Jumi

"sorry, kong. we'll chat another time?"

"no, you won't. go away shiu." satoru quipped, the black haired man just waves with a chuckle and moves on. he knew drunk gojo wasn't to be taken to heart, after all.

good riddance, he thought. everyone knew you were his, so why wasn't shiu getting that?

he sighed, but deep down he hated that part of himself. the obsessive part that wants to pull you away while knowing full well he's never once made any sort of claim on you. he doesn't get to play guard dog when he himself is the one who's taught everyone he's nothing more but a temporary play thing for others to use.

he knows it's pathetic, but still, he couldn't help but cling to you. it was just second nature to him at this point.

once shiu's gone, you exhale curtly. this always happened. despite your and satoru's relationship being nothing more than a tight friendship, he always got disgustingly possessive when you gave your attention to others, especially men, and especially at parties.

you sigh, then pry his other lanky arm off you with a big huff, fuck, he was heavy.

“you’re being ridiculous, satoru,” you groan, yelling over the music even though he's loud enough for the both of you, “i was only asking him how his studies were going.”

“don’t care,” satoru mumbles with his cheek pressed to your smaller shoulder. “don’t like him.”

“you don’t like anyone who talks to me.”

“mhm.”

you groan softly, this has happened so many times it’s become expected at these kinds of things. you reach for his collar and tug it, steering him away from the kitchen before he can latch back on to shiu who was now talking to maki.

“come on,” you roll your eyes. “you’re piss faced.”

he laughs boisterously, a stark change from the pout he was wearing a few seconds ago. “only a bit.”

“you’re literally swaying.”

“and? i sway when i'm sober.”

you can be bothered arguing with this meat head. instead, you turn toward the stairs and brace for impact because right on cue, his hand slides into yours and he pulls you up them.

“satoru,” you hiss, but he’s already halfway up, pulling you along behind him.

“i want to go to my room,” he says bluntly. “it's too fucking loud down there.”

he keeps a tight hold of your hand all the way up the spiral stairs with his thumb brushing your knuckles over and over, a nervous little tic he did when he got overwhelmed.

people smile and shout at the both of you as you walk pass, you think you can make out sukuna yelling his name, but he ignores all of them with a scoff like the dismissive drunk he is.

the moment you’re inside his room he shuts the door with his foot and leans back against it, still holding your hand.

this is always the part that makes your heart go all soft.

satoru looked so much gentler when he was inebriated like this. physically he’s still got that massive muscular upper body, still takes up all of your personal space and all, but he seems so fragile. like he’s set down the flashy go getter version of himself everyone else sees and picked up the one he only lets you have.

“sit,” he says dragging you toward his bed.

you smile at his slightly slurred speech and sit, he drops down beside you with his long lanky knees bumping yours. he immediately scoots closer until his leg presses against your own. his hand itch's until it's touching yours, your wrist, then your fingers, lacing them together.

he was always a little touchy when drunk.

“you okay?” you ask.

“yeah,” he says with a smile, then, “you’re really good.”

you laugh and lean back on your free hand. “that wasn’t the question, silly.”

he shrugs, flopping back onto the mattress and dragging you with him so you’re both propped up against his bashed up and faded wooden headboard. he loops his strong arm under your back and around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. okay, maybe a lot touchy.

you and satoru had a special kind of thing going on.

in freshman he spotted you from across the way at a mixer, he clocked you from the other side of the room and decided, for reasons he never really explained, that you were his person now.

he stole your cup, replaced it with a fresh one, and talked your ear off until you forgot what being nervous actually felt like, he seemed like a suave man on the outside, but this guy poured straight chronically online brainrot humour into your brain for like, two hours straight?.

by the end of the night you were sitting on the curb together, sharing fries he'd door dashed to the frat laughing like you’d known each other forever.

from then on, it was just a thing. you studied together, even though he never actually studied and mostly complained. you slept over, even though you both had comfy beds of your own.

you knew his school schedule, his little moods, the signs that meant he needed to leave a party early and unwind somewhere else. he knew when you were lying about being fine and when you needed him to just sit there and not try to fix anything.

people joked about you two all the time.

geto once asked why you didn’t just date already. satoru laughed far too loud and said that’d 'ruin absolutely everything'. you giggled too, telling yourself it was better like this, that you liked having him without the risk of romantic intimacy.

but like everything, the truth always came out.

one night where the both of you were almost blackout drunk, he took you upstairs after throwing his guts up into the toilet. you laughed at him and he flipped you off back, cleaning up then pulling you into his room like a rag doll.

he held you in the middle of the floor after you'd both toppled over, and he admitted everything to you through very crappy, slurred speech.

he told you how much he loved you, how badly he wanted you all to himself, how no one else could do it for him. you admitted the same, you told him how much you needed him in your life and how you felt more loved with him that anyone else.

you kissed, it was gross and quick but it happened. your feelings were out in the open.

for that night, at least.

morning came and the previous confession felt like small tiny fragments in both of your minds, you just couldn't remember any of it fully.

you went about your little friendship like nothing had changed. from what was left in your brains, you had a semi-clear thought on it all.

oh shit, maybe she/he likes me back?

sometimes, late at night, you’d lie next to him while he talked about nothing, sometimes you thought you caught drawls of that night in how he went quiet when you mentioned another guy, or when his hand squeezed yours that little bit tighter. but then he’d joke it away, or pull back, or remind you with a grin that you were his best friend.

so you stayed quiet, and so did he.

because being close to him like this felt better than not having him at all, loving him quietly was safer than risking losing him.

you didn’t know he was doing the exact same thing, from the other side of that line, telling himself over and over that you deserved better than him and that wanting you meant destroying his favourite thing in the world, your friendship.

now, your eyes drag over his pretty face as he stares up at the celling, letting out a long sigh that smelt like hard solo.

then he starts talking.

“god, this theme sucked actual nut sacks." he announces. “it was so bad, y/n. tell them to never do it again.”

you snort. “hm? weren't you the one hyping it up last week.”

“can you be quiet? i was lying. why are you lying to me?" he was making no sense.

“i feel like that's not... a proper answer?” you shake your head like you yourself were letting it go, he wasn't sober enough to be answering things correctly.

“rude.” he turns his head to look at you. “everyone looks stupid.”

“you’re wearing bright red board shorts and no shirt."

“yeah,” he says seriously. “so fucking stupid.”

you glance at the discarded lifeguard whistle on his desk, the red plastic stark against the silky oak. “you look fine, toru.”

“nah.” he shakes his head, hair flopping into his eyes. “everyone’s dressed like baywatch rejects. i hate it.”

“you hate fun.”

“i love fun.” he squeezes your waist as to prove his point. “this just isn’t fun fun.”

