You hate how he sounds like he knows you haven’t been eating anything lately, although you hadn’t seen him in a few weeks.

“You know that’s not how questions work, right?” You say, turning around and opening your door wider to let him in. He steps into the hall and out of his shoes.

“Huh?” You hear him ask as he follows you into the kitchen. You turn to face him and take the plastic bag from him.

“Can I take that?” You ask him afterwards, finger pointing to the bag.

He smiles wide and you already feel your eyes rolling upwards. “Why, of course, my dear colleague!” He starts, speaking loud and exaggerating the jolly tone. Moving to the counter, you try not to pay him too much mind. “I am perfectly okay with you doing this, as I wish for nothing but your comfort and satisfaction, and I reckon you should feel free to get comfortable with me as we have known each other for quite a while now!”

Your back is facing him as you fish the bag’s content out of it, trying not to burn yourself in the process. Steamed pork buns, noodles and fried chicken. Good choice. You hope your appetite is going to miraculously reappear as you start eating.

“Which is the answer I was expecting from you, by the way.” You hear him tell you from where he stands behind you.

“Well, that’s cute.” You tell him, getting the chopsticks out of the bag and throwing said bag away. “But you came over anyway, so I’m assuming I can skip this whole part.” You set the dishes on your kitchen table and Gojo sits on the tall chair that’s facing you.

Opening the fridge door, your eyes search for the sweet drink Gojo likes (which he put there himself that one time he came over with a bag full of cans). You pour yourself some water and set the drinks on the table before sitting down in front of him. The both of you snap your chopsticks apart and Gojo digs in immediately. You, on the other hand, hesitate.

Considering that he’d brought you food, you figured you were going to eat at least a little, but now the thought of even tasting a pork bun is making you nauseous. You hadn’t felt hungry for days, maybe weeks. Setting your chopsticks down without having eaten anything, you decide to drink some water, though you doubt it’s going to change anything.

You know Satoru notices. Still, he chooses not to say anything.

You break the silence. “How’s Shoko?” You ask him, putting your glass back on the table. Gojo snorts.

“She asks about you all the time too.” He tells you, gathering a scoop of noodles with his chopsticks. “It’s always the first question the both of you ask me. Just marry each other already.” He jokes. You can’t help but smile at that. You were really fond of Shoko, and despite visiting Tokyo pretty often, you still missed her a lot.

“She’s sleep-deprived. I’d say pretty anxious, too. She’s trying to manage and obviously doing a horrible job at it.” Gojo finally answers. A few seconds pass before he speaks up a second time. “And her smoking is out of control.” He says casually, looking for what he’s going to eat next. You guess that’s a pretty decent reaction to learning one of your friends became an evil curse user and then got killed at the hands of his own best friend.

You lift your head to look at Gojo, but he’s not looking at you. His tone is detached, like he couldn’t be bothered by any of this. It’s actually your first time seeing him ever since all of this happened. Right after the parade, you and your friends pretty much all went M.I.A. for a few days. You didn’t see each other, didn’t call, didn’t text. Not for a while anyway.

Things had slowly started going back to normal — whatever normal was supposed to be without Geto and with an unshakable feeling of impending doom like lead on your stomach. On the picture of a document you had asked Shoko for recently, you had actually noticed remnants of ash in the corner of the frame. Shoko had never went as far as smoking indoors before, let alone at her desk. You didn’t say anything, and she didn’t either.

“Figured.” You say, voice low, eyes even lower. Looking back up at Gojo, you watch him still not looking at you. And how are you? Is what you want to ask, but you’re not sure it’s a good idea. You know you’re probably not going to get much out of him. Know he’s going to brush it off, because he’s the strongest, and nothing gets to him, not even the strongest curses, not even fear, or time, or grief.

“She’s better than she was at the beginning, though.” He says, mouth still full. He finally looks at you. “Also, Megumi asks about you.”

You almost perk up at that. “How is he?” You ask Gojo. Up until a few weeks ago, Gojo frequently took you to Tokyo to see Megumi. You had easily taken a liking to the little boy. He was very calm, an incredibly fast learner and a very thoughtful and caring brother to Tsumiki. But with the whole incident happening, you hadn’t seen either in a few weeks.

“He’s doing well. He keeps learning, his pace is good.” Gojo pauses, sipping his drink. “I think he likes when you’re around.” You nod and hum in response. You’re glad to hear that. When first meeting him, you had figured you’d need to work hard to gain Megumi’s trust.

Gojo sets his chopsticks down and looks at you. He ate about a quarter of what he brought, but you hope he’s going to keep going. “You’re not hungry?” He asks you.

“Not really.” He’d brought your favorite food to you, so you do feel guilty about not eating anything. “Let’s bring these over to Megumi and Tsumiki. I’d like to see them today.” You say, pointing to the food.

Gojo actually isn't surprised to see you have so little appetite. He hadn’t seen you at all since the incident, but he had assumed that your attempt at acting like you were managing would turn out just as bad as Shoko’s. What does surprise him, though, is you suggesting to go to Tokyo. He had planned on going with you today — more like dragging you there, since he didn’t think you’d actually be up for it. He told Megumi you were coming anyways.

“Megumi’s supposed to be with Shoko this afternoon.” He answers.

You’re pleased to hear you’ll get to see Megumi, Tsumiki and Shoko this afternoon. You think it’s finally time to breathe again after the past few weeks spent in darkness.

“Is Nanami in Tokyo right now?” You might as well vist everyone you want to see at this point.

“Uh, I think so. Let me check.” Gojo picks up his phone and starts looking for what you assume is his text conversation with Nanami. After a few seconds of swiping, he starts typing.

“So you’ve just been wallowing in misery and despair while I wasn’t there, huh?” He asks you while texting Nanami. He’s not wrong, but you still frown.

“Can we just act like the past weeks haven’t happened?” You sound more tired than you initially intended to.

After saying this, you try to think of what happened on the last time you saw Gojo. Looking at his face, you can see he’s doing the same. A smirk starts spreading slowly on his face after a few seconds, which, in your experience, has never been a good sign. You try to think faster.

“Okay, then.” He says, voice already laced with a teasing lilt. No good at all. The last time you saw Gojo comes to you in flashes, but you’re missing the important part. A dimly lit room. Gojo in an oversized white shirt, with disheveled hair. “Are your legs better?” He asks, and it clicks.

The rest of the picture appears in your mind : Gojo’s in the same white shirt, back facing you, while you’re sitting on your bed with your knees to your chest, in nothing but underwear. He giggles a bit, because you jut told him something along the lines of ‘fuck, my legs are sore’.

Looking at Gojo now, you sigh out and let your head drop on the table. “Okay, I hate this.” You tell him. Of course, he just barks out a laugh.

The last time you saw Gojo, he’d invited himself over just like he did today. You were cleaning up the place, which he’d surprisingly helped you with, taking on the dishes. You don’t really know how you got there – you never really know – but it ended with you on top of him, both of his hands on either side of your head, holding it while looking straight into your eyes.

You remember it lasted for a while. Maybe it’s because he had noticed how tense you were and, being the gentleman that he is, he’d wanted to take his time helping you relieve all that pent up tension. And it was good, it always was. You kind of hate to admit it, but Gojo has that thing where he just knows exactly how to make you feel ecstatic. The type of sex that makes you want to tell him you love him.

You’d rather slit your own throat, of course, because now he’s still laughing at how embarrassed you are, and it’s making you want to bash his head in. “It’s fine.” He says, dragging out the last word. You get up to collect his leftovers. “You look like you could use some more stress relief anyways.” Bringing them over to the kitchen counter, you start wrapping them up for Megumi and Tsumiki. “Which I’m always ready to help with.” He adds and you sigh out.

