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the first time you two kissed, gojo grabbed your face with both hands, and you went ballistic. he was confused, so you explained that hands are the biggest carriers of germs and that you were big on your skincare. no way in hell was he going to put his hands on your face and have you breaking out for days. ever since then, he’s decided to place his hands on the side of your neck, with his thumb under your jaw to pull you into him for a deep kiss.
everything smells faintly of warm citrus and green things—crushed stems, wild mint, a lingering sweetness from the orange you and gojo had earlier shared.
the meadow is bright, soft, and honey-drenched like the late afternoon. light pools in the folds of the grass, catching on the edge of leaves, gathering in subtle, sparkling constellations across the water.
you sit with your feet in the grass, letting the blades tickle your ankles. pebbles click softly under gojo’s shifting weight as he plucks one from the ground and rolls it between his fingers, deciding whether to skip it across the pond or keep it as a souvenir.
he lets it fall back into the grass with a tiny thud.
“this place is nicer than i expected,” he observes, leaning back on his palms. “to be honest, i thought you were dragging me out to some muddy swamp.”
you glance over at him.
the position makes him look almost boyish, you think to yourself, suddenly feeing nostalgic.
“you’ve known me for years,” you reply, watching the fall of a distant leaf surrendering to gravity. he shrugs, expression twisting as if to say so? “why would i bring you to a swamp?”
he hums at your question, gaze drifting thoughtfully towards the pond. “to drown me in some place appropriate?”
a ghost of amusement flickers through you. “if i’d wanted to do that, i’d have just shoved your head into the fountain by the front of the palace—no point in dragging you all the way out here.”
“gods—how brutal—alright, fine. okay.” he lets out a laugh, low and surprised, echoing softly across the open field.
gojo shifts, sitting upright again, elbows resting loosely on his knees as he picks at a blade of grass, twisting it absentmindedly between his fingers. “guess you’re more merciful than i give you credit for.”
“flattering,” you answer dryly.
“i try.”
above him, sunlight filters through broad leaves in a shifting mosaic of gold and pale green.
you watch the pattern move across his cheekbones, across the white hair that refuses to lie flat, across the rise and fall of his breath.
he doesn’t notice, which makes it all the sweeter.
the pond glimmers a few metres away, its surface stretching smooth and silver except when disturbed by the soft kiss of insects skimming past and the leaves that melt into ripples.
beneath the clear water, stones glow softly in amber, cream, and soft greys, the colours muddled and luminous as though lit from beneath.
gojo tosses a pebble in, halfheartedly. it whips through the air, kisses the pond once and then twice—then disappears, swallowed without ceremony.
the ripples bloom outward in concentric rings.
“you’re terrible at that,” you snort.
he squints at the water, unimpressed with his own performance, then tips his head back slightly, considering your insult.
the sun grazes the sharp line of his jaw and clings to the pale strands of his hair, making his skin appear almost translucent against the green.
“well i’m excellent at many things,” he counters, brushing his hands together like the matter has been settled, “and skipping rocks has never needed to be one of them.”
“it’s quite a basic skill.”
you glance down at the smooth stones scattered along the bank, hues of pearl, worn into gentle symmetry by years of patience and shaping.
“says who? nature? you? god?”
you laugh again, and you see the small, pleased flicker that crosses his face when he hears it—so brief you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t already watching him too closely.
he sits up suddenly.
the movement stirs the grass, rustling the small white blossoms hidden between the blades. “it’s too hot to sit still,” he declares. “i’m going in.”
“in where?”
he nods toward the pond, body alight with a familiar impulsiveness—always acting before thinking, driven by joy before the mind has time to interfere. “where else? the water, obviously. was that not what we came here for?”
before you can reply, he’s already rolling his pants to his knees, the fabric bunching awkwardly. he stands, wobbling a bit on the uneven ground.
the shoreline breathes with anticipation as his bare feet shift closer, blades of grass folding beneath his steps, rocks clicking gently underfoot.
“you’re going to slip,” you warn.
“i never slip.”
he promptly disproves himself the second his bootless foot meets the water, when his heel skids slightly against a submerged stone, balance wavering as a sharp hiss escapes him. “okay—it’s colder than it looks.”
“oh?” you say. “is that you slipping up?”
“ha. ha.” he twists at the waist to look back at you over his shoulder, grinning. “you’re hilarious.”
the water wraps around his calves, turning his pale skin into shifting fragments of tan and blue.
sunlight scatters over the surface, breaking into tiny diamonds around his legs. he walks in a little deeper, sending ripples toward the edge.
you remain still on the bank, arms loosely folded.
he glances back at you, brows slightly raised, gaze curious, almost expectant. “are you coming in?”
the question feels less like an invitation and more like a fact he simply can’t accept the reality of yet.
