It's been a few months since you joined a get together of theirs, let alone planned one yourself. You often opted out of their invitation to look after your son, or as many loved to remind you, “stepson”.

“I’m shocked you managed to get out of the house,” Shoko Ieiri teases glancing across the table in your direction, a sly smile playing on her lips.

Yu Haibara is practically vibrating with excitement, his arm wraps around your shoulders tugging you closer to his side. “It’s been so long, we’ve all missed having you around.” He beams, with a lopsided grin.

You didn't mean to let out the most awkward and forced sounding laugh of your life. Their reactions are immediate, everyone at the table either looks concerned or ready to invoke pain onto your enemies. You griamce, they’d always been excellent at reading you.

That, or you simply sucked at hiding your emotions.

Suguru Geto noticed from the moment he slid into the cushioned booth across from you. The clear exhaustion in your eyes, and the dark circles you attempted to hide, along with the way your body curled in — attempting to make yourself smaller. You spent more time quietly chugging down the red wine in the fancy glass, than chatting away about the cuteness aggression you felt every time Megumi did the bare minimum.

You laugh, shaking your head and waving your hands at them, trying to reassure the concerns brimming up in their heads. “You’re all worrying over nothin—”

“Why don’t you skip past the lies and tell us what’s bothering you?” Nanami Kento interrupts, the usual stern expression on his face seems a bit more tense. You should be used to his straightforward way of speaking; you’ve known him for years.

You remain silent for a few seconds pondering on your next actions, wondering if you’d be able to shift the topic onto a new subject. And you could, If the group didn’t look as determined as they do at this moment, you’re certain the new photos of Megumi and you at the city’s fair would’ve distracted them.

With a heavy sigh, you give in.

“It’s hard, ignoring the whispers from the other moms at Megumi’s school,” Your fingers reach for the glass of wine, proceeding to take a long sip in attempt to calm the nerves. “They say he’d be different if his birth mother raised him, and insist since I’m not his birth mother, I wouldn’t know how to raise someone else’s son.”

Utahime scoffs, chugging down the glass of beer to keep herself from reaching over the booth and demanding the names of these women. “And they know how to raise someone else’s son?" Utahime argues, eyes brimming with anger.

"You might not have birthed him, but you’ve been at his side since he was three.” Haibara adds in, his large hand rubbing your back in a comforting manner.

You bite your lip, releasing a shaky breath.

“Just because Megumi isn't bouncing off the walls, or eating dirt like their kids doesn't mean he's unsocial, or odd. He just doesn’t like their kids!” You state, cheeks feeling warm due to the alcohol kicking into your system. “He has no issue talking to his friends, Yuji or Nobara!”

You speak with confidence yet the light in your eyes fades as the topic proceeds, and you sigh running a hand through your hair. “I wonder if they’re right.” Your words direct their complete attention on you, noticing the tears that brim in the corner of your eyes.

“Would he be more cheerful, and outspoken? Would he tell me all the things he likes and dislikes without a single care in the world? Would he talk about everything and nothing, instead of worrying about bothering me?” You pause for a second, seemingly pondering on saying what you really want to.

“Would they be different if it were her?” No one within your shared table says a word. Your tearful eyes shift away from the empty glass in your hands, towards the different emotions ranging on your friends’ face — a mixture of sympathy, and concern.

You laugh, awkwardly, while using the long sleeves of your top to wipe away the tears. “Sorry, I think I need some fresh air.” You ignore the soft calls of your name and slide out of the booth — rushing out of the restaurant door and into the cold winter air.

It seems, it definitely wasn’t the brightest idea to step into the winter breeze with alcohol in your system.

You spin on your heels in attempt to head inside the restaurant seeking the warmth you ran from. Unaware of your surroundings, your face smacks right into the board chest of a stranger whose large hands grab at your waist to keep you steady.

With a sigh of relief, your lips part to speak when the sudden warm scent of sweet vanilla and amber sets in your nostrils. The familiar scent sends your body involuntarily relaxing into the stranger’s chest. Your eyes flutter open and closed repeatedly for a few seconds, attempting to snap yourself out of the daze.

It’s as if all the memories of your past flooded your mind with bits and pieces remaining fuzzy but the icy blue eyes you’d once been in love with are clear.

You lift your head up, eyes widening in surprise seeing those exact blue eyes staring back at you. “Gojo.”