“Don’t you ever shut up?” You tell him with your back facing him. Not allowing him any time to answer, which he was going to do despite the question obviously being rhetorical because no, he never shuts up, you speak up again. “Actually, I feel like I should just get something else for Tsumiki.” You say, staring down at the food. You remember her telling you about wanting to eat healthier meals the last time you’d seen her.

Gojo watches in silence as you open your fridge to search for something. Then he watches as you close it and apparently mull something over for a little while. And he’s still watching when you finally open your fridge back up, pick a few things that he can’t quite make out and wrap them up. He can’t help but congratulate himself internally for having picked you to look after Megumi and Tsumiki. As he’d predicted, you were very good for them, and to them. Not that he’d really considered anyone else.

“We’re getting really good at playing house, huh?” Gojo thinks out loud, getting up to go wash his hands.

You glare at him. “We? As in you and me?” He snorts.

“You know we’re the closest thing to a parent figure they’re ever going to get, right?” You know. It’s funny.

The seconds pass and his words sink in. It’s not that funny anymore. “I’m clearly a much better parent than you are.” You tell him.

“Yeah, well, I’m clearly a much better partner than you are.” That makes you scoff. The seconds pass again, his words sink in again. When was this ever about being partners?

“There is no partnership of any kind here. I like these kids, you do too, no strings attached.” You say, going to pick up your jacket.

When you’re done putting your jacket and gathering your things, Gojo’s already put his sunglasses back on. He looks like he’s waiting for you. “Of course, of course.” He tells you, turning around and heading for the door. “Though that’s kind of hard to tell when I come over and we have s–”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Move.” You cut him off, walking past him in your hallway to open the door.

Gojo smirks, because there are very few things that he likes more than embarassing you. Even fewer things that he likes more than getting you all pent up. And panting all over. Sighing and moaning his n–

Well. Gojo might have to stay away from you.

← previous tape

—

this one took a very long time to come out, sorry! uni has been beating tf out of me

You’re one year older now, and the smile on your face isn’t quite reaching your eyes. The idea of time passing makes you both sick and indifferent. All you know is you never had that much to begin with.

Abruptly blinded by the brightness of a camera flash, you turn your head to find Gojo taking pictures of you with the cake in your hands. He seems to be taking this very seriously, switching angles and giving you instructions (which you ignore for the most part).

In that moment, you recall thinking grimly that him taking pictures was a good thing. That he’d have those memories to hold onto when he inevitably outlives all of you. When he stands all alone somewhere at the highest point in the sky, while you’re buried six feet under.

When you snap out of it, Gojo’s already gone to pester Nanami by taking unnecessary close-ups of him, almost shoving the camera right in the blonde man’s mouth. That makes you laugh.

“There she is.” Shoko approaches you, a small smile on her face. “Haven’t seen you laugh in a while.”

You fake-pout and speak out in an inflated sad voice. “I know. You guys are so unfunny.” She giggles and swats you lightly.

“So…” Shoko starts, putting her plastic cup down on the table behind her. “You’re going?” She asks you.

“… Yeah.”

The both of you look at each other. There’s something bittersweet about the look on her face for a split second, but then she turns her head and nods towards the table, where Nanami is trying to cut the cake while Gojo keeps trying to have a taste of the frosting, clearly irritating Nanami. Geto is standing in a corner, a slight smile on his face.

“You can’t leave me with these idiots.” From where you stand, you can’t quite hear what they’re saying but you’re pretty sure Nanami just told Gojo he was going to get stabbed. A laugh bubbles in your chest.

“We should both go and leave them here.” You joke.

“You really should.” Utahime joins in, red plastic up in her hand. It seems to be filled with water, which is weird. “Join us, Shoko.” Shoko chuckles.

“You know I can’t. But you two better come see me often.”

“Of course!” Utahime exclaims, putting her arm around Shoko’s shoulders. “Let’s go out and drink whenever we can!” You take it the drink in her cup is not as alcohol-free as you thought it was.

“I'll even sneak off during the goodwill event to come see you.” You tell her.

“How are you already a bad teacher?” She jokes lightly.

The three of you keep the banter and light conversation going for some time. When Nanami’s done cutting the cake, he serves the first part to you and you go sit down next to Geto. He looks exhausted, but he still smiles at you politely, asks about you and your transfer to Kyoto.

(Could you have done something then? Was there anything to be done, really?)

You’d heard of the whole Star Plasma Vessel affair, how Riko Amanai had been murdered by some non-sorcerer with inhuman strength. How Gojo had almost lost to him. They seem to have been put through a lot during those few days. It feels like you’re still waiting for them to come back from that mission.

Geto’s slice of cake stays untouched, and so does yours. You don’t feel like asking him anything, although looking at him, you have a sense of something murky, some sinister and poisonous thing latching on to his brain sluggishly. Somehow, you know the thing’s bigger than you, know you can’t fight it.

In that moment, you remember thinking, foolishly, I hope they come back soon.

(Was it already over at that point? When exactly did the countdown start?)

You both sit in silence, sometimes watching Gojo get on Utahime’s nerves, sometimes staring at the ground. At one point, you get up, and Nanami calls out to you. He asks if you’d like something else instead of the cake, if he put something you don’t like in it. His thoughtfulness makes you smile fondly, makes your heart ache a bit. You decline politely, tell him you’re just not hungry.

At some point during the night, you’re sitting in a corner, watching the party play out. You realize then how much you fantasize about your friends being regular people. About them being bored and alive. The idea never fails to leave you heavy-hearted, so you’re glad when your train of thought gets interrupted.

“Tokyo not suiting you anymore?” Turning to the voice, you’re met with Gojo’s very sharp jawline. Sunglasses on, oversized white shirt, staring straight ahead as he’s sitting next to you.

“Tokyo suits me very well, actually.” You tell him. “I’d just like to try something else.” A little while passes before he speaks up again.

“Toji Zen’in left a kid behind.” He utters. You know. You’d heard about Gojo taking him in charge. “Looks exactly like his father. He’s got potential.” You narrow your eyes.

“Potential?” You echo. “You’re not already thinking about making an orphan boy a weapon, are you?” Gojo looks at you, some cryptic look on his face.

“We’re jujutsu sorcerers.” He states coldly. “That kid was going to be sold off to the Zen’in clan, and probably be miserable. No matter what we do, there’s no way for him to live a normal life.”

“He’s still a kid.” You say, feeling his eyes on you as you stare ahead. “He shouldn’t have potential, at least for now. He should have friends at school, some extracurricular activity, I don’t know.” Gojo doesn’t answer for a while, keeps looking at you.

Looking back at him, you’re met with the same unreadable expression. He looks like he’s mulling something over. In the dim lighting of this room, his eyes, still on you, look phosphorescent. He finally speaks out after a while.

“I think you’d be a good figure for him to have around.” You narrow your eyes once again, which he takes as a sign to elaborate. “It looks like him and his sister are able to take care of themselves just fine, so I’m not asking you to be a mother.”

You didn’t know he had a sister. Gojo keeps going. “However, he is a kid, like you just said. And I’m under the impression he needs that reminder too.” You can already feel the gears turning in your mind at what his suggestion implies.

“I’d like for him to have another sorcerer, besides me, to… watch over him a little, progressively teach him about sorcery, and overall be a stable presence for him. The goal is to diversify the sources he learns and grows from.” He speaks in that serious tone that lets you know it’s something he takes to heart. He’s now sitting cross-legged, cupping his chin with his thumb and index.

“Besides, I’ll frequently be away on missions, so you can be someone he turns to in case he needs something while I’m not there.” You can’t help but be amused by how seriously he seems to have thought about the matter. “Like I said, I’m not asking you to treat him like your son. You don’t have to always be there, just… sometimes. Like a nephew or something.”

The last part sounds like he actually thought hard about the comparison he could make. You don’t even try to contain the laugh that bursts out of you. You’re witnessing a very new side of Gojo.