“no.”
“you should.”
“you said the water was cold,” you point out.
“i’ll warm it up for you. i promise it was just the initial shock.”
the wind brushes past your knees and over the top of the pond , faint and warm. a strand of gojo’s snowy hair clings damply to his forehead; droplets gather, slide, and disappear.
“that sounds hard to believe.”
“i’m sure it did. though you won’t know until you find out.”
“isn’t that how all things work?”
another moment passes. the breeze shifts, carrying the sharp sweetness of citrus rind and the earthy smell of sun soaked grass. a dragonfly sits briefly on a cattail, then darts off in a streak of blue.
gojo splashes water absently with his legs, making small bridges of light.
“you know,” he says, casual as anything, “i don’t actually like doing things alone.”
you look up. “really? i never would’ve guessed”
he smiles, kicking gently at the water again. “exactly, so spare me some pity, just this once.”
“that’s not enough a reason to drag me in,” you say.
“is it not?” he insists. “i thought it was a perfectly valid one.”
“i’m comfortable here, satoru.”
“but you could be comfortable in the water too.”
he looks at you—eyes almost hopeful, asking without quite asking.
you sigh, though not unhappily. “you’re so stubborn.”
“this is true.”
“and you’re not very good at logical persuasion.”
“also true.”
“and you’re getting water everywhere.”
“that’s the idea.”
in all realness, your reluctance was never genuine, not really. so you rise, brushing fine dust of grass and pollen from your palms, feeling the sun’s warmth cling faintly to your skin as you move toward the edge where earth yields to water.
the ground there is darker, softened by the patient seep of the pond, cold beneath your soles and pliant.
when your foot touches the water, the chill flares up your leg, startling and almost electric.
gojo laughs under his breath. “there she is.”
“what?”
“i knew you’d come and join me.”
“i’m doing this of my own volition.”
“i didn’t say you weren’t.”
“stop being smart with me.”
he smiles, unrepentant, the faint shape of his mouth suggesting he enjoys the gentle sparring a little too much. “you know i can’t help that.”
you wade closer. pebbles shift under your feet, smooth and cold and familiar in an ancient, river worn way. the water flows around your ankles. the light lies across the pond in long, swaying ribbons.
when you reach him, he stills ever so slightly.
he doesn’t touch you—but he does move—just slightly, as though guided by some unconscious instinct for nearness to close a narrow margin.
he’s close enough now that you feel his presence in the air, warm despite the temperature of the water, just like he’d said.
“this is nice,” he says quietly.
the words are simple. factual. true.
“yeah,” you say. “i suppose it is.”
the meadow rustles. the sunlight leans lower. a bird dips low over the water, wings brushing shadows across your joined reflections.
gojo exhales softly and teasingly. “now, aren’t you glad you came in?”
bashful, you find your attention fixed on the shifting patterns deeper in the pond—the small pale stones, the muted moss clinging to their smooth surfaces, the way the light refracts through the shallow water like glass—anything but the weight of his gaze.
you smile, almost to yourself.
“shut up,” you murmur, voice barely louder than the slow lap of the pond. “you already know the answer.”
the day continues slowly, warm, and gentle—deciding to hold the two of you just a little closer than before.
everything smells faintly of warm citrus and green things—crushed stems, wild mint, a lingering sweetness from the orange you and gojo had earlier shared.
the meadow is bright, soft, and honey-drenched like the late afternoon. light pools in the folds of the grass, catching on the edge of leaves, gathering in subtle, sparkling constellations across the water.
you sit with your feet in the grass, letting the blades tickle your ankles. pebbles click softly under gojo’s shifting weight as he plucks one from the ground and rolls it between his fingers, deciding whether to skip it across the pond or keep it as a souvenir.
he lets it fall back into the grass with a tiny thud.
“this place is nicer than i expected,” he observes, leaning back on his palms. “to be honest, i thought you were dragging me out to some muddy swamp.”
you glance over at him.
the position makes him look almost boyish, you think to yourself, suddenly feeing nostalgic.
“you’ve known me for years,” you reply, watching the fall of a distant leaf surrendering to gravity. he shrugs, expression twisting as if to say so? “why would i bring you to a swamp?”
he hums at your question, gaze drifting thoughtfully towards the pond. “to drown me in some place appropriate?”
a ghost of amusement flickers through you. “if i’d wanted to do that, i’d have just shoved your head into the fountain by the front of the palace—no point in dragging you all the way out here.”
