you can call him your friend but you know there’s something that you can’t quite put your foot on.

just the other day, you’re hanging out at suguru’s place and he’d be across the room from you, sitting on the armchair—you notice him, because how could you not when he’s got that laugh—loud, bright and definitely magnetic whenever any one of you says something funny?

no, you weren’t watching him. why would you? 

so, you would look away, but when your gaze lands on him again he’s already looking at you—throwing you that smile instead of looking away, and you’ll smile back at him. 

then you’ll get distracted again when shoko snaps her fingers in front of you because you weren’t listening to her teaching you some card game that were overly complicated. so, you’ll look away but you could still feel the weight of his gaze on you.

or whenever you get too drunk when your group is out in the club. you’d drink too much, dance too much—so much so that you’re aware that you're pressed against him, that you’re aware that he’s gripping your hips tightly—your back settled on his chest, his breath warm against the skin of your neck. 

and then you’ll both laugh—or giggle while dancing, drunk in the loud booming music and strobe lights. 

then you’ll both do what you always do. pull away, because it means nothing. you’re just friends. having fun. 

or when you’re studying at the library, when you don’t get something about the topic—he’ll lean in a little too close that you could smell his cologne—a little too close that his voice is right in your ear, his arm slung over the backrest of your seat, while his hand rests on the flat of your back. 

and you do what you always do, as usual. 

brush it off even though your brain turned blank because your thighs were too pressed together.

i mean, what do you call that? 

and just like right now, you’re sitting across from him—you’re all here in suguru’s balcony—he dragged a table out here so they can smoke out in the open air while you guys were drinking.

the air was cold—you’d all been drinking, and you’re aware that you’re already a bit tipsy. i mean, you’re laughing too much even if choso’s joke isn’t that funny. 

and now, you’re all playing bullshit.

“wow, you’re all terrible liars,” shoko says, dragging a smoke from her cigarette.

“okay, queen of bullshit.” suguru answers and you all chuckled, he then places down two cards on the table, “a two and a five.”

yuki’s eyes narrowed, “bullshiiit!”

then suguru reveals his cards, it’s a queen and a ten. 

“we got a human lie detector right here.” choso says, suguru then takes two shots. “two sixes.”

“bullshit.” suguru called.

choso reveals his cards, he huffs a breath at suguru who’s smirking now—he takes two shots, “you’re full of shit.”

“you’re just mad, i can read you.”

choso just flipped him over, then satoru places two cards on the table with a smirk on his face, “two eights.”

you look at him—he’s leaning on his chair, too relaxed for someone who’s lying. his eyes flickers at you for a second—you may be drunk, but you saw it.

you saw it.

goddamn it, why is he making you feel this way?

why is he looking at you like he wants you—no, like he already has you wrapped around his fingers. he always has this kind of look that only he gives you—the one where it makes your nerves unravel. 

the one where you get aware of everything. 

like how tight your clothes are, how hard your thighs are pressed together—he has this kind of look like he’s just touching you with that gaze he’s dragging, prickling your skin that you could feel heat bubbling up to the surface. 

of course, you have to play it cool. 

but you hate it. you hate the way he’s looking at you. or maybe, you’re just overthinking it all. maybe it’s the liquor.

you’re quite drunk. maybe you’re just imagining things.

“bullshit.” shoko says but then he flips his card. it’s two eights. just like he said.

“you’re such a liar.” 

satoru laughs, his gaze landing on you again and you swear you could feel your heart do this weird, familiar flip inside your chest. 

you bit your lower lip, looking down at the cards in your hand. you set down two, “two fours.”

he smirks, speaking almost immediately. and here you’re painfully aware that he’s still looking at you. “bullshit.”

you raise your eyebrows, “how do you say so?”

“you bite your lip when you’re lying.” 

there’s that smirk that you wanna smack away. how in the hell does he notice that?

“do not.”

“do too.”

“do not.”

“flip your cards then.” he says, his eyes still locked on you. there’s that look again. 

you roll your eyes, flipping your cards over. it’s a jack and a three.

he gasp dramatically, there’s this playful look on his eyes. “you lie?!”

“you’re so dramatic.” you said while already reaching out for the shot glass that choso laid out for you.

then the game continued. too many shots. a lot of bickering and laughter. the boys were too loud and rowdy, you girls were just laughing at their nonsense. you swore suguru cheated but got away with it because everyone couldn’t stop laughing when choso slipped from his seat.

and somewhere in all of that, you can still feel satoru’s eyes on you. everytime he says a joke, he’ll look at you just so he could see if you’re giggling. 

and suddenly, there’s a shift between the two of you that you couldn’t brush off anymore.

you were all still busy laughing when you stretched your legs—then you instinctively jolted when you bumped your foot onto his.

but neither of you moved, the contact sent your nerves firing at an impossible rate—making your body tense, you must’ve drank too much because you feel too hot even though the night air was cold. 

then you tilt your head slightly, just to look at him. 

he’s still playing the game—talking to suguru like your skin isn’t touching. but he must’ve noticed it. you’re sure he knows it. so, you cleared your throat and looked away.

but it kills you that he’s not reacting. why isn’t he saying something? why isn’t he looking at you now?

you don’t know where you had the guts to do what you were about to do but fuck it.

so much for liquid courage, huh?

you shifted slightly in your seat, moving a little forward. then slowly, you drag your toes on the side of his foot to the ball of his ankle, doing a circular motion with your toe.

he didn’t pull away. 

you sip on your drink, propping your elbow to the table, pretending to listen to whatever story choso is telling now. 

then you continue, dragging your foot lightly up to his calf—he tensed, it was subtle but enough for you to notice. 

you weren’t looking at him.

not yet anyway.

you continued until your foot was just below his knee, and this time you hear the small stutter he made while he was talking to his best friend. but he composed himself, and you sip on your drink trying to hide a grin.

he recovered just like that. like you’re not teasing him under the table. like you aren’t running your toes on the hem of his gray sweatshorts—

“satoru.” yuki says, “it’s your turn.”

then you finally look at him, toes creeping under the fabric of his shorts, into his inner thighs—he blinks, his lips part slightly before clearing his throat. “huh? uh—two sixes one eight.”

you smirked, staring at him like you aren’t driving him madly crazy with what you’re doing.

“bullshit.” you called almost in a flash, all the while dragging your foot down to the side of his legs until you’re at his ankle again.

he stared at you, flipping his cards.

two fives and a king.

and just like that everyone cheered because they finally got him. 

you finally got him.

“ha!” shoko says pointing at him, “drink!”

satoru smirks, and raises the shot glass while everyone chants drink! drink!

he stares at you while taking a shot then slammed the glass face down on the table. he presses his foot back against yours—slowly, deliberately.

he didn’t shy away from you when he licked the last drop of tequila from the corner of his lips. 

then your heart screamed. 

chest heaving like you wanted them to know what you’re doing with him. he moves his foot against yours, like intertwining his ankles with yours—and this time, you felt your heartbeat everywhere.

at your neck, your ears even at your fingertips.

you swallowed thickly, looking down at your cards before pulling away to stand up too fast—too obvious.

the air caught on your throat. what else do you do?

“i—uh, need water.”

shoko raised her eyebrow, “you good?”

“yeah.” you answer quickly, “fine.”

“someone’s already drunk~” choso says in a sing-song tone, laughing. you just raised your middle finger before you walked off.

you’re barely halfway the sliding door into the living room when—

“where you going?” suguru asked him.

satoru raised his arms, stretching— “bathroom. why, you wanna come with?”

“fuck you.” suguru answers and he laughs, you muttered a curse before opening the sliding door—stepping in before he could catch up to you. 

the living room was warm while you padded  into the kitchen. 

you could hear the muffled sounds from the speaker and of your friends laughing out the balcony when you reached for the glass in the dish rack. you were opening the refrigerator when you heard footsteps behind you.

you didn’t need to look back.

you know it’s him.

“water?” you offered without glancing back, surprised at the steadiness of your voice even though your heart was already racing. surprised—when your brain was already reeling all kinds of things that you’d like to keep in your head.

“i’m good.” he answers with a low voice.

then you finally turned, and there he was, leaning on the counter with his arm crossed—his tousled white hair glinting underneath the dim lights—he’s watching you like you’re the only person left in the universe.

you stare back at him, leaning near the sink while holding the glass of water. 

“stop looking at me like that.” you finally say.

he chuckles, “like what?”

like what exactly?

like he wants you? like he wanted to kiss you?

“like that.” you answered vaguely.

“i’m not looking at you like whatever you mean.” he answers, pushing off the counter, stepping a little forward. 

you placed the glass on the sink, letting out a snort, “bullshit.”

“yeah? and are you going to pretend that you’re not looking at me that way?”

“am not.”

“bullshit. you’re a liar.”

he stepped closer until you’re just inches away, you looked up at his face. his figure is already towering over you. 

your lips part slightly, “i never lie. you do though.”

“bullshit.” his voice was dangerously low, he took one step closer. his hand finds its way to your waist.

you blinked. getting hyperaware of his hands sliding up your sides. you both paused, like you’re both gauging the weight of tension that filled the air.

“i never think about you.”

your voice falters just a little, “bullshit.”

“i don’t think about being this close to you.”

you laughed breathlessly, “yeah. total bullshit.”

he stepped just a little closer until he’s pressed against you, you tried backing up until you felt the edge of the counter behind your back, the back of your knees bumping onto the cabinet just below.

“i never thought about how it would feel to kiss you.”

you never got to call bullshit because he was already kissing you.

he kissed you like he meant to do it for so long. 

his kisses taste like desperation—the alcohol tasted bitter on your mouth but his was something different. something that you’ve thought about for so long.

his kisses tasted like you’re meant to, like it fits, it belongs. 

your hands found his shirt, clinging onto him to anchor yourself. your fingers twist against the fabric as your mouth moves against his—it was desperate, so wet and messy.

you’re already drowning but you’re aching for more. he kisses you frantically that your knees almost buckle, and you kiss him in a more needy way, like it’d kill you if his mouth weren’t on yours.

he licks your lips before sucking your lower lip into his mouth. he was biting your lip, sucking it in—his tongue brushes over your lips like a quiet plea and you instinctively let him in, his tongue rolling over yours and you let out a soft moan.

he pressed against you more—you’re trapped in between his body and the cold counter. his hand creeping inside your shirt just so he could feel you. just so he could ground himself—tell him that this was real.

this was finally happening.

you barely notice that he’d already lifted you on the counter until you feel the cold marble clashing with the heat in your thighs. you open your knees, legs hooking around his hips to pull him in.

his hands gripped your thigh like he’s melding his skin into yours, his thumb rubbing circles onto the soft swell of your skin. 

“can’t seem to stop,” he breathed pulling away, then he bites your lip, “tell me to stop—and i will—fuck, but please, fucking don’t.”

you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to press soft hungry kisses on his lips.

“do i look..” kiss “like i want you..” you kiss him deeper, you pull away gasping, “to stop?”

and just like that he was kissing you again. teeth clashing, tongues swirling into each other. messy—filthy and starved.

his hand underneath your shirt unclasps your bra, you pulled away to lift your own shirt up until you’re rid of it. your bra flawlessly dropping on your lap—

“fuuuck.” he choked, he gripped your hair to kiss you again—his hand massaging your breast—he rubs your nipple in between his fingers earning a muffled moan from you. 

you tug at the hem of his shirt, you murmured against his mouth, “take this off.”

and he did so eagerly, tossed it aside and the moment it was gone, your hands were on every part of his body—his chest, shoulder—god, his abs. his skin was hot against your palm—you trace your fingers like you're memorizing every part of him. 

“satoru—fuck.” you mewled when his kisses went down to your jaw—he sucks on a spot just below your ear, biting your skin hungrily. you gasp, your fingers gripping his surprisingly soft hair, “don’t stop.”

“i don’t plan to,” he murmured against your skin until he’s down, dipping his tongue on your collarbone, licking down until he’s on your chest. 

you pulled his hair while he pushed your mounds together—licking a stripe on your nipples, he was gripping the soft swell of your tits while sucking it in his mouth.

your skin was prickly, your nails dug into his back while he continued. 

“satoruuu—” you whine, “want you. please.”

he lets go of your tits with a pop, a string of saliva dripping from his swollen lips, he breathes, tugging on the waistband of your shorts, “you got me, baby.”

you lift yourself up a bit so he could pull your shorts down, he wasted no time sliding the fabric off your legs until it pooled on the kitchen floor. 

his eyes sinfully dragged across your body like he’d seen something so perfect—so maddeningly beautiful. he leaned in, pressing soft kisses against your inner thigh—his lips moved up until you felt his breath ghosting over exactly where you needed him to.

“satoru—”

“god,” he rasped out, licking your skin, “i’ve thought about this for so many times that i’ve lost count.”

you whimper when you feel his finger tug your underwear to the side, giving him a view of your wet, sloppy cunt—then he drops to his knees as if he’s worshipping you. your legs hooked on his shoulders while his hands were gripping on your thighs to keep you open.

“satoru—fucking hell—nghh—” his tongue was flat against your slit, he drags it up and down, the tip of his tongue swirling around your clit, his fingers parting your folds. 

you threw your head back, your hand anchoring you to the counter while the other was pulling on his hair as he ate you out like a starved man. 

satoru laps on your slit wantonly like he’d been denied for months and was making up for it—his tongue was moving sloppily, so filthy.

he looks up at you while he sucks your clit, your eyes meet and you bite your lip—you choked when he pulled away a bit just to spit on your already dripping cunt then he was back on you again.

he pries your folds open a little more, then he delves his tongue inside you— “fuuuck—nghhh—toruuu, so good! don’t stop, fuck—”

your toes curl just above the skin on his back, your grip on his hair tightens. the electricity reverberating on your body, pooling in your core.

“satoruuu!” you cried out, fisting his hair. 

he moaned against your cunt, the vibration pushing all of the sanity left in you. he was so so messy, so goddamn pretty eating you out so shamelessly.

then he shattered you—your body arched above the counter, bucking your hips against his mouth, his name tumbles off your mouth over and over again, your thighs convulse against his head. 

“sto—ugh! fuck,” you were a stuttering mess as he licked you through your orgasm—he run his tongue up and down until the very last twitch. 

you pulled his head away, breath ragged as you laugh breathlessly, “stop—you’re going to fucking kill me.”

he smirks as he stands up, his face is a mess—your juices coated around his mouth trickling down to his chin, he leaned in to kiss you again—you could taste yourself in his mouth but that didn’t matter. 

didn’t even matter that your friends are just outside.

the fuck if you both care.

you pull away, you stare with heavy-lidded eyes. “i want you inside me, please.”

my goood, how can he not fuck you when you desperately beg like that?

he didn’t make you ask again. he was already pulling his shorts down, his hard cock springs free. 

he’s fucking big—his cock was veiny with a slight curve, the tip flushed, glistening with precum—you couldn’t stop staring.

who knew. i mean, you’ve imagined what his dick looked like but—gaaah, this was so beyond—

you whine when you felt his tip slide against your wet folds, your juices smeared against the tip of his cock so deliciously.

“toru.” you rasped, “toru—want you inside, please.”

“you’re going to fucking kill me.” he choked, his eyes was dark, staring at you—still teasing your cunt, he groans, “you know that? you’re gonna be the death of me—shit.”

he leaned into your mouth, pressing a sloppy kiss while he lined himself, pushing in slowly. you both gasp into each other’s mouth as he buried his cock, he sank into you—slowly, inch by inch until you’re stuffed full of his cock.

“shit—” he muttered, pressing his forehead against you, “you feel so—god, you feel so fucking good. so warm and tight.”

“move,” you mewled, locking him in between your legs, “move, ‘toru, please.”

and he did, slowly. he wants to revel in the way you clamp around him—your walls so tight and warm, just perfect—so perfect, like you’re made for him.

your body twitches with every move he makes—then he moves, faster—harder, your sweaty skins slapping deliciously against each other, echoing through the kitchen.

his hands gripped your waist—his lips were on every part of your face, then your jaw, your collarbone like he couldn’t decide which part of you he wanted to kiss. god, he wanted it all. he wanted all of you.

“fuck, if i knew this was going to be this good—” he stutters, he wraps his arm around you to pull you closer, his hips angling a bit just so he could hit that spot that has your body writhing, “i would’ve made a move months ago—fuuuuck.”

you half-laughed, half-moaned, “what took you—nghhh—so long, huh?”

he smirks so devilishly, rutting his hips harder—his eyes stare at his cock disappearing inside you before he is back on your face, “didn’t know how to. you make me—fuck, you make me a fucking mess—”

he moved harder, melding his hands on your skin, “can’t think straight when i’m around you.”

because he really didn’t know how to. because he knew, if he touched you, he’s done for. he’s gone and he’ll never be able to come back.

“fuuuuck,” you cried out, your tits bouncing with every rut of his hips, “didn’t know you were—hngggg, such a lover boy—god!”

you clench around him, you feel a spring coiling—tightening around your stomach as your forehead falls onto his shoulder, you bite on the skin just above his collarbone while you come undone.

he followed soon after, steadied thrusts becoming sloppy—hips stuttering along with a cracked groan, spilling his load inside you with a shudder.

he collapsed against you. both of you catching your breath—and now you’re aware that you’re both naked above suguru’s counter.

god, he’s going to kill you both.

you could feel the sweat trickle on your skin, your heart slowly coming down from a high. his thumbs lazily rubbing circles against your thighs.

“you know,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses on your jaw “i’m not that into you.”

you laugh a little out of breath, biting the lobe of his ear. your breath ghosting over, “bullshit.”

—

the sliding door opened with a slight creak. 

you stepped out first. there was no trace that you just got railed shamelessly on  the kitchen counter—well, except from the faint hickeys already forming along your jaw to your collarbone.

but are they really going to see it? your friends are drunk—clueless, they probably think you were only gone for ten minutes, they’d already opened the fifth bottle of tequila. 

you sit quietly beside shoko, she looked at you with a hazy eyes, unmistakably drunk, and you smiled sheepishly. 

“what the fuck is that?”

“huh?” you asked innocently.

she pointed at your jaw, and the remaining three looked at you—wide eyes like sobriety just washed over them just like that.

“the fuck—” 

suguru was cut off when satoru stepped out. this fucking asshole didn’t bother fixing his hair. your lipstick still slightly smudged on his lips.

their eyes alternate between the two of you.

then silence.

loud silence.

“you fucking assholes!” choso stands up laughing, “pay up!”

you shot satoru a look, he sits down shrugging. just as clueless as you are.

what the fuck are they talking about?

“goddamn it. you can’t wait until next week at the house party?!” suguru punched satoru’s shoulder.

“ow—fuck! what the fuck are you guys talking about?!” 

but they didn’t answer. they just pulled out their wallets—groaning, as they put bills on choso’s hand, who’s practically already dancing so happily from where he stands.

“for the record!” yuki shouted, rolling her eyes at choso, “i bet that it was going to happen tonight! if not for this asshole convincing me that it’s definitely going to happen at the party next week!”

you choked, “do you guys have a bet?!”

“duhhh?” shoko nudged your shoulder, “we’ve been betting for months. you guys practically eye each other every time we hang out.”

unbelievable.

you purse your lips, looking at satoru—who just winked at you. 

“wait,” suguru deadpanned, “did you guys have sex in my kitchen?!”

“no.” you both said at the same time. looking at each other, sharing knowing glances. trying not to laugh. 

they all laughed—except for suguru, “BULLSHIT!”

you can call him your friend but you know there’s something that you can’t quite put your foot on.

just the other day, you’re hanging out at suguru’s place and he’d be across the room from you, sitting on the armchair—you notice him, because how could you not when he’s got that laugh—loud, bright and definitely magnetic whenever any one of you says something funny?

no, you weren’t watching him. why would you? 

so, you would look away, but when your gaze lands on him again he’s already looking at you—throwing you that smile instead of looking away, and you’ll smile back at him. 

then you’ll get distracted again when shoko snaps her fingers in front of you because you weren’t listening to her teaching you some card game that were overly complicated. so, you’ll look away but you could still feel the weight of his gaze on you.

or whenever you get too drunk when your group is out in the club. you’d drink too much, dance too much—so much so that you’re aware that you're pressed against him, that you’re aware that he’s gripping your hips tightly—your back settled on his chest, his breath warm against the skin of your neck. 

and then you’ll both laugh—or giggle while dancing, drunk in the loud booming music and strobe lights. 

then you’ll both do what you always do. pull away, because it means nothing. you’re just friends. having fun. 

or when you’re studying at the library, when you don’t get something about the topic—he’ll lean in a little too close that you could smell his cologne—a little too close that his voice is right in your ear, his arm slung over the backrest of your seat, while his hand rests on the flat of your back. 

and you do what you always do, as usual. 

brush it off even though your brain turned blank because your thighs were too pressed together.

i mean, what do you call that? 

and just like right now, you’re sitting across from him—you’re all here in suguru’s balcony—he dragged a table out here so they can smoke out in the open air while you guys were drinking.

the air was cold—you’d all been drinking, and you’re aware that you’re already a bit tipsy. i mean, you’re laughing too much even if choso’s joke isn’t that funny. 

and now, you’re all playing bullshit.

“wow, you’re all terrible liars,” shoko says, dragging a smoke from her cigarette.

“okay, queen of bullshit.” suguru answers and you all chuckled, he then places down two cards on the table, “a two and a five.”

yuki’s eyes narrowed, “bullshiiit!”

then suguru reveals his cards, it’s a queen and a ten. 

“we got a human lie detector right here.” choso says, suguru then takes two shots. “two sixes.”

“bullshit.” suguru called.

choso reveals his cards, he huffs a breath at suguru who’s smirking now—he takes two shots, “you’re full of shit.”

“you’re just mad, i can read you.”

choso just flipped him over, then satoru places two cards on the table with a smirk on his face, “two eights.”

you look at him—he’s leaning on his chair, too relaxed for someone who’s lying. his eyes flickers at you for a second—you may be drunk, but you saw it.

you saw it.

goddamn it, why is he making you feel this way?

why is he looking at you like he wants you—no, like he already has you wrapped around his fingers. he always has this kind of look that only he gives you—the one where it makes your nerves unravel. 

the one where you get aware of everything. 

like how tight your clothes are, how hard your thighs are pressed together—he has this kind of look like he’s just touching you with that gaze he’s dragging, prickling your skin that you could feel heat bubbling up to the surface. 

of course, you have to play it cool. 

but you hate it. you hate the way he’s looking at you. or maybe, you’re just overthinking it all. maybe it’s the liquor.

you’re quite drunk. maybe you’re just imagining things.

“bullshit.” shoko says but then he flips his card. it’s two eights. just like he said.

“you’re such a liar.” 

satoru laughs, his gaze landing on you again and you swear you could feel your heart do this weird, familiar flip inside your chest. 

you bit your lower lip, looking down at the cards in your hand. you set down two, “two fours.”

he smirks, speaking almost immediately. and here you’re painfully aware that he’s still looking at you. “bullshit.”

you raise your eyebrows, “how do you say so?”

“you bite your lip when you’re lying.” 

there’s that smirk that you wanna smack away. how in the hell does he notice that?

“do not.”

“do too.”

“do not.”

“flip your cards then.” he says, his eyes still locked on you. there’s that look again. 

you roll your eyes, flipping your cards over. it’s a jack and a three.

he gasp dramatically, there’s this playful look on his eyes. “you lie?!”

“you’re so dramatic.” you said while already reaching out for the shot glass that choso laid out for you.

then the game continued. too many shots. a lot of bickering and laughter. the boys were too loud and rowdy, you girls were just laughing at their nonsense. you swore suguru cheated but got away with it because everyone couldn’t stop laughing when choso slipped from his seat.

and somewhere in all of that, you can still feel satoru’s eyes on you. everytime he says a joke, he’ll look at you just so he could see if you’re giggling. 

and suddenly, there’s a shift between the two of you that you couldn’t brush off anymore.

you were all still busy laughing when you stretched your legs—then you instinctively jolted when you bumped your foot onto his.

but neither of you moved, the contact sent your nerves firing at an impossible rate—making your body tense, you must’ve drank too much because you feel too hot even though the night air was cold. 

then you tilt your head slightly, just to look at him. 

he’s still playing the game—talking to suguru like your skin isn’t touching. but he must’ve noticed it. you’re sure he knows it. so, you cleared your throat and looked away.

but it kills you that he’s not reacting. why isn’t he saying something? why isn’t he looking at you now?

you don’t know where you had the guts to do what you were about to do but fuck it.

so much for liquid courage, huh?

you shifted slightly in your seat, moving a little forward. then slowly, you drag your toes on the side of his foot to the ball of his ankle, doing a circular motion with your toe.

he didn’t pull away. 

you sip on your drink, propping your elbow to the table, pretending to listen to whatever story choso is telling now. 

then you continue, dragging your foot lightly up to his calf—he tensed, it was subtle but enough for you to notice. 

you weren’t looking at him.

not yet anyway.

you continued until your foot was just below his knee, and this time you hear the small stutter he made while he was talking to his best friend. but he composed himself, and you sip on your drink trying to hide a grin.

he recovered just like that. like you’re not teasing him under the table. like you aren’t running your toes on the hem of his gray sweatshorts—

“satoru.” yuki says, “it’s your turn.”

then you finally look at him, toes creeping under the fabric of his shorts, into his inner thighs—he blinks, his lips part slightly before clearing his throat. “huh? uh—two sixes one eight.”

you smirked, staring at him like you aren’t driving him madly crazy with what you’re doing.