“yeah? what’s fun fun then?”

his face turns and he's suddenly looking happier. gosh, these drunken mood swings.. “like... a onesie party.”

you laugh and sit a bit closer. “of course.”

“like animals,” he adds, gaining conversational momentum. “or dinosaurs. geto would be a gorilla. choso would be like, a wolf or some shit.”

“yeah? what would you be?”

he breathes out an answer before you can even finish your sentence. “a bunny.”

“oh wow, no you would not.”

“i absolutely would. i'd buy ears and everything.” he whines with a forlorn expression, oh we're sad now? perfect.

you picture it and bite your lip to keep from smiling too hard, but he notices.

“see,” he says, now smug (you seriously couldn't keep up). “way better than 'surfer sluts'.”

you look at his shorts, then back at him. “at least the name was semi-creative?”

“tch, only thing creative 'bout it.”

he rambles on, complaining about the trashy pitbull music, about how someone spilled a drink on his nice new grey decarbra's, about how the freshmen are hella annoying this year. his hands wonder as he talks, sometimes he's squeezing your fingers, sometimes drifting to your hip, sometimes tracing the line of your knee cap? he's doing it absentmindedly so you guess it was fine.

you two chat about how shitty the party was for a good half hour, circling back to old gossip and relationship dramas, laughing and spit balling for ages. you'd never tell him but you loved these moments, where he'd laugh and talk to you like you'd known him since he was born, rather than just a few years ago.

he always looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the universe, whether you'd be out on long drives in his fancy car, or over at your dorm making really crappy cupcakes, he'd always gaze at you so lovingly. the bond between two best friends, am i right? you pushed away the thought of his lips on yours.

he sobers up a tad so the conversation is semi coherent on his end.

eventually, he circles the topic back you like he always does.

“so, you talk to shiu a lot,” he says quickly, darting his eyes back and forth from your face to gage your reaction.

“you know i talk to everyone,” you reply.

“yeah, but like.. you talk to him a lot.”

you smile at his badly hidden jealousy, “he’s in my stats class, satoru. nothing more.”

“still.”

you roll your eyes. “i asked how his studies were going. that’s it.”

he hums but it sounds very unconvinced.

“you get so weird about this,” you add. “it’s not that serious, i promise.”

he shifts closer again and his forehead drops to your shoulder. “i just don’t like when guys look at you.”

“they’re going to look at me.”

“i know.” his voice drops. “i hate it.”

you bump his knee with yours. “that’s a you problem, toru.”

“rude,” he repeats, but there’s no real malice in it.

you blurt out quickly, regretting it as soon as it pours out, "you're the only guy i'm this into, satoru, don't worry." fuck why did i say that?!

gojo's heartbeat is now thumping. she means that... in a friend way, right? of course. of course she did. no biggie...

he bites his lip as his hand goes all shake dragging up and down your arms.

you sit in silence for a bit as he and you both process, listening to the muffled frank ocean seeping through the floor boards. his thumb keeps tracing your knuckles, slower than before like he’s losing steam, getting sleepy.

to satoru, his room feels so much safer because no one’s looking at him like they want to eat him alive. not in here, with you. there's no one staring, waiting for him to be alone so they can make a move. sure, he's into it, but sometimes he jsut wants this, with you.

this is the version of him that he loves, sitting. talking. hands brushing without it being a big deal.

he wonders, not for the first time, why this version never feels like it’s allowed to want things. to want things like you.

the silence is comforting, but you make the mistake of opening your mouth. you promise you were only trying to lighten the mood, and/or distract from your almost confession earlier.

“c'mon,” you say lightly, not really thinking, “you should be thriving tonight, not sulking up here in your room. i mean, this theme was basically made for you.”

he lifts his head. “uh? what’s that supposed to mean?”

you shrug. “you know, surfer sluts. pretty fitting, no?"

you don't realise, but he goes stiff at your throw away comment, his fingers pause their ministrations on yours, his grip loosening until your fingers slide apart. he sits up straighter, and his body naturally moves away. his blue gaze dropping to the floor.

he’s heard it all before. much worse than this. louder than this. laughed off in locker rooms and kitchens and group chats.

'he's a slut.'

'a manwhore.'

'gojo’s just being gojo.'

he knows deep down he's built it, with every hook up being another brick. it was easier than being the guy who wanted one girl and didn’t know how to ask without ruining everything.

but fuck, he doesn’t want you to see him like that. that’s the fucked part. he doesn’t mind anyone else thinking it. just not you.

“oh,” he says.

you tilt your head, smiling. “oh, what?”

“nothing.”

you watch as his face turns into a distant blunt pull, you can't tell if he's still going through his drunken emotional switch ups or what.

“hey,” you say. “hey, i was joking.”

“yeah,” he mutters. “i know.”

he doesn’t look at you. oh shit.

without him pressed against you, the room suddenly inflates ten fold, when did it get so cold? the space between your bodies is small but very prominent, like a missing piece to a puzzle you'd spent hours putting together.

“toru?” you try again.

he scratches at his neck, a nervous habit you’ve seen a hundred times but never really questioned. “it’s fine.”

it’s clearly not, but you don’t push. you’ve learned when to stop.

he swings his legs off the bed and leans forward, elbows on his knees. the chatter downstairs seeps up, laughter and shouting coming through the walls. he stares at nothing, his mouth moving like he’s chewing on words he doesn’t want to swallow.

“everyone thinks that,” he says eventually, “so you’re not wrong.”

you frown, then fling your own legs off of the couch and hug into his side. “hm? thinks what?”

“that i’m just… that.”

oh.. you wince to yourself and drag a hand up and down his arm for comfort, “hey.. i didn’t mean it like that.”

“i know.” he huffs a laugh lacking all the humour it usually had. “doesn’t really matter how you meant it.”

he looks down at you, “it’s true.”

you don't know how to answer, because you know it's true, too. you didn't mean to be rash, but he was a slut. this guy averaged two girls a week and bragged to almost everyone about it, why was he getting angsty now? his constant rotation was the main reason you hadn't brought up your feeling for him since that night. who sleeps with that many chicks if they really did like someone for real?

he keeps going, words pouring now that the dam’s cracked.

“i mean, look at me,” he says, gesturing at himself. “everyone here’s fucked me or wants to. it’s kind of my thing now, not that i totally mind, it's just.. not all i am.”

“i don't think that's all you are, okay? you're my bestfriend, satoru. i know you better than that.” you're trying so hard to save this sinking ship.

'bestfriend..' he echoed in his mind, a solemn smile playing at his mouth, he wanted to be so, so much more than that.

"yeah, i know you don't think that.” he shrugs, smiling softer. “you're the only opinion i really care about, anyways.”

you tap his wrist for his hand again and he lets you intertwine your fingers. his heart blips, you don't normally initiate this type of intimacy, it was always him grabbing for your hand.