“Okay, dad of the year.” You manage in between fits of laughter. Gojo is looking at you with the straightest face you’ve ever seen him make.

“I wish for nothing but 500 years of doom and despair upon you.” He tells you in a monotonous voice, which only makes you laugh more.

“Sorry, sorry.” You say after having calmed down, still giggling a little. “Hum… so you want me to– what? Stay here?” You inquire, trying to make sense of what he’s asking you. He’s back to his thinking position.

“Ideally, yes. It would be easier. Plus this old geezer at Kyoto won’t do you any good.” You agree with that. You actually dread the idea of going from Yaga’s supervision to Gakuganji’s.

Regardless, you consider your decision to be final. The air in Tokyo is almost unbreathable for you now. It’s charged with too much, you feel like you’re risking your own sanity everyday. You’re not exactly sure moving away from Tokyo will solve the problem, but maybe starting anew will at least make it better for some time. So until the noise comes back to get you there, you’ll take that.

Kyoto’s far enough and there’s no sorrow there, no memory, no Gojo Satoru to make you feel too much. So your choice is made.

“I can’t stay in Tokyo.” The words come out weaker than you intended. “I share your perspective, though.” You’re aware of Gojo’s commitment to the next generation of sorcerers, which is a trait of his that you admire. “I’ll try thinking about coming back periodically. Give me some time.” You tell him. His suggestion actually doesn’t sound all that unpleasant to you.

“Of course, though I think I should make it clear that I’ve already made up my mind, and that things will go according to what I planned regardless of what you say.” Right. How very Gojo of him to say that.

“Oh, great!” You exclaim ironically. “So I just can’t make my own decisions anymore.”

“You can, actually. You just have to make sure your decisions correlate with mine. Easy!” There’s a big smile you dream of wiping off his face when he says that.

“Gojo, I’m not staying here.” You deadpan. “And it’s too far for me to make the trip too often.” (Which was originally one of the many reasons why Kyoto sounded perfect.)

“You silly little thing.” He exclaims, waving you off with his hand. “I’ll have you know I can teleport.” You raise an eyebrow.

“You couldn’t even teleport to the nearest convenience store last time I checked.”

“Well, you should check again. Might be surprised.” You don’t think he’s pulling all that cockiness out of nowhere, but you also can’t believe he’s made that much progress in such a short period of time. You know he’d been training a lot more since the whole Riko Amanai incident, but this is just inconceivable. “So, what do you say?”

Right. So much for trying to run away from him. Him and his all-seeing Six Eyes, and his God-like abilities. You can never catch a break.

“Didn’t you just say your mind was already made up anyway?”

“Ever the fast-learner.” He says with an overly prideful look on his face.

“I hate you.” You deadpan. He barks out a laugh.

So that’s how it happens every time, you think. Gojo waltz in whatever dark room you’re wallowing in with his loud laugh and his insufferable demeanor, and he feels like sunlight, and your resolve weakens. You hate the things that make you soft. You can’t fight anything with a blunt sword.

“For real, though. I think you’ll be good for him.” He tells you more solemnly. “We can discuss later how frequently I’ll be taking you to Tokyo.” He adds. The wording makes something stir in your stomach.

“You’re really not going to let me think about this, huh?” You sigh out. Regardless, you like how involved he already is in the kid’s well being.

“You can think all you want, sweetheart.” You hate how smoothly the nickname rolls of his tongue. “I can’t guarantee it’s going to change much, though.”

“Don’t call me that.” You reply, getting up swiftly. “Whatever you say, I need a little while to give consideration to everything this implies, and–”

“I told you, you don’t need to worry about a–”

“I don’t want you to do all the thinking for me, Gojo.” You stare down at him. “If you want me to be involved in a kid’s literal education, two kids actually, you’ll have to let me have a say eventually. So I’ll think about it, and you’ll shut up.”

“So bossy.” Looking up at you, he grins like the nuisance that he is. “I’m so gonna be Megumi’s favorite.”

“Ugh.” You roll your eyes and start walking towards the kitchen.

“Happy birthday, by the way.” He calls out to you from where he sits, amplifying his voice. “Hope you like the gift!” There’s a broad smile on display on his face as he waves like you’re a dozen meters away. Idiot.

A little while after, you’re walking home in the cold winter air, holding a piece of cake that Nanami wrapped for you to take home in your hands. You see little puffs of air come out whenever you breathe, and you can barely feel your face anymore.

You hadn’t expected Gojo’s suggestion to lift your spirits as much as it did. Before that, your plans were to transfer to Kyoto, train a lot, and try to move on. Try not to be too heartbroken. You had assumed you’d feel pretty numb for a while, now that you had graduated and that you were moving away from your friends and the life you’d established. Now that the incident happened and that Haibara died and everything changed.

Now, you have something to look forward to, in a way. Though you would’ve never expected this was the turn that things would take.

Needless to say your little plan to escape from Gojo has failed miserably. Speaking of which, you receive a text notification as soon as you step into your apartment, his name appearing at the bottom of your phone screen.

Opening it, you see a picture of a boy carrying a school backpack. He’s very young, probably a 1st grader or so, with dark hair and dark blue eyes. With the glare he’s directing at the camera, he looks like he beat Gojo up afterwards, which makes you snicker. He still looks cute, like a kid would. You already like him.

gojo

this is megumi

he’s not as cute as he looks

← previous tape next tape ➜

—

“So we’re day drinking at the beach?” You ask her, chuckling.

“Yes!” She answers cheerfully, holding two glasses in her hand (had she taken those from her place? Had she put them in her bag?). It was bound to be a beautiful day.

After that, you remember Shoko and you drinking and laughing, drinking and laughing… and Nanami joining the both of you while Haibara, Gojo and Geto were playing in the water. Nanami had brought a book. He’d have the tiniest smile plastered on his face whenever you or Shoko had just said something particularly silly.

You remember the wine gradually disappearing from the bottle, your trachea getting warmer, the world feeling kinder. Drinking and laughing. Some more time passes, and now your head’s laying on Shoko’s shoulder, the both of you tired from the wine and the heat. With eyes half closed, you catch a glimpse of the three boys from afar.

From your point of view, they’re standing right in front of the sun, so you don’t see much. Things are hazy and golden. It looks like they’re having a debate over something. Actually, it looks like Gojo and Geto are arguing over something, and it’s making Haibara laugh. You focus on the white-haired boy.

In this light, under the clear sky, he looks incandescent. It’s almost like he’s trying to compete with the sun itself. There’s an earphone plugged in your left ear, some sappy song about unrequited love playing. Some time passes, and now Gojo’s back faces you as he’s crouching down, seemingly staring at the sight in front of him. His white locks are swaying in the wind.

In that moment, you feel sorry. You wish it could be just that. A teenage boy spending a day at the beach with his friends, enjoying the view.

He looks up and you do too. He’s not looking at the sun, his head is directed the opposite way. Following his gaze, you see it. The moon hangs in the sky, amid its infinity of blue. It’s only a thin crescent, almost shy. Almost scared of the sun, like it knows it shouldn’t be there at this hour. Gojo stays crouched down for a while, staring at it. And you staring at his back. The moon is beautiful.

Another song’s playing now. You take it all in. The three boys by the sea, in the golden light. Shoko’s head resting on top of yours while yours is resting on her shoulder. Nanami sleeping with his book covering his face. Everything warm and soft.

The melodious voice in your earphone and the guitar accompanying it are lulling you. You feel yourself dozing off slowly, but before you even get the chance to close your eyes completely, you hear—

“Don’t tell me the three of you are sleeping?” It’s Gojo’s voice. “Let’s take a trip to a nursing home next time.” Geto snickers at that.

You pause your music and lift your head to look at them, the sunlight blinding you enough to keep your right eye closed.

“Gojo.” You deadpan.