“bullshit.” you called almost in a flash, all the while dragging your foot down to the side of his legs until you’re at his ankle again.

he stared at you, flipping his cards.

two fives and a king.

and just like that everyone cheered because they finally got him. 

you finally got him.

“ha!” shoko says pointing at him, “drink!”

satoru smirks, and raises the shot glass while everyone chants drink! drink!

he stares at you while taking a shot then slammed the glass face down on the table. he presses his foot back against yours—slowly, deliberately.

he didn’t shy away from you when he licked the last drop of tequila from the corner of his lips. 

then your heart screamed. 

chest heaving like you wanted them to know what you’re doing with him. he moves his foot against yours, like intertwining his ankles with yours—and this time, you felt your heartbeat everywhere.

at your neck, your ears even at your fingertips.

you swallowed thickly, looking down at your cards before pulling away to stand up too fast—too obvious.

the air caught on your throat. what else do you do?

“i—uh, need water.”

shoko raised her eyebrow, “you good?”

“yeah.” you answer quickly, “fine.”

“someone’s already drunk~” choso says in a sing-song tone, laughing. you just raised your middle finger before you walked off.

you’re barely halfway the sliding door into the living room when—

“where you going?” suguru asked him.

satoru raised his arms, stretching— “bathroom. why, you wanna come with?”

“fuck you.” suguru answers and he laughs, you muttered a curse before opening the sliding door—stepping in before he could catch up to you. 

the living room was warm while you padded  into the kitchen. 

you could hear the muffled sounds from the speaker and of your friends laughing out the balcony when you reached for the glass in the dish rack. you were opening the refrigerator when you heard footsteps behind you.

you didn’t need to look back.

you know it’s him.

“water?” you offered without glancing back, surprised at the steadiness of your voice even though your heart was already racing. surprised—when your brain was already reeling all kinds of things that you’d like to keep in your head.

“i’m good.” he answers with a low voice.

then you finally turned, and there he was, leaning on the counter with his arm crossed—his tousled white hair glinting underneath the dim lights—he’s watching you like you’re the only person left in the universe.

you stare back at him, leaning near the sink while holding the glass of water. 

“stop looking at me like that.” you finally say.

he chuckles, “like what?”

like what exactly?

like he wants you? like he wanted to kiss you?

“like that.” you answered vaguely.

“i’m not looking at you like whatever you mean.” he answers, pushing off the counter, stepping a little forward. 

you placed the glass on the sink, letting out a snort, “bullshit.”

“yeah? and are you going to pretend that you’re not looking at me that way?”

“am not.”

“bullshit. you’re a liar.”

he stepped closer until you’re just inches away, you looked up at his face. his figure is already towering over you. 

your lips part slightly, “i never lie. you do though.”

“bullshit.” his voice was dangerously low, he took one step closer. his hand finds its way to your waist.

you blinked. getting hyperaware of his hands sliding up your sides. you both paused, like you’re both gauging the weight of tension that filled the air.

“i never think about you.”

your voice falters just a little, “bullshit.”

“i don’t think about being this close to you.”

you laughed breathlessly, “yeah. total bullshit.”

he stepped just a little closer until he’s pressed against you, you tried backing up until you felt the edge of the counter behind your back, the back of your knees bumping onto the cabinet just below.

“i never thought about how it would feel to kiss you.”

you never got to call bullshit because he was already kissing you.

he kissed you like he meant to do it for so long. 

his kisses taste like desperation—the alcohol tasted bitter on your mouth but his was something different. something that you’ve thought about for so long.

his kisses tasted like you’re meant to, like it fits, it belongs. 

your hands found his shirt, clinging onto him to anchor yourself. your fingers twist against the fabric as your mouth moves against his—it was desperate, so wet and messy.

you’re already drowning but you’re aching for more. he kisses you frantically that your knees almost buckle, and you kiss him in a more needy way, like it’d kill you if his mouth weren’t on yours.

he licks your lips before sucking your lower lip into his mouth. he was biting your lip, sucking it in—his tongue brushes over your lips like a quiet plea and you instinctively let him in, his tongue rolling over yours and you let out a soft moan.

he pressed against you more—you’re trapped in between his body and the cold counter. his hand creeping inside your shirt just so he could feel you. just so he could ground himself—tell him that this was real.

this was finally happening.

you barely notice that he’d already lifted you on the counter until you feel the cold marble clashing with the heat in your thighs. you open your knees, legs hooking around his hips to pull him in.

his hands gripped your thigh like he’s melding his skin into yours, his thumb rubbing circles onto the soft swell of your skin. 

“can’t seem to stop,” he breathed pulling away, then he bites your lip, “tell me to stop—and i will—fuck, but please, fucking don’t.”

you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to press soft hungry kisses on his lips.

“do i look..” kiss “like i want you..” you kiss him deeper, you pull away gasping, “to stop?”

and just like that he was kissing you again. teeth clashing, tongues swirling into each other. messy—filthy and starved.

his hand underneath your shirt unclasps your bra, you pulled away to lift your own shirt up until you’re rid of it. your bra flawlessly dropping on your lap—

“fuuuck.” he choked, he gripped your hair to kiss you again—his hand massaging your breast—he rubs your nipple in between his fingers earning a muffled moan from you. 

you tug at the hem of his shirt, you murmured against his mouth, “take this off.”

and he did so eagerly, tossed it aside and the moment it was gone, your hands were on every part of his body—his chest, shoulder—god, his abs. his skin was hot against your palm—you trace your fingers like you're memorizing every part of him. 

“satoru—fuck.” you mewled when his kisses went down to your jaw—he sucks on a spot just below your ear, biting your skin hungrily. you gasp, your fingers gripping his surprisingly soft hair, “don’t stop.”

“i don’t plan to,” he murmured against your skin until he’s down, dipping his tongue on your collarbone, licking down until he’s on your chest. 

you pulled his hair while he pushed your mounds together—licking a stripe on your nipples, he was gripping the soft swell of your tits while sucking it in his mouth.

your skin was prickly, your nails dug into his back while he continued. 

“satoruuu—” you whine, “want you. please.”

he lets go of your tits with a pop, a string of saliva dripping from his swollen lips, he breathes, tugging on the waistband of your shorts, “you got me, baby.”

you lift yourself up a bit so he could pull your shorts down, he wasted no time sliding the fabric off your legs until it pooled on the kitchen floor. 

his eyes sinfully dragged across your body like he’d seen something so perfect—so maddeningly beautiful. he leaned in, pressing soft kisses against your inner thigh—his lips moved up until you felt his breath ghosting over exactly where you needed him to.

“satoru—”

“god,” he rasped out, licking your skin, “i’ve thought about this for so many times that i’ve lost count.”

you whimper when you feel his finger tug your underwear to the side, giving him a view of your wet, sloppy cunt—then he drops to his knees as if he’s worshipping you. your legs hooked on his shoulders while his hands were gripping on your thighs to keep you open.

“satoru—fucking hell—nghh—” his tongue was flat against your slit, he drags it up and down, the tip of his tongue swirling around your clit, his fingers parting your folds. 

you threw your head back, your hand anchoring you to the counter while the other was pulling on his hair as he ate you out like a starved man. 

satoru laps on your slit wantonly like he’d been denied for months and was making up for it—his tongue was moving sloppily, so filthy.

he looks up at you while he sucks your clit, your eyes meet and you bite your lip—you choked when he pulled away a bit just to spit on your already dripping cunt then he was back on you again.

he pries your folds open a little more, then he delves his tongue inside you— “fuuuck—nghhh—toruuu, so good! don’t stop, fuck—”

your toes curl just above the skin on his back, your grip on his hair tightens. the electricity reverberating on your body, pooling in your core.

“satoruuu!” you cried out, fisting his hair. 

he moaned against your cunt, the vibration pushing all of the sanity left in you. he was so so messy, so goddamn pretty eating you out so shamelessly.

then he shattered you—your body arched above the counter, bucking your hips against his mouth, his name tumbles off your mouth over and over again, your thighs convulse against his head. 

“sto—ugh! fuck,” you were a stuttering mess as he licked you through your orgasm—he run his tongue up and down until the very last twitch. 

you pulled his head away, breath ragged as you laugh breathlessly, “stop—you’re going to fucking kill me.”

he smirks as he stands up, his face is a mess—your juices coated around his mouth trickling down to his chin, he leaned in to kiss you again—you could taste yourself in his mouth but that didn’t matter. 

didn’t even matter that your friends are just outside.

the fuck if you both care.

you pull away, you stare with heavy-lidded eyes. “i want you inside me, please.”

my goood, how can he not fuck you when you desperately beg like that?

he didn’t make you ask again. he was already pulling his shorts down, his hard cock springs free. 

he’s fucking big—his cock was veiny with a slight curve, the tip flushed, glistening with precum—you couldn’t stop staring.

who knew. i mean, you’ve imagined what his dick looked like but—gaaah, this was so beyond—

you whine when you felt his tip slide against your wet folds, your juices smeared against the tip of his cock so deliciously.

“toru.” you rasped, “toru—want you inside, please.”

“you’re going to fucking kill me.” he choked, his eyes was dark, staring at you—still teasing your cunt, he groans, “you know that? you’re gonna be the death of me—shit.”

he leaned into your mouth, pressing a sloppy kiss while he lined himself, pushing in slowly. you both gasp into each other’s mouth as he buried his cock, he sank into you—slowly, inch by inch until you’re stuffed full of his cock.

“shit—” he muttered, pressing his forehead against you, “you feel so—god, you feel so fucking good. so warm and tight.”

“move,” you mewled, locking him in between your legs, “move, ‘toru, please.”

and he did, slowly. he wants to revel in the way you clamp around him—your walls so tight and warm, just perfect—so perfect, like you’re made for him.

your body twitches with every move he makes—then he moves, faster—harder, your sweaty skins slapping deliciously against each other, echoing through the kitchen.

his hands gripped your waist—his lips were on every part of your face, then your jaw, your collarbone like he couldn’t decide which part of you he wanted to kiss. god, he wanted it all. he wanted all of you.

“fuck, if i knew this was going to be this good—” he stutters, he wraps his arm around you to pull you closer, his hips angling a bit just so he could hit that spot that has your body writhing, “i would’ve made a move months ago—fuuuuck.”

you half-laughed, half-moaned, “what took you—nghhh—so long, huh?”

he smirks so devilishly, rutting his hips harder—his eyes stare at his cock disappearing inside you before he is back on your face, “didn’t know how to. you make me—fuck, you make me a fucking mess—”

he moved harder, melding his hands on your skin, “can’t think straight when i’m around you.”

because he really didn’t know how to. because he knew, if he touched you, he’s done for. he’s gone and he’ll never be able to come back.

“fuuuuck,” you cried out, your tits bouncing with every rut of his hips, “didn’t know you were—hngggg, such a lover boy—god!”

you clench around him, you feel a spring coiling—tightening around your stomach as your forehead falls onto his shoulder, you bite on the skin just above his collarbone while you come undone.

he followed soon after, steadied thrusts becoming sloppy—hips stuttering along with a cracked groan, spilling his load inside you with a shudder.

he collapsed against you. both of you catching your breath—and now you’re aware that you’re both naked above suguru’s counter.

god, he’s going to kill you both.

you could feel the sweat trickle on your skin, your heart slowly coming down from a high. his thumbs lazily rubbing circles against your thighs.

“you know,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses on your jaw “i’m not that into you.”

you laugh a little out of breath, biting the lobe of his ear. your breath ghosting over, “bullshit.”

—

the sliding door opened with a slight creak. 

you stepped out first. there was no trace that you just got railed shamelessly on  the kitchen counter—well, except from the faint hickeys already forming along your jaw to your collarbone.

but are they really going to see it? your friends are drunk—clueless, they probably think you were only gone for ten minutes, they’d already opened the fifth bottle of tequila. 

you sit quietly beside shoko, she looked at you with a hazy eyes, unmistakably drunk, and you smiled sheepishly. 

“what the fuck is that?”

“huh?” you asked innocently.

she pointed at your jaw, and the remaining three looked at you—wide eyes like sobriety just washed over them just like that.

“the fuck—” 

suguru was cut off when satoru stepped out. this fucking asshole didn’t bother fixing his hair. your lipstick still slightly smudged on his lips.

their eyes alternate between the two of you.

then silence.

loud silence.

“you fucking assholes!” choso stands up laughing, “pay up!”

you shot satoru a look, he sits down shrugging. just as clueless as you are.

what the fuck are they talking about?

“goddamn it. you can’t wait until next week at the house party?!” suguru punched satoru’s shoulder.

“ow—fuck! what the fuck are you guys talking about?!” 

but they didn’t answer. they just pulled out their wallets—groaning, as they put bills on choso’s hand, who’s practically already dancing so happily from where he stands.

“for the record!” yuki shouted, rolling her eyes at choso, “i bet that it was going to happen tonight! if not for this asshole convincing me that it’s definitely going to happen at the party next week!”

you choked, “do you guys have a bet?!”

“duhhh?” shoko nudged your shoulder, “we’ve been betting for months. you guys practically eye each other every time we hang out.”

unbelievable.

you purse your lips, looking at satoru—who just winked at you. 

“wait,” suguru deadpanned, “did you guys have sex in my kitchen?!”

“no.” you both said at the same time. looking at each other, sharing knowing glances. trying not to laugh. 

they all laughed—except for suguru, “BULLSHIT!”

You stared at the man in front of you. His jaw was clenched and his specs are slightly askew, and there’s obvious irritation dancing in his sharp sapphire eyes, his long white lashes fluttering. Goddamn, he’s tall.

And you are pissing him off.

“Uh—what—you bumped into me!” 

His figure was towering over you—his white messy hair caught a glimpse of the fluorescent light. 

“Because you weren’t looking. You’re on your phone.”

Well, sorry, if you were stressing about your upcoming long test—but you were here in the hospital instead of studying, accompanying your mother. Maybe she thought it’d be better to string you along in the hospital on the weekends.

“And you’re walking too fast.” you retorted, your chest was brewing. “Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

His lips twitch, almost smirking. You’re so fucking… irritating. “Wow. Was it your mission to irritate me today?”

You scoffed, my god, you hate him already and you don’t even know his name yet.

You reached for a napkin from your purse, attempting to ‘alleviate’ this situation but you know that there is nothing you could do anymore. You were about to dab on his coat when he stepped back.

“Are you seriously going to dab it in?”

“Wow. You’re so grumpy.”

“And you are irritating.” 

Yes. You get it.

“Then maybe you should get some more sleep?” 

He paused, for a moment, before he laughed. He actually laughed. 

Not that loud, but enough for you to ease a bit. He can’t believe that you still have something to say—and yet to say the one thing that he’s waiting for you to say.

“You’re unbelievable.” he muttered, he adjusted his glasses before peeling the coat off. “You owe me. Dry cleaners.”

You blinked, he’s only wearing his dark navy scrubs now, you see his badge clipped on his breast pocket. 

Gojo Satoru | Clinical Clerk

His name lingered in your mind longer than it should be. Where have you heard that name again?

But you didn’t have any time to rack your brains out when he handed his white coat to you with care, like it’s something so fragile it almost makes you scoff. But you took it anyway, because taking it to the dry cleaners was the only thing that you could do now—and you know, it’s kind of your fault too.

“Don’t put bleach on it. I’m serious.”

“I know how laundry works.” you rolled your eyes, folding his white coat carefully in your arms.

“Really? You’re not just a spoiled brat who spills coffee on someone’s coat?”

You deadpanned, not bothering to answer him because seriously, you can’t argue with him anymore. You handed him your phone and his brows furrowed, “Your number. How could I give this back to you if I can’t contact you?”

He snatched your phone from your hand, “For once you were actually thinking.”

Oh my god, give me the strength not to wipe his coat on the floor right now.

You just watched him type in his number, he called his phone from yours so he could save your number. 

“There.” he says, handing you your phone back. “I expect my coat to be sparkling clean.”

“Yeah, fine.”

He didn’t answer you anymore and just turned to walk away. But before he disappeared into the hallway, he waves over his shoulder. 

“Talk about dramatic.”

Three days have passed before he reached out to you.

You had honestly forgotten about the coat—well, you blame the myriad of long tests and practical exams for the past three days. You’d gotten immersed in studying that you forgot that you had to actually give his coat back. 

But it was already clean and hanging neatly in a garment bag, just forgotten for a bit.

And honestly? You didn’t know how to face him again without getting embarrassed. You may have been too much of a brat that day. 

[grumpy med student | 6:57 PM] where’s my coat i need it

[grumpy med student | 6:58 PM] you’ve thrown it away, didn’t you?

You rolled your eyes, typing on your phone.

[You | 6:59 PM ] i can bring it to you right now, my classes have just finished. 

[You | 7:00 PM] i had it cleaned, don’t worry. u asked for bleach, right?

[grumpy med student | 7:01 PM] stop fucking with me. meet me at the ER entrance in 20

You stared at the screen for a bit too long. How in the hell did he manage to annoy you with just a text?

But still, you were there twenty minutes later with his coat draped over your arm. You’re still wearing your white uniform, your ID badge hanging on a lanyard embroidered with the hospital’s name—you’re scrolling through your group chats to read about the practicals that were coming up.

“Huh.” you looked up at the voice, his face etched with surprise as he looked at you, “ You actually look so miserable.”

Your eyes fell on him and there he was with his navy scrubs with a stethoscope slung around his neck and the only thing missing was his white coat that was hanging from your arm. 

“Thanks. I just came from a six-hour lecture.” you say, voice laced with sarcasm then you handed him his coat. “Here. We’re even now.”

“Didn’t know we study in the same university,” he says. 

How could he even know when you’re in different buildings? And he’s already in med school?

“So, what are you?” He didn’t give you a chance to answer when he reached for your badge, “Physical Therapy, huh?”

You snatched it from his hand, “I’m leaving.”

He smirks, “Don’t trip and spill some coffee on someone else now, YN.”

“Try opening your eyes while you walk, Satoru.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and turned away. God, he was so annoying. 

Your mother’s rounds were running longer than usual.

She keeps on insisting you wait for her at the hospital so you could have lunch together. With you, living in the dorms and your long, grueling classes eating up most of your days, this was the only time you get to spend together.

And she’s late. And you’re hungry.

Now, you’re in the hospital cafeteria, eating the chips that you got from the vending machine. 

This is the only place you could think of where you could spread your books and notes. You can’t afford not to study right now. 

Your mind was full of some terms you’re not even sure you’re understanding. You were muttering words, teaching yourself like it actually helps. You didn’t even notice a group of med students passing by your table until a voice cut through the noise going on in your head.

“Hey, Miss PT.” 

You looked up at him.

He looked the same. Glasses perched on top of his nose, same navy scrubs except he was the one holding the coffee now. 

“Are you planning to get back at me?”

Satoru stared right at you, eyes flickering between you and your notes, “As much as I’d love to stain your white uniform, fortunate for you, I’m not as clumsy as you.”

“Aren’t you too busy to irritate me right now?” you retorted, looking back down at your notes to… read? 

Anything. 

Just so you could look away from him. 

Then you hear him laugh lightly—annoyingly, before turning away. You stare at his back as he walks away then you see him talk to a dark-haired med student who looked just as tired as he is before disappearing.

Then you look down, something caught at the side of your eyes.

Then you see a small chocolate bar on top of your open notes.

Huh.

You muttered a curse under your breath. How else are you going to go to your dorm when it’s pouring?

A heavy breath escaped your lips as you tuck your arm in your chest, watching the rain splatter down the pavement. The rain was cold, loud—and seemed like it would not stop any time soon.

“Let me guess, you’re trying to catch a cold to miss clinical exams?”

Your head tilted to the side quickly. That familiar voice grazing through your ears.

It has been almost a week since you saw him. He wasn’t wearing scrubs anymore. He’s just wearing his white uniform just like you are, a university hoodie for med students draped on his arm.

“Let me guess, you’re going to annoy me to death now?” you gave him a sarcastic smile, “What are you doing at our building?”

“Had to drop off something. Why? You thought I was looking for you?” a menacing grin tugging on his lips.

Does he really have to be this annoying? And unbelievably good looking?

You ignored his comment, “I don’t suppose you have an umbrella?”

“Nope.” he answered, you just sighed and looked away—you frown a bit as you saw some of the students from different programs were looking your way, you just shrugged it off, trying to wait the rain out. 

Satoru stared at you, really stared at you like you’re a mnemonic that he was memorizing—you were hugging yourself, teeth clattering slightly, your hair strands stuck in your cheeks.

“Here.” you glanced back at him, your eyebrows furrowing.

“What?”

“Take it. Don’t want you dying from hypothermia over there.” 

It’s his hoodie. 

You looked at him and back at the hoodie again. You blinked once trying to comprehend what he’s offering you right now. 

Is he really? This grumpy, annoying med student is offering you his hoodie?

“Are you going to take it or not? My arm is killing me.” he says, nudging it closer to you. 

You sighed, taking it from him with slight hesitation, if you weren’t so cold right now—but you are, so you swallowed your pride, “Thank you.”

“Huh?” he leaned closer as if he didn’t hear what you said, but you know he did because there’s a smirk pulling on his lips right now. “Didn’t hear what you said. Come again?”

You leaned closer, whispering in his ear. “I said, fuck off.”

You slipped on his hoodie, it was annoyingly soft and smelled like him. That’s actually the first thing that you noticed—and you suddenly realized, you actually know what his scent is.

You actually know what Satoru Gojo smelled like even if you’re not around him that much.

And it pisses you off just a little how nice it felt around you. 

“You know you’d have to return that to me, right?”

It’s been two days and you still have his hoodie.

You told yourself you’re going to return it. That’s why you’re here again.

In front of the emergency room entrance, in the middle of the day. 

If anyone sees you, maybe you could say that you were going to see your mother.

Or, maybe because your professor had canceled his lecture for today and you had nothing else to do.

You’ve got about two hours before your next subject and you got time to kill. Your friends had already gone to the nearest mall and you had no energy to walk around right now.

That’s why you’re here.

That’s what you’re telling yourself because you’re seeing him so often these days, it’s almost becoming a routine and it weirds you out in a way that you can’t explain.

“Hey.” 

You turned and there he was again, tall as ever, just a few steps from you.. 

“Your hoodie.” you say, lifting it. “Thanks.”

His eyes just flickered to the fabric on your arm then back to your face again. “You busy?”

“Not as busy as you.” you say with a mischievous grin.

He almost rolls his eyes, “Have you eaten yet?”

“No.” you answered, a teasing smile escaping past your lips.  “Why? You want to eat with me?”

“You like hospital food?”

And that’s how you ended up in that cafeteria again, except you’re sitting across from him now and his hoodie was still on your arm. So, you set it down on  the chair beside you—it’s just sitting there, waiting to be brought up.

You’re twisting the pasta with your fork, and stared at it like it hurt you—how could it look this… bland? 

But that’s not what concerns you the most, it’s the fact that the silence between the two of you was more comfortable than it is awkward. 

Like you had done this before—or, like this isn’t going to be a one-time thing.

Satoru was about to bite on his sandwich when he looked at you. “Do you always stare at your food like it has done you wrong?”

“Do you always sound this irritating when you’re chewing?”

“Yeah. There’s actually a class in med school for that.” he bites on his sandwich, not shying his blue eyes from you.

You stare back at him, sipping from your cup. “You think you’re so funny, huh?”

“I know I am.” his smugness didn’t escape past you. Annoying.

You huffed a breath, “Should’ve gone with my friends.”

“Uh-huh.” he agreed, nodding his head. “Then I wouldn’t have to sit here and endure this torture.”

You scrunch your nose, glaring at him and he just gives you a sheepish smile. 

Isn’t he the one who invited you here? And now he’s acting like you’re the one who interrupts his peace. 

You didn’t answer—but you glared at him enough to let him know that he’s an exhausting little prick.

When is the bickering ever going to stop?

You bite back your breath before finally bringing it up, “Aren’t you going to take your hoodie back?” 

You couldn’t take the way his hoodie just stares at you. It’s too weird—like it’s really meant for you when it’s not.

It shouldn’t.

“You keep it.”

“Why?”

Satoru looked at you, “So you’ll have to return it again.”

So here you were, in your next class, wearing his damn hoodie because the air conditioning in this lecture hall was on full blast. 