“gods—how brutal—alright, fine. okay.” he lets out a laugh, low and surprised, echoing softly across the open field.
gojo shifts, sitting upright again, elbows resting loosely on his knees as he picks at a blade of grass, twisting it absentmindedly between his fingers. “guess you’re more merciful than i give you credit for.”
“flattering,” you answer dryly.
“i try.”
above him, sunlight filters through broad leaves in a shifting mosaic of gold and pale green.
you watch the pattern move across his cheekbones, across the white hair that refuses to lie flat, across the rise and fall of his breath.
he doesn’t notice, which makes it all the sweeter.
the pond glimmers a few metres away, its surface stretching smooth and silver except when disturbed by the soft kiss of insects skimming past and the leaves that melt into ripples.
beneath the clear water, stones glow softly in amber, cream, and soft greys, the colours muddled and luminous as though lit from beneath.
gojo tosses a pebble in, halfheartedly. it whips through the air, kisses the pond once and then twice—then disappears, swallowed without ceremony.
the ripples bloom outward in concentric rings.
“you’re terrible at that,” you snort.
he squints at the water, unimpressed with his own performance, then tips his head back slightly, considering your insult.
the sun grazes the sharp line of his jaw and clings to the pale strands of his hair, making his skin appear almost translucent against the green.
“well i’m excellent at many things,” he counters, brushing his hands together like the matter has been settled, “and skipping rocks has never needed to be one of them.”
“it’s quite a basic skill.”
you glance down at the smooth stones scattered along the bank, hues of pearl, worn into gentle symmetry by years of patience and shaping.
“says who? nature? you? god?”
you laugh again, and you see the small, pleased flicker that crosses his face when he hears it—so brief you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t already watching him too closely.
he sits up suddenly.
the movement stirs the grass, rustling the small white blossoms hidden between the blades. “it’s too hot to sit still,” he declares. “i’m going in.”
“in where?”
he nods toward the pond, body alight with a familiar impulsiveness—always acting before thinking, driven by joy before the mind has time to interfere. “where else? the water, obviously. was that not what we came here for?”
before you can reply, he’s already rolling his pants to his knees, the fabric bunching awkwardly. he stands, wobbling a bit on the uneven ground.
the shoreline breathes with anticipation as his bare feet shift closer, blades of grass folding beneath his steps, rocks clicking gently underfoot.
“you’re going to slip,” you warn.
“i never slip.”
he promptly disproves himself the second his bootless foot meets the water, when his heel skids slightly against a submerged stone, balance wavering as a sharp hiss escapes him. “okay—it’s colder than it looks.”
“oh?” you say. “is that you slipping up?”
“ha. ha.” he twists at the waist to look back at you over his shoulder, grinning. “you’re hilarious.”
the water wraps around his calves, turning his pale skin into shifting fragments of tan and blue.
sunlight scatters over the surface, breaking into tiny diamonds around his legs. he walks in a little deeper, sending ripples toward the edge.
you remain still on the bank, arms loosely folded.
he glances back at you, brows slightly raised, gaze curious, almost expectant. “are you coming in?”
the question feels less like an invitation and more like a fact he simply can’t accept the reality of yet.
“no.”
“you should.”
“you said the water was cold,” you point out.
“i’ll warm it up for you. i promise it was just the initial shock.”
the wind brushes past your knees and over the top of the pond , faint and warm. a strand of gojo’s snowy hair clings damply to his forehead; droplets gather, slide, and disappear.
“that sounds hard to believe.”
“i’m sure it did. though you won’t know until you find out.”
“isn’t that how all things work?”
another moment passes. the breeze shifts, carrying the sharp sweetness of citrus rind and the earthy smell of sun soaked grass. a dragonfly sits briefly on a cattail, then darts off in a streak of blue.
gojo splashes water absently with his legs, making small bridges of light.
“you know,” he says, casual as anything, “i don’t actually like doing things alone.”
you look up. “really? i never would’ve guessed”
he smiles, kicking gently at the water again. “exactly, so spare me some pity, just this once.”
“that’s not enough a reason to drag me in,” you say.
“is it not?” he insists. “i thought it was a perfectly valid one.”
“i’m comfortable here, satoru.”
“but you could be comfortable in the water too.”
he looks at you—eyes almost hopeful, asking without quite asking.
you sigh, though not unhappily. “you’re so stubborn.”
“this is true.”
“and you’re not very good at logical persuasion.”
“also true.”
“and you’re getting water everywhere.”
“that’s the idea.”
in all realness, your reluctance was never genuine, not really. so you rise, brushing fine dust of grass and pollen from your palms, feeling the sun’s warmth cling faintly to your skin as you move toward the edge where earth yields to water.
the ground there is darker, softened by the patient seep of the pond, cold beneath your soles and pliant.
when your foot touches the water, the chill flares up your leg, startling and almost electric.
gojo laughs under his breath. “there she is.”