He crouches down in front of you, points his index finger at your forehead and gives it a soft push.

“No. Try again.”

You sigh and hug Shoko’s arm with both of yours, putting your head back on her shoulder. She’s sleeping. “Don’t want to.” You mutter, eyes closed.

“C’mooon.” He says in that typical Gojo way. “Sa–” one push of his index finger against your bare shoulder. “To–” he punctuates the syllable with a second push, retrieving his finger to go again. “Ru.” A third. He lingers this time. “Try it.”

You lift your head from Shoko’s shoulder a second time and turn it to face his. Now that he’s closer, you take a good look at him. Or at least as good a look as the sun will allow you to.

He looks like he belongs here, with the sea and the sun and the warmth. You’re still buzzing from the wine.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Gojo relaxed like this. He’s always laid back and confident, but there’s something in the content look he’s had on his face all day that tells you it’s real. He’s not controlling it.

“Satoru!” That wasn’t you. You hear Haibara jogging towards you before you see him.

Nanami and Shoko wake up, both groaning a little as they do so. “Yaga called.” Haibara says, phone in his hand. You close your eyes again. You really don’t want this to end.

“He wants you at school in 30 minutes. Shoko too.” You hug Shoko’s arm tighter.

“Why didn’t he just call m– oh.” Gojo is looking at the three missed calls from Yaga displaying on his phone screen.

“Yeah, he called me too.” Geto tells him, eyes on his phone. “He’s going to kill us.” He says with a sheepish smile and a hand rubbing the back of his head. “Well, you. He’ll just beat me up.”

“Nnngh. Old man can’t manage on his own?” Shoko grumbles, still sleepy.

You wish it could’ve been just that. A bunch of friends at the beach, not worrying about curses or death.

You unplug your earphone. Suddenly, everyone seems ready to go already. Gojo stands back up as Nanami stretches his arms out. Shoko yawns and removes the sand from her knees.

“You guys can stay.” Geto speaks out. “I’m going with them, but you should rest some more.”

“Ah, I’d actually like to come along, if that’s okay with you.” Haibara answers. He can’t stay in place, and he’s quite talkative, so it doesn’t surprise you.

“Then I suppose I’ll come too.” Nanami says, obviously still numb from sleep.

Geto chuckles. “Alright, then. Let’s go.” The three of them start walking. You wave them goodbye as Haibara beams at you and shouts ‘see you!’ (was that the last time you’d seen him?).

You look up at Shoko, who’s already lighting a cigarette. She looks down at you, smiles softly and puts your hair back in place. You lean into her touch. Her cheeks are still red from the alcohol.

“I’ll bring the bottle next time.” You tell her. She huffs out a laugh.

“Staying here?” She asks you. She swipes her thumb across your cheek softly to remove some grains of sand. You don’t know how they got here.

You sit upright and look ahead. The sun has gone down while you weren’t looking. “Yeah.” You tell her.

“Okay. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Good luck.” You tell her as she starts leaving, waving and smiling at you.

After a few seconds, you lie down in the sand, closing your eyes and sighing out when the back of your head hits the warm ground. Opening your eyes again, you’re met with Gojo’s face looking down at you. What is he still doing here? He’s crouched down again, and his sunglasses are back on the bridge of his nose.

“Do you want Yaga to gouge your eyes out?” You ask him, snickering a bit because you can picture it. You think there’s still some wine in you.

“You still haven’t said it.”

Oh.

“You’ve already heard me say your name before.”

“Okay, then let me hear you say it again.” He sounds more serious than he did earlier. You don’t really understand him, or why he’s so insistent about this.

His eyes are looking straight at yours. It’s like he bottled the waves in his irises, his drooping white lashes enhancing his dream-like features. It’s like you bottled the red wine in your heart, and in your cheeks, with how warm you’re feeling. How could they make a weapon out of him?

Your smile stretches as you mimic what he was doing earlier ; you point your index finger right in between his eyes. You’re smiling wide, and a grin starts forming on his face too. A small laugh escapes you. Gojo thinks he’s never seen you like this. Laying down beneath him, tipsy and loose, looking truly happy.

Your faces are paralleling each other as he’s leaning above you, still squatting down with his forearms sitting on his thighs. You can feel the weight of his full attention on you, like there’s nothing else. You want more of this. Will you have more if you say it?

“Satoru.” You articulate after a few seconds, taking your time with each syllable. Your voice is soft, only for him to hear. He could make out your smile in between the letters of his name. His own smile stretches.

“Again.” He commands. You let out a full-on laugh this time, pointing at both of his eyes with your index and middle finger now. You let another while pass.

“Satoru.” It sounds more serious, more firm.

You don’t move for a while. Then you retrieve your hand, slowly, and he pushes his sunglasses back up his nose at the same time. He gets up and you stay laying down on the sand.

“See, wasn’t so hard.” He’s back to the jolly tone.

The moon is higher now that the sun begins hiding. The sky is a darker shade of blue.

“Can you ask Yaga about the upcoming exam?” You ask him. He’s already a few meters from you.

“I will if you say ‘Pleeease, Sato-’”

“Okay, nevermind.” You deadpan. “Get lost.”

“Oh, I will. Hope you don’t mind me borrowing these.” You sit up and turn to look at him. Your sandals are in his hand and he’s smiling at you. “I’ve always had a thing for brown leather.” And the jerk starts walking away.

A couple minutes later, on the way to the school, Nanami, Haibara, Shoko and Geto are taking guesses at what Yaga wants when they see two figures flashing past them.

“Satoru!” They hear your voice yelling, followed by your white-haired counterpart’s laugh. Geto and Haibara snicker.

“There you go!” They hear him tell you, his voice sounding distant and filled with delight. “So you do know my name!”

← previous tape next tape ➜

—

This used to be much easier, you think. He’d walk in on you sitting in an empty classroom, earphones on, focused on some theoretical exercise. Then he’d walk over to you, hands in his pockets, and he’d bend enough to make his face level with yours, stealing one of your earphones and putting it in his ear. You’d look up. Scowls, uncalled-for comments from him, glances, a chewing-gum offering. Light conversation, some bickering, some more scowling. And he left. It felt easy.

He’d sling his arm over your shoulders whenever a picture was being taken, and he’d tell you whenever he thought you looked good. Easy. You’d think he was loud, annoying, cocky, a bit too much sometimes. You still do, but now it’s not the same. And you don’t know how, but you know he knows.

Sometimes you wonder if he’s trying to let you down softly. The way he looks at you, touches you when it’s just the two of you, talks to you a bit softer, makes you feel like he’s trying not to be cruel about it. But then he leaves without a second thought and you reconsider. Sometimes he’s careless in a way that makes you think he’s actually being cruel on purpose.

“What’re you thinking about?” You remember him asking lightheartedly. Tilted head, pale cheeks resting on his fist. The lights are dimmed, the atmosphere soothing in a post-mind-blowing-sex-with-your-friend kind of way.

“Nothing in particular.” You’re laying on your back, staring at the ceiling. Your legs are sitting on top of his.

“So you’re thinking about me.” Still lighthearted.

“Always.” You match his tone, turning your head to look at him.

He’s looking right back at you, his eyes slightly hooded, a smirk on display. He knows, you think. One of his hands is rubbing your leg softly, almost tickling you. Some time passes. You know he’s going to leave soon.

“Still down for those tutoring sessions?” He asks after a while. You’d told him about how you wanted to better your hand-to-hand combat skills.

“Don’t call them that.”

“I’m not teaching you anything unless you call me your mentor.” He’s only half joking.

“Guess I’ll go ask Geto, then. He won’t be as annoying.” He scoffs.

“You know I’m better than him.” He says. And you do know. Geto’s strong, and Gojo also knows that. But it’s simply widely accepted that Gojo is — well, the strongest. Everybody knows, but he still gets a bit childish about defending it.