“Medicine.” you hear Maki say. 

“Huh?”

She pointed at the back of the hoodie with her lips, “You’re wearing a hoodie from the college of medicine and surgery. You’re a med student now?”

“It’s not mine.”

“Then why are you wearing it?”

Yes. 

Why?  

Why are you wearing it?

It has been two weeks since you last saw him.

Not that you were counting. 

Well, maybe, it’s because your mother hasn’t been begging you to eat lunch with her and you had no business being at the hospital.

Not that you were hoping for him to drop something off at your building again. My god, why are you even thinking about him now?

It’s because you were staring at his hoodie right now, just sprawled across the backrest of the seat of your study table. You looked away, reaching for your phone to check if he had messaged you—

No, what business does he have messaging you? You tossed your phone away and buried your face on the pillow.

This is so goddamn embarrassing.

The next day, you were about to finish your last class for the day when your mother had texted you and wanted you to come.

And, fuck, you couldn’t get out of your building fast enough. You were almost sprinting to the hospital.

Then you slowed down… why in the hell are you this excited? Isn’t he annoying to you?

So you walked—tried to walk normally, but you were clearly searching for that white hair as you walked through the hallway. 

And then you paused, your heart gradually pounds inside your chest, until the only thing that you could feel was your heart trying to claw its way out of your ribs. 

There he was, standing just outside the exam room, reading something on the charts when you sneaked behind him.

“Hey, annoying.”

Satoru pauses for a fraction of a second before looking at you, your eyes met, and he looked like he hasn’t slept for about a year. 

“Hey.” he greeted you back, his voice was flat—tired.

You blinked, letting out a faint smirk. “Wow, don’t get so excited now.”

You could almost see that grin tugging on his lips but… none. He just adjusted his glasses and scratched the back of his neck. “Just had a long day.”

You searched his face. Yeah, he looked so tired like he hasn’t slept—which, really he hasn’t. But there was something else.

“Oh, you okay?” you swallowed thickly, clutching on your bag—where his hoodie sits heavy just like that feeling creeping up on you.

“Fine.” he says, “I gotta go back.”

Satoru didn’t give you any chance to answer, he walked past you—not a single grin or snarkiness. He didn’t even give you a second glance.

So, you stood there, words still stuck on your throat, standing there a few more seconds than you should have.

[grumpy med student | 11:58 PM] u still up?

You stared at your phone. The bright light from your laptop screen illuminating the frown etched on your face. 

[You |11:59 PM] what do u think

[grumpy med student | 11:59 PM] studying?

[You | 12:00 AM] how else am i supposed to answer the long test tomorrow

[grumpy med student | 12:00 AM] what topic

[You | 12:01 AM] orthopedic conditions

You hated how much you stared at your phone, your conversation still open as if you’re really anticipating everything that he’s going to say. 

Then three minutes passed and he still hasn't answered and you thought that he had vanished again. And that was it. 

It was three days since he gave you the cold shoulder in the hospital, you were supposed to be mad at him for reasons that you don’t even know—or if you even had the right to, and now you’re just waiting for him to respond—

The shrill ringing of your phone cuts off your thoughts.

You looked at the screen and there was his contact. 

grumpy med student Calling…

Don’t answer it, you say. Why is he even calling you this late? 

Your fingers hovered over the screen, thinking it over, debating yourself if it’s a good thing that you talk to him right now.

But then you sighed, your finger clicking the answer button. 

 “Hi.”

You heard him breathe on the other side of the phone, “Sorry.”

“For what?” you were almost whispering, like you couldn’t believe that you were talking to him right now.

“Three days ago. I wasn’t in the mood.” 

You didn’t say anything right away. 

The silence filled with quiet breathing from either of you. 

Why is he saying sorry, even though it wasn’t a big deal?

It really isn’t.

Right?

“Okay.” you say softly, and then it was his turn this time to stay quiet. Then you hear him shift, maybe from his bed.

“You still have my hoodie?”

Then your heart pounds. Because you were wearing it. You’re fucking wearing it. It’s wrapped around you, clinging on your skin along with his scent that still lingers in it.

“No, I threw it out.” then you heard him laugh, a breathy laugh that made you slightly insane. “Cause you pissed me off.”

“I said I’m sorry, didn’t I?” he paused for a bit, “Are you still mad?”

You huffed, “Am I allowed to?”

You hold your breath waiting for his answer. What kind of question is that?

“You are.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. So instead, you say, “I’m hanging up. I’m studying.”

“Wait.” 

“What now?”

“I’m studying too.” he says, you can hear shuffling on the other side, “Don’t hang up.”

An irritated groan came out of your mouth, refusing to lift your head up from your desk. If you could get just a minute of sleep you’d be fine. 

But there’s someone pissing you off by nudging your arm. Repeatedly, to say. 

You haven’t had the chance to sleep, thanks to a certain someone who called you at midnight and kept you talking until your brain turned to mush.

And the nudging doesn’t stop.

You finally lifted your head, your eyes stinging from the lack of sleep. “What?!”

Then you froze, just seeing who it was.

Satoru was standing there, looking down at you with an infuriating smirk on his lips—his eyes flickering down briefly to his hoodie that you were wearing. “Now, you’re the grumpy one.”

“And who’s fault is that?” your brows furrowed as you narrowed your eyes. 

Then you suddenly realized, he’s in your building. 

In your lecture hall.

Right in front of you—in front of your entire block.

You blinked—a little stunned as he placed a coffee on your desk, with a chocolate bar just like the one he left you last time. 

Did he just come all the way here to give you a cup of coffee?

Your eyes darted around slightly, your block mates were already watching—whispering like you’ve brought someone famous. Because how often do you see a third year med student in his scrubs, dropping off some coffee for a second year pre-med student?

Exactly. Never.

Then all of it clicked into place like a perfect puzzle.

Satoru Gojo.

You’ve heard his name before. From all around the campus—from the whispers, he’s that med student your block mates were all talking about.

You just didn’t realize it was him. Took you a month. 

“Now we’re even.” he says casually, “Bye.”

Then he left you there, with your mouth slightly open—and with the knowing looks that your block mates were giving you. 

Especially the one beside you.

“Oh.” Maki smirks, “So, that’s Satoru Gojo.”

You blinked at her, mouth shut tightly. 

“Didn’t know you were dating the med school’s golden boy.”

Dating?

Is she kidding right now?

Your eyes gaze upon the coffee he left for a little too long.

“We’re not—he’s… not—”

“Uh-huh.” Maki nods, now staring at the hoodie that you are wearing. “Sure.”

The one thing that you were wishing as of now was for the ground to swallow you whole.

“You’re being weird.”

There you were, elbows propped on the table, cheeks resting on your palm as you shamelessly stare him down.

It didn’t matter that he was famous in your university and everyone was talking about him, blah blah. It bothers you that it took you this long to realize.

Well, you really don’t pride yourself on engaging in senseless gossip, much less about some handsome someone you don’t even know—well, now you know.

Because you’re eating with him side by side, at the hospital cafeteria, with the shitty food.

“You know they call you the ‘golden boy’, right?”

Then he groaned, poking on his food. “So?”

“How come I didn’t know?” you murmured, “I mean, I always hear them talk about you, I just didn’t realize it was you. I just felt stupid?”

“It’s because you are.” and he said that with a straight face, you glare at him and he smiles, “Can you just eat?”

“Okay, golden boy.” 

“Can you stop?” 

You scrunch your nose and give him a little smile before snatching a fry from his plate, “Make me.”

“Ah.” he laughs—adjusting his specs before leaning in, “You really want to go there? I don’t think you can handle it if I do.”

It was safe to say that you’re flustered, you tried to hold your ground but something in the way he stared at you made your stomach churn in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

“Shut up.” that’s all you could say before pushing his forehead away using your index finger. “Just eat your food.”

─── MONDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 5:45 PM] i’m outside your lecture hall

[You | 5:46 PM] why? u miss me?

[grumpy med student | 5:46 PM] no. i’m just not irritated enough today, maybe seeing ur face would fix that

You purse your lips, trying so hard not to let a smile slip past your lips. Your professor was still on the last slide of her lecture, wrapping things up.

While you were already shoving things in your bag rather hastily for someone who ‘doesn’t care’ whether he’s there or not—and when your professor said the class was dismissed, you said a quick goodbye to Maki before stepping out the hall.

He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed—hair messy, specs looking unfairly good on him. 

He looked up from his phone, “Took you long enough.”

You raised your brows, “Well, I’m sorry if my studies are a bother to you having your need to be extremely irritated today.”

“Apology accepted.” he says, pushing off the wall to step beside you. “Library?”

You started walking, side by side—not minding the looks coming your way. “Uh-huh.”

Maybe you could see now why they called him the golden boy.

It’s not just his looks, but the way he’s so focused—head dipped down on his books like his eyes were glued on the paper. He was scribbling notes, tapping his pen lightly—his lips parted slightly.

You could see why they’re talking. 

He’s like an all-in-one package—the looks, talent, skills… the way his face looks intent but calm while he’s studying.

But for you, he’s just the grumpy med student who bumped into you and made you spill your coffee on him.

─── TUESDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 3:12 PM] i think my legs would fall of if i moved

[You | 3:12 PM] why

[grumpy med student | 3:13 PM] they made me stand for 6 hours straight. fuck it, i’m never moving from this gurney

[You | 3:14 PM] aw, poor baby. want me to carry u home? );<

[grumpy med student | 3:15 PM] yes baby

[You | 3:16 PM] fuck u

─── WEDNESDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 6:17 PM] bring highlighters, forgot mine. not YELLOW

[You | 6:17 PM] what’s your beef with yellow

[grumpy med student | 6:17 PM] hurts my eyes

[You | 6:18 PM] you know what hurts your eyes? lack of sleep

He looked up at you when you laid out a bunch of highlighters in front of him, “Don’t worry. Not one of ‘em is yellow.”

“Did you go around and ask a bunch of people for highlighters?” his eyes followed you as you sat in front of him. 

You just shrugged your shoulders, opening your own notes—hiding a grin behind the paper.

─── THURSDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 6:45 PM] where are u? some freshmen stole our table. the fuck

[You | 6:46 PM] our prof is still wrapping up

[grumpy med student | 6:47 PM] get here fast

You roll your eyes as you read his text. Your professor ended the class and you stood up almost immediately. 

“Going on a date again?” 

You glanced at your friend, brows furrowing. “It’s not a date.”

Maki doesn’t know why you’re still fooling her, maybe because you don’t know yourself what this is. 

“Oh. Okay. Say hi to Gojo for me.” she says, laughing before stepping out the door. And you just huffed out a breath before picking up your bag.

You walk slowly—just to spite Satoru, and to think about what really is this. 

Well, you’re just studying together. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?

─── FRIDAY───

[grumpy med student | 4:45 PM] i forgot to tell u earlier, someone just came up to me and asked if MI stands for mild infection

[You | 4:46 PM] my god

[grumpy med student | 4:46 PM] haha right.

[grumpy med student | 4:46 PM] what time’s your out? lecture just finished

[You | 4:47 PM] i'm here at the 2nd floor lounge w my friends. why?

He didn’t respond after that, you didn’t think much about it. Maybe he got pulled into a case, or he thought it’d be better to annoy his friends other than you.

Not until Maki nudges you with her shoulder, looking at the figure walking up to your table. 

And there he was, Satoru Gojo, gracing your building with his presence—still in his lecture uniform, his hands were in his pocket like he’s a walking drama that’s about to happen.

“I don’t think you belong here.” you say as soon as he sat beside you, in front of your friends who’s just looking at him with their jaw slightly dropped.

“Yeah? I was told I could find the most irritating person here. And, yeah. Here she is.” 

Your eyes were flickering in between your notes and him. 

Because for the past ten minutes, he’s been blinking slowly—nodding off just a little before snapping his eyes back open.

You try not to stare at him but it’s really hard not to.

Satoru  shifts in his seat, his cheek dips down on his folded arms—and then, poof, out cold.

Seriously?

You pressed your cheek against your palm and let yourself stare at him. His white hair was messier than usual, his specs almost out of place—his lips are parted slightly, small huffs of breath shuffling out. 

He looks so exhausted. 

This is so stupid, my god.

Your eyes darted around the library to see if someone else is looking—but they’re caught up in their own world, so you extended your arm, reaching out for his glasses before removing them slowly and placing them neatly on the table.

You should’ve stopped there.

But your fingers lightly grazed his hair strands, brushing it gently out of his face. 

It doesn’t make sense why—you’re here tucking his hair like you’re meant to do it. You don’t know why you keep meeting up with him when he’s just supposed to be a stranger you accidentally spilled your coffee to. 

It’s like suddenly you’re looped in each other’s orbits and you can’t go on a single day without even talking to each other. 

This is so stupid.

You sighed, leaning back on your chair and focused on your notes again. 

Twenty minutes later, maybe more, he stirred.

You look up just in time to see him squinting his eyes against the light, he looked at you still a bit disoriented.

“You didn’t leave?” he mumbled—voice hoarse from sleep, now sitting up and stretching his arm.

“No.” you replied, “I’m afraid the librarian might kick you out.”

He lets out a soft laugh before rubbing the back of his neck. His eye catches yours—neither of you says anything for a moment. 

You coughed a bit, handing him his glasses. “Here. I thought you might need it.”

[grumpy med student | 6:30 PM] cafe’s too loud

[grumpy med student | 6:30 PM] someone got our table in the library again

[You | 6:31 PM] find another place, we’re almost finished here

[grumpy med student | 6:32 PM] it's all packed

[You | 6:33 PM] are u sure

[grumpy med student | 6:34 PM] ?

[grumpy med student | 6:34 PM] yes im sure, u wanna go check it yourself?

[You | 6:35 PM] ugh so maybe next time?

[grumpy med student | 6:35 PM] how about my place? it’s quiet

You were having a staring contest with your phone again.

His place and quiet didn’t quite add up to you. Your brain was reeling its wheels trying to conjure every possible way going to his place for the first time ever might entail.

It’s not like this is the first time you’re going to be alone together. It’s just that—this feels different, too different.

[grumpy med student | 6:37 PM] unless you don’t want to, it’s fine we can study tomorrow

[You | 6:37 PM] no it’s okay

[grumpy med student | 6:37 PM] okay, i’m outside your lecture hall

And that’s how you ended up in his place, at the living room floor with your notes and books splayed on the coffee table and on the floor—just anywhere near. 

His place was surprisingly clean. Not too clean, but enough to surprise you considering he’s too busy. There were a lot of medical textbooks near the coffee table, some takeout containers but that was it. 

And there’s definitely his scent that lingers around the air. 

It was silent between you two—it’s always like that, not awkward silence but comfortable. You were both flipping through books, handouts and whatnot. 

You were scribbling left and right and sometimes mumbling mnemonics like you’ve lost your mind.

Sometimes he’d ask you some questions about anatomy because he needs to recall something—or when you’re spacing out, he’d nudge your knee with his and you’d flick your pen or a yellow highlighter to his direction.

Yeah, well, it was a mix of peaceful yet chaotic. 

Satoru looked up from his book, arching his brow when you sprawled on the carpet, your handouts placed above your face.

“If I read the word vertigo one more time, I swear I’ll jump off the balcony,” you say, your voice a little muffled due to the papers that were covering your face.

“Neuro?”

“Uh-huh.” you replied, groaning. 

“Okay, I get why you’re being so dramatic now. Take a break?”

You pulled the papers out of your face as you sat up, “Yes. Please.”

You lean the side of your  body against the couch, elbows resting on the cushion as you look at him. “So, were you like this when you were in college?”

“Like what?” He removes his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Uh—annoying?”

“Yeah, it’s innate.” and you both snorted, “It’s a gift, don’t you know?”

You waved your hand off, “But seriously, what were you like?”

He turned, mimicking your position. “Just like this but minus the parties. Kinda reckless. Uh, handsome?”

Then you threw your handouts at him. 

“And you, after college are you going straight to med school?”

You hummed, because that was always the plan. It never changed. 

“Yeah. That’s always the plan.” you answered, “So, you partied in college, huh? I could see it.”

He raised his brow, a smirk appearing on his lips. “Oh, yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” you narrow your eyes, looking at him carefully like you are analyzing him. “You’re wearing a backwards cap and oversized long sleeves with the first few buttons unbuttoned, probably holding a red cup—then there’s girls hovering over you, while you give your number left and right, did I nail it?”

Satoru blinked for a bit, then he suddenly laughed. “That’s oddly specific. What are you, a witch?”

You snorted a laugh, pointing at the small picture frame on his TV console. It’s a picture of him with his friends at a party—and he was wearing exactly what you had said. 

Satoru blinked, looking at the photo then back at you. 

Then he suddenly flicks your forehead—not too strong, but enough for you to glare at him.  “You saw it earlier, didn’t you?”

“Ouch?!” you winced, a menacing smile slowly creeping up to your lips. “Even if I didn’t, I know you were like that.”

“Okay, miss psychic. But you were wrong about one thing.” he stretched his arms, and you could almost see the electrical field of smugness around him.

“And what is that?”

“I never gave my number to anyone.”

You raised a brow, “And why?”

“Because they wouldn’t stop texting.”

“But you gave your number to me.” 

He stops for a bit.

“Yeah, because you have my coat. I was afraid you’ll throw it out of spite,” he smirks.

“You’re so annoying.” you roll your eyes, your lips trying to twitch into a smile. “So you never dated anyone serious?”

He hummed, like he’s trying to think of every girl that he dated and you almost threw a pillow in his direction. “Just the one. But we broke up after a year.”

You were about to speak when he did it first. “How about you? You ever had a boyfriend?”

You shrugged, “I had a boyfriend. First year. For just a few months. But it’s fine, we’re just friends now.”

You swore you saw his grin falter a bit—his jaw clenched slightly before speaking, “Ah. Dark-hair, looks like he hasn’t slept in quite a while, that guy?”

You blinked, “How did you know?”

“That day in the lounge,” he paused, “He was  staring at you and he looked pissed when I sat beside you.”

Your brows furrow a bit then you laugh, “He always looks like that.”

“Right.” he paused, he was smirking but his eyes told a different story. “Totally normal.” 

Both of you just stared at each other until you looked away and he cleared his throat like there’s something stuck in there that he couldn’t quite say. 

“Okay. Break’s over.” he says, and just like that he’s got his specs on and a book on his lap again.

“Yeah.” you mumbled, and reached for your handout then you turned away.

The silence envelops the two of you again. All you could hear was his AC unit humming, his shallow breaths and the papers rustling. You were tapping your fingers on the carpet over and over again while you tried to read what was on the paper.

But all the letters all seemed mushed as you try to comprehend the look he gave you earlier. 

What the fuck. 

It was ten minutes until you spoke again.

“Satoru.”

“Yeah?” he answers, gaze not leaving the book.

“Let me try the Dix-Hallpike maneuver on you.”

Then he looked up—you were holding the book up to show him the illustration, his eyebrow creased. “You really think you could pull me down without dislocating my neck?”

You thought about it. He’s taller than you, probably a bit heavy. But, hey, there’s no harm in trying, right?

You squint your eyes, “Come on. I just want to practice. It’s for the sake of medicine and my future patients.”

He groaned, removing his glasses, then he stood up to sit on the couch. Thank god his couch is L-shaped, you have plenty of space for him because he is freakishly tall. 

You had him on the couch in a long sitting position, then you stood in front of him. Your hands shake a bit when you hold his face on each side, tilting it gently.

Your heart was pounding, how can it not when this  six-foot tall med student was staring at your face like you’ve got all the answers in the world—

“You’re shaking.” his voice was low.

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“It’s because you’re annoying, put your weight on me.” you say a little bit pissed, and he just laughs. “I’m going to lean you back now.”

And you tried, like, really tried but his muscle mass and gravity weren’t on your side. He leaned a little bit too enthused, his shoulders were also hanging because you hadn’t calculated the size of this couch.

This maneuver isn’t meant for this couch, really.

He burst out laughing and you did too, “You broke your patient.”

You were still laughing, hands clutching your stomach, he sat up. “Let me try it on you.”

“You don’t even know how.” you say, still giggling.

“I saw you did it, didn’t I? And lucky for you, I’m a fast learner.” he reached out to your book and read the section for a bit.

You just watched as he read for a while, a smile creeping up on your lips.  “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Don’t break my neck.” you say as a warning.

“Yeah, yeah.” he says, tapping the couch for you to sit on. Then it was your turn.

Your breath hitched when he placed his hand, his palm on your jaw—his thumbs placed on your cheeks, and his fingers were supporting your neck. 

Then he leaned you back, your head hanging from the couch—you didn't realize that he was too close until you felt his breath on your cheeks. 

“So, tell me,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. “What signs to look out for when your patient is positive for this maneuver?”

“Uh—” you paused, your voice was close to cracking. “Nystagmus.”

“Good.” he mumbles, his breath getting heavy. “For how long?”

Then you tilt your head to look at him, he was still holding you. His thumb was brushing your cheeks.

“For… uh—seconds to minutes…”

My god, this felt like hours.

You could feel the air shift and all the nerves in your body had awakened.

Your gaze locked into each other and it just clicked.

Then he pressed his lips onto yours, not a sliver of hesitation like he was sure he wanted to do this.

The kiss felt inevitable. 

Your eyes widened before you closed them, tugging on his shirt to pull him close—his hand moved to the back of your neck before pulling you up without breaking the kiss. 

You could feel your body warm up despite the air conditioning being on low temperature—the nerve endings on your skin were working full-time as his fingers grip the back of your neck a little.

Then his back hits the cushion with a soft thud.

His hands settled on your hips—your weight hovering over him as you straddle his lap—he deepened this kiss, biting your lower lip—pushing his tongue in, making you whimper in his mouth.

Your hands travelled to his hair, grasping the locks in between your fingers. His hands were circling in on you now.

He was kissing you like he was being starved—like he wanted to devour you whole.

Then the kiss turned deeper, messier and louder—teeth clashing, lips biting, tongue delving inside just to taste every inch of your mouth—none of it was neat, he was kissing you sloppy.

Satoru groaned into your mouth when you moved your hips a little. You could feel him bulging underneath your clothed sex, he gripped your hips trying to keep you steady.

Then he pulled away—his eyes lidded, lips were swollen as you looked down at him, both your breaths uneven.

He didn’t say anything—just looked at you like he was memorizing the way your lips quiver as you breathe.

“We should stop.” he finally says, his voice rough.

“Why?” you ask softly, chest heaving—your hand still tangled in his hair, your fingers combing his soft locks.

“Because if we don’t,” he swallowed thickly, gripping your hips like he’s holding to what restraint he has left. “I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back anymore.”

Your ears pulsate, your face warms up as you stare at him. 

God, you’re making him crazy.

The walk back to your dorm was silent. Not the tense silent kind of thing, where someone is about to throw a fit or cry.

It’s a ‘we-just-full-on-make-out-and-don’t-know-what-to-say’ kind of silence.

The kind that made your footsteps heavy on the sidewalk—you can’t even look at him, and you know he can’t look at you too. 

Because he hadn’t said much since he offered to walk you back to your dorm—just took your bag without even saying a word, his skin brushes against you a bit and that was all, that was the last contact that you two ever made.

You were asking when the bickering would stop, and here it is. It stopped.

You used to walk like this together all the time. To the library, to the hospital cafeteria, to the café—bickering, nudging each other, making stupid jokes and annoying the hell out of each other and now it’s just… all gone.

You have no idea what else to do now. It’s like an itch on your brain that you can’t scratch. How are you supposed to act now? How do you even walk normally? How do you even breathe normally?

You swallowed hard, your brain was starting to irritate you. It’s screaming at you over and over again. You kissed him.

Nuh-uh, not just kiss, you made out with him. On his couch. With his hands gripping your waist. His fingers tracing your spine. Your lips clashing, molded into each other like it was the most natural thing in the universe.

You pursed your lip, huffing out a small breath that you wish he didn’t notice. Your thoughts were scattered, you couldn’t even think straight. You couldn’t find any right words to say.

And yet, you caved.

Your eyes looked forward, “You’re awfully quiet.” 

“So are you.” he replies, then you look at him and he is staring at you.

And there he was calm. He always looked like that. Like this didn’t shake him.

Was he spiraling too? Is he pretending right now? You don’t know. You can’t even tell.

What now? What are you going to say? Are you going to ask him now what that kiss meant?

You looked away again. Wouldn’t it be better if he said something—maybe joke about it a little or annoy you, tease you—like he always does. But none of that was happening. 

He stayed silent. And so did you, until you reached your dorm building.

“This is you.” he finally says, handing your bag to you.

You took it, and his fingers brushed into you again.

You open your mouth to say something but none of the words come out. Your throat felt like something big was stuck in it and you couldn’t spew what you wanted to say. 

“Good night,” he said, and you just gave him a faint smile  then you nodded.

What even is this? Why can’t you say something—

“Is this going to be weird now?” 

