”

As you lay back, he slips your boots off next, one at a time, fingers brushing your ankles. And god, your feet are freezing.

But as he’s reaching for the blanket—

“Mmmph.”

Your hand fumbles blindly and finds his shirt, tugging him down with you. He stumbles forward slightly, one knee landing on the edge of the bed, catching himself on his palms as you tug him down. Your arms wrap loosely around his waist, burying your face into his chest.

“W-Woah—hey,” he breathes, voice cracking a little. “You’re—uh. Kinda clinging there, huh?”

You don’t answer. You just… sigh. Sleepy and content. He lies beside you, unsure where to put his hands, heart racing. You’re cold. He can feel the way you press into him, like he’s the warmest thing in the world. Your fingers bunch his shirt. Your nose nuzzles the fabric.

“Mm… s’toru…”

His heart flutters, and he knows you’ll probably hate him again in the morning, but he doesn’t move.

Because he likes the way you cling to him. Because he’s selfish. Because the girl he lied to for weeks is now curled up in his bed, face pressed to his ribs, saying his name like she’s dreamt it a hundred times.

So, he sleeps beside you that night. Pretending, just for now, that none of it was a lie.

‘I keep thinking… if this is what you’re like over the phone, what the hell am I gonna do if I ever see you in person?’

You’re dreaming again.

Of his voice — that voice. Warm and easy. The one that used to call you at midnight, laughing through the line like it was nothing, like you weren’t slowly losing your mind for a stranger you’d never met.

‘Cause… I really love talking to you. Might just get addicted to you, sweetheart.’

You sigh, stirring slightly against the warmth pressed to you. It’s a heavy, encompassing warmth – like you’ve been swaddled in sunlight and something sweet. There’s an arm draped languidly around your waist, and a thumb twitching against your lower back.

Dreaming.

“Mmph…”

Your thighs are warm, tangled, clinging to something… hard. You wiggle your hips as the rhythm of breathing ebbs and flows beneath you. And that movement makes a low, sleepy sound rumble against your chest.

“Fffuck…”

The groan isn’t innocent, and your brow furrows with a whimper as something firm twitches between your legs. Beginning to grow. A hand flexes at your back, and you instinctively press your thighs tighter, making him gasp.

“Unngh… b-baby…”

As your eyes flutter open, fluttering against his skin, you’re greeted with the slope of his throat, pale in the gray morning light. And the throbbing heat between your legs makes it undeniable now.

This isn’t a dream. This isn’t your bed. This isn’t your blanket. And your thighs are straddling Satoru’s hips with his morning wood right there and holy shit—

“S-Satoru?!”

You squeak. And his brow twitches, snowy lashes fluttering, lips parting on a sleepy inhale. When his hazy gaze focuses, you’re met with that blue. Bluer than the sky, bluer than anything should be this early in the goddamn morning.

But then, awareness sinks in, and he stutters. “H-Huh…?” gaze flicking down to the very compromising position you’re both in.

“Shit!” his voice cracks as you shove at his chest, face molten.

“Oh my god—why the hell are we sleeping together?!” you shriek, and he’s desperately trying to explain. “I—You—” he wheezes as you push his again. “Ow, okay, damn, don’t commit a felony! You literally pulled me into the bed when you were drunk. And then you passed out on top of me! I’m the victim here!”

Your hands are still on his chest, mid-push. But you stop. Breath catching. Eyes locking.

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

You both look down at his dick.

“…so,” he mutters, throat bobbing as his eyes flick back up to your face—very carefully avoiding your chest, failing miserably. “You, uh… gonna move?”

“R-Right!” your cheeks erupt in flames as you scramble off him like he’s on fire, nearly tripping over the bed. “Shit—sorry—I didn’t mean to…”

“No, it’s uh… fine. Totally fine.” He mumbles with an awkward laugh. “I mean… not that I’m complaining… but damn. If this is how you serve breakfast in America? I might need to move and—”

“Don’t.” You snap, making him freeze. “Don’t say that…”

Your arms are crossed as you stand, pressing your lips together tightly. His expression instantly drops, the humor fading. And god. You want to be mad at him. You should be mad.

But mostly?

Last night comes flashing back – your drunk, pathetic sob story. And really, you just feel… humiliated.

“You don’t get to make jokes right now,” your tone trembles as you try to hold it tight. “Not after last night. Not after I flew across the world for someone who doesn’t exist. For some who—” you trail off, failing to find words that don’t sound even more pathetic. And scoff. “God… I’m such an idiot…”

There’s a long pause. Satoru’s quiet, but then you hear him sigh.

“…you’re not. You’re not an idiot.”

Your eyes flick over as you watch him shift upright, pushing a hand through his messy hair. His expression softens, vibrant eyes dimming with a tenderness. And for once, it doesn’t feel like he’s reaching for some smartass line to soften to blow.

“I told you… I shouldn’t have lied. Okay? I know that…” he scratches the back of his head, knowing there’s no excuse he can give you that’ll make him sound any less pathetic. He exhales, pushing on. “Look… just stay until Christmas. Please? I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you. Even… hook you up with Suguru, like I said.”

He hesitates as he says it. But that’s what you want… right? After all, you expected him. You expected Suguru.

You blink, mouth parting as your conversation at the bar comes crashing back towards your foggy memory. You’d said it to spite him. You were drunk and stupid and humiliated, and you just wanted to wound him.

Because you liked him.

You really, really wanted it to be real.

Your mouth parts. You’re about to answer when your phone buzzes.

Mei: How’s Japan, darling? Is he real? I expect those lines~

You stare at the screen. Something twists in your chest — not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. And with a bitter smile, you tuck the phone away.

“Right…” you mutter, rubbing your arm nervously. “Uh… sure. I guess I’ll stay.”

a/n. hello my darlings. merry christmas, i hope you all are enjoying your holiday! i will have pt 2 out before the end of december, lmk if you wanna be tagged. this fic kinda gives me supermodel! gojo vibes? at least with the message it's exploring. hehe. anyways, love you all. thanks for reading 💖