“I’ll tell him that you said he was — what is it that you said? — a weakling? And a pushover?” You say in a dramatic tone. “God, Gojo. You’re so mean.”

He plays into your antics. “Tell him I also said I could fight him with a missing arm and leg anytime.”

You laugh. “Yeah, I’m not saying all of that. Geto’s too nice to be treated like this.”

“And I’m not?” His hand on your leg is getting slower, softer.

“Well…” you start, acting like you’re in deep thought. “You could be nicer.”

“Yeah?” His hand is going higher and higher, his index finger gradually tracing a straight line from your ankle to your lower thigh. “How?”

By staying, you think. “Are you saying this because I deny you of your orga-”

“Oh my god, Gojo.” He huffs out a laugh. Some time passes again.

“Satoru.” He says suddenly.

“Huh?”

“When are you going to stop calling me Gojo?” He asks. You do still have a habit of calling him Gojo when you’re not having sex, though you’ve known each other for a while now.

It irritates him. It’s nothing much, really, but he hates that you still say ‘Gojo’ as a reflex whenever you’re calling out to him. During classes, when you’re hanging out with your friends, right after he makes you fall apart. Like you’re some acquaintances, putting distance between you as if your relationship was purely formal.

“When I feel like it.” You sit up and look at him. “When you’re nicer to me.”

He sits up too, takes one of your legs, puts it above his shoulder and kisses the side of your calf before putting it back down. You want more. He gets out of bed and you instantly start missing his warmth.

When he’s almost done putting his shoes back on, he speaks out.

“I might stay longer next time, then.” And you find yourself facing his back again, except this time you’re lucky because he shoots you a side glance before leaving.

He knows, you think. You hate that he knows. You hate that you feel like this. Sometimes you want to put an end to whatever you have going on with him, and you feel like you’d be better off never seeing him again. Sometimes the idea of an alternate reality where you don’t know him, where you’re not standing in his light, seems devoid of any and all interest. You’d rather endure the heartbreak.

He might stay longer next time, because he’s not actually going to, and because he knows that’s what you secretly hope for each time. He’s cruel. You wish he was more cruel, sometimes. It’d be easier.

Coming back to bed after taking a shower, you take your phone and notice one text notification from Gojo.

gojo

do you have me saved in your phone as gojo?

next tape ➜

—

“Such high praise.” You answer in mock modesty, throwing a single wave of your hand at him.

He lets out a soft chuckle as you walk past him to put the empty glasses you’d gathered in the sink. You’d found a way to clean the table of all of the glasses in one go, which is what earned you this comment from Geto. The water was already running, and the bubbles from the dish soap were swelling by the second.

Turning back around, you notice Shoko’s scarf on the couch, a little way behind the table. You don’t even have the time to ask yourself if you could catch up to her before your phone lights up, one message notification from Shoko appearing on your screen. Unlocking it, you read her text.

shoko

just realized i forgot my scarf

Your thumb hovers over the screen as the three moving dots indicate another text is coming.

shoko

i never liked that thing anyway

You snicker at the message, typing an answer right away. She did mention her distaste for this scarf once or twice.

i’m still giving it back to you on monday

Her answer comes a few seconds after.

shoko

thanks

feel free to light it on fire tho

You smile and double-tap her message, putting your phone back on the table.

You were in your apartment when Gojo called to ask you if you wanted to come over to Geto’s place and have a drink with your friends.

He had originally gone to Geto’s to pick something up, and he’d found Nanami there, as he and Geto were working on a group project. Utahime had then called Gojo on her way back from campus, and as she and Shoko were not far from Geto’s place, he’d told them to come over. That’s when he called you.

“I know you don’t have anything better to do. Your exam’s like, what, a week away? Just come over.” He’d told you. You realized he had put you on speaker when you heard Shoko shout ‘Girl, come over!’ from a distance. She was obviously a couple of drinks in already.

You’d accepted and had vaguely mentioned not feeling like taking the subway before hanging up. You hadn’t thought much of it and actually didn’t really have a choice, but you got a text from Geto a few minutes later.

geto

Want me to pick you up?

The text had surprised you, even though you knew it wasn't rare for Geto to be like this. So sweet. So perfect. It wouldn’t even take you this long to get to his place, and the subway station was just a few meters from your apartment building.

You’d been typing back an answer when he sent another text.

geto

Be here in 20

So you ended up in his passenger seat, making light conversation. His car looked and smelled clean, everything tinted in some shade of grey. It seemed fitting.

Geto’s presence always felt both calming and unnerving to you. You’d never felt this contrast as much as you had then, sitting beside him in the passenger seat of his car. He calmed you down and made all of your senses alert all the same. And although you’d been attracted to Geto for as long as you’d known him, you hadn’t ever felt this stimulated from simply being near him. Getting out of the car, you had taken a deep breath, feeling like you could finally relax. He was definitely getting in your head.

The small get together felt just like the other ones : homey, warm, easy. Like something you didn’t want to let go of. The conversations, the laughs, the games, the banter — all of this was familiar at this point. It always felt like belonging.

And you hadn’t missed the small glances you and Geto had exchanged all throughout the evening, the way he looked at you like something was going on and only the two of you were in on it. How his voice softened ever-so-slightly whenever he addressed you. How strangely delightful it felt to have his undivided attention.

So now here you were, helping Geto clean up his living room after your friends left, a little past midnight. Nanami had taken it upon himself to drop everyone off, as he didn’t trust any of them to get home safely.

“Okay, let me just find my keys then I can drop you off.” You hear Geto tell you as you fidget with Shoko’s scarf.

“Wait, let me help with the dishes.” You suggest as you fold the scarf, looking for your bag.

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s getting late.”

“It’s okay, really.” You tell him. “It’s Friday, plus I don’t have an exemplary sleep schedule, even on weekdays.”

As you were packing the neatly-folded scarf in your bag, you figured you’d just do what Geto had done earlier — help him regardless of what he says. So you head towards the kitchen sink and start wetting a sponge.

“You know I’m going to be fine, right? I can manage some dishwashing.”

As you begin to work on the task at hand, you answer him without turning around.

“Huh? I can’t hear you.”

Geto chuckles, apparently accepting his defeat. He rolls up his sleeves and goes to stand next to you, picking up an empty glass and shoving his sponge inside. You can’t help but notice how toned his forearms are, how strong his hands seem. Breathing felt much easier when all of your friends were here earlier. Now you were feeling just like you had felt in his car ; like the place was shrinking down. Ironically, it’s Geto’s voice that brings you back to reality.

“You looked like you were having a good time.”

A few seconds pass before your answer comes.

“Yeah. It was fun. Weren’t you having a good time?”

“I was. I still am.” He still has that slight grin plastered on his face. “It’s been a while since we’ve all been together.”

“Yeah.” You saw Shoko and Gojo almost everyday, and you ran into Nanami, Geto and Utahime on a regular basis on campus, but it had indeed been a while since you’d seen all of them in the same room. “I haven’t seen you at all lately.”

Although you’d been focused on your upcoming exams in the last few days, you’d still noticed how you hadn’t even caught a glimpse of him around campus for a while. You’d found yourself hoping you would run into him sometime during the day. You hadn’t.

“Yeah. I looked for you.” You look up at him.

“Did you?”

“I did.” He looks right back at you, putting the last glass on the counter while you hand him a towel and get one for yourself.

“I guess our schedules weren’t compatible at all.”

“I guess you’ve been avoiding me.” He laughs softly at that.

“Couldn’t if I tried.” He says after a few seconds. Please stop saying things like that, you say internally.

“Why didn’t you just text me?” You ask after you let another while pass.

“I don’t know, actually.” You start putting the clean glasses back on their shelf. “Saw you weren’t texting in the groupchat, so I figured you were busy.”

And you were. At least, you had been in the last few days. But you could’ve made time for him. You would’ve, if he’d only asked.

