the apartment door clicks shut at 2:47am.

nagumo moves through the darkness by memory, his disheveled black hair matted with sweat.

he ignores the slight tang of copper lingering in his mouth, avoiding each furniture with ease by using the picture of the apartment layout in his mind.

he uses his hand to guide himself to the bathroom light switch. his knuckles throbbed with a deep-bone ache that was doomed to bloom into a bruise.

gears were already turning his head—coming up with an excuse on why his hands were black and blue.

his white dress shirt—one of the nicer ones—was ruined.

dark splatters across the collar sleeves. a bigger stain near his ribs where something wet was pressed against him.

he peels it off in the bathroom, careful not to let it touch anything else. it goes straight into a plastic bag, knotted tight.

hot pink then runs down the drain.

he makes sure to scrub everywhere. under his nails. between his fingers.

the cut on his temple stings when soap hits it. maybe he’ll settle with something cliche. maybe he’ll say he tripped down the stairs.

a fresh towel is wrapped around him as he looks in the mirror. his reflection stares back with those dark, large eyes, expression flat and distant.

it doesn’t match the version of him that you know at all. the empathetic one. the loyal and funny boyfriend.

nagumo dries off, pulls on clean clothes from the hamper. it was warm and soft—the opposite of what was on his clothes.

he softly pads to the bedroom where your sleeping form is barely visible under the covers, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.

the feeling of how he comes home to this everyday after killing people pulls something in his chest.

he slides under the sheets with trained silence, settling onto his side of the bed. the mattress barely dips. his body gradually relaxes, though his jaw stays tight for another few minutes.

nagumo stares at face. peaceful and relaxed. completely oblivious to what he does for a living. he wonders how long it would take until you find out.

would you be scared? or would you accept him?

by the time his breathing evens out, he looks like any other exhausted adult finally getting to bed.

deep vibration of bass hitting with a rhythmic pattern—the heavy thumps rolling through your ribs. low-lying smoke clings to the floor making the stage look like it’s floating on clouds.

what were you doing here again?

you look around.

it’s like standing in a sea of light. glowsticks everywhere, led lights slicing the air, dramatic stage effects blasting so bright your eyes squint. the whole place feels unreal, like you were in another dimension.

your eyes land on your best friend.

right. she was the one who dragged you here.

apparently, she’d hit the jackpot with cheap tickets to this idol group’s concert and decided you were coming with her, whether you liked it or not.

you tried to decline. you said you were busy. you mentioned other plans. clearly, none of that mattered to her since it was a “once in a lifetime chance”.

it’s not that you didn’t like their music. you couldn’t even hear it properly over thousands of fans screaming like their lives depended on it. by the end of the night, you were convinced you’d go deaf.

and you didn’t hate concerts. but you didn’t like being surrounded by sweaty, loud people packed so tightly that you felt like you were being squished.

it’s not like you didn’t like the idols, either. they were objectively attractive—like, unbelievably so.

you just couldn’t stand the fanservice.

those “heart-stopping” moments when an idol blows a kiss and some delusional stranger thinks it was for them. when grown adults do cute poses and pretend to be tiny. yeah. that wasn’t for you.

so why does your chest feel tight when you catch someone staring at you?

you frown. how do you even know he’s looking at you? he could be looking at the whole section.

but then, you’ve locked eyes with him again and again—like the universe magically aligned him specifically with your line of sight.

trained behavior, you tell yourself. they’re trained to catch attention. trained to hypnotize crowds with a single look.

still, you can’t breathe right when the white-haired man sends a wink right towards you.

your grip tightens on your friend’s shoulder as you lean closer.

in return, she squeals.

“oh my gosh, did you see that?!” she practically yells into your ear, competing with the booming music.

“...yeah, yeah,” you shout back. “who was that anyways?”

“that was gojo!” she says, sounding way too excited. “gojo satoru! look at those blue eyes! they have to be the dreamiest thing ever, right?! can you believe they’re not contacts?”

she rambles, then suddenly, she pauses, as if she just realized something. then her voice drops into a grin. “wait. don’t tell me…”

she turns the suspicion into a tease. “are you interested in him?”

you glance toward the stage—toward the angelic looking man who looks like he shouldn’t exist in a room full of screaming humans. white hair catching the light like he’s glowing at the edges. expression calm, posture effortless, hovering above the chaos instead of standing in it.

he’s still looking your way.

your stomach twists. pretty, you think, then immediately refuse to think it like it matters.