“what?”
“i knew you’d come and join me.”
“i’m doing this of my own volition.”
“i didn’t say you weren’t.”
“stop being smart with me.”
he smiles, unrepentant, the faint shape of his mouth suggesting he enjoys the gentle sparring a little too much. “you know i can’t help that.”
you wade closer. pebbles shift under your feet, smooth and cold and familiar in an ancient, river worn way. the water flows around your ankles. the light lies across the pond in long, swaying ribbons.
when you reach him, he stills ever so slightly.
he doesn’t touch you—but he does move—just slightly, as though guided by some unconscious instinct for nearness to close a narrow margin.
he’s close enough now that you feel his presence in the air, warm despite the temperature of the water, just like he’d said.
“this is nice,” he says quietly.
the words are simple. factual. true.
“yeah,” you say. “i suppose it is.”
the meadow rustles. the sunlight leans lower. a bird dips low over the water, wings brushing shadows across your joined reflections.
gojo exhales softly and teasingly. “now, aren’t you glad you came in?”
bashful, you find your attention fixed on the shifting patterns deeper in the pond—the small pale stones, the muted moss clinging to their smooth surfaces, the way the light refracts through the shallow water like glass—anything but the weight of his gaze.
you smile, almost to yourself.
“shut up,” you murmur, voice barely louder than the slow lap of the pond. “you already know the answer.”
the day continues slowly, warm, and gentle—deciding to hold the two of you just a little closer than before.
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i hate it when people bring up the fact that satoru was just a benefactor for megumi and that he wasn't that involved with him or tsumiki— don't bring canon into my beautiful fanon family :(
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brave little soldier gojo x gn!reader , fluff n crack! , 1.1k words
the world’s strongest sorcerer is currently afraid of two things:
the dark, and the stretch of hallway between your bedroom and the bathroom.
you discover this the hard way, dragged awake from a perfectly good dream by whispers of your name and a man standing at the foot of your bed. which, in most contexts, would be terrifying—but it's satoru.
of course it’s satoru.
you jolt, eyes flying open whilst shoving yourself up onto your elbows. “wha—what are you doing? you scared the ever-living shit out of me."
he startles too, jerking backwards slightly. “you’re awake.”
you stare at him with a look of disoriented, sleepy, disbelief. “astute observation, sherlock. get back into bed.”
you fall back against the mattress and turn, hand seeking the familiar dip where he sleeps. the sheets are still warm, heat ghosting against your fingertips—proof he hasn’t been standing up long.
“i need to pee.”
imagine being roused from a deep slumber because a grown man needs to tinkle.
you speak straight into the pillow, because if you have to deal with his bitching at 2am, then you’re at least going to do it lying down. “okay?" you wait for him to say something, but the silence lingers. "...have fun?”
“no i—um, i need you to—uh—come with me.”
“come with you?” you echo his words, baffled. “what? i'm so confused—come with you to where?”
he ducks his head, a little embarrassed and aware of exactly how silly he's being. “to the bathroom?”
it takes a full 5 seconds for your brain to process that. “you woke me up because you have to pee?”
he shakes his head so earnestly you almost feel bad for him. “you don't understand. i can’t go alone.”
you want to tell him that you truly don’t understand. that you have never, in your life, been less equipped to process a sentence.
because it’s 2 in the morning, and he’s grown, and you were having a really good dream.
“are you serious right now?”
“completely.”
“you’re twenty-something years old.”
“okay, and i’d like to live to be twenty-something-plus-one, thanks.”
you tilt your head up to squint at him, trying to decipher if this is one of his elaborate jokes or if you’ve actually entered a new circle of hell. “satoru, you’re literally the most powerful man alive and you’re telling me you're scared of going to the bathroom alone?"
“that’s a myth perpetuated by my enemies,” there’s a dramatic tilt to his head, that pitiful look dogs give to convince you to go on a walk. “i’m a very fragile creature.” you resist the urge to laugh, mostly because you’re too tired, and give it about another second before sighing.
“i’m surprised you even know what half those words mean.” you mutter, then roll back over, dragging the blanket with you like it’s a shield. “just hold it in.”
he makes a wounded noise from in front of you.
“i can’t hold it! i had—" he starts counting on his fingers, eyes wide, "—4 cups of milk!"
you blink slowly, wondering what kind of deity grants mercy to men this stupid.
“well, if it isn’t the consequences of your own actions.”
satoru whines—actually whines—and tugs at the bottom of the blanket like a toddler trying to get your attention whilst simultaneously testing your patience. “please, babe. i’ll owe you forever. i’ll wash the dishes. i’ll even stop using your expensive shampoo.”
you snort into the pillow. “as if. you’ve said that at least 3 different times this week.”