You stretch your arms out after being done with the dishes, glancing to your left to see Geto crouching down, looking for something in the back of one of the lower shelves.

“Let me pour you some wine as a thank you.” He tells you, focused on finding what you assume is a wine bottle.

“Oh- it’s fine, really.” Even though you’d say you feel rather comfortable with Geto now, the two of you still hadn’t entirely dropped the formalities. You’d actually really appreciate a glass of wine right now.

His eyes stop raking over the shelf and he reaches out to the very end of it, careful not to make any brutal move around the glass bottles. He stands back up, holding a bottle of red wine while smiling at you.

“You’re lucky Shoko and Utahime didn’t get their hands on this one.” You smile back at him.

“I see you’re keeping secrets.” You walk towards the living room table, checking your phone while he opens the bottle.

“They’re going to get pissed when I send this to them.”

shoko

still at geto’s ?

The message was sent 5 minutes ago. You type back a simple affirmative answer, still paying attention to your conversation with Geto.

“When?” He asks. “They don’t have to know about that, do they?”

Shoko sees your text immediately and starts writing an answer.

“Oh, they do. I absolutely will be here to witness your downfall in the groupchat.” You hear his laugh over the sound of the wine being poured.

shoko

hmmmm

“And I thought you were sweet.” He gets a second glass and starts pouring the wine. Sweet.

what?

You look up from your phone after having texted Shoko back as Geto joins you in the living room and brings a glass over to you, clinking yours with his own. You plant your eyes in his as you raise your glass to your lips.

“Well, you thought wrong.”

You hadn’t realized how thirsty you were until you had that first sip of wine. It felt sweet on your tongue and harsh on your throat, tracing a warm path as it disappeared into your digestive system. Just how you liked it.

Geto observes you, absentmindedly drawing light patterns on his glass.

“Oh? I’m pretty sure I guessed right.” You take some time to remember what he’s referencing.

Right. Sweet.

In the corner of your eye, you notice your phone lighting up with what you can only imagine is an answer from Shoko.

“What makes you say that?” You ask after having drank some more wine.

Geto narrows his eyes as if to evaluate you.

“You can’t be mean.” He states simply.

Your immediate response was to refute, but you figured responding with ‘I can be mean!’ made you sound a bit childish. You might as well just cross your arms on your chest and huff like a six-year old at this point. Did he say that just to get a rise out of you?

“You’re right.” You say as you take your phone in your hands. From where you stand, you take a picture of the wine bottle on the kitchen counter. You notice Geto’s smile growing slowly. “I’m actually the sweetest angel on earth.”

Setting your glass on the table, you send the picture to the groupchat and start typing.

geto literally just told me he hid it bc none of you cheap drunkards deserved such delicacy

his words not mine

Geto fishes his phone out from his black sweatpants and reads the message you just sent. Remembering Shoko had sent you a text, you go to open her message.

shoko

have a good night :)))

:))))))))))

You feel like both rolling your eyes out of their orbit and barking out a laugh. You quickly type back.

shut up omg

Putting your phone back on the table, you look up to see Geto laughing at his phone before putting it back in his pocket. He looked good like this, an oversized woolen sweater floating around his form, the material perfectly light and loose and perfectly completing his all-black attire.

“‘Cheap drunkards’, huh?”

“Right, why would you say something like that? That’s so mean!” Geto laughs as he shakes his head.

“Gojo’s going to be so dramatic about this.”

“Oh, the worst. And he doesn’t even drink.” You start giggling, not only because you find this funny, but also because you can feel the wine kicking in. You feel warm. Geto’s laugh doesn’t help. You reach for your glass and take another sip.

“So, was it part of your plan to lure me in with some red wine?” You ask, looking at him intently.

“That’s possible.” He tells you, playing into your game. “I might start always keeping a bottle or two in here from now on.” You giggle.

“I’ll consider moving in if you get some white wine. Especially if it’s sweet.” He smirks.

“I’m holding you to that.” He says, his soothing voice always a treat for your greedy ears.

His hand moves around in his pocket and you hear his car keys jingle. You realize you don’t want to go home right now. You feel so warm here.

“I better see you around campus more often now.” You tell him.

“Well, you will if you stop avoiding me.” It’s your turn to grin now.

“Okay, okay, I will. I was getting tired of hiding from you anyways.” He chuckles in that soft way again and you wish he never stopped.

“For real, though. Come and see me sometimes.” He says.

“No.”

“No?”

“Huh-huh.” You shake your head. “Don’t feel like it.” He smiles. “You come and see me or we just never see each other like, ever again.”

“Alright, then. Send me your schedule. Do I have to make an appointment, or will Madam be kind enough to receive me anytime?” You realize he’s gotten a lot closer. You feel warmer by the second, but you don’t hate it. You don’t know why, but you want to put your hands on his shoulders.

“I’ll think about it.” He grins at you, and you return his grin. The feeling of his eyes on you is as delectable as ever. He’s close to you now but it’s not close enough. Not nearly enough.

“Please do.” His tone is hushed now, the both of you anticipating what you know is coming. You’re torn between wishing to take what you want right now and wishing for this particular moment to never end. The chase at its peak, the both of you practically able to feel the other one sizzle at the touch.

“Oh, I forgot.” His widened eyes are still on you, his lips almost touching yours. “You’re not a sweet girl, right? What is it that you were saying earlier — ‘I thought wrong’, yeah?” You can’t help but smile giddily, even as he slightly pulls away. “So why don’t you just take what you want?”

You should’ve known Geto would be like this. Actually, part of you already knew, you just couldn’t prove it. But of course he’d be a tease. You might like it a little more than you should.

“I actually remember saying I was the sweetest angel on earth.” You say as you grab a handful of his sweater and pull him towards you. “So I think you’ll give me what I want.” He mirrors your smile and you feel like you’ve never been this impatient. “Won’t you?”

His eyes absorb you and your thoughts as you stare into them. It feels like you’re both testing each other, trying to gauge just how patient you are.

“Anything you want.”

His eyes devour your lips one last time before his own start doing the same. And it feels like release, like the warmth you’ve been craving all night long — and on many days and nights before this one. Geto kisses you slow and deep, and all of your senses are filled with him. You’re delighted to finally taste him, to finally have him right there, so you trace his jawline, and you tangle your fingers in his hair before wrapping your arms around his neck, and you slightly bite on his lower lip, pulling it towards you with your teeth, and you—

“Fuck.” He says after letting out a groan. You release his lower lip from your teeth and he uses his thumb to angle your chin towards him. He gives you one, two, three pecks as sweet as a lover’s kiss before speaking up, his words muttered against your mouth.

“So we’re finally dropping the formalities.” You giggle into his mouth as he starts kissing you again and relishes the fact that he finally, finally gets to eat his favorite sound up just like he’s been wanting to for a long time now.

Geto was deft enough to have you backed against the counter without you even realizing before he lifted you up swiftly so you were sitting on the edge of it.

He starts kissing your neck like he wants to devour it and then nips at it in the softest, sweetest way just to go back to his initial greedy pace a few seconds after. Your sighs are getting more and more desperate as a handful of his sweater is crumpled in your grip, your balled-up fist pulling him closer. Geto almost moans out at that. The sounds he’s pulling from you only make him grow greedier by the second.

Your hand slides down to reach his sweatpants and, barely reaching beneath, you curl your finger around the hem of the garment just to tease him, your other hand grabbing a fistful of his hair. As hard as he’s trying not to completely lose himself, it feels like you’re trying to wreck him entirely.

As his mouth finds yours again, his hand slides under your shirt and grabs your waist before going up, his touch setting your skin ablaze. His fingers slide against the side of your tummy before reaching your breast, continuing their path as he flattens his palm against your bra and drags it up to touch your skin. His hand is almost cupping your breast but not quite, and he ends up ghosting over the area to trace the strap with his index finger. When he reaches your shoulder, he hooks his finger around the strap and drags it down slowly.