He blinked, frozen in place but then he gave you a smile. Not that annoying, smug, teasing smile of his—it was a genuine smile, the kind that makes your heart squeeze. 

“Only if you want it to be.”

You wanted to scream because how does he do it? How does he say it so casually while you’re here, like a ticking time bomb, about to explode?

Your fingers tightened around the bag that you were holding. 

No, of course, you wouldn’t want it to be weird.

“I don’t want it to be.” you said, almost whispering.

Because that’s the truth. You didn’t want anything to change. Even if you’ve crossed that line. Even if you didn’t know what it meant for the two of you. 

You don’t want to lose whatever this is.

He nodded, then stepped forward—placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, YN.”

You just swallowed hard. Your eyes followed his figure while he walked back to his place that was just a few blocks from yours. 

Your heart was pounding inside your chest. It’s funny you realize this now—but you know, it’s the truth.

That he’s either going to be the one… or the one you’ll never recover from.

You just didn’t know which is which.

You both said you were just taking a short break.

But now you have no idea how long you’d been like that on the couch.

Your back on the armrest, while he’s above, pressing his body against you—your legs curled up beside him and the other, slightly on him. It was getting kinda hard to breathe—from the kiss but also from the fact that whatever this is, there’s no coming back from this.

Your grip on his hair tightens when his lips trailed down to the side of your lips, to your jaw down to your neck—sucking and licking, “Satoru—don’t… don’t put—mhm!”

Then he presses his lips on yours again, and you could feel him smile—his teeth grazing on your lower lip.

“You know we should be studying, right?” he says in between, breathing heavy, then he was on you again—biting and nibbling on your lips.

“Mhm—hmm.” you hummed into his mouth, pulling him closer, like there’s any space left in between. Your lips were probably swollen—wet, from all the sloppy kisses that he was giving you but you didn’t have any care in the world.

Your notes and books were long forgotten on the floor and on the coffee table. 

Your hair was probably a mess, a few buttons on your white uniform were unbuttoned—his white shirt was wrinkled from all the tugging that you did.

His hand moved to your hair, gripping on it a bit to angle your head—you moan into his mouth, and he pushes his tongue, swirling it around then sucks your tongue in—

“Yo. You weren’t answering—oh. OH.”

You both froze, eyes now open and you’re becoming painfully aware that he’s still above you. Then you heard another voice coming in.

“Hey! We brought—my god, we’re so sorry!” Then you heard a soft thud on the floor. 

You pushed Satoru off you so fast that you almost hit your head against his. You sat up, fixing your hair and buttoning your white uniform again—while Satoru, this dumbass, was groaning—his back leaned on the couch now.

“For the record,” the tall guy with a dark-hair tied loosely into a bun—the one you saw in the cafeteria, started speaking, “We knocked.”

Satoru was about to speak when a voice cut into the conversation. “Hey, what’s up?”

“What’s happening in here?”

And another.

Now, there’s four of them. Looking back and forth at you and Satoru.

“Hi. I’m Yuki!” the tall blonde girl cracked the awkward silence, she walked towards the couch where you were sitting, then she pointed at her friends. “That’s Choso. Shoko then, the one who interrupted you first was Suguru.”

You smiled at them, still catching your breath—pulling your uniform down slightly, “I—uh… I’m YN.”

Then her eyes widened, “Oh! You’re YN?! The YN?”

Was he talking about you to his friends?

“The YN that spilled a coffee on his coat then he bitched to us about it like a fucking baby?” Shoko—the short-haired girl nudges Satoru to move so she could sit beside you.

Satoru glared at her but he moved anyway. Then slowly they were placing the food here and there, Suguru even handed you a soda.

“He was so dramatic about it,” Choso says, “We almost kicked him out of the group chat.”

You whip your head to look at Satoru, “I can’t believe you told them.”

“What was I supposed to do? I was pissed off.” he says, groaning. “And you didn’t even say sorry!”

“Uh—what? Cause you’re the one who bumped into me like you’re walking with your eyes closed! And I did say sorry!”

Did you? That memory was kind of a blur now.

Satoru laughs, “Uh. If I could remember, the only thing you said to me was I needed to get some sleep.”

And just like that the whole room burst into laughter—they were watching with amusement as you bicker back and forth with their friend, like they haven’t caught you making out with him on this very couch. 

They were very loud—but funny, and so comfortable with each other and yet, you didn’t feel left out. Not even for a bit. 

Now you’re all on the floor, your back leaning on the couch and Satoru was seated beside you.

Yuki was looping you in on the jokes. Shoko was asking you how pre-med is now and then, Choso and Suguru were asking you a bunch of questions about anatomy like you were in a trivia game. 

They like you.

And that made you feel overwhelmed—in a good way, maybe? How are you supposed to feel in this position anyway?

You didn’t even notice the embarrassment gone out of your body like it was nothing. The room was filled with jokes, banters—and god, Satoru’s laugh. His laugh was annoyingly good. It was driving you insane. 

You were still laughing when you looked at him and he looked back at you with a faint smile etched on his face. 

Then your eyes landed onto his, he was looking at you like there’s something brewing on his mind—like there was something that he wanted to say but he couldn’t. 

“You okay?” you asked him, nudging  his knee slightly.

“Yeah.” he slung an arm around your shoulder, “Good.”

You smiled and looked away because you can feel something shifted. You can feel something tiny—an ache, pressing onto your ribs that was supposed to be protecting your heart. 

You just didn’t know what it was.

Your days felt the same but at the same time it wasn’t.

You were still talking. 

He was still messaging you. 

You were still studying together—not at his place, but at the library. 

And he was quieter than usual.

He wasn’t nudging your knee, flicking your forehead or grumbling about his back-to-back rotations where they made him stand for hours again. 

He was just… there. Reading. Writing something in his notebook. Not even sparing you a single glance. 

“Are you okay?” you asked and he just hummed, you took a deep breath, “Am I annoying you?”

He stopped for a bit, still not looking. “No.”

You were expecting that his answer would be ‘yes, you’re annoying me. you always do.’  because… that’s how he’s supposed to answer you, right?

With a cocky grin and a teasing tone. That’s how. 

Maybe he was just too tired. Maybe his instructor was too much. Maybe he was just… you don’t know what reasons you could come up with anymore just to justify him acting like this.

But still you brushed it off. Holding onto some stupid reason that you don’t even know. 

But the next day came. He canceled lunch, saying he was backed up. Rounds were taking too long. 

He said he’ll see you later at the café, that he’ll text you once he gets there.  

But he didn’t. 

But you let it slide, maybe it slipped his mind. Come on, he’s a third year med student, of course, he’s busy.

And for the next two days, he was silent. He wasn’t messaging—and how you hated that every single time you stepped out the lecture hall, you were wishing he was there, leaning on the wall—waiting for you.

But he wasn’t. 

So, you’re staring at your phone for the whole lunch break. Contemplating whether to send him a text. Typing then erasing, then typing again—and the cycle just continued until you had the guts to press the send button.

[You | 12:32 PM] u still alive? haha

So, you waited. Until the lunch break finished. Until it was time for your one pm lecture.

None. 

Then you check your phone.

[grumpy med student | 4:45 PM] just busy

It took him four hours.

Four. fucking. hours. It was starting to piss you off. Why is he acting like this? Why is he avoiding you like you’re some plague?

Was it something that you did? Was it the kiss?

Your mind can’t comprehend why he’s acting this way. You were good, right? 

You were so good. Not just good. Everything felt right, everything was into pieces like a puzzle locked in together and now it shattered, and the pieces were missing.

You already felt like you belonged. 

And suddenly, it’s just… this?

[You | 4:55 PM ] okay

And that was the last thing you sent him.

Then a week passed by agonizingly slow—just like this elevator ride up to your mother’s office. 

There were days that you found yourself staring at your phone—reading the old texts, and his damn hoodie wrapped around you while you slept, just to fill a large chunk of space that he left.

You hated how much you noticed the space where he was supposed to be. You hated all of it because he wasn’t just ignoring you—he’s making you feel his absence, and no matter what you did—you can’t escape this raw, aching feeling that’s clawing its way to your chest.

Like it wanted to rip your heart and lungs out.

Maybe it was all too much for him? Maybe he regretted it now. 

Maybe.

You looked at the elevator door when it opened—

Your breath caught in your throat. Your heart stopped beating for a short while before screaming inside your chest.

There he was—Satoru, standing in front of you, his hair was messy like he ran his fingers through it a lot of times, his specs still perched on top of his nose and a stethoscope was hanging around his neck.

You could see the look on his face—like you’re a ghost that he was trying to avoid. But then he stepped in and stood up a few inches away from you.

You knew this was going to happen if you went to the hospital. You know you’re going to bump into him—the problem is, you didn’t know what to say, you didn’t know how to act anymore.

This was the kind of silence that you hated—it was heavy with the words that you couldn’t utter. Words that you don’t know how to get out.

You wanted to say something. 

Open your mouth but all you could do was look straight ahead.

Like he’s just some stranger who you share memories with.

You know he was about to say something by the way he breathed but then the elevator door opened again.

But you didn’t wait—didn't look back, didn’t spare him a glance and just walked out until you were out of his sight.

And that was the moment you realized—it was all gone. 

The bickering, the coffee, the waiting outside your lecture hall so you could walk side by side to the library—the mnemonics, the late night calls and—the kiss.

It was all lost. 

Just like that.

The cafeteria was just the same. It was a little more crowded than usual but it was just the same. 

But instead of him, you sat across from your mother, quietly eating her food while her phone was buzzing nonstop, and she kept looking at her watch while you just poked on your food like it done you wrong.

“Sorry we can’t eat outside,” she sipped on her coffee, “The surgery took longer than I expected and I still have a consult after this.”

“It’s okay.” you answered softly, absentmindedly poking. You hadn’t said much since you saw him earlier.

You hated him for doing this to you.

“You alright?” your mom asked, staring at your face and you lift your head, giving her a faint smile.

You nodded, but something caught the side of your eye and it darted past your mother’s shoulder—to the table at the corner of the cafeteria, why is the universe playing with you today?

There he was, sitting with his friends, and he looked how he was earlier—except he looked like the skies fell on him.

She followed your line of sight, furrowing her brows a bit before turning to you.

“You know Gojo?”

Your ears pulsate with just a mere utterance of his name. 

You looked away, “No.”

“I hear he’s a bit popular in the university,” she continued, giving you a look like she was looking out for your reaction, “Even here. One of the top students. Brilliant.”

You just hummed, and she just kept on talking about him—and you just wished she would stop. “He’s in his third year, right? His mom and I were residents together.”

You blinked, looking at her. “Okay. Tell me what happened.”

“It’s nothing.” you puffed out a small breath, and you avoided her gaze. “It’s really… nothing.”

She looked at you, gaze softening as she watched you push your food around. “Hm. Okay, you don’t have to tell me what happened.”

“It’s really nothing, Mom. It’s fine.”

She just chuckled, her hands cupped yours above the table. “If it was nothing then you wouldn’t be looking at him like that.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what he’s doing.

He bought food but he was barely touching it. It was hard to breathe when he knew that you were there—just a few tables from him.

He hated this. He hates himself—he always does this, when everything feels too good—too real, it terrifies him that he turns away.

Except, when he had done this before—he didn’t get hung up, he had protected himself before it got real, before everything went too deep. 

He doesn’t just let anyone in, but then you came, you invaded his space—and this barrier between him and his emotions just came crumbling down.

“Satoru,” Suguru called him, tossing a crumpled tissue his way, “You good?”

“Yeah.” he just nodded, a bit distracted. 

Yuki was ranting about her rotations when she suddenly stopped, squinting across the room, to the table where you were sitting. “Wait. Isn’t that Dr. LN?”

Shoko and the others followed her gaze, “Yeah. It is.”

“Isn’t that YN with her?” Choso says, turning away and suddenly, all of them were just staring at him—Satoru, like he had done them wrong too.

“What?” he asked, his eyebrows creased.

Yuki waved her hand first, “Wait. Before we get to Satoru’s stupid ass, why is YN eating with Dr. LN?!”

Satoru lifted his head—he couldn’t help but look in your direction, your chin was resting on your hand, you were looking at the food again like it said something that offended you.

He muttered, “Dr. LN’s her mom.”

“Whaaat?” Yuki shrieked and Shoko was taken aback too.

“You’re kidding?”

But he didn’t answer them. He wasn’t surprised at his friends’ reactions because Dr. LN is one of the top surgeons at the hospital, maybe it just shocked them that you’re her daughter.

Well, it wasn’t a surprise. You’re smart—just like her. You’re…

Fuck. Why can’t he look away? He made his decision, right? Why can’t he get you out—

“The fuck was that for?” his train of thoughts vanished when he felt Shoko smack his head. “Are you—”

“You’re a dumbass.” she hissed, and the other three hummed in agreement. “She’s the only girl that we liked. Like, ever.”

“I mean,” Suguru started, “No offense to your past trainwrecks.”

“She just clicked, you know?” Yuki said, sipping on her juice, “I mean, she didn’t even look nervous around us. She laughed with us, she never had that awkward silence, you get me? Like, you could feel her—ah, I’m rambling. Bottomline, you’re fucking stupid.”

He knew that—and that’s what terrified him, you fitted in so easily. You slid so easily in his life like you really belong there. 

The problem was never with you.

He used to be content with what you two had—the endless bickering, the studying together quietly—all of it was enough for a person like him. Enough for him who didn’t have time, who couldn’t offer anything more. 

Because what if he couldn’t give you what you wanted? What you deserved?

And it scared him when you two kissed for the first time. Because it felt like whatever you two had, could be something more.

But he wasn’t ready for more.

Not when his life was already hanging on a balance with the endless responsibilities, pressure, expectations—he couldn’t bring you into this.

He was hunched into the desk when Suguru placed a paper bag in front of him. He looked at him and frowned. “What is this?”

“Nurses said someone dropped it off. It’s yours.”

Satoru sighed then reached for the bag. 

And his heart stopped.

It was his hoodie. 

The one that he gave you so that you could have something of his, that you could return—so you could—he could see you again. 

He knew what this meant. He knew why you gave it back.

Because he wasn’t going to see you again.

He just stared at it, barely moved, afraid that if he touched it, it would explode. It didn’t smell like him anymore—it smelled like you.

“You know, it’s the first time that I saw you like this.” he looked at Suguru who was leaning on the wall, staring right at him as if watching him come to his senses.

But he didn’t speak, he just looked away as if scared that the truth would hurt him. And it did. 

It does.

“She was really good for you,” Suguru added, “I mean, granted that you ditch us for her like an asshole but still, she made you breathe just for a bit.”

Suguru didn’t say this just to be cruel. He was just telling the truth. Because that’s what he saw. 

Satoru’s fists clenched, “I didn’t mean for it to get this far.”

“It’s too late for that, you know that, right?”

“And I told you before,” Satoru muttered, “I can’t do this. I don’t have enough time, space—”

“And yet you did.” Suguru pressed, “You made time. You brought her into your space. You let her in, man. She even met all of us. And I know you, you don’t do that.”

Satoru’s breath caught into his throat. 

“And it was a mistake.” he says quietly, like he was trying to convince himself. But he’s too smart for that.

They both know it wasn’t. He never regretted it once. He’s just too terrified.

Because you weren’t supposed to matter. But then you started showing up in places where he was. Everywhere he went you were there. Everywhere he looks, he sees you.

Even in his thoughts—you were there.

You were in every goddamn thing that he touches. 

And now all of it is just… just. 

There’s no more lunch breaks where you kick his leg slightly under the table, no more yellow highlighters flying to his direction just so you could annoy him.

He would never see the crease in your brows again whenever you were muttering mnemonics like the world would end if you didn’t memorize it all.

He would never get irritated now that you’re not here to pester him about practicing something on him—and he’ll say yes anyway.

Now, there’s no more pretending that he wasn’t falling for you. Because he did, he fell hard and he crashed.

There’s no coming back from that.

He really fucked up, huh?

You were about to drift off to sleep when you heard a knock on your door. 

You groaned, clutching the paper that was on your face. You hadn’t slept properly in days and of course—of fucking course, just when you’re about to, someone decides to knock on your stupid door.

Great. Just fucking great.

You  removed every paper that was on you and set it aside.

You drag yourself up pulling the blanket over your shoulder to cover up the fact that you were only wearing your cami top and shorts—meaning, you’re not to be disturbed, god, it’s late.

You walk to the door, barely awake, cracking it open just to see who it is.

And it’s like a cold bucket of water was splashed onto your face. 

Sleep? Gone.

Your heart? Gone. It exploded.

“What are you doing here?”

He was staring at you like you stole all air from him. 

You looked around the hallway before pulling him in—shutting the door behind you. You don’t even know how he got in your dorm building—but here he is, interrupting your sleep, your life.

You turned to him, clutching the blanket around you, waiting for him to speak.

“The hoodie,” he whispered, breathing heavily, “You gave it back.”

“That’s what you came here to say? That I gave you your hoodie back?”

He parted his mouth like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at you like he’s afraid that you were going to slip away.

So you did, “I gave it back because it’s pointless. I gave it back because I know you weren’t going to talk to me anymore. I didn’t want to hold on to something that… that you clearly don't want.”

His heart dropped when your voice cracked.

“YN—”

“What?” your tone was sharp, like you were protecting yourself. “What do you want, Satoru? Are you going to show up again, act like I fucking matter to you and the next few days, ignore me?”

You laughed bitterly, tears cascading down the side of your eyes. You said you weren’t going to cry. 

You didn’t cry in the past two weeks that he didn’t talk to you.

But seeing him here, in front of you, it’s like a dam broke inside of you.

“It’s not that—It’s not that I didn’t want to talk to you,” he muttered, trying to step closer but his feet wouldn’t move. “I fucked up.”

“You did!” you snapped, wiping your tears hastily, “So what was it? You were busy? You forgot I existed?”

“No.” he paused, “Because you weren’t part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to happen—I don’t fucking do this, YN. I don’t stay up late with someone, I don’t just eat lunch with someone because I want to—I… fuck.”

“So you just pushed me away? Because life didn’t go the fucking way you want it to?”

He just looked at you, every word that you were saying sits heavy on his chest.

“Because, God forbid, you feel something real?” your voice shatters, “You made me think, I mattered. Then you just up… and leave. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

And that’s what hurt the most. How easily he walked away like none of it meant anything to him.

You buried your face in your palms, sobbing—the blanket that was hugging you pooling on the floor. 

“YN.” he stepped forward, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I fucked up. I’m sorry I was such a fucking jerk—”

“You are!” your voice was muffled, your shoulders shaking as you cried. Then you feel him—his arms circling around you to pull you close, the side of your head resting on his chest.

“I didn’t know what to do.” he almost choked, resting his cheek on your head. “I didn’t know how to deal with something like this. You weren’t just a distraction, you weren’t just a girl who flirted with me at a party—you were, you.”

You could feel his hand tremble by the way he held you, but you let him speak. “You were there almost every day. God, you were the first person I think about whenever I hear something funny or someone irritated the fuck out of me.”

“Then I got scared when I saw how easy it was for you to slip into my space, into the people I care about.”

You pull away from him, your hands wiping your tears. Your gaze finds each other.

“When I was watching you laugh with them… I realized that I care so much about you. And that scared me because I don’t want to lose you—I didn’t want that moment to end, and if I said the wrong thing or did something stupid then I would lose you for good? I could not let myself do that.”

“What changed?” you paused, “So, what? You’re not scared now?”

“No. God, I’m scared.” his eyes didn’t leave yours, “But I’m scared of not being with you at all—of walking away, then spending the rest of my life wondering what we could’ve been.”

You didn’t know what else to say.

Or if there is something else to say.

You were just standing there, his hands trembling on your hips—his lips flutter every time he took a breath. 

“Kiss me.” 

You say but you didn’t even let him react when you tugged on his shirt, pulling him close to press his lips against yours—your teeth grazing his lower lip to let you in.

And he did, he let you in.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breathing heavily before letting you jump into his arms, he carried you to your bed—pushing everything on the floor, the sheets under you rustles as he set you down along with the sound of the papers scattering on the floor.

And just like that, he was all over you again—on top of your body, pressing himself against you.

“I missed you,” you let it slip in between the kisses, in between the whimper into his mouth. “I miss you, Satoru.”

His fingers trail inside your shirt, skimming your waist up to your ribs until he reaches the underside of your breast. 

He groaned into your mouth before pulling away, his kisses trail down to the skin of your neck, peppering you with desperate—hungry kisses, “You have no idea how hard it was to stay away.” 

“Then don’t.” you gasp as he bites the skin just above your collarbone, “Just stay… with me.”

God, you’re driving him insane. 

Then he was back on your lips again. His kisses getting frantic—desperate, he pushed his tongue past your lips—hot and heavy, swirling his tongue inside your mouth like he needed to taste every inch of you.

Because he does. Satoru needed you, he craved you.

You moan against his mouth, his fingers tracing the strap of your camisole before pulling it down—the strap falling flawlessly from your shoulders. 

His hand gripped your shoulder—like he was making sure you were okay with his hands all over you, but you reached for his wrist almost immediately and placed it on top of  your breast yourself.

Then he froze for a bit, both your eyes opened—until a startled laugh broke out of him—and next, you. 

“I thought you were getting shy or something,” you say breathlessly, laughing softly. 

“I was being respectful,” he brushed the tip of his nose against yours and yet his hand was still on your breast. 

“Don’t you think that went out the window when you stuck your tongue down my throat?”

“Point taken.” he says before his mouth crashes on you again, licking your lips as he starts to knead your chest—he presses soft kisses against your jaw until he is down to your chest, pulling your cami top down with his teeth.

Fuck, he’s so hot.

You catch your breath as he takes your breast into his mouth, his tongue swirling on your nipple while the pad of his thumb brushes over the other. 

Your fingers find their way to his hair—gripping it desperately, like you were aching for more, more touch, more of him.

He lets go of your breast with a pop, his eyes staring at you like he was burning your skin. 

“Satoru,” you look up at him, your fingers tightened on his hair, “Fuck, please…”

“I know.” his breath stutters when he sees you part your swollen lips, “I got you, baby.”

His lips were back onto yours—greedy, breathless as his hands roam everywhere, he grips on your hips like he’s melding his hand onto your skin. His fingers trace the waistband of your shorts before pulling it down in a swift motion, throwing it on the floor. 

His fingers dug into your thighs, coaxing them apart before moving his hands up, his fingers drawing the fabric of your underwear to the side.

You whine against his lips when he slid his finger up and down your folds, his fingers slick with your juices before sliding one finger in, “Mhm—fuck.”

“You like that?” he murmured, his voice was almost reverent—but the smirk tugging on his lip betrays him, your lips part—breathless moan leaches out of your mouth when he adds a finger. 

Then he moves his fingers in then out—hooking it just enough to make you tremble and grip his wrist when he moves it fast. 

His fingers coated with your wetness creates a hungering sound, he watches as you arch into his hand—and it makes his stomach curl in an animalistic way. He couldn’t even think straight, he was just watching your every gasp and shiver like he was memorizing it.

“Sa—toru! Mhm, fuck, more—please.” you moaned, tugging him close to pull him close just so you could feel him more, it wasn’t enough that his fingers were inside you—you needed more. “I want you. Please.”

“Ah.” he half laughs, breathlessly—almost moaning, his fingers still pumping in and out of your cunt, “You’re driving me crazy.”

“I know.” you lift your head a bit to reach his lower lip, you graze your teeth into the wet skin of his mouth, “Let me—ngh—drive you even crazier.”

“Yeah?” he groans, and you nod, your fingers reaching out for the waistband of his pants, until you reach the button of his pants—your hands reach inside cupping his hard dick with your palm, moving your hands agonizingly—slowly.

“Ah—fuck—” you whimpered when he stopped pumping his fingers—you didn’t even know how he rid himself of his clothes that fast, then he was on top of you again.

Maybe he was just that desperate—and fuck,  you know you were too.

His body was hoisted slightly as he stroked his cock above you while pressing sloppy kisses on your mouth.

Then you pulled away, you watched with heavy-lidded eyes as he tilted his head back slightly—your fingers tracing the line of his abs—guttural moans came out of him like he came straight out of porn, his hand still pumping his cock.

You loop your legs on his waist, pulling him close—you both gasp as the tip of his dick almost dips in your cunt. “Impatient, are you?”

“Mhm.” you pull him more—his jaw clenches, eyes darkening at how maddeningly desperate you are. 

“Fuuuck. You’re killing me.” he slides his tip up and down, just to tease you—and it loses his mind how you're faltering with even a small touch. He’s ruined.

You ruined him.

“Please—Satoruuu—OH.” 

You both gasp when he suddenly pushes in, slowly—deliberately, like he wanted to relish in the way that you clench around him, walls hugging his dick so tight he might’ve come right there and then.

“Shit,” he groans, voice cracking while pushing in deep—until you take all of him, “You’re so—tight, ah, fuck. So good.”