“please, baby.”
“it’s literally a couple steps away.”
“exactly,” he hisses, as if that proves his point. “a couple steps through a dark hallway. you remember what we watched!”
you stare at the ceiling and let out a noise that could get you exorcised in a church. you love him, you remind yourself. you do.
“you mean the conjuring, which you insisted on, because you said ‘it won’t even be that scary, babe’?”
“yes and now i need your support. till death do us part, right? which, at this rate, could be tonight.”
you burrow deeper into the sheets, voice lost to the fabric. “be a man, satoru.”
“men are allowed to be scared!”
he’s standing by the door, phone flashlight already on.
you groan again, loudly so he knows the weight of what he's asking for. for a second, you weigh your options: stay in bed and let nature take its course—literally, or get up and enable his behavior. there’s really no winning, only different forms of suffering.
so you throw back the blanket, muttering curses like prayers, and sit up. the floor is cold, the air colder.
the hallway yawns ahead, dim and harmless. it’s dark, but not that dark.
he clings to your arm anyway, like the shadows might leap out and drag him into the abyss. you shuffle forward, sleepy and guiding him like a babysitter.
the floor creaks once under your feet and he flinches.
when you both stop in front of the bathroom door, he hesitates. the door’s cracked open, the light switch within easy reach, but he stands there frozen, peering into the dark. he leans forward, poking his head in, then yanks it back immediately, face pale.
you stare at his him, incredulous. "you're kidding."
he shakes his head, deadly serious. "something just moved."
"it was probably just your reflection in the mirror."
“or a poltergeist.”
“go satoru, before i fall asleep standing up.”
he huffs and hands you his phone like a knight presenting his sword. “if i don’t come back out in 60 seconds, please come in to save me.”
"sure. fine. whatever."
he disappears inside, door half closed. from within, you hear the toilet lid open: “are you still there?”
“yes.”
“okay.”
you start to relax, head tipping against the wall, already thinking about the warmth of the bed waiting for you—until he speaks again.
“babe?”
your eyes close. “what?”
“nothing, just making sure you’re still here.”
there’s silence, then the unmistakable sound of running water. then, he whispers pleadingly and pitifully, “can you come inside with me?"
you blink at the door. can i what.
“i’m not—satoru, i am not going inside while you pee.”
“just stand by the sink or something! face the other way if you have to! i’ll be quick.”
there’s a small thud from inside—maybe he bumped his knee. you drag a hand down your face, fighting the laugh that bubbles up. “that is the least sexy thing you’ve ever said to me.”
"can you at least pretend to be supportive? i'm in a very vulnerable state right now."
you pinch the bridge of your nose and mentally count to 3. “fine. but if you take more than a minute like you said, then i’m leaving. my feet are getting cold.”
@spearofheaven @bistrocatxx @riveredmoon @naammiii @coralbae @indiewritesxoxo @madamechrissy @cupidstrace @crude-saint @rieamena @reignpage @yenayaps @prosypepper @gojodickbig AND SO MANY MORE I LOVE YOU ALL MWAH
@bistrocatxx @satorupi @lisafrankgojo @all-with-angel @besidesjustmyamour @mimuju @spideyyeet @sweethearticism @kamitv @sugurusbeloved @madamechrissy @indiewritesxoxo @naunami @satoruined @sukubusss @eaucherry @yenayaps @spearofheaven @nanamisbbygirl @madamechrissy @heliumshorns @1stqueenofhell @raveszn @ha1lstorm @cupidstrace @satorucest @crude-saint @riveredmoon @desirekento @xonyoka @v1x3n @gojosoups @gojoscamgirl @muliwamm and like a gazillion more the list could go on and on and on!
@sixxels (this fic and this one live in my head rent free, everyone should read them), @creamcut , @sshrubit, @megumour, @sugurusbeloved, @satorus-princess, @satorushii, @sixeyesonathiel, @cumironi, @swordymacaroni (love your version of gojo sm), @dearsnow, @ryodollie, @kunareads (the brat series lives in my mind, talk talk was so YUMMY), @mooningningg
there are so many amazing writers on tumblr my brain will explode if i keep going
@yeagersss feeding me sukuna YESS @lymtw soft toji makes me feral @retiredteabag @httpshujii @satoruxx wolf toji is so yummy @kvroomi @daughterhouse @kawowoa @salsakiyoomi @sayangrafayel your posts are sooo cute @darlingsblackbook @gumilac lovely writer AND artist??? @claritoru @falsedivide @nemisuki
and like literally EVERYONE ELSE on here SO. MANY. KISSES💕💕💕
the gasp? i let out? seeing this notif? I AM SO GRATEFUL TSYM 🥹🥹 !!!