His other hand follows the same path and eventually reaches your strap to replicate what he just did. When he begins pulling at the straps from under your sleeves, you realize he’s taking your bra off before everything else, because of course he’d know how to do that. You let him do it, and when you see your bra scattered on the floor, you wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you with his lips still on yours.

“Bed?” He mutters.

You hum in approvement and he starts moving, hoisting you up and walking you both towards his room. You paid little attention to the room itself, but what your foggy mind allowed you to see appeared pretty fitting — simple and tidy layout, mostly black and grey. Just like his car had, his room smelled of cleanliness.

He lets you down cautiously on the large bed, still kissing you hot-headed and delicate and lustful all at once — like he meant it — without detaching himself from you. With you sitting on the edge of his bed, he immediately gets on his knees, looking up at you while trailing down slowly. His lascivious eyes don’t leave yours as he takes his time on his way down, kissing here and touching there, nipping here and licking there.

Your head rolls back in anticipation. Looking back down, you see his fingers lacing with yours ever-so-slowly and you realize you’re not sure you would ever want this to be casual.

Still, you might be ready to put up with some heartbreak if it meant you’d get to do this again.

—

Your mind has already registered too much information before your eyes are even fully open. One : Geto isn’t in bed with you. Two : your phone keeps lighting up with text notifications, probably from the groupchat, you assume. Three : something smells really good.

Taking your phone in your hands, you will your eyes into functioning correctly before unlocking your screen, trying to read what’s displayed in front of you. You only start being able to read normally after a minute.

gojo

this is outrageous

shoko

shut up you don’t even drink

this is outrageous !!!

utahime

who is he calling cheap drunkards ???

what happened to respecting your elders

nanami

He wasn’t exactly wrong about the ‘cheap drunkards’ part.

However I would’ve appreciated one glass or two.

gojo

actually way to go geto

utahime

shut up

nanami

Shut up, Gojo.

shoko

shut up

were you two waiting for us to leave so you could start drinking wine??

utahime

that’s scandalous

gojo

of course they were

geto knows ball

proud of you son!!!

You decide this is a problem for later as you let your phone fall back on the mattress, sitting up and heading to the kitchen. Walking out of the bedroom, you immediately see Geto’s back facing you as he appears to be cooking something.

You only realize how sore your thighs and legs are when you begin walking up to him. He hears you and turns around, smiling at you like this was a normal Saturday morning. Like this was usual for the two of you. You stop in front of him, not knowing what to do, and he’s the one to make the last step towards you to kiss your nose so tenderly you almost melt.

“Hey.” He greets you, his voice deep, his tone soft.

“Hi.” You greet him back, smiling up at him.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I did. Very well.”

Last night is a hot, steamy, electrifying and mushy blur in your mind. You hadn’t felt that good in forever, you probably hadn’t even felt that good ever before. Geto was perfect. He listened and he cared and he kissed and he touched like he just knew what to do with you and how to do it. And you don’t know much about physics, but you’d say something was going on with the chemistry between your bodies, because rare were the things in your life that just felt that right. You’d get your heart broken a million times over for this.

And God was he the sweetest, cradling your head with both of his hands, barely looking anywhere but straight into your eyes as he made you fall apart over and over. Telling you how good you were, calling you pretty and beautiful along with a range of variants, sometimes baby, and just once you’d heard him whisper my girl through the foggy mess he’d turned your brain into. “C’mon, gorgeous.” He’d say, “give me more, I know you can.”

The last thing you remember before drifting to sleep is having your head on his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head, talking while the two of you were half-asleep. Most of what you were saying was muttered, and you remember him punctuating his words with soft kisses on your forehead. With his arms tied around your waist, he’d asked you ‘do you have anything planned tomorrow?’ and you’d sleepily answered that no, you didn’t.

“What about you?” You ask him.

“I slept wonderfully.” He tells you with his hand on your cheek. “I’m making breakfast.”

The morning is quiet and beautiful, like a Sunday morning. Except this was a Saturday, and as the both of you ate breakfast and talked, you were acting like this was normal. You’d tried your best not to think about the future, about anything that would happen past this day. You’d tried your best not to wonder, not to doubt. Geto had implied sometime during the night before that he wasn’t looking for anything right now, romantically speaking. You’d said the same just a few minutes prior, and had meant it. That was before you knew what Geto could do to you.

Late in the afternoon, he had suggested you both go on a walk. The smell of late winter was fresh in the air, and everything felt right with him there. That night, you slept with one of his oversized black tee-shirts on. You slept with your head in the crook of his neck.

You woke up in the same shirt, in the same position, with the same feeling ; the one that told you this felt too warm, too good to last.

—

Sparring with Zoro felt like trying to get through a reinforced wall. His strength and his reflexes were already impressive as they were, but he also saw and felt literally everything down to the most insignificant flutter of your eyelashes. To you, his ability to analyze his opponent to then adjust and calculate his way into a victory was, by far, the most impressive asset in his fighting technique. It felt like he could use every irregular breath, every malfunctioning nerve and turn them against you at just the right moment. That’s how you ended up on the floor before even realizing it.

It sometimes got a bit intimidating, feeling like he would find a way to know every single thing you felt. It got all the more intimidating when you felt like this even when Zoro wasn’t sparring with you. And it wasn’t rare. You can think of a few times where, without you having said anything, he’d just sensed that something was going on, that you weren’t being your usual self. You never knew how to feel about this, especially as the both of you didn’t even talk much.

It felt like most of your relationship with Zoro was non-verbal. It took place in the silences. You don’t talk much, but you observe, always mindful, you feel, always alert. It was weird, to say the least. But not necessarily in a bad way.

And apparently it was thanks to his telepathic abilities that he sensed that something was going on with you the second he stepped on the deck, where you were sitting down just a few hours prior. Nothing much happened, really — he walked in, stared, asked ‘what’s up with you?’, didn’t listen when you tried to brush it off, then suggested sparring.

Well, he didn’t actually suggest sparring. He’d said “Well, whatever’s the matter, best way to let it out is to exercise.” Because of course he would say that. “Move, sweat, wear yourself out. Shut your head up for a bit. Thinks too much.”

He had then turned back around and added “I’ll be in the training room, ‘f you wanna sweat those thoughts out.”

You had mulled it over for a bit, then got up after deciding it was the best option you had. You didn’t want to spend the night thinking.

So now here you were, sweating the thoughts — and everything else in your body — out, with Zoro helping you better your defensive stance. The past few hours had all melted into one another, and for the first time in a while, you’d been able to focus for an extended period of time. Both your body and your mind were utterly present, your feet on the ground. The physical exercise was difficult, but the routine of it all made it so easy. The starting stance, the fight, the mistakes, the little improvements, and the—

“Again.”

The steady voice that kept your feet clawed to the ground. And although Zoro had worn more or less the same facial expression and body language all evening, you could tell he was satisfied with your evolution. Little approving hums, almost inaudible, when you perfectly blocked one of his blows, then abruptly leveling up the difficulty just to see how far you could get, or his eyes narrowing and lighting up with that glint whenever you resisted his strength for longer than usual… you didn’t know if he enjoyed this, but it sure felt like he did.

It even felt like he liked provoking you, sometimes. Like testing you was entertaining to him. “C’mon, give me more”, he would say when you initiated an attack, almost coaxing the violence out of you. “You scared of hurtin’ me or something?” he’d almost drawl, apparently trying to get a rise out of you. “That’s not all you’ve got.”, he’d add after a while, more coldly. And—

Again. Again, again.