"of course satoru, don't worry,” you say.

he wants to say something else but whatever it was stays lodged behind his smile, any sadness he had was long gone, he was now hyper fixated on your hand.

"i know you wanna tell me something else."

“yeah but.. forget it,” he says almost too happily.

you squeeze his hand. “c'monn, tell me.”

he shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes again. “it’s stupid.”

“you’re stupid,” you say gently.

stupidly in love with you..

~

satoru stretches and lets out a deep, throaty groan. he somehow didn't have a hangover this morning, that was surprising.

he yawns and rolls over to bury his face into the pillow, his head feels packed with cotton and gravel, but it's not necessarily throbbing.

he's halfway through another groanish yawn when he realises the blankets that are pulled over his chest, when did they get there?

he stares at the ceiling, frowning. his comforter is pulled up to his chest with the corners tucked around his shoulders in a fashion he never ever does himself because he’s lazy and tall and always hangs off the bed. someone even kicked his shoes into place on his shoe rack.

you, of course it was you.

your face floats right to the front of his mind clear as day. your pretty little laugh, your hand in his, the precious way you were looking at him when he knocked out, you looked so beautiful.

he had morning wood and the thought of you was only making it pulsate harder. you were so kind to him, you'd always been there as an anchor, no matter what. he'd crash at your place when he felt like it, he'd squeeze into bed with you and hold you against his body.

shit, your body.. he presses his boner into the bed and groans, draging a heavy hand down his face.

“fuck.”

he's loved you for years, every girl he's ever fucked was a distraction. a distraction from the fact he never felt good enough to have you, all of you, all to himself. he hated it.

he catalogs the evidence like it’s a horrible case against him and his promiscuous ways. the kind words you'd always spewed, the way you can leave him without it feeling like you're really gone..

he racks his brain for every girl who’s woken up here and slipped out before he got to learn their last names. how none of them ever did this. how none of them stayed this gentle with him.

he tells himself thats gotta mean something.

then, he reminds himself that wanting something doesn’t mean he deserves it..

as he's having a deep, 'i love my bestfriend but i'm too much of a whore to deserve her, what the fuck do i do?' crisis for the fiftieth time this month, the door slams open.

“rise and shine, whore,” sukuna bellows, stepping into the room blowing a fat cloud of sweet vapor straight into the air. “get the fuck up. house looks like a dump.”

satoru squints at him. “i hate you.”

“yeah, yeah.” sukuna hits the vape again. “come clean. you threw up in the downstairs sink.”

“that wasn’t me.”

“it was absolutely you.”

satoru rolls onto his side and curls in on himself dramatically. “fuck off.”

sukuna snorts. “get up and mop you insufferable asshole.”

he waits until the door slams shut again before forcing himself to sit up. he scratches at his neck, then glances down at himself, he's still shirtless and in these ridiculous shorts. he grabs his geek bar off the side table and takes a hit, then throws it aside and sniffs.

he grabs a pair of grey sweats off the floor along with boxers from his draw, he strips, poses nakedly in the mirror for a good ten seconds, and pulls them on, not bothering with a shirt. he comes down the stairs barefoot, every step reminding him of how much of a lightweight he is. he makes it to the bottom and, holy fuck, the house was a mess.

empty cups are everywhere, bottles spilt into the carpet, peoples sweaty clothes strewn all over the place, what a palace.

choso is sweeping loads of trash into a big rubbish bag on the floor, nanami is wiping down the counters with a pissed off look, sukuna and toji are flipping the couch back over.

geto spots him before everyone else, "there he is,” he smiles, clapping a hand on satoru’s shoulder. “you okay?”

“no.”

geto grins. “heard you were real fucked up last night.”

satoru sighs. “don’t.”

he grabs a rubbish bag and starts scooping cups off the floor, his mind keep floating back to you, over and over again. he can still feel your hand in his, he can still see the way you'd hugged into his side when he got all quiet.

that’s the last thing he remembers before everything goes black is you.

he clears his throat. “hey.”

no one looks up.

“hey,” he tries again, louder. “did anyone see y/n leave last night?”

ino looks up like hes been waiting for a question like that, “why,” he asks. “you forget where you put her?”

satoru shoots him a look. “shut up.”

“i think she left kinda early,” nanami says without looking up. “before two.”

satoru’s chest loosens just a bit. “yeah?”

“yeah,” nanami continues. “she walked out with-"

toji stood up from kneeling besides the couch,

“shiu,” he says casually, cracking open a beer he had in hand. “she went home with shiu.”

the room goes quiet for exactly a second.

satoru stops and the trash bag slips from his fingers.

“what,” he says.

toji shrugs. “saw them out front walking to his car. sure looked cozy.”

he feels his heart beat thump, his head starts to throb and his eyes feel like they want to water and spill.

“that’s not-" he laughs weakly. “that’s not funny.”

toji takes a sip. “wasn’t joking.”

geto raises an eyebrow, watching satoru a little too closely. “you sure, man?”

toji nods. “yep.”

it feels like someone socked him in his mouth, his ears ring, the house feels claustrophobic, suddenly everything's very wrong.

you wouldn’t.

would you?..

he thinks about the way you held his hand, the way you tucked him in, all 6"4 of him, the way you told him he was 'the only guys you were this into.'. maybe that never happened ? maybe it indeed was just a figure of his imagination.. fuck, maybe his whorish lifestyle had finally scared you off..

he breathes in deep. if you did sleep with him, satoru doesn’t get to be hurt. he’s the guy who taught you this was normal, that this was so right and casual.

if you chose someone else, all that means is you learned the rules from watching him doing it over and over and over again.

his chest tightens and he laughs again. “ha. wow. okay.”

ino bursts out laughing. “are you deadass?”

sukuna snorts. “c'mon bro, you hook up with mad girls. don't be pressed when she does the same.”

geto covers his mouth, he wants to laugh but he knows he shouldn't. “that’s rough, but sukuna's right, satoru.”

gojo wipes a hand down his face quickly, blaming the hangover. “yeah. hilarious.”

“guess surfer sluts really was her thing,” toji adds, smirking.

that one lands.

satoru bends down and picks up the rubbish bag again with his eyes fixed to the floor, “i’m gonna go take the trash out.”

"okay, bro."

~

now, in your defence, while you did go home with shiu, you didn't sleep with him.

you couldn't, not when you were this deep under the satoru spell.

"thanks for letting me crash here, i didn't want to disturb gojo's sleep. oh, and yuki brought higuruma over last night. didn't wanna be up until 4 listening to them fuck."

you're half dressed under the covers, wiping your eyes as he come in with a cup of coffee.

"i got you, don't worry." he smiles from the door of his room, he let you take his luxurious bed while he slept on the equally as nice couch. shiu was surprisingly rich for a collage kid, maybe all that 'sketchy shit' as satoru liked to put it, was really selling.

he brings the cup down onto the table besides your bed and flicks your nose, "just remember your promise, gotta do that last section of the assignment for me, payment for my generosity."