You dip your fingernails into his shoulder, lips apart—your head tilted back slightly. Your eyes flutter shut as you take the abrupt stretch—the pleasure.

“Satoru—mhm, please. Need you to move, baby.” 

He groans into your neck—the pet name added to the things cutting into his restraint, he gripped your hips trying to keep you still—god, he couldn’t move. He was getting overwhelmed with the way you feel soft and tight around him. 

There was a hitch in your voice when he started moving, slowly—then deeper, faster—harder. 

The shaky, uneven—heavy breathing  fills the air. The sheets rustle just below you as the bed starts creaking but all you could focus on was how delicious his hips slaps into you—wet, sloppy thrusts fills your ear, making your body ache in ways you didn’t even know.

Your moans grew louder, air catches on your breath with every thrust that he makes. 

“Satoru—ah. Fuck!” you close your eyes from the hundreds of pleasure coursing through your body. 

He pulls back just a bit, to see your face. 

“Look at me,” he breathes, and when your eyes meet his—he loses it. He was all over you—on your mouth, on your face, neck—pressing wet kisses while he rams you into oblivion. 

And fuck, how it drove you insane when he gripped your hair and tilted your head just so he could lick your collarbone up to your jaw—then it suddenly hit you like a wave, his name left your mouth broken.

The muscles on your abdomen contract, toes curling into the sheets.

Your grip on him tightens as your thighs quivered, hips arching into him. “Sat—nggh—toru! Feels so good,”

“Fuck, you came?” he groans, his grip on your hips tightens as he fucked you into overstimulation.

You make him crazy. So crazy—he’s losing his mind—you’re going to make him lose his mind until there’s just a scintilla of sanity left on him. 

Satoru cursed under his breath—hips curving slightly as he pushed in deep. Your name leaves his lips, strained—low. His hips stutter a bit before he collapses on top of you.

You could feel his chest rise and fall against yours, your breathing in sync. 

“You’re heavy.” you muttered, and he just hums—sinking himself deeper against your body.

“I think I just went to heaven.” 

You laughed, swatting his back lightly. “You’re so dramatic, you know that?”

“Well, I’m sorry—but you ruined me.” he groans—you let out a whimper when he shifts slightly, aware that he’s still inside you. You both winced when he pulled out, but still not getting off of you.

“I ruined you?” you arch your brow, he places his head on your chest—listening to your heartbeat like it was the only thing  grounding him. 

“Hmm. Completely ruined—like my coat was.”

You groaned, your fingers absentmindedly playing with his hair. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

He lifts his head and greets you with a smug grin, “No. I’d be annoying you with that forever.”

Forever, huh?

“Bed 4.” he nodded and moved, you turned to a nurse, “Get three units of PRBC. Bed 6 needs a CT. And someone page general too—Miwa! Where are those labs I asked for?!”

Miwa came almost immediately, “Dr. Gojo! Here!”

You hastily got the tablet from her and skimmed it. You gave your orders and you moved to the corner for a bit, you needed to breathe. 

You were getting nauseous. 

You looked around and everyone and everything was moving fast. 

Then you saw your husband, your gaze locked into him. He was checking on a patient from the collision as well. He also looked tired, probably worse than you are because you know he just came out from a surgery. 

You watched him—how his white hair fell carelessly on his forehead, every move his lips made, how his eyelashes fluttered—then by some miracle his gaze find yours when he turned his head, and suddenly the tiredness vanished out of his face in a snap—his face adorned a beautiful smile directed to you.

Not his usual smug grin, not even the teasing kind of smile. Just a smile that made your heart jump. It was gentle—familiar. 

It has been a month since that day in the cafeteria, where you took his hand in yours—you haven’t talked about it, but something changed. There were these unspoken moments, it was quiet and comforting—these kinds of moments where you don’t push him away anymore, where you don’t ignore him.

You hesitated, like you always do, but you gave him a faint smile—it wasn’t much, it was fleeting. But it was there.

You were still afraid of everything. You were still in pain from all the things that happened—the guilt still haunts you, but it doesn’t feel so bad anymore now that you’re slowly letting him in.

There’s still this fear that he’ll come crumbling down with you, that you might never shield him from the hurt that you may or may not cause him. 

But your love for him still wins it all. 

—

The cafeteria was packed—the chatter filled the room as the fluorescent lights buzzed along with it. The first year interns crammed in a single table—tired, hungry from the chaos that is the pit today.

They were minding their own business—talking about their patients, some hangouts after the shift when they were interrupted.

The interns looked up at him—their lunch interrupted by this tall white-haired doctor towering over them. Then he slid a chart in Megumi’s way, “Congrats. You’re the primary.”

“What?” Megumi blinked, his unfazed mein crumbled by the case in front of him, “Huh?”

“Dr. Nanami’s supervising you.” Satoru answered, his brows furrowing because this was not the reaction he was expecting—well, granted he knows Megumi isn’t the type to overreact—but still, it’s his first solo surgery. You would think he’d let out more emotions than that.

“Dude, congrats!” Yuji nudged his shoulder.

“Unfair!” Nobara pouts, “I was gunning for the first solo surgery!”

“Congrats, Fushiguro!” Miwa says as well, tapping his back.

“When?” Megumi leaned forward to look at the chart, he put his utensils down to scroll on the screen. 

“Tomorrow. 9 am. You have a pre-op briefing with Dr. Nanami thirty minutes before. Don’t be late.”

He was about to turn away when Megumi looked up, “Thanks.”

Satoru grinned—a proud grin, in fact. “I’m not the one to thank. She’s the one who recommended you.”

Megumi paused… you recommended him? 

“She's seen how you worked. You’ll do great, just don’t throw up.” and with that he left the cafeteria with his hands in his pocket. Then Megumi just sat there and continued eating like he hadn't been handed a surgery all to himself.

“Are you nervous?” Yuji asked.

“No.”

“Excited?” Miwa chirped, “Scared?”

“Do you feel anything at all?!” Nobara rolled her eyes, “It’s so weird how calm you are. If it were me I’d be jumping up and down right now.”

“But you’re not.” Yuji teased her, and Nobara just stuck her tongue out—Miwa already palmed her face because the bickering is starting again. 

Then it stopped.

When you, Dr. YN Gojo—the one that the interns fear, strode past Megumi’s back, ruffling his hair before muttering, “Good job, Megs.”

You weren’t smiling—but you were soft, you were something that they don’t get to see everyday.

And then you were gone too. Gone in just seconds.

Then the whole table stares with their jaw slightly ajar at Megumi who just continued eating—like he’s used to you ruffling his hair—like it’s a normal occurrence for him.

Miwa was already malfunctioning—her words cut short, intelligible words unable to get out. “Wait.. what… huh? Did she just—?”

“Did she just call him ‘Megs’?!” an audible gasp came from Nobara—she’s in shock—they are, it’s like a whole new person was born in front of them. You weren’t like that with them.

Not ever.

“That Dr. Gojo? Seriously? Dr. YN Gojo?!” Nobara glanced back a bit to watch you disappear out of the cafeteria.

“Dude, what the fuck?!” Yuji dropped his fork, “Are you related or something?!”

He sipped on his water before answering, “No.”

“Then what?!” Yuji and Nobara said in sync, Megumi winced because of the noise that they were making—and because the whole cafeteria just looked their way.

“We just know each other.” Megumi simply answered, and of course, they weren’t satisfied so they pressed him even further.

It is going to be a long day for Megumi.

—

You stepped into the breakroom, your white coat folded and  hanging from your arm. This day is so tiring—it’s barely one in the afternoon and you felt like you already dealt with a hundred patients. 

Your eyes flickered to the figure on the couch—and your heart leapt inside your chest. Your husband was sitting with his head leaning on the backrest—one arm slung over his eyes. 

You hang back, just staring at him for a second. Contemplating whether to say something or just get your coffee and leave. 

This feeling creeping up on you again. The fear that you’re letting yourself feel safe again. 

But the way that he looked reeled you in—the way his chest raised, the way that his lips trembled a bit when a breath escaped past it—and one thing just kept replaying on your mind.

It’s the tenth of May today.

You let out a soft sigh, and the couch sank beside him. He didn’t draw back—didn’t even move his arm down, he just knew that it was you. 

For a moment, you stayed silent. You just sat there and mimicked his position—your arms brushing against each other. 

It’s not that you don’t want to say anything. It’s just that this was already enough. 

Then he mutters something and your heart pounds instinctively. “Happy anniversary.”

It's your ninth wedding anniversary with him. 

Nine years, of course, you wouldn’t forget. How could you?

All that was running through your mind was all the years that you were together. All of the memories blended into something beautiful—so comfortable beyond existence. 

Nine years was full of love and pain that molded your relationship into what it is now. 

It was all the dishes stacked on top of each other, the laundry that you fought over, the sleepless nights where you sat across each other over the dining table with paper scattered all over the surface—it was the late night coffee runs, it was the nights where you spent tangled into each other arms.

It was all of it.

You let out a deep breath, pausing a bit before squirming close to him. You tilted your head enough to lean on his shoulder then you closed your eyes. “Happy anniversary.”

Satoru turned slightly to look at you but you weren’t looking at him, his hand found yours and your fingers intertwined. His thumb brushing over your knuckles.

Then he whispers, “I love you.”

You didn’t answer but you leaned into him a little bit more and that was enough. 

─── MAY, 2016 ───

“Cake.” you suddenly say, and Satoru looked down at you with his brows furrowed.

“Huh?” 

You laughed, squeezing yourself into him—chest pressed against his, the clothes that you wore to the graduation scattered on the living room floor. 

It just suddenly hit you while you’re here tangled with each other on the couch. 

While his hair strands were sticking on his forehead and he’s still catching his breath, while your skins grazed against each other—that you’ll soon start your internship. 

That you’re officially doctors.

And you still haven’t planned your wedding. It has been five years since you were engaged, and you’d think you would have enough time to plan—granted, you already applied for a marriage license just weeks ago—you just haven’t prepared for the actual ceremony. 

Blame the path you two chose. 

You murmured against his skin, “Cake. For our wedding, what do you want?”

Then he slips his finger in between your hair, “Uh. Chocolate?”

“Really? Chocolate? That’s the first thing on your mind?” you laughed, hitting his chest playfully, “How about red velvet?”

“Carrot cake?”

“Seriously?” you deadpanned and he cackles, “Are you fucking with me?”

Then you both stayed silent, until you spoke again. “How about the date? And the flowers! Oh, should we do a church or a garden wedding? But I feel like the beach—”

“YN.” he stops you, he cups your cheeks as you look up at him then he presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “I don’t care about the cake, the flowers, when or where you want. It’s all up to you, whatever makes you happy. What’s important to me is that you’re going to be there. That I get to marry you.”

You smile. A smile that takes over your eyes.

“Like I don’t know—I’d marry you in the middle of a hurricane, I’d marry you at Shinagawa while Godzilla’s attacking us.”

You laugh, “That’s terrible.”

“That’s how badly I want to marry you. I’ll marry you anywhere. If you want to, I'll marry you tomorrow.”

Then you stare at him—an idea brewing in your mind. He stares back at you, “Something on my face?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Let’s get married tomorrow.”

Satoru blinked, his breath caught on his throat as his heart began to pound. “Are you serious?”

And that’s how you ended up at the courthouse. On a random Wednesday, marrying the love of your life with his parents and your friends as your only witness. 

But it was perfect. Because that’s exactly what you needed.

─── JUNE, 2016 ───

“What kind of doctor do you think you’ll be?” 

You asked, shifting slightly as you relaxed. Your backs plopped down on the sand, sunglasses perched on top of your nose to shield you from the bright glow of the sunlight. 

The tide hits the shore soft and slowly at a distance, a slight breeze danced through the atmosphere—it was just peaceful, comfortable.

Satoru hummed, his arms folded at the back of his head, “I don’t know? Maybe the kind of doctor who makes a patient instantly better because I’m that handsome?”

“What the fuck,” you muttered under your breath, and he chuckles. “Seriously.”

You leaned forward a bit, your elbows anchoring on the ground then you tilt your head to look at him. 

“Seriously?” he paused, “One that doesn’t hesitate. One that saves people when no one else is willing to.”

You smiled, you moved to press a kiss on his lips. He opened his eyes and looked at you with a grin, “How about my wife? What kind of doctor do you think you’ll be?”

Wife. 

You’re his wife. It felt so weird—in a good, heart bursting in joy kind of way. 

You leaned closer to him, lying on your side, drawing circles on his chest. “Honestly? I don’t know. Maybe one who’ll never stop fighting, one who’s always there.”

“So, just you?” he smiled, his hand on your back now, his fingers tracing your spine. You nodded and laughed, and for a moment, the silence envelops the two of you until he spoke again. “You ever thought about having kids? Not now… just in the future.”

Kids. 

How cute would it be when you have a little kid who’s a spitting image of your husband? Just the thought of a little hand wrapping around your finger—the thought of Satoru carrying a baby, that’s both yours—makes your heart happy in ways you couldn’t even begin to explain.

“Of course.” you lay your head on his shoulder, palm flat on his chest.

“Boy or girl?”

“I don’t care. Just ours.” 

─── MAY, 2017 ───

“Happy anniversary.”

You froze near the doorway. It’s been a hell of a day. You scrubbed in three surgeries—you had a patient code in front of you, an attending hovering over you like they’re waiting for you to make a mistake—and a bunch of minor wounds for you to stitch up at the out-patient department.

And residency boards are around the corner, so you’re studying—again.

But all of that seemed nothing when you stared at your husband in the middle of the locker room, who’s holding a single cupcake in his hand, atop of it is a small candle. He looked so casual wearing his hoodie—like he didn’t just finish a grueling shift himself, while you, still on your scrubs.

But there he was, smiling sheepishly with that love in his eyes and your chest tightens. 

“You remembered.” you whispered—your eyes burning, maybe from being awake for too long or maybe it wasn’t that at all.

“Of course, I remembered. How could I not?”

You chuckled, stepping closer—wiping the side of your eyes. “You’re so annoying.”

“Well, that’s me, your husband.” he says with that teasing smile and pushes the cupcake closer—the flame still dancing around, “Blow it out with me.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, in the count of three, you both blew out the candle. 

You tiptoed, anchoring your arms on his neck as you press a small kiss on his lips. “Happy anniversary, Satoru.”

You both sat on the bench, just eating the single cupcake he probably stole from the pediatrics department but it was perfect. You didn’t need anything else—just you and him (and this cupcake), under the dim and murmuring lights of this locker room.

“Hey.” he says, wiping the icing from the side of your lips, “You okay?”

You smiled despite the ache in your body, scrunching your nose. “Of course, you’re here.”

─── MAY, 2025 (PRESENT)  ───

Your locker opened accompanied by that shrill sound that made you wince a bit. You rummaged for the spare scrubs that you hid somewhere—god, you really wanted to change—you don’t even want to think about what the patient had eaten today before he… you just don’t want to think about it anymore. 

You sighed with relief when you saw the scrubs, you pulled it without second guessing and something slipped out from under it—a small piece of paper, falling down on the ground like a feather. 

It landed face-up on the floor. You stare at it just like how it stared back at you—with its faint grainy black-and-white image. 

Your heart squeezed uncomfortably inside your chest. There’s a sharp pang clawed into your ribs—it was raw and aching—it’s pulsating, through your bones, all through your body.

You had forgotten that you kept it there.

You stare at it for a little while before bending down to pick it up, your eyes are stinging—your chest tightens by the second and your hands shake as soon as the paper makes contact with your skin.

You walked towards the trash bin pressing it with your foot to open but your hand just hung mid-air. 

You couldn’t. 

You can’t. 

So instead, you folded it and slipped it inside your white coat and slammed the locker door harder than necessary. 

—

Nobara and Yuji follow you like they’re walking on eggshells—it’s the first time that Yuji was assigned to you and it seems he caught you in a bad mood.

Not totally—they weren’t sure, it’s just that you haven’t said a single word ever since they were trailing you. 

You stopped just outside the room and nodded at Itadori, breaking your silence. “Present.”

His breath caught on his throat but he straightened up, looking at the chart. “Male, 35 years old, MVA. His vitals are stable, no visible injuries but complains of mild chest pain.”

They were waiting for you to ask the questions—to throw something around but you didn’t. 

“Order chest x-ray to rule out fractures and watch out for cardiac contusion. Check his vitals again in thirty minutes and then get back to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Dr. Gojo.”

You walked inside the room without saying another word and checked on the patient. The two of them stood still outside, sharing a glance—confused as to whether they should be afraid or be worried that you’re acting a little differently. 

Then you moved on to the next, walking in the hallways for what seems like an eternity. They just trailed you with the notebook tight in their hands.

They weren’t speaking, not even breathing loud—afraid that you’ll suddenly snap. Trying not to anger you—if that’s what you were feeling—any more than you are.

You were walking when it happened, you reached for a pen from your coat pocket and when you pulled your hand out, the picture slipped out along with it.

Nobara bent down immediately to pick it up and she froze.

It was a sonogram. With your name on top of it then her eyes flicker to the date.

December 27, 2024

This was last year, not now… and if this was last year then you should be—she looked at you and when she realized it, her eyes softened.

“Dr. Gojo?” she called out for you with caution, “Uh—is this yours?”

You glanced back at her, and at the piece of paper in her hand. You felt the blood drain from your face, you hovered just for a fraction of second before snatching it from her hand—harder than you meant to.

You should’ve thrown it away when you had the chance. You should have let it go.

“Yes.” you answered, ignoring the pain that’s clawing through your chest, “Thank you.”

She didn’t need to say anything. She just understood.

—

“Yes. That’s good. Go on.”

The OR was unlike the pit today and you loved it. Because it was just a straightforward trauma case—the patient is stable and everything is in control. And now you’re just guiding Nobara through the last sutures.

This surgery is what you needed after that chaos downstairs.

You eyed her hands meticulously, “Relax, Kugisaki. Don’t put too much pressure on it.”

“Suction.” you say—but then you stopped, you could feel your stomach churn, it was low and creeping like you just ate a bad food.

You shifted your posture, putting your weight to the other side, trying to anchor yourself. 

You gritted your teeth. You’re about to finish just this last one and you’re going to close up.

“Yes, that’s good.” you assure her, like you aren’t feeling something creeping up to you.

You blinked, swallowing thickly but you could feel it come up—the heat was ascending to your throat. You waited for it to pass but it just got worse. You could feel your gut roll—it was hot. It was something that just feels… wrong.

It can wait, you say.

But it couldn’t. You stepped backwards, trying to steady your voice. “Keep going. I’ll just step out for a while.”

“Dr. Gojo?” Nobara called for you, but you were halfway out the door, your gloves discarded into the bin.

You were basically sprinting to the nearest biohazard bin, your mask sitting under your chin as you retched out—you could feel your stomach muscles spasm, your hands gripping on the side for support as you continued. 

You were almost out of breath but thankfully it stopped already. You coughed as you tried to clear your throat, a string of saliva hung on the side of your lips and you wiped it away with the back of your hand. 

You stood there for a moment. 

You were getting hyper aware of everything. The soft humming of the air ventilation, the cold breeze grazing on your skin—the heartbeat behind your eyes, the way your ears pulsate and your stomach, growling again.

“Fuck.” you muttered as you doubled down on the bin again, letting out the second batch of what seems to be the bad food you ate earlier.

But Shoko ate the same thing you are. Was she like this too?

But maybe it was just stress? Or the exhaustion catching up to you? Well, you’ve had a long day—that may be it. 

“Dr. Gojo, are you okay?” you hear Nobara’s voice, you wipe your mouth once again and nod.

You could still feel the acid on your mouth, your hands were trembling from how hard you were gripping the bin. “Yeah. Just ate something bad.” 

That’s probably it. 

No big deal.

But everything felt so strange.

Your eyes met her, “Go scrub back in and tell the resident to close up.”

—

You were lying on your side, your other arm tucked on your chest and the other was… holding your sonogram.

You stare at it like everything’s going to change. Like it’ll bring back the time you’ve lost—that if you hold onto it long enough, it will bring back the child that you lost.

You weren’t crying, but your chest was already closing in—your breath was shallow, something painful was creeping up to your ribs with its claws. You could feel it in your heart, in your bones, in your soul.

Your hand strolled down to your stomach, brushing over like you still have her in you. 

You could feel it, she was a girl.

A beautiful baby girl that looks just like her dad, long white lashes with those pretty blue eyes that reminded you so much of him.

You close your eyes tight, just feeling it all in. Holding your breath.

But still, your tears betrayed you.

You were feeling it again and again and again. You’re tired of feeling it all. You’re tired of missing someone you never met.

Someone you never had.

The on-call room door opened and you immediately hid the picture in your pocket and wiped your tears.

Then you heard his voice. 

That damn voice that makes you want to cry even more.

You wanted to let it all out. But you couldn’t do that to him.

“Hey.” he says, his voice laced with concern. “Are you okay? They said you had to step out of surgery. Did something happen?”

You sat up from the cot and he sat beside you. “What’s wrong?”

Say it. Just say it.

Say that you’re still hurt. 

Say that you can’t make this pain go away, that you needed him—that you’re sorry, you’re sorry that you failed him. That you’ve taken away what could’ve been.

That you’re falling apart from the inside and you don’t know how to pull yourself up from this pit that you threw yourself into.

Just say it.

“Nothing.” you gave him a faint smile and you felt pathetic. “Just exhausted.”

He cupped your cheek with his hand, thumb sliding gently on your skin while choosing to be oblivious to the way your eyes reflect the sadness under the lights. 

“Do you want to go home or do you want to eat somewhere?” He smiled and looked at his watch, “It’s still our anniversary.”

You stared at him for a while. “Satoru.”

You’re supposed to push him away—because that’s what you do, because that’s how you protect him from this hurt, from yourself.

You couldn’t bear to look at the man you love so much because all you’d done was cause him pain. You couldn’t give him that hope again. 

Because hope… hope is a terrifying thing for someone to have. 

“Hm?”

But you couldn’t pull away. Because being away from him would tear you apart. 

You stare at him and you ask yourself, how do you deserve someone like him? He was just always there, loving you. 

He didn’t get mad—he didn’t even say the words that you were expecting to hear. 

What on earth did you do to deserve him?

“I love you.” 

But it wasn’t that bad to be selfish just for now, right?

—

It was 11 pm.

All the fancy restaurants that Satoru could think of were closed by this time. So instead, he drove you all the way to that diner near your university. 

Where the four of you used to eat. 

Where you celebrated your engagement. 

When everything felt so simple.

“This place didn’t change one bit.” you say, looking around. 

Everything was still the same. The neon lights. The chipped counters. The red vinyl booths are still worn down—maybe even more, and the laminated menus look like it needed to be reprinted. 

And the jukebox in the corner is still broken.

But still, it was warm and comfortable. You never thought you’d be back here after all these years.

“Uh-huh.” Satoru hummed, “Except for these prices, have you seen them?”

You huffed out a quiet laugh at your husband’s comment and his brows furrowed looking at you, “You sound old.”

“Take that back.” he let out a dramatic gasp but you just stuck out your tongue at him and looked at the menu—well, damn, they really have gone up. 

As if on instinct, you looked up and asked him, “Want to share fries?”

He stared at you, like you’re an artifact that has been discovered after years. Is this really happening? After months… you were having a decent dinner with him? 

“You really had to ask?” 

You just rolled your eyes and called for the waitress—she jotted down your orders and left. 

And suddenly, silence settled between the two of you. It wasn’t awkward nor strained but it was heavy with the words that you couldn’t say—the one you couldn’t talk about. There are a lot of things that you needed to say, that he needed to say too. It was just right there, waiting to be opened. But you chose not to talk about it. Not tonight. Not when it felt like you were slowly coming back to each other.

So you cleared your throat, “You gonna tell me what that fight was about?”

“What fight?”

“You and Dr. Yoshida, when he hit you?” you asked curiously, irritation seeping under your skin even if it was a month ago—god, you hated that guy when he punched Satoru, you hated him so much that you wanted to hit him yourself—but you weren’t going to do that. 

“Ah—that?” he chuckled, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it didn’t almost cost him his career. “Said he hated how handsome I looked.”

Your face turned blank. It’s always like this with him. 

When did he ever give you a serious answer first? Never. “Satoru.”

He scrunched his nose, “He got mad because he was wrong and I was right. He wanted to wait for a few days and I said we had to go in immediately. And then, you saw us shouting in the hallway.”

“I did.” you stared at him, your cheek resting on your palm with your elbows propped up to the table.

“I think you scared everyone that day.” he laughs, “You’re scarier now, you know?”

Because you had to be. 

You had to show you were tough. 

But you didn’t say that, instead, you glared at him but you smiled faintly anyway. “But you were right, right?”

“Of course.” But he didn’t say that with a sliver of arrogance in his voice—he said it with relief, relief that he was right and he saved that patient. “The patient would have crashed. There wasn’t any bleeding in the scans but I knew something was there.”