it’s actually unfathomable to me that people actually read my work and enjoy it this much that my presence on tumblr is actually this memorable i might tear up if i think about this fact for too long :(
you are an angel and i appreciate you sm! i’m so glad you enjoy reading what i write <33333 it’s moments like these that make me so happy to share and invest sm time into writing
i went to see the new chainsaw man movie today and i left a really funny one liner review on letterboxd that i so badly wish i could share with you guys… one of my best works fr but i cant doxx myself because its on my very extremely personal account
osamu has an instinctive response to your tears thanks to growing up with atsumu. the first time you cry in front of him, you don’t even know what it was even for. stubbing your toe? a movie? something so trivial because it’s osamu’s reaction that you remember.
immediately, a single slip of your sorrow, osamu’s towering over you. his shadow engulfs yours, his scent swallowing the salt of your tears. a gentle touch gathers your hand, but his voice, though soft, is harried.
“oh shit, fuck, what’s wrong?” osamu rushes through words like he’s not even thinking. “don’t tell ma. i swear i didn’t make ya cry.”
and it’s that out of place comment that proves he’s not. you look at him completely bewildered. he doesn’t even realize it, questioning you with an open gaze. another thirty seconds follow for him to actually process what he’s said but you’re already full blown laughing at him, crying for a different reason.
now, every time you cry, you always threaten to tell his ma on him.
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"are you out here because you thought i wouldn't find you?" he asks, amused
"what? you haven't found me before. the library is a public space. you're as likely to find someone in there as you are a book."
warnings: mentions of alcohol and drinking, college parties, slight angst, absurdly long (28k words), gojo satoru
a/n: once this is posted i have no idea what i'm going to do. except for throw like six parties because this took so long (here's the ao3 link for anyone who wants it)
here's part one.
*
it's quiet again, for a while. you weren't wrong when you told gojo that you'd need to get a job somewhere after your exams, but not for the reason you told him. you ended last semester with plenty of time to study, good enough grades, and an interview for one of the shops just outside of campus.
so here you are, now, three weeks after break has ended, scanning items at the konbini and mourning the loss of hours spent at home, lying in bed and thinking about nothing.
here you are, three weeks later, and you haven't seen gojo once.
you recall, wiping down counters and picking up trash, that he only asked the one time when your classes would be, and remember that you hadn't bothered to ask him back, or even bring up the topic of his missing credit, and if he found a spot to fill it.
you hear about gojo, like you did before, but it's not the same. it’s almost a taunt now; he is around, just not near you.
you shouldn't feel like a fool every time you walk through the library. three days into september, you shouldn't have to realize that you'd been just waiting for him to show up. you'd been hoping, returning to the library like the walls would relay a message to gojo, send him a map with an x stamped across your desk, or spit at him that he stole your pen and needed to give it back.
and you shouldn't be here, turning the corner of an aisle, and running straight into gojo satoru.
your shoulder hits his first, and you trip over your feet, tilting his way and nudging his jaw with the top of your head.
gojo grabs you quickly enough so you don't fall any further, hands warm against your shoulders. you're about to apologize, to grovel, to offer a discount on something that's already underpriced, but then you look up.
if you didn't know gojo satoru at least a little bit, you would have to assume he's stalking you. he's always around, always stumbling into you like fate is whispering in his ear, promising things if he just allows you to stumble into him once more.
if you believed in anything other than pure coincidence, it would have to be like that. though, you see no valid reason for gojo satoru to be stalking you other than potential blackmail.
"y/n," he says, quickly, like it's a revelation, like you've just blessed him with something, as soon as his eyes meet yours. he doesn't have his glasses on, isn't wearing one of his thicker sweatshirts or lightweight dress shirts. he's barely even smiling as he takes a step back, eventually letting you go.
but you blink and it's there. as bright as ever. and he's focusing down on you, hands reaching out like he's going to grab you again, like he might just need to.
maybe he needs to keep you from running, or something.
"what are you doing here?" he asks, a bit shocked, but amused again. he looks just the same, but you haven't seen the incandescent reflection of those eyes in more than a month.
you swallow. "i, um... work here?"
"you didn't tell me that."
"i just started. almost a week ago, now," you take another step back, for safe measure. "something like that."
"you haven't been in the library," gojo is staring down at you, and he has no qualms with bringing this up, no hesitance in anything he does. "i looked for you."
you frown, inspecting his face for a laugh, a pointing finger, even a tomato. "you did?"
"yeah," he answers, like it's obvious. "where'd you go? i looked around the courtyard too, other buildings..."