"mm, wouldn't dream of leaving you without proper compensation." you laugh, taking the cup and sipping gently.

he looks from one of your eyes to the other like he's appreciating your presence, then quickly looks away and spins around.

"gotta make a few runs this morning, leave whenever you feel like it, yeah?" he throws over his shoulder.

you give him a thumbs up and he nods, waving while walking out.

the morning scuffles along, you eventually pull yourself out of his beautiful bed and get dressed into whatever clothing you could find that'd fit you in his draws. there were a few women's camis aswell as sweat pants in here, oh no, did he have a girlfriend?

as if being summoned by the universe, who else but shoko walks into the house, with her own key, no less.

she locks eyes with you for a second then smiles and waves like she couldn't care less.

"sh-shoko? what the fuck?"

"hey, y/n. is shiu still here?" she was so calm you just had to pry.

"why? are you two a thing? god, i promise this isn't what it looks like, i was just at a party and he offered to-"

"hush, i don't give a shit if you fucked him, girl. he's not my man."

phew... wait- not phew! you guys didn't even do anything!

you explain to her what went down, and she, in turn, told you why she was there. turns out she and shiu were hooking up on the dl, but she only felt for him physically, so you weren't a bother to her. "yeah, we fuck and he gives me drugs, pretty sweet deal. would recommend."

"yeah, i'm so good, thanks."

after that semi-akward interaction you gathered your stuff and got the hell out of there.

shiu's place was just off campus so the walk back to your own apartment wasn't far. like you did every morning after a party, you tried to give satoru a call. only, after the third ring, the line went dead.

satoru was finishing up the last little chores around the frat when he got your call, he stared at his phone as it rung on the kitchen bench, your name in cute heart emojis flashing on the screen.

he declined.

the last thing he wanted right now was to talk to you after shiu had been apparently digging in you. no way.

"yeesh, that's harsh, man." choso commented from his spot sitting at the breakfast bar.

"it's nothing, just busy right now." satoru tries his best to sound nonchalant but it's obvious he's still very much annoyed.

"oh yeah? you stop training when she calls you, man. you're never 'too busy.'" choso makes air quotes around that last part.

satoru sighs and chucks the last of the solo cups in the recycling bin, then takes off back up the stairs.

he shuts his door far harder than he needs to and falls onto his bed.

shiu.

the name keeps coming back, no matter how hard he tries to shove it away.

he tells himself he has no right to feel like this, none. he fucks around constantly, hell, it’s practically his brand. he’s built this whole thing around being easy, wanted and available. so why does the idea of you choosing someone else make his chest feel so disgusting?

you’re your own person. you always have been. he’s never tried to cage you, never tried to tell you what to do or who to see. that’s not him and he prides himself on that.

still.

you’re supposed to be his person.

not like that, he tells himself. not in a gross way he gets to possess but in the way you always end up together. the way you fall asleep next to him without it meaning anything and somehow meaning everything at the same time.

he massages the bridge of his nose with both hands.

get over it.

get over it.

get over it.

god, he just can't. instead, he unlocks his phone and stares at your pretty contact photo, the stupid nickname. his thumb taps call before he can talk himself out of it.

it barely rings twice before you're answering all giddy.

“toru!” your voice is so bright. “oh my god, i was just about to try you again. are you hung over?”

he feels pain coil up in his tummy.

“no,” he says flatly.

on your end, you're taken back by his bluntness “oh! uh, okay.”

he winces internally at your dejected response but doesn’t soften the blow. if he does, he’ll crack, and he can’t afford that right now.

“what’s up?” you ask, still trying.

“nothing,” he replies. “just busy.”

your heart clips like it'd been hooked onto a fishing hook.

“…hey, uh, are you.. are you mad at me?”

he scoffs sharply. “why would i be mad at you.”

your voice dips. “i don’t know. you’re being kinda blunt, i guess.”

he laughs curtly. “i’m allowed to be blunt.”

“not like this,” you say quietly. “you’re never like this with me.”

that hits him in his throat. he pretends to ignore it when in reality it throws his heart for a loop, "what do you want,” he asks, it's so clipped.

you go silent for a second, clearly recalibrating. “i was wondering if you wanted to hang out later? maybe get food or something. i can come over.”

normally he’d say yes without thinking. normally he’d already be planning how fast he could ditch whatever else he had lined up.

today, though, his jealousy makes the decision for him.

“can’t,” he says. “i’ve got a girl coming over.”

the line goes very quiet.

“…oh,” you say.

gosh, he can picture your face. the sweet little drop in your eyes you try to hide. the way you probably nodded even though he can’t see you.

there’s a mean, awful part of him that hopes it stings. not because he wants to hurt you, but because he wants proof that he matters the way you matter to him.

the rest of him despises that part. hates that when things feel out of control he reaches for the only thing that’s ever numbed really it.

he doesn’t want the girl coming over. he wants you. he always does. but wanting you feels so dangerously hard in a way fucking his feelings out never does.

“right,” you add. “that's okay.”

he should stop. he should backtrack and admit to what he really wants, he wants to talk to you about shiu, why you did it when you know he hated him, why you'd sleep with that fucker of all people, get some sort of closure. instead, he keeps going, so cruel and careless.

“yeah,” he says. “don’t really feel like cancelling either. kinda want good company.”

that’s a lie. he feels like shit. but he wants it to sting, shit, he hates that he wants that.

you swallow audibly. “okay. well. have fun then.”

“always do,” he replies, too fast.

the silence is horribly awkward.

“…i know you said you're fine, but really, toru, are you good?” you ask, one last attempt.

he exhales through his nose. “yeah. don’t bother coming over tonight, okay?”

there it is. the line he knows will hit you deep.

your voice wobbles a little, “i wasn’t.”

“good,” he says. “talk later.”

and before you can respond, he hangs up.

the second the call ends, regret slams into him full force.

“fuck,” he grumbles, slamming the phone onto the bed.

he presses his palms into his eyes and groans. what the hell was that? why did he do that?

you didn’t deserve that. he’s supposed to be your best friend, not... not whatever that was.

he tells himself he’s doing you some sort of fucked up a favor. that pushing you away now is kinder than letting you see how messy he actually is when he cares.

it sounds noble until he admits the truth. he ran because staying would’ve meant being honest with you.

he sits there for ages, replaying your tone over and over until it makes him feel nauseous.

he hates this. hates how jealous he feels. hates that he can’t say anything about it without blowing everything up. hates that he took it out on you because he doesn’t know how to handle it like a normal person.

his phone vibrates, instead of checking the notification he unlocks it, opens a different app, scrolls, and sends a message he knows he’ll definitely regret later.

gojo: come over

her reply is quicker than he'd thought it be.

xxx xxx xxx: omw ;)

he drops the phone and leans back, staring at the ceiling. this is what he does. when things get too much, he drowns them out. replaces one feeling with another until it’s all numb enough to ignore.

a knock sounds at his door twenty minutes later.

he doesn’t give himself time to think it over, he opens it, steps aside, and lets the girl in. she smiles at him, then she reaches for his arm like it's her god given right.

the door clicks shut behind them.

and even as he kisses her, his mind betrays him, flashing back to your voice on the phone, so sweet, so soft and hurt.

he squeezes his eyes shut and pushes it away.

anything to not feel like this.