“One that doesn’t hesitate. One that saves people when no one else is willing to.” 

You smiled at him as that memory replayed in your mind, because he knew exactly what he was going to be and he did it. He’s always been good at that. 

“Megumi’s doing his first solo surgery tomorrow.” you said, changing the topic. “Time flies fast.”

“Now, you sound old.” you huffed, and he chuckled. “He’s going to do fine tomorrow. He’s focused, you know? He’s got fine skills.”

“I know. He got that from you.” 

Satoru laughs, “Got the charm from me too.”

You talked like you were Megumi’s parents, in a way, you kind of are.

Megumi was your first kid. 

You were there to sneak up food in his room (because the hospital’s food tasted shit) and teach him his homeworks when he was struggling. You were there when no one else showed up for him. When no one else stepped up. 

And now, he’s doing a surgery alone, time was so cruel for that.

“Still can’t believe he’s only 23 and he’s already an intern.” Satoru says, leaning on the booth. “And already up for a solo surgery.”

“That direct program to med school saved him years. Tell me, why didn’t we apply for that? Could’ve saved us a lot of time.” But you both know why you didn’t, you two are overachievers who wanted to take the scenic route because you wanted every title possible to your name. 

Satoru laughs, “You know why.”

“Still, it feels weird.” you sighed, “Sometimes I forget that he’s not that twelve-year-old kid anymore. You know I saw him earlier eating with the interns, then I ruffled his hair. I felt like I traumatized Nobara with that.”

Then you both laughed, in sync, like you revel from the suffering that you cause your interns.

Kind cruel. But you both mean well.

─── NOVEMBER, 2014  ───

“What are you doing?”

They both looked at you. Satoru and the other one—a boy, he looks like he’s about twelve or thirteen? He has dark hair, pale skin and a blank look on his face. 

You looked at the table, there was untouched food in front of them and paper that looked like a worksheet. 

You settle your sandwich and drink down before slipping beside Satoru. “Who’s this? Are you making him solve… math?”

The boy shifted slightly in his seat, looking away from you and continued on solving the math problem in front of him. 

Satoru slung his arm across the backrest of your seat, a grin tugging on his lips, “That’s Megumi. My patient.”

You raised your eyebrow, turning to look at your fiancé. “And you’re making him solve math instead of letting him eat?”

“He likes it.” Satoru reached for your sandwich and took a bite, “Or at least, he doesn’t hate it. He’s not really the talking type.”

Megumi Fushiguro. Twelve. Admitted for congenital heart defect repair. His recovery was smooth and his vitals were strong. 

The only problem is there’s no one here to claim him. He ended up staying longer because his paperwork was incomplete. His father—who was supposed to pick him up or visit him even, hasn’t showed up. 

You glanced back at Megumi, “Anyone visit him?”

“No one’s come.” Satoru’s voice was almost a whisper. 

You took a heavy breath, he didn’t need to say anything. You’ve heard stories about kids getting left alone in the hospital but you never thought you’d see one yourself. You don’t even know much about him but your heart was already breaking.

“Hi.” you say gently, offering him a smile. “I’m YN.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, he didn’t look at you and just continued on solving the worksheet that Satoru gave him. You turned to Satoru and he smiled at you, “He’s not really a fan of new people. Don’t worry, he’ll come around.”

“You like geometry, huh?” you mumbled, turning your attention to Megumi once again.

He stopped writing, there was hesitation in the move that he was making but he slid his paper across you. 

“You want to see my work?” he muttered.

You blink, seemingly surprised but then you smile. You held the paper with care, eyes scanning. “Perfect. You’re really good at this. You know, when we were your age, Satoru failed geometry?”

“Hey!” You laughed and for the first time, Megumi looked at you—really looked at you, maybe it was the way you laughed or your soft tone, but he felt this calm—quiet trust in you. That you and Satoru are not just any other white coats who would just check up on him and then gone. Not like some people who would leave.

─── JANUARY, 2015  ───

“What’s this?” Megumi says, “Tachycardia?”

You both looked up at him, there he was, sitting on the windowsill—one of your medical books on his lap, and the flashcards you just made yesterday on his hand.

You and Satoru exchanged a glance with a knowing smile before answering Megumi, “What about it?” “What does it mean?”

You walked towards him and leaned over, “Tachycardia means your heart is beating faster than it should. It could happen because of a lot of things.”

“Like?” he asked curiously, meeting your eyes.

You hummed, “Sometimes we don’t know the reason why. But it could be because of stress, anxiety. Or when you just exercised… you know? It could also be because of heart problems.”

Megumi nodded, he pointed at another word from the flashcard. “How ‘bout this, hypovolemia?”

Satoru joined in, “That’s when your blood volume drops. It could also cause tachycardia because your heart is compensating for the low blood volume. You know the heart, right? It pumps blood to circulate around the body, and if there isn’t enough blood, tachycardia happens, so that your organs have enough oxygen.”

“I get it.” Megumi answers, you chuckle and ruffle his hair, “So, is that why you had to keep on checking my heart after surgery?”

You both froze, but then you smiled at him. “Yeah. That’s why.”

“You want to learn other things? Come here.” Satoru asked to change the heavy atmosphere. 

Megumi nodded and got down from the windowsill. You just watched as Satoru taught him some random topics about anatomy and medicine and laughed when he was struggling to teach it to Megumi in a simpler way.

Then the minutes turned into an hour. 

Satoru was drawing a bunch of stuff and you labeled them. Megumi asked about ABG analysis—and you taught him how to solve it—even gave him a mock case, well, a simple mock case. You showed him how to use the stethoscope and showed the landmarks for auscultation. 

Then he listened to his own heartbeat, wide-eyed. 

“Are you going to pursue medicine now?” Satoru asked with a grin, watching you and Megumi place it on his own chest.

The boy shrugged, removing the stethoscope. “I’m going to think about it.”

─── MAY, 2025 (PRESENT)  ───

“Hey. Just wanted to check up on you.”

Megumi didn’t look up, there he was, sitting on the gurney just outside the scrub room. His scrub cap is already on. He really looked calm on the outside, he always did, but the way his fingers held onto the cold metal of the gurney says otherwise.

“You’re going to do good.” Satoru says from behind you—sipping on his first coffee for today, you sat beside Megumi and placed your hand above his, tapping it softly.

“You good?”

“Fine.” he simply answered and you raised an eyebrow while Satoru walked in front of him. 

“You’re not a good liar, you know?” Satoru says flatly. “You have a tell.”

Megumi deadpanned, “I don’t have a tell.”

“You do.” you said in unison and Megumi finally glanced up, his eyes flickering between the two of you. 

“I’m not nervous.”

“You are.” Satoru answered, “And that’s normal. Your first solo should make you nervous. It’s fine.”

Megumi huffed a short breath that’s almost a laugh. “It’s okay, Megs. You’ve done everything right. You prepped for your case. You’ve got this.”

“And Nanami’s supervising you. If the patient coded, he’ll just glare at them and it’ll stop.” Satoru laughs and you hit his arm lightly causing him to wince a bit, pouting his lip at you—Megumi almost smiles. 

“You’re not going to be alone.” you say as you turn to him, “We’ll be watching you from the gallery. You got this.”

Megumi glanced at the two of you, and for a moment, you saw it again—that thirteen-year-old boy who used to solve math questions in the break room (even if he wasn’t allowed to enter that time), the boy who asked you a bunch of questions about medicine and surgery.

Except now, it was his turn to do it.

You gave him a warm smile, tapping on his shoulder. “Good luck, Megs.”

—

“I’m going to take a picture for your mom.” you say as you pull your phone out. 

Satoru just nodded, his eyes fixed on Megumi down the OR. The gallery was packed—as usual—because it’s an intern’s first solo surgery. And to add, a very young intern. 

“He looks steady.” you whispered, your phone already discarded in your pocket. “His stance is good.”

“Yeah. He’s focused. Just like me.” Satoru commented, you huffed—shaking your head to the side and looked at him and he just gave you a wink, a smirk pulling on his lips.

Your gaze falls on Megumi once again, a proud smile etched on your face. 

He wasn’t really a kid anymore.

Your chest was filling up with this warmth—you were getting so overwhelmed that you feel like you’re about to tear up.

Megumi has really come a long way. He was a bright kid—and up to today, he has brought that with him. 

And if it wasn’t for Satoru’s parents, Megumi wouldn’t be able to be here. They paved the road for him but he got here on his own. 

“I wish my dad could see this.” Satoru mumbled, placing his hand on your shoulder. You blinked, glancing at him. Satoru doesn’t bring up his dad that much—not ever, since he passed. “He’d be proud of Megumi too, you know?”

You smiled faintly, “Yeah. He really would.”

You both stayed silent for a while, just watching Megumi—the only thing you could hear was the machines and tools clattering down from the operating room in the intercom system, some whispers from the interns and residents behind you.

You were watching Megumi closely when you felt it again. That curl in your stomach.

Just like yesterday.

You shifted in your seat slightly—along with your stomach, there’s that uncomfortable twisting sensation. 

“You okay?” Satoru asks you, his voice low laced with concern.

“Uh-huh.”

You lied.

Your eyes travelled back to Megumi. You blinked. 

Once. Twice.

And your body suddenly felt warm, too warm. There it was again, this hot feeling crawling up from your stomach up to your throat. 

Fuck.

Your hand balled into fist, trying to ground yourself. It’s probably nothing. It’s 10 am in the morning and the only thing you’ve digested is coffee. 

That’s why your stomach is acting strange. So much so that it churned again, heavy, pressing. 

“I’ll be back.” you stood abruptly, you didn’t even give Satoru a chance to speak and you’re gone, just like that. 

You almost sprinted, bumping into people along the way but you didn’t care. You made it to the nearest comfort room, pushing the stall door almost aggressively.

You kneeled down to the floor, hands to the side as you barfed. Tears swelling from your eyes from the pulsation, your abdomen contracting—hard. You clutched on your scrub top until you’ve let it all out.

You coughed, wiping your mouth with the tissue you pulled from the side. Your hands were shaking, tears started forming from your eyes as you stared blankly at the wall.

No.

This wasn’t just stress. 

It wasn’t just something that you ate.

No. No.

Fuck. No.

You know what this is. You’ve been here before and you knew how it ended.

Satoru chuckles, keys clattering on the table as he settles the coffees he bought on the counter. He sits beside you, knees bumping into yours. “You’re not going to fail.”

You pouted, staring at him with those glossy eyes, as if you’ve been stopping yourself from crying. “What if I did?”

“You’re not going to.” he repeats, getting the flashcards from you, he clears his throat. “Here. Motor function is preserved below the neurological level, at least half of the key muscles below have a muscle grade of greater than or equal to three?”

“ASIA Scale D.” you answered, “I know all that.”

Then he shows you a smug but proud grin, discarding the flashcards on the table and putting it face down. “Okay, well then, your patient had a complete lesion above T6, he has profuse sweating and is restless. Complains of pounding headache. His blood pressure is 210/110, what’s your diagnosis?”

You glare at him with the sudden clinical question—heart fluttering with the way he’s looking at you with those damn pretty eyes. He smiles, “Come on, love. You know this.”

You furrow your brows, racking your brain for the answer. “Uhm. Autonomic Dysreflexia?”

“Are you telling me or asking me?”

You scowl, slightly glaring at him for being the pretentious ass that he is, but hey, he’s your pretentious ass. He chuckles, raising his eyebrow, waiting for your answer. “It’s Autonomic Dysreflexia.”

“Yes!” he claps suddenly, causing you to jump a bit. My god, where does he get this kind of energy when the two of you have been studying for hours? “What do you do next?”

“Stabilize the blood pressure. Sit the patient in an upright position then loosen their clothing. Uhm…” you paused, “Look for the possible triggers and notify the medical team.”

“And then document everything.” he says, “See? You’re ready. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. You got this, love. You always do.”

You smiled—staring at your boyfriend’s face, god, what would you do without him? 

You’ve had a habit of always doubting yourself—putting yourself on a pedestal. You’re always overthinking things and somehow always convinced that you’re falling short. But Satoru’s always been your anchor. When your thoughts overwhelms you, he grounds you. With him—breathing is a much easier task, and everything doesn’t feel like it’s caving in. 

“Something on my face?”

“Yes,” you moved closer and sat on his lap, you anchored your arm around his neck and before he could even speak, you pressed your lips into his. Kissing him slowly—deliberately, like you got all the time in your hands.

You feel him smile before pulling you closer, his hands palming your hips before deepening the kiss. Then you pulled away, “Me, I’m on your face.”

He laughs, tilting his head slightly as he stares at you like he’s got the universe in his arms. 

“You’re distracting me, you know that right?” he says, tucking your hair behind your ear, his thumb swiping your cheek lightly. 

“Hmm, but you love me anyway.” you mumble, leaning your forehead into his. 

He hums, circling his arms around your waist. “Yeah, I really do.”

And just like that all your doubts dissipated into thin air, nothing mattered anymore. It didn’t matter that time moved too fast—it didn’t matter that you’re going to have a probably grueling clinical exam tomorrow—it didn’t matter anymore, because you’re with him.

Because with him, everything slowed down. Everything was easier, comfortable.

“Okay, now.” he says, prying your hair away from your shoulders. “Dermatomes.”

You groan in protest and he just laughs, he kisses your shoulder just above the acromioclavicular joint, “Answer?”

You giggled, the contact making you slightly shiver but you answered anyway. “C4.”

“That’s right.” his kisses went to your neck and down, just above your collarbone—his soft lips sucking on your skin, “Here?”

You hummed, grasping his hair in between your fingers “C3.”

“See, you’re doing good.”

—

Satoru leaned against the wall of the clinical exam hall rooms, hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie. Waiting for that one door to open. 

The clinical exam passed by in a blur for everyone, but for him, time moved agonizingly slow like he'd been waiting for hours. Of course, he’d done exceedingly well but he wasn’t thinking about that one bit.

Because all he was thinking about was you. Were you doing okay? Were you overthinking again?

His train of thoughts halted when the door opened—then, came, you—your hair in a slight haze, your kit slung carelessly on your shoulder.

He straightened his posture, trying to read the look on your face but relief washed over him when he saw a big smile etched on your face as soon as you saw him.

“Oh my god, oh my god.” you repeated endlessly, almost hopping into his direction, not hesitating to throw yourself into his arms. “I passed—not just passed, I aced it! Fuck, I didn’t think I’d make it.”

Satoru caught you without any hesitations, spinning you a bit before settling you down, “Of course you did. I told you so.”

“God, I almost blanked but then I remembered all that you said,” you smiled, “And you?”

He smirks, getting your bag from your shoulder, “Do you really have to ask?”

You roll your eyes jokingly—still with a smile on your face, “Right. Silly me, I just had to ask, huh?”

He laughed and slung his arm around your shoulder, “Come on. Suguru and Shoko are waiting for us downstairs.”

─── JULY, 2016 ───

You walked for what feels like an hour just to find your husband. It’s been two months since you were married but it still feels surreal saying that Satoru is your husband. 

And there he was—your husband, sitting on the floor with his knees pressed on his chest, staring blankly at the wall, and your heart clutched at the sight. “Hey, stranger.”

He looked up, a faint smile on his face. You sat beside him, “You okay?”

From the outside, he looked calm, maybe even a little bit bored. That’s how he’s always been. But you know him, you’ve been with him for ten years, you mastered the slight furrow in between his brows—the subtle quiver in his lip, you know it all. 

“Uh-huh.” he answered, “Just… playing by the surgery in my mind.”

“You’re spiraling.” you say softly, taking his hand and intertwining your fingers together.

He huffed out a breath, almost laughing. “I’m not.”

Well, you couldn’t blame him. If you’re in his position, you’d probably be worse than him right now. It’s his first solo surgery—well, not totally, because there’s an attending watching him, ready to step in. But he’ll be the primary.

Of course, Dr. Satoru Gojo, he’d show promising results just a month into the internship. You couldn’t be more proud but you couldn’t help but worry.

Satoru isn’t the type to show his feelings that well, he’d rather not worry you. Always showing you that he’s the strongest. 

But the strong ones get to falter sometimes, right?

“You are.” you whispered, leaning your head on his shoulders, tilting your head a bit to look at him, “Maybe a little. But you got this, you always do.”

He turned to look at you, his cerulean eyes looking straight into yours and suddenly, this moment suspended in time. His heartbeat slowed down, all the storm inside his head died down.

You squeezed his hand, “You’re the best surgeon I know.”

“I love you.” he says, “I know I could do everything because you’re here.”

Before you could answer, the OR door swung open, “Gojo. Scrub in.”

You gave him a smile, patting his back. “I love you. You can do this.”

—

You squeezed yourself in the gallery, sitting beside Shoko and Suguru in the front row. “Really, you brought snacks?”

“Uh-huh.” Ieiri says, munching on the chips, “Want one?”

You just ignored her and looked at your husband below the operating room. There he was—standing tall, confidently. You can see it, this was made for him—and you couldn’t imagine him anywhere else.

Satoru Gojo was meant to be here, saving lives.

You flash him a smile when he looks up, his eyes immediately find you in the sea of interns, residents and attendings. And even though he’s wearing that mask, you know he’s giving you that smile—making your chest ache just a little because of how much love you feel for him.

─── APRIL, 2025 (PRESENT) ───

You open your eyes, your breath heaved as you look up at the glass, and there he was. The beeping of the machines slowly blurred into the background, the lights were suddenly not too bright. Somehow, everything felt a little bit easier. He’d always been like that—even though you’ve caused him pain, he still made things easier for you.

You could feel the tremble in your hands, the way your heart sits heavy on your chest.

You’re still looking at him, as if asking him to save you from this—in a way, he kind of did, by giving you that same smile nine years ago. That same smile saying that he’s there, that he’s always going to be. 

Taking a deep breath, you looked down and laid your hand out, “Scalpel.”

—

“Satoru! Where are you—” Suguru didn’t have the chance to finish what he was saying when Satoru bumped into his shoulder, but he didn’t care.

Nothing mattered except you.

He didn’t care who was looking—who was watching, when he slammed his fist into your father’s—Chief of Surgery’s—face. Barely giving him a chance to look at him. 

It’s like the whole hallway stopped, the nurses and the passersby watched nervously as the scene unfolds before them. How often do you see an attending punch another doctor, much less, his Chief?

“You knew!” Satoru shouted—his voice shaking in anger, “You fucking knew how this would affect her! You knew she wasn’t ready for this but you pushed her!”

Your father looked at him, unflinching. His face was slightly bruised in the part where Satoru had hit him. “She’s a surgeon, isn’t she? She made her choice.”

Satoru’s hands shook at his side, getting ready to hit him again but Suguru held his arm before he could even take another step forward. “Satoru, that’s enough.”

“You know what she’s been through,” his voice now low, still laced with anger and guilt—that he couldn’t protect you—from your father, from yourself. “You knew and you still forced her, you knew and you threw her into the corner. What kind of father are you?”

The Chief’s jaw tightened, but still he remained unmoved. He didn’t need to say anything for Satoru to see that he never really cared about you or what you felt. This bastard.

Suguru tugged at him, “Enough. Let’s go.”

Satoru’s whole body was shaking in anger but he let himself be dragged away. Because he doesn’t know what else he could do if he didn’t leave.

“Are you fucking stupid?” Suguru muttered when he pulled Satoru in a much secluded area in the hospital, “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t even know. Fuck, he knows this’ll hurt you. But when it comes to you, all the reasons came flying out the window.

What did he just do? 

“Do you want to get suspended? You want to leave her alone here?” 

“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking, goddamn. I wasn’t thinking.” he leaned on the wall, closing his eyes with a little bit of pressure. He was still seething with rage, to think, with everything that happened—and what it has done to your marriage—especially, to you, you’d think your father wouldn’t put you in that position. 

“Yeah, you weren’t thinking.” Suguru says a little calmly now, leaning on the wall beside him. “Just hope he won't hold this against you.”

He took a deep breath, looking down. “You know she filed for a divorce.”

“What? When?”

He laughs breathlessly—bitterly. The words seemed sharp against his tongue, “Three weeks ago.”

Suguru watched him carefully, “You didn’t tell me.”

“What’s the point?” his thumb hovers his wedding ring, “She’s still wearing her ring, that seems to me, she doesn’t really want to leave. And it’s not like I plan to let her go.”

—

“She just came out, I think ten minutes ago.” Nurse Tanaka says, pointing at the on-call room. “She’s in there.”

Satoru thanked her quietly and carefully opened the door, the moment he stepped foot inside, his heart sank. There you were, curled up to your side, the blanket hastily thrown on your body.

He quietly closes the door behind him. You looked so worn out—like you have been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, when you shouldn’t have—he should’ve been carrying your burdens with you.

But why won’t you let him?

He kneels down to your level, his fingers hovering over your face hesitantly before pushing your hair out of your face. You stirred, eyelids fluttering open, your voice hoarse from exhaustion and probably because of your crying. “Satoru?”

He smiled faintly, you could see the tenderness on his face. His thumb brushes over your cheeks, then he presses his lips on your forehead. “Go get some sleep. I’ll be in my lab.”

But you reached for him before he could even turn away. Your fingers grasp his wrist loosely, your voice almost a whisper. “Stay with me.” 

For a moment he stopped, he could only stare at you like he couldn’t believe what you were saying. Without a word, he sat down on the edge of the cot, and you moved to give him space. 

Carefully, he slipped beside you, your head resting on his arms as you closed your eyes. You squeezed yourself closer to him without any qualms. His hands softly tapping your back to lull you back to sleep then you whispered, “I saved her.”

“I know.” he answers, “You did good.”

“I know.” he chuckles at your response, resting his cheeks on your head. “She’s… she’s going to be okay. And I… I did that. I saved her and her…”

Just say it. Say the word.

Satoru pulled you closer, as if he could shield you from the memory that’s creeping in, from that pain that was trying to destroy you over and over again. “You did, you gave her another chance.”

You squeeze your eyes shut when tears fall from the side of your eyes—here it is again, the feeling that you were trying to escape from. This feeling that you’re saving Satoru from.

God, what are you doing? Why are you asking him to do this again? Why are you letting him in again? 

You tried to blink the tears away but it keeps on spilling, one after another. He pulls back just enough to see your face, his hands cradling your face gently, his thumb swiping your tears away. His heart felt like it snapped into two, he hated seeing you like this. And he hated it more that he couldn’t do anything to keep you from hurting.

And then you said it, again. “Just sign the papers. And let’s stop this—”

“Are you hearing yourself?” you couldn’t hear the anger from his voice, but you recognize the hurt. You recognize the way he’s breaking and it was because of you, again. 

You tried to look away but he held your face, “I’m so tired of feeling this way. I’m so tired of bringing you down with me—”

“You aren’t! It hurt me as much as it hurt you, and you think signing a piece of paper erases everything?” he pauses, “But I could do it, YN. I can handle it. Put everything on me. But losing you would break me. I couldn’t handle that.”

He pulled away from you, and he sat up. He presses his face against his palm—frustrations sinks in, “I don’t want out, YN. I would never want that. You could push me away—you could ignore me, but I’m still here. I’m never going to leave.”

You sat beside him, wiping your tears. You were about to open your mouth when you saw his hand, you reached for it and Satoru flinched, almost forgetting that there is evidence of his outburst for you to see. “What happened?”

He tried to pull it away but you didn’t budge, your thumb swiftly brushing on top of his red knuckles. “What did you do, Satoru?”

“It’s nothing.” he mutters, you shake your head, your throat tightens as your chest aches unbearably—it’s never nothing, you probably know what he had done, you just couldn’t fathom that he’d done that for you. 

That’s how he is. He loves you so deeply that it consumes him—that he’s willing to lose it all just for you and you don’t know if you deserved that. 

─── MARCH, 2010 ───

“Seriously?” you say, picking up the clothes from the floor and shooting them right to the laundry basket, “Seriously, Satoru? Didn’t you listen?”

“What?” his voice was low, you looked at him and something boiled inside you—he was just there on the couch, lying with his arm covering his eyes—you slammed the basket on the floor a little harder than you intended to but you didn’t care. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Pick up your clothes! Are you fucking blind? Can’t you see the basket? Do I have to spell everything out for you? God! And the dishes too! And the trash! I told you to take the trash—”

“I get it!” he says, irritation laced in his voice. “I said I’ll do it later.”

You scoffed, “You said that yesterday. Nevermind, I’ll do it myself.”

You hear Satoru exhaling loudly and then you stop—Satoru seemed to catch on so he lifted his head a bit, peeking in your direction,, “Oh. I’m sorry, am I irritating you?”

“Fuck you.” you say before marching into the bedroom, slamming the door behind you. And if he didn’t have a headache pounding into his head right now, he’ll follow you. 

Everything’s just a lot. For the two of you—he gets it, why you’re acting that way right now—both of you are tired. Nonstop exams and review for board exams, then endless clinical rotations. 