"i... what time's your first class?"
"ten-thirty."
"oh, mine isn't until eleven. and then i have, uh, physics twenty minutes after."
his mouth twitches, he crosses his arms, all too satisfied with you. "physics? haven't dropped it yet, then?"
"i'm still considering.”
he laughs. he looks down then, at his clothes, or maybe at your shoes, and then hums. "we never exchanged numbers," he finally says, and it's so soft you almost want to shake him. maybe hit him across the smooth skin of his face. "you were always somewhere i could find you, before. predictable."
"you never find me," you tell him, again, a bit dubious. "i'm just around."
"well, not in the past three weeks," he says, almost pointedly, "and i do find you. i found you again just now. here."
this should count towards his stalker points, but it only manages to make you more perplexed.
"you--you stumbled upon me, at most."
"finders, keepers. i've always been pretty lucky in that way."
you blink. it's different now. you've been weaned off of gojo, his mannerisms, his sneaky way of talking. you'd have to get used to it again--if that's even a possibility.
"how's it going?" he asks, leaning in just a bit. "with your new classes? and how was your break?"
"it's... fine. it was fine. busy."
"even busier than before?"
"yeah, i guess. with... here, and all," you wince. "you?"
"it's good. i got to switch professors for electromagnetic theory, so my ears should heal."
"that's good."
he nods. "yeah, it is."
"and," you clear your throat, looking around to see if anyone might be watching this, cringing at your uncertainty. "um, your break?"
gojo only shrugs. "i went home for a bit. didn't do much."
"oh, was that..." you furrow your brows. you would've gotten a story, a rant about something that happened, a bid for you to help him in some way. maybe it's just been too long. "nice? or boring?"
"it was," gojo just smiles, looking up briefly. "it was something."
your brows furrow, and you watch his face, looking for the hints of reality you'd seen last semester. there's nothing there, though, just the friendly, easygoing version of him.
you try not to frown, but it's almost impossible.
"hey," gojo says, when the silence drags on. "give me your phone."
"why?"
he sighs and tuts at you, eyes unfathomably amused. "c'mon. we're friends, and friends have each other's numbers. besides, if you don't have time to study in the library, we'll just do something else."
"...like what?"
"something," he raises a brow, "something more fun than studying, anyway. friends also hang out."
you pause for a moment, look down at his black sneakers, then hum. "is this the 101 course?"
gojo waves a hand, obviously a genius in all respects. "we're starting you off easier than that. elementary. next, i'm going to define different types of relationships and why they matter."
you smile, finally.
"there we go," gojo is grinning, and he looks pleased, like always does. the two of you are just standing there, two lines on a plane. "phone."
you reluctantly take it out of your pocket, unlocking it and handing it over to him. it's weird to see your bright green case in his hand.
gojo hums as he enters something in, obviously scheming if the look on his face is anything to go by. it takes way longer than it should, but when he hands it back, you just pocket it again. you're technically on the clock, and this is technically very awkward. you'll have time to feel irritated with him later.
gojo takes a step back, like he's going to let you go, but he pauses and stares at you for a moment.
you frown, skin tingling with every second that passes, and he says nothing. gojo always has something to say. eventually you blurt out: “what?”
gojo tilts his head. “you’re kinda… closed off, huh? guarded.”
you open your mouth to say something, but close it almost immediately after. the words sink in, and you realize that the only thing you can do is laugh. so you do, shaking your head.
“what?”
“so are you.”
gojo frowns. “what? no, i'm not.”
“you pretend to be the dumbest person in a room full of idiots,” you tell him, slowly, trying to remember what this is, who you’re speaking to.
“i don’t—”
you look at gojo, think about the brief glimpses you got into his thought process in two months--the brief glimpses, mind you, just barely visible--and the look on his face when you first looked up to him. the look that seems lost, the look reminiscent of your confusion every time he sat down next to you.
but you continue, blowing out a breath. “i can never tell if you mean what you’re saying. that’s closed off,” you lick your lips, shaking your head again. “i don’t say much, but i never try to misdirect people when i do.”
it’s like a flip switch, and normal gojo, guarded gojo, is back. he grins at you. “so what you’re saying is, i'm a genius?”
“see?” you say, raising your brows at him, and then you sigh. there’s not a point to this—gojo isn’t going to fess up. he wouldn’t even if you got on your knees and pleaded or offered him a blood sacrifice. “compared to the idiots, sure.”
“and funny?” he goads, taking a step toward you.
you roll your eyes.
“and handsome? a total catch?”
you snort and shove him away. he goes, but only a little this time.