~

now, the party a few days later is so much worse.

the theme is white out so the crowd looks like a sea of seagulls packed into this seats living room.

you're clad in a pretty little white dress with big white heels and matching accessories, pretty basic yet still jaw dropping.

you're walking past the tv when satoru comes into view, today, not only was his hair white, but his entire outfit was too.

he’s across the room near the kitchen island, leaning back against the counter with a drink in his hand and two girls pressed in real close. one of them is laughing like a hyena at something charming he said, her fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans like she’s testing how far she can go. the other is touching his arm, tracing up his strong bicep.

he's too busy with them, he doesn't even spare you a fleeting glance.

you try not to look, you really, really do. but it’s just so difficult when that used to be your spot. when that used to be you next to him, stealing sips of his drink, talking shit about everyone else at the party like you were above it all together.

you frown, the conversations you and satoru had lately have been few and far between. he's dry as hell, and suddenly busy every time you ask to hang out.

you keep telling yourself it’s fine, it's all good. people grow apart all the time, it's collage! maybe he’s bored of being your friend. maybe you leaned too hard on a friendship that wasn’t meant to last.. and while you tell yourself it's fine, your chest twists and ticks and throbs with pain.

you step toward a couch where choso, shoko and geto are lounging around, all three of them clock your mood the second you flop beside them.

“hey, you good?” geto asks, passing you a drink.

you shake your head. “i’m okay.”

choso gives you a look. he's not gonna push but he'd like to. “you wanna sit here with us?”

“yeah,” you say quietly. “that’d be nice.”

you sit between them with your legs tucked up, watching the party happen around you like it’s something you’re not really part of anymore. your eyes keep flocking back to satoru like some sort of pathetic magnet.

you loved satoru's company. he was your favourite person on earth, you'd spend every second with him if you could, now he was pushing you away? you'd of at least liked a conversation about it. maybe a warning.

hes getting loud talking like he's the only person worth listening to in the entire room, patting girls on the ass and leaning in close to their necks to hear them properly.

every time he laughs or slings his arm around their shoulders, you feel your heart crack.

you miss him. god, you miss him so bad. not whatever this was.

choso nudges your knee gently. “c'mon, you don’t have to stay if it’s not fun.”

you shake your head again. “i don’t wanna be alone.”

he nods like he understands that more than you realise.

time drags on and an hour passes. then another. you try talking to other people, but it feels so wrong. your attention keeps snapping back to satoru.

he’s still backed against the kitchen island with a drink he hasn’t touched like, forty minutes, he's pretending bf to laugh at those girls terrible jokes, letting them sleaze all over him.

normally he’d lean into the gag. he'd flirt back and say something stupidly charming and let the night dissolve into a forgettable hook up.

but tonight it just feels so weird.

the girl on his left moves in with her mouth near his ear, saying something he pretends not to clock. her breath fans over his skin and his stomach churns, not with excitement but with this dull guilt that keeps scratching his lungs raw.

he looks at their faces and feels a light sense of absence.

he thinks about how easy it would be to disappear upstairs with one of them. how everyone would nod like yeah, that tracks. just gojo being gojo, and the thought makes him want to rip out of his own skin.

he didn’t want this shit tonight. he didn’t want these grabby hands all over him. he’s so tired of being wanted in the most bare minimum way.

he wanted you here.

eventually, after you'd stared holes through the back of satorus head, choso leans down to your ear. “you wanna go upstairs for a bit? i’m gonna smoke.”

you stumble over your words. “oh, i uh, i don’t smoke.”

“i know,” he says quickly. “you don’t have to. just… sit with me. i don’t really wanna be alone either.”

good, you really needed an escape right now.

“okay,” you say. “yeah. i’ll go with you.”

you stand together, weaving through the crowd toward the stairs. you can tell people are staring but you don’t look over your shoulder.

choso leads the way up, your shoulders brushing as he pulls out a pre roll with a smile.

across the room, satoru is midway through a sentence when he spots you. he wants to smile, its his reflex when he catches sight of you, but then he remembers he doesn’t get to do that right now, and the happy pull of his lips dies before it ever reaches his face.

you’re walking up the stairs with choso, close enough that your arms are touching. you’re leaning in to hear what he’s saying, head close to his mouth in a way satoru hasn’t had in days.

his put on smirk falls immediately.

“hey,” one of the girls says, pulling on his arm. “you listening?”

he pulls his wrist free without looking at her. “yeah. go get a drink or something.”

she frowns. “what?”

“look, just go,” he snaps.

both girls scatter away, muttering throw away curses but he really doesn’t care. he’s stalking over to where geto and shoko are now sitting with bottles to their lips.

“great,” he says bitterly, sitting down hard onto the couch. “first she’s fucking shiu and now my best friend? perfect.”

geto thinks for a second. “...what?”

shoko squints at him. “what are you talking about?"

satoru laughs bitterly, “don’t play dumb. i just saw them.”

geto follows his eyes to the stairs and sees you and choso disappearing around the corner. he sighs. “they’re going up to smoke.”

satoru scoffs. “yeah. sure, she doesn't smoke.”

“no,” shoko cuts in, annoyed. “actually sure. choso asked if she’d sit with him.”

satoru’s face drops into a deeper scowl, “since when does she hang out with him like that."

“since always?” geto replies. “they’re friends you just hog her, normally.”

satoru shakes his head. “this is bullshit.”

shoko sets her drink down with a dissatisfied groan. “you don’t get to act like this.”

he snaps his head toward her. “like what.”

“like you own her,” she says flatly. “you don’t.”

geto nods. “man, you’ve been pushing her away all week.”

“because she doesn’t want me,” satoru fires back. “she made that pretty clear.”

shoko raises an eyebrow. “did she now.”

“she went home with shiu.”

shoko’s face twists. “oh my god.”

geto leans forward. “that’s what this is about? you're ditching your best friend because she wanted to get her pussy ate?”

“what- no-,” satoru says. “you make it sound like-" he stop himself from spewing words he doesn't really mean. "it's just the fact she knows i hate that guy. that and everything else..."

shoko exhales sharply. “she didn’t fuck him.”

satoru freezes. “what.”