He kept on thinking if this physical therapy internship is hard enough—how about med school? And the actual internship for when you become doctors? Would you two keep on fighting like this?

He doesn’t want to, so despite his headache—he stands up and walks to your shared bedroom, but you open the door before he does. Then he sees you, with a backpack slung over your shoulder.

“I’ll stay with Ieiri for a few days. I can’t do this, Satoru. I can’t keep on fighting—”

“Are you serious?” 

“Yes!” you answer, picking up your scattered notes on the dining table, “Look, I don’t want to say some things that’ll hurt you. It’s better if we just take a break. Just for a few days. This is too much for me.”

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He just watched you as you picked your things up—it’s okay, you’re just taking a breather. You aren’t leaving him, you’re not breaking up… right?

Before you could walk out the door, he called your name. “You’re not… are you? We’re just taking a break?”

“Yeah.” you say.

You were tired—of everything, besides him. You wouldn’t know what to do if you said some things that could hurt him, you could never do that to him. So, you’re distancing yourself—to clear your head.

“I could never leave you, Satoru.” you reassure him, voice cracking despite trying to hold it together.  “I’m always yours. We just need a break from each other.”

He stared at your face like this is going to be the last time he’ll see you. The silence filled the air, then he just nodded. Barely.

You mustered all your strength and turned away, because if you didn’t you might’ve stayed—and you both know, you needed this. 

The door closed softly behind you and Satoru sank back into the couch, running his fingers through his hair as the suffocating silence envelops him.

—

It was two days later. You still aren’t coming home. He sees you on the campus, you did the academic rotations for the second year class together yesterday but you’re barely talking.

He couldn’t take this. He’ll probably see you right now for your rotation. He’s already convinced himself to talk to you because this break is driving him insane. 

He was about to head inside when his phone buzzed. He looked at the phone—it was his mother. What is she calling about now? 

“Mom? I’m about to head to—”

“Satoru, honey.” his mother’s voice just didn’t sit right with him. Why is this unsettling him? His heart pounds in his chest gradually, he peeks at the window inside the room, and you weren’t there. Shoko and Suguru were there but you weren’t. “Satoru.”

“I’m here. What’s wrong?” he asked, voice slightly quivering. “Did something happen?”

“It’s YN’s mom. She passed this morning. Are you with her?”

And suddenly, the skies fell on him. He couldn’t think straight—he couldn’t think of anything else but you. “She… what? I’m… I’ll look for her.”

He didn’t wait for his mother to speak and then he walked into the room, “Ieiri.”

Shoko looks up at him, “Hey. YN said she’s not going to attend today, is something wrong? You haven’t made up ye—”

“Where is she?”

“She said she’s going home—hey, where are you going?!” Shoko shouts, she and Suguru just looked at each other with puzzled looks on their faces when Satoru sprinted out of the room, nearly bumping into the students along the way but he didn’t care.

He needed to get to you. 

The door was unlocked when he got there. He rushed inside and he saw you on the couch, staring at the turned off TV. Your bag’s on the floor—you’re still wearing your light blue scrubs, your hair disheveled. 

You looked so empty—devoid of emotions. 

“I’m here, love.” he says softly, walking towards you, “I’m so sorry.”

The couch sank beside you, you could feel his arms circling around you and that’s when you felt all of it—you sobbed uncontrollably, like you’ve been holding on to it for a long time. 

It just hit you all at once. The endless exams, rotations, your break from Satoru and your mother. You don’t even know you’re crying like this. 

You and your mother… It was complicated. It’s not like she loved you so much. It’s not like she held you like this when you cried. 

No. 

She taught you to be quiet. To be strong—without ever asking for help, that was your mother. The brilliant, cold, surgeon who taught you that you had to work hard for everything—even for her love and praise. 

The woman who raised you in a perfectly clean house, shiny floors. In a household where your achievements mattered the most—where certificates hung on the walls instead of photographs.

And now, she’s gone.

How do you mourn someone who never really saw you?

How do you mourn someone who just… resented you?

Then it hit you. 

“Why aren’t you at rotations?” you pulled away from him, “You know you can’t miss that. You’ll get demerits, Satoru.”

You see the furrow in his brows, “I don’t care about that shit, YN. You need me here. Besides I can make up for that—”

“You don’t know that!” you stood up, voice a bit high. “You can’t miss rotations for me, Satoru! You’ll lose everything you’ve worked for!”

“And I worked hard for us too!” he fired back, frustration seeping into his voice, “Do you think I care more about a damn rotation than you? You’re more important to me, YN!”

No. He can’t do this. He can’t keep on throwing away important things for you. You don’t deserve him like that. He’d work hard for everything—you can’t just watch him throw that away for someone like… you.

You don’t want him to resent you. Not him. 

“You have to think about your dreams, Satoru! You couldn’t do that! This rotation is important and you know it! You can’t keep choosing me over your future! You’ll just…”

“What?” he snapped back, “Why can’t I? You are my dream! None of this will make sense when you’re not here, do you get me?! Why can’t you just let me?”

“Because I love you!” your voice cracked, tears falling once again, “You can’t do this. I can’t watch you fall apart because of me, Satoru.”

For a moment, you both stayed silent. Then you said the words that you don’t know if you’ll regret.

“Let’s just… break up.”

Satoru froze.

He’s great at a lot of things—ask him about neurology? Go ahead, he’s always got something to say. He always has the answers… but this? For you? 

He’s got none.

He had no idea how to answer this. 

“No.” he stepped forward, his hands reaching out for you, “You’re just… upset. Let’s just cool down.”

“Satoru. I love you so much that it’s suffocating me.” Every word that’s coming out of your mouth was like a knife to his chest. Your tears falling endlessly, “And I’m so scared. So scared that if I just let you choose me over and over again, you’ll lose yourself. And you’ll hate me.”

You can’t watch him lose his spark in your shadows. He’s meant to shine brightly.

“I can’t hate you.” he whispers, “I could never…”

“You don’t know that.” 

─── APRIL, 2010 ───

Shoko | 4:55 PM

I’ll just finish some of this stuff here in the lab. Wait for me at the cafe.

You’ve been staring at Ieiri’s text for about five minutes now, contemplating whether to just go to the lab—and risk seeing him there or just wait for Shoko at the cafe.

It has been almost a month since you two broke up. You barely see him at campus because you’ve been rotating at different hospitals. Well, you see him every Saturday for your boards review class.

And that was it.

You’ve been crashing at Ieiri’s place because you didn’t want to go back to your father’s house. If your mother was unbearable, your father is… much more complicated.

The universe didn’t really give you a chance, huh?

So far, it has been… really shit. Everything was shit. That’s all the word you have for it. You didn’t know how to function without Satoru—maybe, you could, a little.

But everyday, you were hoping for it to get better—they say it gets better but it doesn’t. Everyday you wake up with a heavier heart than yesterday, if that was possible. How do you get over someone you’ve been with for four years—no, scratch that, for twelve years?

You’ve known Satoru since you were eight—he’s the kid who annoys you whenever your mother brings you to the hospital—he’s the kid who you see at your family functions even though he isn’t family. 

He made your high school life bearable. He was your best friend. 

How do you get over that?

You’ve basically spent your whole life with him and now, you suddenly don’t? You just stop?

My god, you were stupid. Sorry, are. Was this a mistake? Satoru loves you. He loves you without a doubt, and you just… throw that away? What? For something that you’re not sure is going to happen?

Do you not have faith in him? Is the years that you’ve been together not enough to show you that he’s here… even if you’re broken, as you say.

But what if he moved on? What if he… doesn’t want to take you back anymore?

Your chest was heavy with every step that you take to the coffee shop. Your mind was spiraling so fast that you didn't notice that you’re already in front of the shop. You took a deep breath, clutching on the books in your arms. 

You stepped inside, searching for a table for you and Ieiri. You scan your eyes across the room and then… you see him. 

Fucking hell.

He looked like he hadn't slept for a year. His hair was a mess, his white hoodie slightly askew. He lifted his head and his eyes landed on you. 

You bite your lip and you look away, your grasp on the books tighten. You immediately went out the shop because you don’t know how else to—

“YN!”

You stop. God, you missed that voice.

You don’t move, you don’t turn but even so, he was in front of you. His mouth slightly ajar, like he wanted to say something but he couldn’t. 

“You look like shit.” you say, and that made him laugh—one for the first time in almost a month. 

“Yeah. You too.” you give him a small smile. 

You just stared at each other for a moment. You both probably looked so stupid, standing in front of the coffee shop, not saying anything—just looking. 

Longing.

“I thought it would hurt less if I left.” 

“But it didn't.” he answered, “Can we please just… stop this madness?”

You didn’t answer, instead your books clattered to the floor, you stood on your tiptoes and reached for the hood of his hoodie on each side and pulled on it to make him lean closer, pressing your lips into his.

And for almost a month—you could finally breathe again.

His hand instantly finds its way to your waist, pulling you close to deepen the kiss. You both pulled away with a smile on your faces, “We’re so stupid.”

“Yeah, you guys are.” you both looked at Suguru, and there’s Shoko beside him. 

A frown formed on your forehead when you realized what your friends just did. “Did you guys set us up?”

Shoko rolled her eyes. “Duh.”

Well, they had to do something. You were hopeless without each other. (And Suguru’s tired of hearing Satoru bitch about you.)

But why? Why is he dragging this out when he knows this is far that you can go. This relationship is already flatlined. He knows it, you know it. You both know it.

The door opens, and without even looking at it you recognize the person who just came in. You know it by his scent, the way he moved, the way he could just take over a room,  you know it all too well.

“You did good today.” he says gently, too familiar, too comfortable. “My shift just ended. We should go—”

“Sign the papers.”

He stops, and you look his way. He’s staring at you with that face again—like he couldn’t believe that you were saying it that easily when you’ve been with him for what—nineteen years? You stare at him, his hands stopping midway from unbuttoning his coat. 

“You need to sleep.”

“Did you hear me?” you say once again, too brave to stare right in his eyes, but too cowardly to acknowledge the ache growing inside your chest.

“I did.” he looked away, opening his locker, methodically shoving his white coat inside. His hand lingers on the edge, “We should go home.”

Ah. Home. Home where all the floors are neatly polished, where dishes are barely used anymore.

Home where you sit across each other in complete silence, barely looking at each other. Home where you sleep in the same bed but your backs facing each other, like there’s a cliff in between your bodies.

Where you pretend that this is something that you could fix. Believing that this was just a phase in your marriage even though you filed for divorce three weeks ago.

You don’t even know if you could call that home anymore when you have been sleeping in the on-call room for God knows how long.

You push the chair back, the wood screeching on the tiled floor, “I’m going to sleep in the on-call room. I need to monitor my patient anyway.”

You almost sprinted out of the break room, your freshly made coffee discarded on the table. You couldn’t get out of there fast enough. 

Not because you’re angry. But because you couldn’t fathom this feeling where he doesn’t try enough but doesn’t want to let you go. And you hate it, you hate all of it.

You were tired of arguing. 

The door clicked behind you. 

It hit that you were alone, that no matter what you did, you still felt alone. No matter how he says that he was there, you still felt alone. You gripped your coat, letting your tears silently fall down your cheeks as you toss your coat on the chair. 

You kick your shoes off, letting them land wherever, you let your body fall on the cot. You stare at the ceiling and you just breathe.

You press your face to your hands, letting your feelings catch up to you. Maybe he’s right, you were just tired. Maybe you just needed sleep because when was the last time you slept? You don’t even know. You don’t remember. 

When was the last time you let yourself feel something? When was the last time you didn’t push something down? You wanted to scream, you wanted to throw things.

But instead, you bury your face on the worn out cotton of the pillow. Nothing like the one you have at home. Nothing like you have with him.

You reach for your phone, the screen is bright, no new messages. 

Your patient is stable, post-op vitals are holding and you aren’t on-call. You could message him. You could go home with him.

Maybe he’s still here, still waiting. But you stop yourself because once you do—once you let yourself give in, you might take it all back and you can’t afford to do that.

Not when you’re the one who wanted to end it. Not when you’re the one who messed it up. 

You hear the door open and you immediately turn to the other side, you tuck your arms under your chest. 

You could feel the cot sink. Confusion washes over you when he nudged you to move but you did anyway. He lays beside you, hands gripping your waist gently to pull you close to him. 

The contact made you shudder. It has been months— three months, since you’ve been this close.

“What are you doing?”

“If you want to sleep here, then we’ll sleep here.” he says, his voice steady.  His hand slides under your scrubs—to hold you, to feel you. His palms press against the skin of your stomach, the contact making your spine shiver.

“Satoru.” you breathe, gripping his wrist as a warning. 

You have no idea what’s running on your husband’s mind. Why? Why is he doing this now?

“I just want to hold you.” he murmurs against your shoulder, his lips brushing on the soft of your skin, “Please, just let me hold you.”

His thumb strokes the curve of your waist and you almost break, you almost falter. Everything he does, everything he does could break you in a way that nothing else could. 

You missed this. You missed him more than you could admit. 

You could push him when he pressed a soft kiss on your neck. You could pull away when he turns you around to face him. You could look away when he stares into your eyes.

But you don’t. You just let him. You just let him take the gap between the two of you, until your lips are inches away from each other—then none at all. 

You gasp, like he’s taking your breath from you. He looks at you with worry, he always does. Like you’re going to break if he utters just one word. 

You didn’t know who moved first, but all you knew at this moment was to cling to him, press your lips against him like your life depended on it. 

“We shouldn’t.” you whisper in between.

“Then tell me to go. Tell me, and I’ll leave.” he says softly, leaning his forehead against yours.

But you don’t answer, you kiss him again, slowly—hesitantly. Your lips quiver as you did, your body was tearing down the part of you that still wanted to be strong. His white strands slipping in between your fingers as you pull him in, he bites your lip tentatively, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to do so. 

But you deepen the kiss, pulling him a little bit more closely as if there’s still space left in between, and suddenly, he wasn’t hesitating anymore. He was kissing you with certainty—earnestly, you could feel the ache with every move his lips make.

You clutched onto him desperately, like you’ve been deprived of touch for so long. And you… have. For too long.

Your trembling hands reach for the hem of his shirt and he helps you, pulling it up until it’s teared away from him, his hands lifting your shirt over your head in return. 

He pulls your pants down along with your underwear, allowing him to see the skin that he has touched for years, the skin that he has adored and worshipped.

His lips find their way to yours again, his hands slid on your back unclasping your bra. Your hands travelling down to the waistband of his pants, pushing it down eminently, more than you intend to.

His kisses went to your face, to your jaw, down to your collarbone. You’re becoming too sensible in the way your bodies are close. You could feel his weight pinning down on you and all you could think about was how you love him. How you’d give him everything without a second thought.

Even if he didn’t ask you to. 

All you could think about is how he’s touching you, how he’s making you feel like you’re his whole universe. 

His breath hitches. All that’s running through his mind was he’s touching you again—like he has been starved, like feeling you against his skin would make him whole again.

He kisses your skin like he has never seen it before. His hands palms your waist, his thumbs pressing gently on your skin. “You’re so beautiful. You’re so… fuck. I..” he murmurs against your skin.

His hands slide in between your legs, coaxing it open. You gasp, arching your body into him as he slid his fingers inside you—curling up, just enough to make your hips jerk. You felt your thighs twitch, you grasp on his wrist, letting yourself unravel in the safest place you knew. He watches your face, how your eyes flutter. How your lips tremble, he listens to you breathe.

“Satoru.” you gripped his hair, “I need you. Please.”

He almost loses his mind when you beg him. It has been months since you’ve been like this to him, it’s driving him crazy. It’s so infuriating how much he wants you—how much he loves you.

How much he’d give you all of him. 

He kisses you again like it’d kill him if he doesn’t, he groans into your mouth when you pull him, your hands gripping his waist as you push him closer. You’re so desperate, hopelessly desperate.

“Please,” you gasp, almost whispering, out of breath, “Please.”

Without saying anything, he positioned himself into you, both gasping as he pushed inside, you bit your lip as you felt the abrupt stretch—neither of you moved for a bit, savoring every second he filled you in. 

You gripped his shoulder, your nails digging a bit on his skin. You should stop him, you shouldn’t let him. But, it felt like home. Yes, fuck, it felt like home.

Because he is your home. What were you thinking? What are you doing?

“God.” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours, “I miss you.”

Tears prick from the corner of your eyes because of this overwhelming ache of needing him, of him needing you—and how it terrified you.

You wanted to say it back. 

You really did.

Instead, you reeled him in. You kiss him, and he sinks into you more. Slowly moving his hips, driving himself deeper—harder. All your sane thoughts vanished into thin air as he abandoned all his restraint, slamming you into oblivion. 

You wanted to curse him, for making your chest ache, for making you feel good. For fucking you too good. 

The cot creaks, and you were biting down your lip to keep yourself quiet—but all that went out the window when he was hitting all the right spots in you because he knows it all. He knows your body like no one else.

He knew every inch of you, he knew how to make you fall apart. He knew where to touch you like he owns all of you.

His fingers find yours again, intertwining them as he buries them on the cushion atop your head. Then you feel it, that familiar sensation building up on your stomach, fast. 

“Satoru.” you heave, your legs losing all its strength, you tighten around him. “I’m going to…”

You were breathless, uncontrolled—like a string waiting to snap. Your whole body tightens. Your mind was spiraling—you didn’t deserve him, you didn’t deserve to experience his love like this but your body didn’t care, because you craved him. You needed him. 

It was—is, selfish but you’re letting him down with you again.

“Fuuuck.” You heard him groan, his face burying on your neck as his breath ghosts over your ears. “You feel so good.”

He doesn’t stop, his pace quickens—your breathing was sharp, stuttered. You close your eyes. “No, baby. Look at me.”

His voice was ragged, “Look at me, please. I need to see your face.”

And it hits you hard, you grasp his arm as you hold onto the piece of sanity that’s left of you. Pleasure coursing through your whole body, you gripped him as if he’s the only one anchoring you to the surface. 

Then you felt the tremble in his arms, the way his hips slowed down, his voice shattering as he let himself go. 

His body collapsed on top of yours. You didn’t speak, you didn’t move. You just listened to him trying to catch air, you felt the warmth of his breath on your neck—your fingers gently stroking his hair. 

You didn’t know if this is something you’d regret. You didn’t know if this would fix things or become another wound that you would carelessly patch up.

But you didn’t let go.

—

The shrill sound of the alarm woke you up, you tapped the side of the cot where your phone is, desperately trying to turn it off. Then you see his message, 

Satoru | 8:56 AM

I got pulled into a surgery. Didn’t wake you up. I’ll see you later.

Then you see the second message.

Satoru | 8:58 AM

I love you.

Your chest aches.

Then you look down, you see a blanket carefully wrapped around you. You pulled it up to your face, his perfume still etched on the cotton, remembering the thing that happened this morning.

The one where you shouldn’t have let happen. Because, you’re divorcing him—no, you’re saving him. 

Right? From you?

You pushed the blanket hastily and  looked at the time, it’s already 1 pm. No one has paged you or anything. And you really need to take a bath. You sat up, rubbing your eyes, tossing your phone onto the side to pick your clothes up from the floor, clutching the blanket close to your chest. Hoping that no one came in while you were sleeping in here—naked.

You got dressed and looked at your reflection in the mirror. What have you done?

You sighed, picking up your white coat along with your hospital badge from the chair.

Dr. YN Gojo, MD, FACS | Chief of Trauma Surgery | Cardiothoracic Surgery Fellow

You went out of the on-call room, some of the nurses greeted you and you greeted them back with a smile. But of course, one of them looked at you knowingly—like she’s not buying that crap you call a smile, she knows you too well.

“Go home.” she walks with you, you looked at her and chuckled. “Don’t you laugh at me, young lady. You need some rest.”

“I will.” you say, “In fact, I’m going now.”

Nurse Tanaka pats your back, “Good. How’s things?”

You paused for a while, inserting your hands into your pocket. “Things are okay.”

“And you?”

“Fine.” you simply answered, trying to avoid the upcoming question. You pretend to  look at the time, clearly avoiding whatever it is that she wanted to ask you. “I’ll get going, I’ll see you later.”

She just nodded, the frown on her forehead visible because the way you dodge her question is as if you’re dodging a bullet. You weren’t ready to talk about whatever it is she wanted to talk about. And you don’t know if you’ll ever be ready.

You should be going home now, maybe take a shower, or eat—then sleep a little bit more, but your feet have carried you somewhere else. 

There in the gallery of OR 3. Where your husband stood—calm, precise. 

You watch him in silence, sitting at the back in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice that you’re there. You watch his every move, every flick of his finger, every tilt of his head.

He is in his element—he’s living up to his name, he’s continuing his father’s legacy. He’s right there, where he should be. Brilliant. Shining.

He looked like nothing had happened. Like you haven’t given him another piece of hope that you’re not sure if you’d shot down again.

You lean on the wall, just for a second and you’ll leave. Just for a second before you take back everything that you’ve said—before you regret everything that you have decided. 

But you stay. You always stay.

—

Your keys clattered on the side table, your bag discarded on the couch. You looked around, the apartment was too clean. No dishes in the sink, no pillows scattered—like there’s no one living here.

Well, between your shifts and your preference to sleep in the on-call room instead of your own bed, nobody really has been living here. You know Satoru isn’t coming home either. 

Because there’s no half-drunk coffee cups randomly placed here on the counter or on the table in the balcony. 

Because his scent is nowhere to be found. You forced yourself to move, walking through the hallway when you passed by the shelf where that photograph is seated.

You stop. Your hands tremble as you pick up the frame. You stare at the picture, your eyes slowly burning.

Satoru’s arm draped around your shoulders, his lips pressed against your temple—you, smiling, your cheekbones almost taking over your eyes—your friends, pointing their fingers in your direction with smiles on their faces, like you’re the star of the show. 

You hated this picture right now because you looked so happy, so genuinely, stupidly happy. 

You couldn’t believe that this was taken just three months ago. It’s funny—how things could change in a glimpse. 

Your fingers ghost over the glass, over his image. Over your figure. You could back away, you could throw it in the trash, smash it. But instead you put it back, facing it down.

Instead, you stepped back—strip off all your clothes and let the steam consume you. You let the water hit your body, chest heaving, tears falling silently.

You sobbed quietly until your body decided to betray you, until your body decided to stop protecting you against yourself. 

You just let yourself falter because here—you weren’t Dr. YN Gojo, you were just a woman who’s grieving, who’s mourning the version of herself who wasn’t here anymore.

—

You were drying your hair the moment your phone buzzed. You looked at it, even though you didn’t want to—it’s your job, it’s not like you have a choice, right?

The moment you read the page you were already heading out the door—slipping on your shoes like you have got no time to lose, well you really don’t.

The moment you stepped into the hospital, you weren’t the woman who cried in the shower like her life was hanging on a balance. No, you were Dr. Gojo again, Chief of Trauma. 

“Okay, what do we got?” you asked while tying your wet hair up, you grabbed the chart from the nurse without stopping. 

“Male, 33. MVC, multiple left-sided rib fractures. Suspected flail chest. Sats dropped to 89% en route. His chest x-ray confirmed hemothorax.” 

You scanned the image quickly, “Prep an OR for a left thoracotomy. Start large-bore IVs and have two units of O-neg on standby. Page anaesthesia, now.”

Your voice was dominating—sharp but calm. You’ve done this a thousand times before. Even though the whole room buzzed with chaos, you remained focused.  

You tied your cap, walking towards the scrub room when he walked out of OR 3. And for a minute, you stopped, locking eyes with him.

He looked so tired. His white strands falling carelessly on his forehead. You know he wanted to say something to you by the way his mouth slightly opened, you know him.

He’d want you to talk about what happened this morning. He’d want you to open up again. 

But you won’t. You couldn’t.

You didn’t give him a chance when you pushed towards the scrub room. 

You have no time to lose, you can’t think of anything else besides your patient. 

The surgery had gone well. All of it was textbook save.  But you didn’t escape the way your back aches, how your arm was sore from holding all those surgical tools for hours. 

You just wanted to collapse on the floor and stay there if it’s possible. 

Everyone was doing their part and you’d done yours, so you took your mask off, slipped off your cap and gown. You walked towards the nurses lounge, typing something on the tablet when a cup of coffee was placed in front of you.

“Dr. Gojo—I mean, the other Dr. Gojo left this for you.” you almost smiled, because how many times have Satoru been referred to as the ‘other’ Dr. Gojo? Barely. 

You look at the cup for a second too long—he left you coffee, just the way you like it.

You snapped back, your hands moving as your fingers hesitantly wrapped around it. “Thanks.”

You were about to walk away when you remembered something, you turned to the new nurse, “By the way, don’t let him hear you say that.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t call him, the ‘other’ Dr. Gojo. He’ll wreak havoc.” you said jokingly, giving her a faint smile before walking away while sipping on your coffee.