His smile is light, still bright, but a bit wary — worried he’d startle you away from his warm touch. You don’t. Not because you don’t want to, you just don’t think you’re able to properly walk without stumbling again.

“Eh, Gojo? I thought we moved past that.”

The door of the restaurant swings open revealing your shared group of friends who stumble out of the restaurant. All of them with different expressions on their faces ranging from: excitement, dread, and no expression whatsoever.

“Satoru!” Haibara calls out, sprinting in both your direction with the wildest grin.

Utahime points an accusatory finger in Satoru’s direction. Her other hand tugging the back of Haibara’s jacket, forcing him to stay near. “What the hell are you doing here, idiot!” Utahime shouts, and Satoru laughs at her irritation. She’s quick to pull away from the group and tug you at least five feet away from the white haired man.

“She invited me,” Satoru Gojo declares with the largest smirk plastered on his face. His hand motion in your direction, chuckling at the confusion you share along with the others who turn back to you for answers. “Duh, it’d be rude if I came uninvited otherwise.”

Suguru Geto sighs running a hand through his lushes hair, before speaking, “I think we’d be less surprised if you showed up uninvited.”

Shoko nods with agreement, turning away from him to face Satoru who looks pleased with himself. “I’m assuming the group chat she confirmed the date on happened to be the one with you in it.”

Satoru grins, sending the woman a thumbs up.

You seem to realize your mistake, eyes growing wide and lips parting into an O shape.

“I might’ve done that,” You admit, awkwardly laughing in the comfort of Utahime’s grasp — who tugs you closer upon seeing Satoru’s gaze linger on you longer than she’d like. Her actions did nothing to stop him from staring. His blue eyes remained fixated on you, a dorky smile tugging on the corner of his lips with his eyes sparkling in your direction, the usual adoration stamped on his face.

Shoko Ieiri and Suguru Geto share knowingly looks with one another, earning a quick eye roll from Satoru who doesn’t care to let out a snarky comment. He’s far more interested in you.

He doesn’t hear any of the words tumbling out of his friends’ mouths, Satoru is far too occupied with taking in the features of your face, down to the slightest changes of your body. You’ve matured, the teenage features disappeared over the course of years he’s been away.

In the most sappy words he could think of, you’re still the most breathtaking women to ever walk this planet. Although, Satoru notes that your face seems slightly slimmer since your last posts on social media, and your eyes seem sunken in. He hasn’t see you that way in years, since that dreadful night that continues to haunt his dreams.

He’s forced out of this thoughts when a hand waves in-front of his face, "Did you hear a single word we said?" Nanami Kento questions, a brow raised in his direction.

Nanami is well aware of the answer to his question. “Geez, and you all want to leave her in his care?” Utahime retorts, eyeing Suguru and Shoko, with a pointed look on her face as if saying, ‘are you sure about this?’.

Gojo Satoru is jumping on his feet at the decision, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment when he glances over at you. He sighs with relief seeing you passed out pressed against Utahime’s, whose arms are gripping around you as a lousy attempt to keep you from falling on the ground.

“Satoru, you do realize she’s married, right?” Haibara asks, nervously scratching the back of his neck. Gojo rolls his eyes at the idiotic question coming from his dear friend, “Obviously, I’m not an idiot.”

Utahime scoffs at his words, biting down on her bottom lip to keep from arguing. She glances at the others before sighing in defeat, using her left hand to motion for him to take hold of you. Satoru’s at your side faster than any of them could blink, his arms maneuver around your body before lifting you up in the air, bridal style.

“Straight home, Gojo. No detours, her husband is waiting.” Nanami Kento reminds, arms crossing over his board chest.

“Yeah, Yeah.” Satoru doesn’t bid any of them a single goodbye, simply turns on the heel of his shoes and strolls in the direction he’d parked his car. Shoko glances over at Utahime, who’s watching their friend take extra care in placing you inside his car. “Stop worrying, you’ll get wrinkles.” Her hand rubs against the dark haired woman’s shoulder trying to get her to relax.

Utahime ignores all the warning bell’s going off in her head, forcing a tight lipped smile on her lips and following the others back into the restaurant.

The drive back to your home is mostly silent besides a song on the radio playing in the background of your snores. It’s become the source of Satoru Gojo’s entertainment, he hums to the tune of your snores. You’ve managed to remained a sleep for majority of the ride, and how could you not with the level of comfort Satoru’s provided?