“she didn’t sleep with him,” shoko repeats. “she stayed the night because she didn’t wanna wake you up at the last function.”

the wave of relief that flows through him is euphoric, but it's followed closely by guilt. because despite everything you still chose him in the quiet ways. and he’d repaid that by pushing you as far away as possible.

geto turns to shoko. “oh, are you serious?"

“dead serious,” she says. “i walked in that morning. she was fully dressed and half asleep. they didn’t do shit.”

satoru feels like the floor drops out from under him and his heart is smudged into the wood.

“she told me herself,” shoko adds. “she was worried about you that morning, too. wanted to go over straight away and see if you were hung over.”

he's taken back by the revelation, satoru feels like he can't breathe.

geto runs a hand through his hair. “man…”

“also,” shoko continues, clearly not done, “she’s been really upset. you know that, right?”

satoru stares at the stairs. your face flashes in his mind. the way your voice sounded on the phone. so hurt.

“i'm gonna be honest, you’ve been acting like an asshole,” geto says gently. “and she’s been taking it like a champ. i'd of socked you in the jaw by now."

the music seems to disappear into the depths of his mind as he reels.

you didn’t fuck shiu.

you weren't up there sleeping with choso.

god, he thinks about the way he spoke to you. the way he brushed you off so calloused, the way he said he had a girl coming over and didn't brush her off for you, like he'd always done.

his stomach drops.

“oh fuck,” he whispers.

shoko watches him closely. “you're a real asshole, you know.”

he swallows. “fuck, i know.”

geto snorts.

satoru rubs a hand down his face, standing abruptly. “i need air.”

he takes off, on his way past he stops at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at them.

for the first time in days, he doesn’t feel angry.

he feels scared, typical gojo reading too deep into things and reacting rashly. he really needed to work on that.

~

"i don't know cho... this is the first time something like this has happened. i feel like he hates me or something... i just don't know what i did."

choso, bless his heart, had been listening to you pour your heart out about gojo for the past half an hour, blowing smoke out his open window. that last part caused his zooted brain to form a coherent thought.

"it's probably because you fucked shiu." he announces in uneven tones, he was more than a little gone.

you stare at choso like he’s just spoken another language.

“uhm?” you quiz.

his head falls to look at you from his spot by the window, he’s so relaxed he looks like gravity might forget about him any second now.

“yeah,” he nods, very sure of himself. “that’s gotta be it. gojo’s dramatic like that.”

your stomach drops, not in guilt, but in pure disbelief.

“i didn’t fuck shiu,” you say with a bitter taste in your mouth.

choso's neck rolls and he rubs his face, “…huh?”

“i didn’t sleep with him,” you repeat, “nothing happened. i crashed at his because i didn’t wanna wake satoru up and yuki had a guy over our place."

he processes this slowly with his face scrunching, the thought is buffering.

“okay,” he says after awhile, “but you went home with him.”

“yes,” you snap. “but that’s not the same thing.”

he hums, then shrugs. “dunno, sounds the same.”

you were gonna punch this loser.

“oh my god,” you mutter. “i have to go.”

“go where?” choso asks genuinely curious.

“i have to tell satoru,” you say grabbing your phone. “not because i did anything wrong, because i didn’t. but because he thinks i slept with someone he hates.”

choso sighs again. “you know you’re allowed to sleep with people.”

“i know that,” you say quickly. “this isn’t about that. it’s about him thinking i did it behind his back with someone he clearly can’t stand.”

choso nods like this makes sense to him, even though it absolutely does not. “okay.”

you pause at the door. “can you not tell anyone else?”

he raises two fingers in a salute. “your secret is safe with me.”

you don’t trust that for a second, but you’re already shutting his door.

you bolt down the stairs two at a time looking over the crowd. the stupid partys still bumping. you look for his pretty white hair, for his broad shoulders, but with everyone wearing the same color it became impossible.

you groan and head for the couch you left shoko and geto at.

“where’s satoru,” you breathe.

“uh. outside, i think.” geto responds surprised.

“yeah,” shoko adds. “went out front. needed air, apparently.”

you nod and make your way to the front door, the coolness of the night sweeps over your face and you notice a very tall man almost instantly.

he’s leaning against the lamp post across the street with his phone in one hand and his vape in the other.

he only vapes when he’s stressed.

stepping closer, you clock just how small this moment feels and how big it could blow up and become if you say the wrong thing.

“toru,” you say softly.

he looks up.

the second his eyes land on you, he feels his heart pulse.

“can we.. can we talk?” you ask.

he doesn’t answer, he gives you the most longing stare you'd ever seen. then, he steps forward and pulls you into his arms.

hard.

his biceps wrap around you so tight, his scrunched up face presses into your hair, his grip is stable and you want to cry at how passionate this feels.

he breathes out a shaky, “i’m sorry.”

you wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze him back.

“i’m so sorry,” he repeats. “i was a dick. i shouldn’t have been so rude. i should’ve talked to you, communication and all that shit.”

you move back to look up at him. “hey. hey, it’s okay.”

he shakes his head. “no, it’s not. i acted like a stuck up cunt. i thought you slept with shiu and i just… i lost my mind.”

you sigh. “i didn’t. i swear. nothing happened. i should of told you that.”

he nods quickly. “i know. shoko told me. i just… god. i’m sorry i made you feel so shit.”

you reach up and rub your thumb under his eye. a sweet gesture you’ve done a hundred times before. “i’m sorry you got that impression.”

he leans into your touch for half a second before catching himself. “i had no right to be mad even if you had slept with someone. i know that.”

you nod. “yeah. you didn’t. but i get it's because you thought i did it behind you back, especially with someone you really hate."

a beautiful, silent moment exists between you two before you step back, forcing a small smile. “are we all good?”

he lets out a weak laugh. “yeah, you're so good.”

“that wasn't the question, silly.” you add, gently.

after that, you'd both agreed to ditch this lame party and stay at yours for the night. yuki was at higuruma's, so the place was all yours.

at your apartment, you both shower separately then change into comfy sleep clothes. his essentials hoodie ends up on you without either of you talking about it. when you come back into your room, he’s flopped onto your bed with his big arms spread, staring at the ceiling.

“c’mere,” he says, patting the space beside him.

you smile and crawl in next to him, turning onto your side so your head rests against his chest. he adjusts automatically, one arm coming around you, fingers threading through your hair in slow, relaxing strokes.

it feels like safe, blissful warmth. like coming home.

you lie there in silence for a while, listening to his breathing even out.

then he speaks again.

“hey, uhm.. sorry for blowing you off for a chick, the other day, by the way.”

you lift your head. “huh?”

he grimaces. “i lowkey didn’t even have plans. i invited her over after i hung up. just wanted a distraction.”

your chest does a confusing little blip.