“oh, don’t even think about it.” your friend slaps your back hard. “you have to get through millions of fangirls before you could even—”

you don’t hear the rest properly, because gojo’s gaze holds just a second longer than it should.

you manage one more look at him.

he meets you again.

and then you decide—because you have absolutely no dignity left—that you’ll respond like you’re not affected.

you glare.

the expression you intended to be intimidating probably just looks like you were constipated, but his smile doesn’t waver. instead, he tilts his head slightly like you're his entertainment

then he turns back to the crowd like nothing happened.

but you’re sure.

you swear he laughed at your face.

the apartment door clicks shut at 2:47am.

nagumo moves through the darkness by memory, his disheveled black hair matted with sweat.

he ignores the slight tang of copper lingering in his mouth, avoiding each furniture with ease by using the picture of the apartment layout in his mind.

he uses his hand to guide himself to the bathroom light switch. his knuckles throbbed with a deep-bone ache that was doomed to bloom into a bruise.

gears were already turning his head—coming up with an excuse on why his hands were black and blue.

his white dress shirt—one of the nicer ones—was ruined.

dark splatters across the collar sleeves. a bigger stain near his ribs where something wet was pressed against him.

he peels it off in the bathroom, careful not to let it touch anything else. it goes straight into a plastic bag, knotted tight.

hot pink then runs down the drain.

he makes sure to scrub everywhere. under his nails. between his fingers.

the cut on his temple stings when soap hits it. maybe he’ll settle with something cliche. maybe he’ll say he tripped down the stairs.

a fresh towel is wrapped around him as he looks in the mirror. his reflection stares back with those dark, large eyes, expression flat and distant.

it doesn’t match the version of him that you know at all. the empathetic one. the loyal and funny boyfriend.

nagumo dries off, pulls on clean clothes from the hamper. it was warm and soft—the opposite of what was on his clothes.

he softly pads to the bedroom where your sleeping form is barely visible under the covers, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.

the feeling of how he comes home to this everyday after killing people pulls something in his chest.

he slides under the sheets with trained silence, settling onto his side of the bed. the mattress barely dips. his body gradually relaxes, though his jaw stays tight for another few minutes.

nagumo stares at face. peaceful and relaxed. completely oblivious to what he does for a living. he wonders how long it would take until you find out.

would you be scared? or would you accept him?

by the time his breathing evens out, he looks like any other exhausted adult finally getting to bed.

"hey! wait—slow down!"

"come on! we're gonna miss it!" satoru says, hands interlocked with yours as he tugs you along a path.

"where are you even taking me?" you ask breathlessly, your legs struggling to keep pace with his.

it was so sudden. one moment you were sitting on a bench with satoru, and the next he'd grabbed your hand in a panic and started sprinting. you had no idea what was going on.

"just wait and see!" he flashes that trademark toothy grin over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

his running finally comes to a halt at a secluded overlook, and he lets go of your hand. you're panting as you catch your breath.

"holy shit," your eyes widen as you take in the view before you.

"nice, right?" satoru leans casually against the railings, resting his cheek in his palm like he hadn't just dragged you across the entire park within seconds.

the warm, glowing sun descends slowly across the horizon, painting the sky in soft layers—gold bleeding into apricot, then deepening into fiery pinks, reds, and rich purples.

you grip both hands on the railings, leaning forward as your breath catches.

"it's so pretty!" you beam, your joy practically radiating as bright as the sun itself.

you keep your eyes fixed on the breathtaking canvas before you, completely unaware that satoru's gaze has shifted entirely—now fixed on you instead.

he's already melting at the sight of you, soft and glowing in the sunset's light.

"mhm...the prettiest," satoru whispers, his eyes crinkling into happy crescents.

"hey! wait—slow down!"

"come on! we're gonna miss it!" satoru says, hands interlocked with yours as he tugs you along a path.

"where are you even taking me?" you ask breathlessly, your legs struggling to keep pace with his.

it was so sudden. one moment you were sitting on a bench with satoru, and the next he'd grabbed your hand in a panic and started sprinting. you had no idea what was going on.

"just wait and see!" he flashes that trademark toothy grin over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

his running finally comes to a halt at a secluded overlook, and he lets go of your hand. you're panting as you catch your breath.

"holy shit," your eyes widen as you take in the view before you.

"nice, right?" satoru leans casually against the railings, resting his cheek in his palm like he hadn't just dragged you across the entire park within seconds.

the warm, glowing sun descends slowly across the horizon, painting the sky in soft layers—gold bleeding into apricot, then deepening into fiery pinks, reds, and rich purples.

you grip both hands on the railings, leaning forward as your breath catches.

"it's so pretty!" you beam, your joy practically radiating as bright as the sun itself.

you keep your eyes fixed on the breathtaking canvas before you, completely unaware that satoru's gaze has shifted entirely—now fixed on you instead.

he's already melting at the sight of you, soft and glowing in the sunset's light.

"...the prettiest," satoru whispers, his eyes crinkling into happy crescents.

Snowy Diamond Flakes

Hex code: #F6F6F7

Hex code: #D9D8DF

Hex code: #B0C2D7

Hex code: #B2A7BB

Hex code: #E4C2C7

Hex code: #F7D7D4

GIF source