It’s almost as if he predicted his friends would leave you in his care (gojo 100% begged for this opportunity).

You’re laid out on the passenger seat of his car, with your seat reclined all the way back. A pillow resting under your head, with a fuzzy blanket draped over your figure — your feet curled up on the seat after you kicked your heels off to the side.

Every few minutes when his car comes to a red light, his eyes shift over to you, taking in the way your face snuggles deep into the blanket. Satoru’s reminded of the way you used to snuggle your face into the croak of his neck, delicate fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt.

You used to insist you couldn’t sleep unless you were wrapped up in his arms.

His eyes hesitantly shifts away from your blissful face and down towards your bare knee that peeks out from under the blank. Satoru grimaces at the sight of the scar that remains years after the accident.

“I forget it’s there most days,” Satoru’s whips his head up in your direction, seeing the reassuring smile you use to try and ease his guilt. He forces his head away from your eyes, his slender fingers gripping the steering wheel in his hands. You notice the shift in his demeanor, the way his entire body tenses and the faraway look in his eyes.

You wonder if you should’ve remained silent? Maybe, pretend you were still sleeping until the both of you arrived at the front of your house and offered a sorry excuse of a farewell. But you couldn’t stand to see the guilt that remained in his eyes, “It’s been six years, Satoru.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, pulling his car into the driveway leading to your house. You notice the light from the living room is left on — the babysitter’s car is parked in the driveway. The two of you watch the shadow of a woman walk across the curtains and in the direction of the right side of your home.

Satoru takes in the sight of the place you call home. It’s smaller than the one you’d both lived in, and it most definitely smaller than the one you’d both planned on moving into before the accident happened. This home, your home has a warm feel to it, like it’s been lived in.

But, judging by the look in your eyes that warm feeling isn’t something you’d be able to gloat about.

“You can forget it ever happened.” You manage to say with ease, unaware of the way your words stab at his heart.

“How can I?” He voices is low, “It’s the reason you and I aren’t together.” The smile on your face drops upon hearing his words. Your dull eyes shift in his direction, his own shift down to your quivering lips.

“I seen the look on your face, when you stepped out of the restaurant.” Satoru continues, concern laced in his voice. “Do you ever wonder what life would’ve been like if we ended up together?”

He knows it’s not right to bring up the past, especially with you being married and all. But, a part of Satoru Gojo will always wonder, and if there is a possibility of the two of you coming together? He’ll always wander back to you.

Your finger nails begin to anxiously stab into the palm of your hands — a habit he’d witnessed during his time with you. His slender and warm hands are placed on yours, redirecting your attention back towards him.

The two of you are far too lost in the small touches to notice the headlights of a pick up truck that pulls into the sidewalk a few houses down from you. Satoru stares, eyes filled with the familiar warmth he’s held for you since the two of you were teens you. His eyes rake over your face, taking in the details he’s missed while being aboard.

You pull your hands away from his, a frown tugs at the end of his lips and you pretend not to notice.

“I should get going, I promised the babysitter, i’d be out till 12 pm at the latest and it’s already 12:02.” You lie, eyes flickering towards the little clock on the corner of his dash. Your fingers curl around the handle of his car — prying the door slightly ajar.

“Let me get the doo—” Satoru doesn’t get to finish or step out of the corner, you frantically jump out the car with your purse in your other hand.

He watches the way your body shivers against the cold air, and the way your face scrunches up in slight pain at the cold pavement that’s pressed against your bare feet. “Wait,” Satoru calls, reaching over to grab at the pair of heels tossed to the corner of his car.

You don’t wait, nor do you attempt at a sorry excuse of a goodbye. You shut his car door, hands rummaging through your purse and fingers tightening around the set of keys you find. He can’t help chuckle and shake his head at the way you awkwardly look back at him almost tripping over your own feet as you jog in the direction of your front door.

Satoru being the certified gentleman that he is, waits to pull out of the driveway once you step inside your home and close the door behind you. He smiles, knowing your probably standing with your back against the door, embarrassed with your own actions.

And you are.

You run a hand through your blowed out hair, frowning down at your bare feet that are slightly wet from the grass. “Mrs. Fushiguro, your back? I thought you’d be coming home around one?” Uta, the babysitter asks with her brows furrowed together in confusion.

You viciously shake your head, breath slightly uneven. “No, no. I felt bad having you out so late.”