—

“Listen up!” Maki—the Chief Resident—started, the chatter died down, a smile almost slipping past her lips as she watched her intern’s faces.

She cleared her throat and looked around the shiny new interns, fresh scrubs, new badges—it’s a good day for her, and for the attendings too. “You’ve all made it through med school, big deal. Welcome to the real world. Where you’ll learn and fail and hopefully, not kill anyone.”

The door creaked open as she orientated the interns, the attendings going in one by one to observe the fresh batch of interns. And silently hoping that the ones assigned to them aren't a dud. 

And then he came in, Dr. Satoru Gojo, the whispers started again. There he was effortlessly tall—they never thought that a white coat would look that good on someone. It just… fits. His hair was slightly disheveled, his face looked so pretty even though it was obvious that he hadn't had any decent sleep in years. 

“That’s him, right?”

“Fuck, this is getting real. I heard he made a resident cry once.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he just said ‘try again’ and she cried.”

“We’re so fucked.”

Satoru almost laughs when he sees the interns sitting in a row with eyes wide open. He knows that some are looking his way—maybe some of them even applied to this hospital’s program just because of him, and he’s not surprised, not everyday you get to see and work with a brilliant neurosurgeon such as himself. 

He leaned on the wall, sipping on his coffee while scrolling on his phone—looking bored already.  Suguru leans, “That one looks like he might faint.”

“God, I hope he’s mine.” he mumbles with sarcasm.

He looked around, searching for you, and you weren’t here. Probably caught up again in some emergency. Or a consult? He doesn’t know. How would he when you barely talk to him?

“Now, you’d be assigned under the supervision of an attending. You’ll follow them, do what they want. You will breathe if they say so and hope to God that they don’t hate you. Each of your performances are evaluated, so don’t mess up.” Maki says and starts calling the interns one by one. 

“Itadori.” Maki looks up, she sees the young intern with his hands up, nervously and enthusiastically. “And… Fushiguro.”

“You’re with Dr. Gojo.” and just by saying that, Itadori got pale in the face. Some of the interns are already consoling the two of them in their minds. 

“Miwa and Kugisaki. You’re with Dr. Gojo.”

Nobara  blinks, almost stutters. She subtly points at Satoru at the back, who raises his eyebrows in amusement without saying something.  “Also? Him?”

“No. Dr. YN Gojo.” and as if on cue, you enter. The interns exchanged glances. There you were with a soft look on your face, the one where the interns gave hope that not all attendings are you know… evil.

Their eyes followed you as you sat beside Ieiri. “There she is.”

You smiled and gave them a wave, a bit confused as to why they were looking at you. Maki pointed at the girls, “They’re yours.”

“Wait, she’s also a Gojo?” Nobara whispers to Miwa, glancing a bit in your direction. “Is she like his sister?”

Miwa shrugs, “Maybe just a coincidence? Or maybe it’s a common last name?”

“I don’t think so.” Nobara says.

“She’s his wife. They’re married.” Megumi says, and their eyes widen.

“He’s married?!” she says a little bit loud, but covers her mouth when she realizes how loud she was. She turned to Megumi, “How did you know?”

And the young man just shrugged his shoulders, Nobara pouts, dissatisfied with his answer. Maki finishes assigning and the interns go with their attendings. 

“She looks nice. Thank God we weren’t assigned to him.” Miwa whispers to Nobara, and she excitedly nods. They watched as you walked towards the door, frowning when you realized they weren’t following you.

The look on your face says they celebrated too early.

“Are you going to follow me or are you going to waste my time?” you say, that angelic smile adorned on your face earlier was now gone. “Let’s go. First round starts in ten minutes. I hope you had your breakfast. Walk fast, don’t expect me to slow down for you.”

Nobara stops, her face turns white and Miwa scrambles to walk towards you. 

“Now!”

And you were gone before they could answer you. Satoru finally speaks in soft sing-song voice with a big smile plastered on his face as he walks past Nobara, “Good luck~”

He walks out with his interns following him, but before Megumi could walk out the door he says something to her. “By the way, she’s the Dr. Gojo who made the resident cry. Not him. If I were you, I’d be running by now.”

“Wait… what?!”

—

“Dilated cardiomyopathy.” you murmured, tapping your foot on the carpeted floor as you stare at the tablet in your hand.

She has a history of repaired congenital heart defect. Your eyes stroll down through the numbers, the chart, her whole history.

And… you stopped. Your hands stiffen, gripping on the tablet too hard. You read it, once—twice, maybe even a hundred times.

You blinked, staring at that one line like it is going to change anything. “No.”

“No?” the Chief of Surgery repeated—a little shocked, because how could you say no to him? 

“Are you saying ‘no’ to me, Dr. Gojo? Do you know how much time we have? You’ve seen her chart. I think you’re in no position to say no.”

“I am.” you slammed the tablet on his table, not too hard, but enough to tell him that you aren’t doing this one. No, not this one. It hits too close. “Not me. I won’t touch this. Not this.”

You’ve tried hard enough not to react. Not let your emotions get the best of you, but that isn’t easy in this situation.  “YN.”

“What?!”

“You’re the only one I trust.” his voice was calm, and it unnerves you. “You’re the only one who could do this.”

He stands up and goes in your direction, you take a step back. “You’ve seen her numbers. She’s unstable, her oxygen is dropping.”

You were frustrated. Because it’s true. 

All of it was true, her condition is worsening but you’re not the only one who could do it. You’re a cardiothoracic fellow for pete’s sake—granted you’re already in the final year of your fellowship but still.

“That’s why we need to max everything, her medications—”

“We already have. She’s not responding.” he pauses, “You know Dr. Yamada is not here right now. This is an urgent case, you’ve worked under her. I’m sure you’ve learned a lot from her.”

But that’s not the point. That’s not why you would do it. And it baffled you—you could feel it, the breath you unraveled. Your vision blurs and everything feels like it’s closing in on you. 

“Dad—” it had slipped before you could stop it. The vulnerability you’ve tried so hard to conceal.

Tears fall from your eyes, and he sees it. “Please. What if she coded into the table? What if I can’t save t—”

You’re frustrated. Because you’re not just his surgeon now. You’re his daughter.

And hurt, because never did your father put your feelings into consideration. You’re a doctor, you’re not supposed to let your feelings take over you. 

But one thing just ran through your mind repeatedly, you’re his daughter. 

For once, just this once, you hoped he’d think about what you feel. You’d just wish he’d think about what this means to you.

“You can!” he pushed, “You’re my daughter. You’re your mother’s daughter, if anyone could, it’s you! Do not give me this crap.” you flinched, tears falling endlessly but he doesn’t stop there. “She’s young, she has no prior comorbidities. You’ve seen it, she already has decompensated heart failure, she won’t make it another 24 hours without intervention.”

You bite your lip, harshly wiping your cheeks but the tears come anyway, “She may not make it in surgery either.” you say, voice quiet, defeated. 

“I know, but you’re the only surgeon I trust to try.”

—

Your breathing was heavy—sharp, you could barely hear your footsteps as you descended the emergency stairwell. You couldn’t hear anything beside the storm roaring in your head.

The papers clutched in your hand, your knuckles had gone white along with the shaking of your arms. 

“Fuck!” Without any second thoughts, you slam the papers on the floor, it had scattered like leaves falling down. The sound of your voice bounces through the walls, but there wasn’t any care in your body right now.

You stopped, your world spinning as your back slides on the cold wall, your body hitting the concrete on your feet. You pressed your palms on your face, trying to calm yourself down. 

Breathe. Just… breathe.

You can do this, right? You’ve done this countless times before. You are Dr. YN Gojo, you were trained for this, you are the best. If anyone could do it, it would be you. 

You’ve put yourself together a thousand times, like you’ve never been hurt, been broken apart. But why can’t you do it now? Why can’t you pull yourself together?

A sob escaped you, like a traitor. Too loud, too painful. You’ve opened a can of worms that you couldn’t contain. It all came bursting out. You had no control. 

It all hit too close because you’ve been here before. You’ve watched life slip from you. You know what it’s like to gamble, and they’re asking you to do it again.

Your sobs echoed, it was raw. Helpless. Your shoulders shake with every breath you take. 

You don’t even notice the door slip open, you don’t even hear the hurry behind his steps—he moved fast, just to get to you.

“Hey,” and just like that, he cuts through the noise in your head.

He kneels almost immediately, arms wrapping around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest. “I’m here, baby. It’s okay. I’m here.”

You clutched on his shirt, like he’s the only thing keeping you afloat. Small whimpers escaping your lips,  “Satoru.”

“I’m here.” he pressed his lips on your head, “I won’t leave.”

“I can’t.” you were choking on your words, you bury your face on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat in contrast to yours. “I can’t do this. She’s going to lose it too, Satoru. She’s…”

You feel his body stiff, but his hold tightens and he presses a gentle kiss on the side of your head once again. You know this was affecting him too. This is why you couldn’t do it. This is why you’d rather feel this alone.

“She’s… I’m going to lose her. I’m going to lose them.” 

Because you’ll pull him down with you and you would never forgive yourself for that.

“I’m going to…” you were spiraling—right in front of him and you know it will break him. All these walls that you’ve spent a long time building just to protect him came crumbling down and you hate it. 

You hate yourself for this. You hated everything. But never him. God, no, never him. 

There’s a throe in his chest but he held you, keeping you close as if he’s putting you back together. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” he whispers, it’s as if he knew what you were thinking, “Even if it breaks me—I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in a long time. You let him in. You didn’t want him to see you like this but you needed him.

You know you need him.

“I’ll stay, YN. I’ll always stay.”

You looked back at him, contemplating whether to pack your things up or stay another hour. You suddenly became aware of the clock on the wall ticking, as if it’s urging you to make a decision this instant. 

“I feel like I’m missing something, ‘Kashi.” you said, you reached for another folder and showed Takashi the details you gathered the other day. “This doesn't make sense.”

“What doesn't make sense?” Takashi leaned a bit closer, examining the document. 

“I feel like sometimes I’m getting close then I get fed the same bullshit. It’s like they know what we’re about to do. Are they ghosts or do they have some superpowers of some kind? Because that’ll explain things—and oh, I gotta tell you, they've got some loyal members there because we don't have any names of the high profile members. Not even their boss.” you sighed, slamming your pen on the table.

Takashi just stared at you as you rambled on. “What do ‘ya think, ‘Kashi?”

“I think you’re stressed and you won't solve anything if you don't get any sleep.” Takashi said and closed the folder that you were holding, “Go home, YN. That’s an order.”

You frowned, pursing your lips. “I may be your friend, and you may be the Captain’s daughter but I’m still your superior officer. Now, get.”

You sighed in defeat. It has been months since you’ve been included in this case. You were shocked the first time, thinking that your father trusted you enough to give you such a high-profile case, it’s about time that he trusted your skills, you thought. 

But that was shattered the moment that he told you that he was only giving you this case because you were too proud of yourself. They spent years trying to know the identities of these infamous criminals but all they got was squat. What makes you think that you could do it?

But you want to prove him wrong—no one knows who the executives are. You promised yourself, you’d be the first one to know. Some will say that you’re delusional, that of all people, it would never be you. But that wouldn’t bring you down, it was never impossible for you. 

That’s how you conditioned yourself. That was how you survived all the hurtful things your father said to bring you down.

Nothing is impossible. You will catch Bonten. It’s just a matter of time before you do. 

…

“Baby, I’m home.” you whispered, climbing on to the bed with your boyfriend who was currently sleeping. His hair was disheveled, mouth slightly agape as you looked at his peaceful, sleeping face. Looking at him was enough for you to forget all the things that you went through today—it’s like he got this power that could make your problems vanish just by looking at him. You smiled when you saw him opening one eye to look at you. “I’m sorry, I woke you up.”

“What time is it?” he groaned, his hand grasping your waist, pulling you close to him. His scent overwhelmed your senses, he smelled so good that you just wanted to literally drown yourself in him. “You’re just getting in now?”

You used his arm as your pillow, kissing his cheek as you squirmed next to him. “Uh-huh. ‘m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” he closed his eyes again, while you leaned on his chest and closed your eyes as well. You listened to his heart beating, it’s as if it’s calming you—it was steady, grounding. It was a quiet reassurance that he’s there for you.

The room was silent—and just for a moment, all your worries faded. You felt his hand gently brush up against your back, it was slow and soothing. 

“How’s work?” he asked softly.

“Fine. Just the same.” you sighed, “I don't even want to think about it. I’m tired and sleepy. I just want to rest.”

“Poor baby.” he mumbled, “Just rest, okay? I’m here. You don’t have to think about anything else.”

This is one of the moments where you wanted time to stop. It’s almost so easy to forget everything when you’re with him. It was simple, safe. 

“I love you, Ran.” you murmured.

Ran leaned, pressing a gentle kiss on your hair. “I love you.”

You opened your eyes, and there you saw him looking at you. Your gaze locked, you’re with him for a long time but the closeness still makes your stomach turn, your heart pound. You can feel everything at once. 

You couldn’t help but pull him in, pressing your lips into his. His hands slipping inside your shirt—overwhelming you with his touch. His fingers groveling on your skin—you were restless, you were losing your mind over the little things that he does.

He’s kissing you like he wanted to take all your worries away, like he could make it disappear with a snap of his fingers. 

His kisses trails down onto your neck, slowly and deliberately. His lavender locks caught in between your fingers. “Ran.. Please.”

“I know, baby.” he groaned, it was like he was restraining himself. Because if he didn’t, he would take all that you are—leaving you with nothing for yourself. 

…

“How many kids do you want?” you suddenly asked, you were both looking at the ceiling, only the thin blanket draped over your bodies.

You heard Ran chuckle, with a frown on your face, you look at him. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Ran turned to look at you and you did the same, “I want five.”

“Excuse me?” His answer left you dumbfounded, because to be honest, you were afraid of having one—you want one but the thought of pushing it out of your body makes you scared a little and now your boyfriend wants—what, five?

“What? You asked.” he laughed and you rolled your eyes, “How about you? How many kids do you want?”

“I want just one.” you pouted, “Uhm—maybe, two?”

Then you saw that familiar smirk on his face, that sly smile adorned on his pretty face. “Then two it is… but we’ll see.”

“Ran!” you playfully swatted his chest, he laughs then catches your hand, intertwining it with his. “You’re never gonna let that five go, huh?”

“Nope.” you just sighed, you stare at that tattoo before burying your face on the crook of his neck, his fingers tracing patterns on your back.

“Whatever.” you mumbled, “Two or five, I don’t really care. As long as it’s with you.”

You were both silent for a bit then you suddenly remembered something. You looked at him, he raised his eyebrow.

“By the way, do you remember the club where we met?” Ran hummed, looking at you as he waited for you to continue speaking, “It closed today. We arrested the owner.”

Ran ears pulsated as you kept on talking about how you arrested the guy, how you caught them doing shit—how close you think you are to catching Bonten. “I think they’re connected to Bonten, but they're not talking, y’know? It’s so frustrating.”

You realize that you shouldn't be telling this to anyone. But Ran’s not anyone to you—you trust him. You trust him that you would tell him everything that is going on.

You trust him too much that you’re willing to spend your whole life with him and create that future that you wanted.

Ran wanted to laugh. Not because you were being stupid—because it was so frustrating for him too. You were supposed to be just someone he sleeps with, and not call the next morning.

That was always the case for him. But a year later, you’re still here. Having these talks with him at three in the morning—not knowing he’s one of the guys that you’re spending your time and energy looking for.

It was so frustrating because he fell in love with you.

And you’re his enemy. But at the same time, you are the love of his life.

You probably know all the horrific things that he did and you have no idea that it was him that did most of the things that you know. How would you even react if you knew it was him?

Would you still look at him with that beam in your eyes? Would you still smile at him? Kiss him? Would you still love him?

He’s afraid to know.

You only know him as this kind, caring boyfriend who’s never afraid to show you how much he loves you. You only know him as the person who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

You never doubt him because he’s never given you any reason to.

He held you a little closer, he was feeling everything but everything seemed normal to you and he wanted it to stay that way. He thought that if he could just hold you like this and just stay with you in this little bubble that you created for yourselves, he would shield you from the truth.

That he’s not who he says he is.

He doesn’t want to let go of this. He feels like a different person when he’s with you, he was just Ran. Your boyfriend, who makes silly jokes, who stays up with you all night when you can’t sleep—even though you know how much he loves to sleep. 

“Just be careful, okay?” he said quietly, you could feel the vulnerability in his voice, like losing you is the one thing that he couldn’t bear. “Promise me.”

“I promise.” you kissed him gently, “You don’t have to worry, there’s nothing to worry about.”

But there is.

He knows how dangerous this is. He knows what things you’ll do just to catch them… him. 

And when that day comes, he doesn’t know what to do.

…

Your alarm echoed throughout the room, Ran wasn’t there but it was usual for you. There were times that he was needed this early for work—you never really questioned him about it. You reached for your phone and you saw a text from him.

‘Got pulled into work early. I’m sorry. I’ll see you tonight? I love you.’

You typed a reply and settled your phone down to get ready for the day. You sighed as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you don't even know what's going to happen today.

It was odd, how you keep on remembering the things that Ran said last night.

You shrugged it off. It’s probably nothing.

“Morning, YN. Had a good sleep?” Takashi greeted you as soon as you settled your things down at your desk. 

“Yeah.” you sipped your freshly brewed coffee and immediately looked at the pictures on the wall, like that’s going to change anything. But everyday, these pictures taunt you. It’s like they’re telling you that you’re a failure because you couldn't catch them.

It was unusual how today seemed so different. 

“You okay?” Takashi asked, he tapped your shoulder, bringing you back from your own thoughts. “Staring at that wall isn't going to change anything. We’ll find something. Trust me.”

You went on for the day, doing detective work outside the precinct. Looking for something, just something. 

“This is a dead end. Let’s go back.” Takashi says as he closes his notebook. “They're all saying the same shit.”

“Yeah.” you sighed, “Let’s go—”

You were cut off when your phone rings. 

You signaled Takashi that you’ll just answer the phone and he nodded at you, walking back to the car. 

“Hey, baby. What’s up?”

“Lunch?”

You looked at the time and chuckled, it’s exactly twelve in the afternoon. Of course, he’s calling to remind you to eat. “I’m about to go back to the precinct and grab some lunch. How ‘bout you, baby? Have you eaten yet?”

“I’m about to. Just wanted to check if you are too.” 

“Uh-huh. I’ll send you a picture of my lunch later. Okay?” you giggled, you heard him laugh on the other side of the call. “Good girl. I’ll see you later, I love you.”

“Me too.”

“Me too, what?”

“I love you.” 

…

‘Hey, handsome. I’m heading home. What do you want for dinner?’

You put your phone in your pocket as soon as you sent the text. You didn't have anything significant today so you decided to go home early, cook for Ran, you thought, for a change.

He was always the one cooking for the two of you because you're usually the one who comes home late. Plus, you wanted to do something nice for him, he had been so understanding and patient with you—and your very demanding job.

After you packed up your things, you looked at the phone to see if he responded. But there was nothing on your notifications.

It wasn't odd. Maybe he’s just busy today.

You were driving home when you caught something—you spy with your pretty little eye—someone with lavender hair. In his car, driving past you.

“Ran?”

You weren't supposed to turn the car around and follow him. You trust him, right? But why was he going in this direction? 

This isn't the way to your apartment. And certainly, it isn't the way to his work. Where are you going, Ran?

You were about to reach for the dashboard to call him. But you stopped yourself, you were afraid. 

You don't want to catch him in a lie.

Because he's not the type to do that. He’s your Ran. What would he lie about? You gripped the steering wheel, your heart pacing as fast as it shouldn't be. This isn't you, you keep telling yourself. 

You were trying to find all the right reasons as to why you were trailing your boyfriend. Like he’s some criminal that you were following.

But why are you feeling this way? Is he cheating on you? Is he doing something… horrible? Maybe you should turn the car around, drive back to the apartment and wait for him there.

Just stay there, in the bubble. You’ll be good there. 

But it will kill you, not knowing things. 

Maybe that’s what you should've done. You're so lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice that you were driving out of town, into some unfamiliar place you’ve never been.

Finally, he stops. He’s in a busy town, entering a… restaurant?

Fuck’s sake, maybe he’s just buying food. “What the hell am I think—”

Your brows furrowed as you saw some familiar face, walking into the same place your boyfriend just walked into. That’s the fucker that you arrested last month, the one who escaped—you fucking don't know how.

You walked out of your car, discreetly walking to the back of the establishment. You didn't want to alarm the guy you arrested, he’ll probably know who you are.

You certainly can't take him alone. 

You saw a backdoor and was about to reach for the knob when you felt something on your back. It was too familiar for you not to know what it is. “If I were you, I wouldn't do that.”

His voice was cold, almost making you shiver. “Sorry, I’m just lost—”

“Don't make that dumb shit up with me.” you bite your lip, your body tensed up as you try to turn your head, looking at the man who’s holding your life in his hand right now.

You saw his face, scars on both sides of his mouth, he’s got long cerise hair. He knocked on the door and you saw the tattoo on his forearm.

You swallowed, your stomach churning as you recognized that tattoo. That’s the one on your boyfriend’s neck, it’s the same one.

You couldn't even begin to process what was happening when the door opened. It was another man, with long lavender hair. With the same tattoo on his neck… just like Ran.

He looks awfully a lot like your boyfriend. 

“YN?”

“You know her?” 

Of course, he knows you. He knows you.

“H-how the fuck do you know me?” your words stuttered, your mouth was dry and you couldn't even think straight. “What the fuck is happening?”

“I should be the one asking you questions. What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“That’s enough.” the man behind you spoke, “You’re coming with us, lady.”

You froze as you piece things together. It makes you sick, you couldn't even fathom what you're about to discover. You weren't scared, you were confused.

What was Ran doing here?

Why… just why?

They led you through a dimly lit hallway. You were out of yourself, you were trying to make sense out of all this. So many questions were running on the back of your mind. 

Your heart was racing, your mind thinking all of the worst that could happen, but most of all, you were thinking what could possibly be Ran’s connection to these people?

Why was he here?

Finally, you reached the end of the hallway. The door opened and what greeted you was silence, you were surrounded by men that you don't recognize except for one.

He was there. Standing like he’s one of them. 

He froze the second his gaze landed on you. You couldn't say anything else but his name. 

“R-ran?”

You wanted to leave. You wanted to go home because you don't want to know about this. You were regretting your decision of ever following him here.

You wanted to go back to your bed, laugh with him until three in the morning. Talk about the house, the kids, the life that you both wanted. 

“Oh. This is your girlfriend, isn't it?” The man with a scar on his face mockingly said, “Well, isn't she pretty?”

You felt your chest tighten, everything was hitting you all at once—the hurt, the anger. Everything.

They were all looking at you like you were a threat. But you didn't care, you were just looking at him. Waiting for him to tell you what this is. Waiting for him to come and take you away but he doesn't move.

“Sanzu.” Another man speaks, the one sitting in the middle—with the white hair. Sanzu, the one holding a gun behind your back walks towards him and whispers something to him. 

“What do ‘ya think, Ran? What should we do with your little girlfriend?” Sanzu asked, “Should we set her free or should we..?”

Sanzu cocked his gun and pointed it at you, again. 

“W-what the fuck is happening?” you find your voice, though it trembled you gave your all to stay composed, “Ran, could you tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Sanzu laughed, “You really don't know, huh? Aren’t you a detective? You didn't know you were dating one of us?”

“One of what?” 

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fu—

“Bonten, darling.” he smirked, “Aren't you looking for us, well, we’re here! And you’re living with one, isn't that great?”

You felt stupid, these are the criminals that you were looking for months. This was the missing piece. They're staring you in the face. You were in the smack dab, middle of it all. You were sleeping beside him, you were touching him, the one you were looking for was telling you he loves you, right to your face and you were too stupid.

Too trusting not to know. 

You form your fist into a tight ball, your nails sinking into your skin. You don't know what your fate is, all you know is, you were hoping all this was just a dream.

A sick, twisted, horrible dream. 

Ran walked towards you, they're just watching what he does next. You froze when he reached for his gun but then he placed it on your hand, “Shoot me, YN.”

“Ran.”

“Shoot me.” 

Your tears were brimming, you gasped as you gripped the gun—your finger on the trigger, pointing it at him. Everyone was looking at you like it was their form of some sick entertainment—nobody was doing anything.

“Do it, baby.” he says softly, “Kill me.”

“I..” 

This was what you wanted these past few months, right? You told him that. You were so frustrated that you wanted to kill all of them on sight.

But why couldn't you do it, right now?

Why does it have to be him?

“I can't.” you slowly let go of the gun, placing it in his hand. Ran didn't care if they shot him but he wanted to get you out. And he knows he couldn't do that safely, if you didn't prove yourself to them.

You couldn't kill him. 

That was assurance enough. For now.