You didn’t know what pushed you to get up and go again each time. Maybe it was the thoughts you were trying to dodge, boiling like they would all come to the surface and bubble over if you so much as took a breath. It might’ve just been the fact that you were a little hungry for that glint in Zoro’s eyes, as if you had proved yourself to him. A little greedy for the satisfied hums, the quips, even the slight meanness. His focus on you, and yours on him. You were a little curious, also, about all of the reactions you could get out of him, about the way he would respond if you exceeded him, even for just a second.

“I can’t know when I’ll be back for sure.” He had said with that solemn tone that let you know you were looking at Shanks the Emperor, the captain of your ship.

“It might be weeks or months. I’ll try to be back as soon as possible.” He added.

You looked at him without responding. You know Shanks is strong. More than you can even fathom. And you know he’s not one to be carefree when surrounded by danger. He’s probably safe. But—

“Don’t do anything stupid.” You didn’t know how else to put it. You didn’t want to be too gentle, too caring when talking to him. He’d become insufferable.

“Please.”

Well, you could still be polite.

Slowly, his lips stretched into a grin — the grin you tried to avoid bringing to his face as much as possible. You could almost see the seriousness and sternness in him evaporate in fumes. Shanks the Big Strong Man was gone.

You already rolled your eyes in anticipation.

“Oh, but would you look at that?” He said, feigning surprise like the annoying pest he was.

“Is this you worrying about me?” He titled his head. “You don’t want me to go?”

“I don’t remember saying that.” You deadpanned.

His grin turned into a soft smile.

“Okay. I won’t be stupid.” He tells you after a few seconds.

His voice was soft but it still had a grave quality to it, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think it meant that he dreaded goodbyes as much as you did. Except when it comes to Shanks, you don’t really know what anything means anymore.

“Don’t be too reckless when I’m gone.” He speaks out again after a little while.

You raise an eyebrow.

“Well, now that I won’t be spending my time stitching you up, I don't know. Might throw myself in a fire.”

Shanks laughs.

“I’ll make sure to come back with enough wounds to make you tend to me for a good while after I return.”

You feel like he’s only half joking.

“Can’t have you forget about me.” He adds.

You hate how you immediately think you could never forget about him. You despise, really, how you know you could try to scrape every trace of him off yourself, and you still never could.

You got so close to the sun the burn is irreversible. And the fall is inevitable.

And when it’s that bad, you have no choice but to try and salvage yourself — at least the parts of yourself that can be salvaged — by covering it all up. Bandage it ‘till it stands on its own.

“I’ll try not to.”

Shanks smiles his knowing smile, the one you might hate even more than the others, because it feels like he’s telling you he sees right through you. Feels like he can plant his eyes so deep down your ribcage he’s able to see your soul along with a reflection of himself. You won’t.

Then you remember.

“Your shirt!” You blurt out.

You turn around and reach out to where the shirt lays at the back of the cabin, clean and folded on your bedside table.

“I found it yesterday, someone used it as a rag- I guess they were drunk. I washed it.”

You don’t know if it’s Shanks’ favorite shirt, but it’s the one you see him in most often. You’d personally hate to go on a long trip without the one piece of clothing you feel most comfortable in.

Shanks holds one hand out, his palm facing you.

“It’s fine. I’ll leave it here. I’m trusting you with it.”

“You’re not taking it?”

“No.” He turns around and opens the door, already on his way out.

You suddenly feel like there’s sand slipping through your fingers, and it makes you uneasy. Maybe you should kneel down and salvage what you can, gather it and never let it go again.

For now though, you just watch as Shanks’ cloak follows after him, lingering a bit before the door closes. You just stand there for a few seconds, eyes on the wooden wall.

You wait some more, then your legs start moving towards the exit of the cabin. Outside, the air feels crisp. Shanks is leaving with summertime.

You step on the deck, walking to the top of the stairs. Although he’s taking his time, he’s already reached the last one. He turns to look at you. He almost looks like a stranger like this, though he’s dressed like he usually is.

His bag hanging off of one shoulder, legs slightly parted, back straightened, he stands tall and proud. He feels warm and too far away. You’re starting to get cold.

“I’m not taking it so you won’t have an excuse to avoid me when I’m back.” He speaks from down the stairs, and you realize how new it feels to hear his voice from afar.

How used you were to him standing directly next to you, or in front of you — closer.

He almost looks like a stranger like this, because you’d never felt this way while seeing him off before. But he certainly doesn’t feel like one. He feels warm and too far for you to catch. But Shanks is strong, and clever, and there’s no reason for you to worry. Still—

“Be sure to be back soon, then. I might take it with me when I throw myself in a fire.”

He smiles yet another one of his smiles, only this time, it’s rarer. It’s the one that makes you feel like your heart is stretching in sync with his lips. So warm it makes you remember why you even got this close to the sun in the first place, makes your burns awake and tingling all over.

You know the seas are wide and unforgiving, you know they take and they swallow without a second thought. You know how cold, how scary, how lonely it gets. You’ve experienced it. But—

“Why are you so close?” you ask, seeming genuinely confused.

The words didn’t come out like you thought they would. They sounded slow, and slurred.

Shanks chuckles.

“Okay, I didn’t know you had that much wine.”

“I didn’t have that much.”

He looks at the glass bottle at your feet and almost sighs in relief when he sees it knocked over on the floor, all remaining liquor now forming a dark red puddle on the wooden deck.

“Y’know if you wanted my shirt, you could’ve just said so.”

Your brain takes a few seconds to register the words. When it’s done, you frown.

“I don’t want your shirt.” You mutter in a rather childish way. “Smells like you.”

He laughs. It’s irritating and beautiful.

“Okay, so give it back, will ya?”

You frown a second time. Your hand moves before your brain does, and you feel it letting go of something. When you glance down to see where it was, you see the piece of crumpled shirt.

The white shirt. That was just in your hand. You look back up.

“Oh. Sorry.” Still kind of childish, and a little bashful.

“‘S okay. So, tell me…” Shanks crouches down to make his face level with yours. “Do you often hear my pretty voice in your head?”

“What?”

“You just said my voice was pretty.”

You look at him, perplexed.

“No.”

He chuckles. It’s annoying. And also beautiful.

“Yes. You must be used to my voice being in your head then.”

“No. And well, yeah.”

The red-haired man looks surprised. He didn’t expect this answer.

“Yeah?”

“You have the same voice as my captain. What kind of pirate would I be if my captain’s voice wasn’t imprinted in my brain?”

You explained this as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Shanks looks at you for a few seconds before exploding in laughter.

You frown for the third time. Your eyebrows are starting to hurt. You look at the man, who’s still laughing, and wonder what his problem is.

“Oh yeah? What do I say?” He says after having calmed down.

“Not you, dummy! My captain!” You exclaim before continuing.

“And I often hear him say the things he usually says, y’know ‘fold the sails!’ — you try to take an authoritarian voice to imitate your captain —, ‘we’re casting off!’, ‘more booze!’, ‘cause these are things he always says.”

Shanks smiles, looking amused.

“But sometimes it’s just…”

You look down on your folded knees.

“Like, ‘good morning’, or ‘what do you want for breakfast?’. I don’t know. ‘S weird.”

His smile softens.

“It is weird. Ever thought of getting your head checked?”

He puts his pointer finger just above your right ear.

“Might be really bad, y’know.”

Shanks really tries not to tease you. He does. But before he can say anything else, he feels something tugging at his shirt. Looking down, he sees your hand, doing the same thing it had done just before : gripping his shirt, letting go, then gripping some more.

“That tickles. You sure you don’t want my shirt?”

“Yeah. I just… I don’t know. Don’t move.”

The feeling in your hand still isn’t enough : everytime you grab the shirt, you feel like something is missing. Maybe you don’t want the shirt. You want the warmth.

And Shanks isn’t used to seeing you like this at all, but still, he lets you crumple his shirt and pull him towards you, and he stays crouched down next to you. He lets you borrow some of his warmth.