She smiles up at you with bright eyes before waving you off, “You really shouldn’t, you haven’t been out in a while. You deserve a little me time.” Uta says, sitting up from her place on the couch, and gathering her belongings before walking in your direction.

“Megumi fell asleep around 8pm, and he’s been out like a light since.” You nod, a small smile appearing on your lips at the mention of your boy. You step to the side, a way from the exit you’d previously been blocking. “Thank you for your work.”

Uta lets out a quiet laugh, “It’s really no problem, I never have to do much.” You look at her a little sudden, partly confused by what she means.

She notices.

“There’s never much to clean. And, Megumi is neat, he cleans after himself well. You know, I babysit for a few other families and their houses are always a mess and most kids around Megumi’s age needed to be reminded when to clean up, do their homework or when to turn off the tv but not yours.”

“Usually, the husband and kids make a mess and the wife follows them around, cleaning after them.” Uta says, lightheartedly.

She doesn’t notice the way your face seems to drop despite the smile etched on your face, and the way you mindlessly nod at her words. “I guess other families are like that.” You say, trying to keep the smile on your face.

Uta nods, blissfully unaware of the true meaning behind the look on your face, “I hope I get a husband like yours. He puts stuff back in their place without you having to ask, takes care of your child so you don’t need to worry. I think my mom would feel a bit sad if she didn’t have to do that stuff for us.”

You know she doesn’t mean to hurt you, but it feels like she’s twisted the knife that’s been stabbed into your heart.

You force the tight lip smile to remain biding the young girl a goodbye, before shutting and locking the door behind her. You slowly, and quietly walk down the hallway of your home, noticing the bedroom door of Megumi’s door propped open.

The tight held together expression you forced on your face softens, your eyes shining at the blissful expression on your son’s face. You step into his bedroom, leaning over his bed to get a closer look at your son’s face, a smile forming upon seeing his peaceful little face.

You listen to his steady breaths for a few more minutes before placing a soft peck on his forehead.

Stepping out of the room and in the direction of yours and your husband’s shared bedroom.

Once stepping into the chilly room, you don’t hesitate to peel your coat off your shoulders before sitting on your side of the mattress. Your eyes shift down towards the nightstand near your bed-frame, and for a second you hesitate before kneeling over to pry the drawer open wide.

You pull a large white envelope out from under a few books you shoved into the drawer — a poor attempt to keep the envelope hidden.

Gojo Law Firm Divorce Attorney is printed in the corner of the envelope. You stare at the words, the rhythm of your heart beginning to pound in your ears. Hearing the rattle of the door knob worsens the noise, your quick to shuffle around hiding the document and then rush in the direction of your closest.

While you change into a pair of silk pajamas, you hear your husband enter the house. The heavy footsteps of his boots hitting against the hardwood floors. He knocks once on the door of your bedroom, announcing his arrival before stepping into the bedroom.

Toji Fushiguro is silent, as he’s been most nights these past couple of months.

“Your home early,” You announce, no tone in your voice besides a hint of confusion seeing as you’ve become accustomed to his late hours leading him to enter around 2 am. He hums as a response, kicking his boots off and placing them in the corner of the bedroom.

You aren’t aware of the way his eyes follow you, nor do you notice the way his mouth keeps opening and closing before ultimately deciding against saying what’s on his mind.

“Will you be heading to bed?” You ask, walking towards your side of the bed and tossing the blanket to the side so you can climb in. You know the answer, he’d been sleeping on the living room couch for two months before realizing the rocking chair in Megumi’s room is far more comfortable.

You just want to know if you’ll be getting the whole bed too yourself again.

He shakes his head no, “Going to see Megumi, then I’ll come sleep with you.” Toji’s lying, he knows it and so do you.

Before you can say a word, he’s already slipping out the room — turning off the lights and closing the door on his way out.

With a frown on your lips, You can’t help let your mind wander back to Satoru’s question, “Do you ever wonder what life would’ve been like if we ended up together?”.

You wonder, How different would your life be if you’d continued to marry Satoru Gojo? How different would all your lives be if the accident never occurred?

You’re forced out of your thoughts by the ring of your phone, signaling you’ve received a text message. The message belongs to an unsaved number, and yet you know the numbers showcased by heart. Satoru Gojo.

unsaved number: do you want to go to brunch tomorrow? I’ll pay, and i’ll return your heels?

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