“would’ve liked to see you instead,” he adds quietly.

your heart aches and swells at the same time. you press your face back into his chest, “it’s fine.” laughs at your adorably muffled voice, then sighs. “i shouldn’t have done that.”

you shrug. “you’re allowed to see people.”

he hums. “yeah.”

you hesitate, then say it anyway. “i don’t care about the girls you hook up with. doesn't really effect our friendship, right?”

the words feel so distasteful and strange, but you push through.

he smiles a forlorn smile. "right.”

he pulls you a little closer, brushing his lips against your temple in an almost kiss. he threads a piece of your hair through his fingers like a coiled ribbon, feeling the individual stand's texture against the pads of his fingers. this was his therapy, the soothing lull of you, with him.

he can feel your soft breathing slow down as you knock out, the way you always do when you know you can trust him to stay with you.

and god, that trust truly destroys the last bit of careless arrogance he carried in him.

because just hours ago he was so sure you’d replaced him. that you’d looked at someone else and chosen them.

but you no, didn’t.

you never did that.

every girl he’s ever dragged into his bed flashes through his mind in quick, ugly snapshots like those old black and white movies.

they've got faces he can't remember, voices that sounds distorted and wrong, and their bodies look like every other persons. it's surreal.

he tells himself, not for the first time, that he never meant for it to get this bad. it all started as some quick fun. then it became a boarder line addiction, one he desperately wanted to break.. he feels sick at how it turned into something people expected from him, something he leaned into because it meant no one would ever ask him for more.

no one except you.

you wriggle around adorably in your sleep, your knee hitting his thigh, and it smacks him all over again how easy it would be to lose this bliss. how close he came. how close he kinda still is.

he’s been hiding behind it for so long. the flirting. the girls. the persona. acting like he doesn’t care.

but lying here with you? knowing you didn’t do anything wrong, knowing he almost burned the best thing in his life because he couldn’t get over his own shit, something in him finally snaps into place.

he doesn’t want to be that guy anymore.

he wants to be someone you can choose without any hesitation. someone who doesn’t make you doubt where you stand. someone who doesn’t reach for distractions the second things feel too hard for him to handle alone.

i’m gonna fix this, he thinks.

he’s not stupid enough to think it’ll be easy. habits don’t disappear overnight. insecurity doesn’t vanish just because he wants it to. but he can stop hiding behind other people. he can stop pretending he’s fine with the left over crumbs when what he wants is everything.

he wants to earn you.

not with big gestures or revolting drunk confessions he can’t really back up, but by showing up differently to what hes been doing. by choosing you the way you’ve always chosen him.

he was gonna stop. he couldn't be labeled a good for nothing playboy anymore,

~

"so bro, did you figure shit out with your girl?"

"what, you mean y/n? yeah, man. that's all sorted."

gojo was back at the frat the next day after a very messy, long night of staring at your sleeping face, (and fighting to overwhelming urge to kiss your pretty nose.) he was chatting it up with toji who had heard about the drama through shoko.

"just curious, are you two like.. a friend with bennies kinda situation? or what." he asks, shaking his banana protein powder violently in it's can to break apart the clumps.

satoru starts drumming his fingers against the kitchen bench, trying to sound nonchalant. "nah, man. she's just my friend. i've got other girls for that shit." he winces at that douchey response... hm, if he wanted to stop the slut allegations he needed to work on how he talked to guys like toji.

"yeah, and she's just fine with that?"

"i dunno, bro."

toji shakes his head and chuckles, then geto interrupts from the couch.

"ever think of like, oh, i don't know. telling her you're into her?"

gojo lets out a fake groan like he's sick of the question, not like he's obsessed over that very idea for around a year now. "can you two lay off? i'll tell her eventually."

"yeah right. you're gonna waste away your life fucking hoe's you don't even like, and she's gonna get a guy hitched. like shiu." sukuna chimes in from the stairs. fuck, was everyone coming down to clock his shit?

"fuck off with the shiu shit, they didn't do anything."

"yet."

he was seriously about to throw hands.

the chaos is interrupted when nanami walks through the large front door holding a piece of paper.

"i just got the theme for the next function." he says, holding it in the air. "it's that stupid white lies thing we did last year in june, remember that?"

oh, they remembered. everyone in white or coloured shirts with sharpie on the front spelling out a little white lie about each person. so much drama came from that, it was insane.

satoru faintly remembers sukuna's shirt saying, 'i'm not cheating on my girl.' and getting his wallet set on fire not long after said girl got to the party.

"sweet, that's easy to set up." toji commented. all satoru was thinking was how you were the first person he had to invite, his hand itching for his phone.

he smiles at your response and pockets his phone, his mind reeling with what he was gonna write on his shirt, as he taps a finger to his chin, the most big brain, amazing thought pops into his head.

god, i'm so suave.

his promise to himself was about to become really real after this party, he just hoped it didn't all go downhill..

you on the other hand, you were contemplating whether or not what you had planned for your shirt was too much. the instant you'd read his text about the theme, the idea immediately popped into your head.

being brave enough to actually go through with it? that was another story..

~

11pm saturday, the frat.

okay, you're really nervous now. you stand outside for way longer than necessary, your jumper covers the secret writing on your shirt, you can't embarrass yourself, yet.

you take a deep breath and walk into the familiar house you'd crashed at so many times.

it's still early, so only the people actually in the frat are there so far. you walk through slowly and the first one you clock is sukuna.

he’s got a beer in one hand (already? smh.), his white shirt is stretched across his muscly chest with thick black letters that read, i hate milfs.

you snort before you can stop yourself.

toji’s near the tv wiring up the music, his shirt says, i’m not a felon.

these guys weren't real, what the fuck.

shoko’s leaned against the counter nearby, one of those big chunky choofs in her hand. her shirt reads, i’m not addicted to nic.

you love her.

you pull out your phone and shoot satoru a text letting him know you've made it, you barely have time to lock your screen before arms wrap around you from behind.

big, hard, comforting arms.

gojo buries his face into the side of your neck, "there you are,” he says, pleased. “you smell good.”

the blush that covers your cheeks is embarrassing. “well, hi to you too.”

he pulls off and beams down at you, although, you can't help but see a slight hint of nerves in his eyes.

“missed you,” he laughs.

before you can overthink that, you notice that his shirt is covered by a loose flannel, hanging open but covering the writing on his chest.

he notices your eyes flick down and smirks. “don’t look yet.”

you scoff. “oh, so you’re hiding yours too.”

“maybe,” he says. “what about you?”

you tug at the strings of your jumper. “mhm.”

his eyes narrow playfully. “suspicious.”

"you love it."

he grins. “yeah. i do.”

he’s tugging you along by the hand, weaving you through the house toward the kitchen the next second.

“come onn,” he says. “it’s still early. let's pregame before it gets all sweaty and gross.”

the kitchen is devoid of people, satoru hops up onto the counter, then contemplates ad corrects himself.

“wait,” he says. “no. you sit.”

before you can argue, he lifts you and plops you on the bench, your face feels hot but you blame it on the lack of air flow.. or the way he’s standing way too close.

he pours you a drink keeping in mind you’re not trying to get wrecked tonight, then puts it beside you.

“there ya go, sweets,” he says.

“perfect.”

you sip, then notice his fingers tapping against the counter like a drum, oh yeah, he's definitely nervous.

you tilt your head, flashing him that gorgeous smile that always made him weak in the knees. "so.”

he looks at you. “so.”

you smile. “what’s your shirt say?”

...

his laugh is strangled and just a little too loud. “oh, uh. straight to the point, huh.”

“you know it."

he rubs the back of his neck. “it’s stupid.”

“uh huh.”

“and you’re gonna laugh.”

“probably.”

he squints at you. “you go first.”

you shake your head. “nope.”

“c’mon,” he whines. “you’re way braver than me.”

you giggle, heart doing that annoying thing again. “mm, absolutely not.”

he rolls his eyes, then comes up with a compromise.

“okay,” he says. “same time, then.”

you pause. “uhm?.”

“we'll both reveal it at the same time,” he continues. “y'know, like one, two, three.”

you stare at him. “c'mon.”

“you're so lame, pleasee,” he plead.

you roll your eyes. “okay, okay, fine.”

he grins, wide and oh so nervous. “really?”

“yeah,” you say, with your fingers are already curling into the fabric of your jumper. “on three.”

he nods. “okay.”

the moment stretches. neither of you moves.

“you count,” he says.

you swallow and nervously laugh. “one.”

his fingers fall into the edge of his flannel.

“two.”

your hands slide to the hem of your jumper.

“three.”

both of your fabrics lift.

his flannel drops open as you tug your jumper over your head, both of you frozen for a good minute as the truth finally, finally stares back at you.

i’m not in love with my best friend.

on both shirts.

identical. same handwriting style.

you stare at his chest.

he stares at yours.

then you both lose it.

you're both toppled over laughing at how ridiculous this was.

“no fucking way,” he gasps.

you wipe your eye, “are you kidding me.”

he steps closer, closing the space until he’s right between your knees, caging you in gently. his smile softens as he looks down at your shirt.

“wow,” he murmurs.

you feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with fabric.

“guess we both lied,” you say quietly.

“guess so.”

his hands caress your face ever so slowly, like he’s giving you time to slap him off but you don’t.

you stare up at him with big, wide eyes. he smiles and inches toward until your noses touch.

he leans in, “can i?” he asks, quietly.

you nod smiling harder than you ever had before. “yeah.”

then, he kisses you.

it’s soft and warm, nothing like that sloppy drunk one you both pretend you forgot.

you kiss him back deeper, your fingers drift through his hair pulling him closer, and the sound he makes against your mouth is almost whiney, wrecked.

the bliss is interrupted by someone yelling from behind you.

“about fucking time,” sukuna bellows.

you break apart laughing again, foreheads still touching. satoru groans and drops his head to your shoulder.

“i’m killing him,” he mutters.

he hops you off the counter, taking your hand. “we’re leaving.”

“where.”

“my room. like, now. these assholes are not ruining my moment.”

you follow him up the stairs both of you grinning like idiots. he's pulling you softly but quick enough the moment isn't lost.

his door closes behind you. the room is dim, only lit by the lamp on his desk, nice and moody.

he doesn’t rush you and he doesn’t pounce like he did with other women. no. he reaches out and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, “hi,” he says, dumb and fond.

you smile. “hi.”

satoru literally can't fight this urge any longer, he pulls you into his chest and wraps his arms fully around your body. your cheek presses to his chest, right over his heart, and it’s beating oh so fast. one of his hands slides up to cradle the back of your head with his fingers threading through your hair, stroking slowly.

“i’ve wanted this for so long,” he says into your hair. “like, embarrassingly long.”

you laugh softly. “yeah?”

“yeah,” he says. “i just didn’t think i was, like, allowed to? if that makes sense”

you look up at him with a confused smile. “why wouldn’t you be?”

he swallows. his eyes flick away, then back. “because i’m kind of an asshole, if you couldn't tell.”

you knew what he meant. the women, his not so shiny reputation, his arrogance.

“you're not the only one, i didn’t say anything either.” you rub the side of his face.

he smiles into you hand, “why?”

you stop. then take a breath and decide to be brave. “because you sleep with everyone. and i thought if you wanted me, you would’ve... i don't know, stopped.”

ouch, but deserved.

“fuck,” he says quietly. “i hated that you saw me like that.”

“i mean,” you shrug weakly. “it’s kind of hard not to.”

he laughs. “yeah. fair.”

he presses his forehead to yours. “that shit was never about wanting other people, y/n. it was about not knowing what to do with wanting you.”

your head just went really fuzzy at his poetic expression.

“i made a promise to myself,” he continues. “after i realised i was gonna lose you if i didn’t get my shit together. i’m done with it. all of it. i don’t wanna be that guy anymore.”

you search his face, looking for the joke, but he's dead serious.

“i didn’t think i deserved you,” he admits. “so i kept proving myself right.”

for a moment, neither of you speak. then you reach for his hand and hook your pinky around his.

“okay,” you say. “then let’s just… talk. no more of this back and forth.”

“pinky promise.” he smiles and seals it, then leans in and kisses you again. he pulls back for a second then begins to pepper your face in sweet little pecks, making you giggle at the ticking movement.

“i’ve wanted to do this,” he says between kisses, grinning like he can’t stop himself. “just whenever. whenever i felt like it.”

you laugh, hands in his hair now, tugging him back down. “you’re so silly.”

you end up tangled on his bed, just talking. his legs are weaved through yours as he kisses your face occasionally. you tell him you'd been feeling for the past, what, two years? you tell him how the women always made you jealous, how you'd wish it were you he wanted. he spills his guts just as much. he tells you how they never meant anything, how he knew he had a problem and he was working on it, for you.

three hours of straight yap fly by.

he eventually goes really quiet and clears his throat out. “hey.”

“hmm?”

“would you wanna,” he hesitates, suddenly adorably shy, “go on an actual date with me? like. flowers. dinner. me trying really, really hard.”

you smile so hard your cheeks hurt. “yeah. i would.”

his grin is blinding, him and his stupidly perfect teeth.

“holy shit,” he laughs, pulling you close again. “i got the girl.”

you smile, then drift off wrapped up in each other, both of you finally feeling secure in your feelings for one another.

"night, toru."

"good night, sweetheart."

A/N: i'll be writing some spicy/dating headcanons for this fic !!

n e ways like and reblog my shit twin 🤞🏼