*
"hey," you hear from behind you, just quiet enough to make you jump. goosebumps form on your skin, tiny little ghosts running away from the monster that has just appeared.
gojo is far too close, really, almost doubling over you so he can whisper in your ear. his breath is warm, and his voice is noticeably lower, because you know that he wants to scare you, or maybe trick you into socking him in the face.
you shake him off, not willing to be duped into anything of the sort. "gojo," your voice is monotone, and you are entirely unimpressed. you haven't seen him since that night at the konbini, but his affect has remained the same. then you think about it for a moment, and turn around. "gojo," you repeat, but more accusatively.
you should feel shocked that he's here, given that you haven't seen him in this building in weeks. but this is your shared domain--gojo is less shocking here, even; he's real, slightly crazy, and entirely too carefree. it was harder to see him out in the wild, with zero preparation.
"hey," he's grinning at you, still bent down so his face is barely six centimeters away. "you are way too absorbed in that. you look like a ghoul."
"what are you doing here? your class doesn't get out for..." you check your phone, slapping his hand away when it goes to reach for your pen. not the pen--because he still hasn't given it back--but another one he probably wants to steal. "another hour."
"are you keeping track of my schedule?"
"gojo. what are you doing here?"
"i got let out early," he says, raising his brows just a bit too high, looking around for a single moment too long. "there was nothing left for me to do."
"you..." you swallow, "you got let out early," you repeat, squinting. he doesn't meet your eyes--behind his shades, of course, the bastard.
"yup."
"...are you lying?"
he smirks at you, sitting down in the seat right next to yours. he's not much further away, but at least it's a start. for some reason, you prickle every time he's closer than a table's length away. you're not used to a gojo of that proximity--though, for every second you spend with gojo, he becomes increasingly more comfortable with that proximity of you.
"we had a pop quiz," he says, "i'm very fast."
"an hour faster than everyone else?"
"probably."
you sigh, resuming your skim-reading of your textbook. it's remarkably uninteresting, with far too much information, and not enough consideration for your weak mind, or the tantalizing possibility of burning every single one of the pages.
gojo pokes your arm. "hey."
"hey, what?"
"lets go do something."
you sigh again. "gojo."
his name is beginning to become an adjective all on it's own. you've given it a new meaning entirely--though each time you say it, the description changes, tweaked in the slightest increments. and you've been saying it pretty often recently, even if only in your head.
"c'mon," he attempts to push your hand from the textbook, taking the edge so he can close it, but you grab his hand before that can happen. he only grins. "we haven't done anything in two weeks. and five weeks before that. and like... ten years before that. you're very committed to rejecting me."
"you text me literally every day. that's the only reason i know you're supposed to be in class right now."
"but you're so bland over text," he groans. "i can't communicate like that. there's no enthusiasm, no pep. and you don't even use any emoticons."
"pep?" you repeat, bemused. "and emoticons are not necessary for communication," you shake your head. "besides, you use enough for the two of us. for the entire student body, actually."
and gojo has been texting you a lot. somehow, at least once a day, he finds an image to send you, a video he wants you to see, a random story about his day that you desperately need to hear. he's almost as chatty over the phone, and arguably even harder to read. he only exudes confidence--you can't see the world in his eyes over the phone, can't scan his face for hints of deceit.
gojo satoru has introduced you to kaomojis you wouldn't have known were possible. with all the time he must spend downloading keyboards, you wonder how he stays on top of his classes.
"yes, they are," he insists. "how do you think international communication works?"
you turn your head, staring at him for far too long, a bit baffled. gojo smiles even wider. you're sure if you could see his eyes completely, they would be gleaming.
"are you working today?" he asks, when it becomes clear that you have no response.
you turn away, scratching your head. "...no?"
"great! me neither."
"you don't have a job."
"hey, providing entertainment and charm to the general public is basically a full-time position."
you sigh, and your hand is still on his. you try to push it away, but he doesn't budge. in fact, at this point, it's more like he's got a hold of you. "don't close my book. i'll lose the chapter."
gojo uses his other hand to slide the book closer to him, smiling at you completely innocently. "how about i just keep this with me for a while? not too long, just a couple...hours."
"why do you like taking my things hostage?"
"they exude your aura," he answers, easily enough. "it's nice to have around."
"do they also exude the annoyance i'm feeling currently?"
"nope!" he tells you, incrementally pushing your hand away from the open pages. "the aura comes from you but is admittedly more pleasant."
"then i'll give you my pencil bag and the two of you can hang out," you resort to using your other hand, too, grabbing his so you can keep him from effectively stealing from you. his skin is warm and soft--like every other aspect of him.
"no, i like your irritation. it gives me adrenaline."
"you're so weird. did you skip class just so you could come and bother me?"
he grins again, but doesn't answer. "so what are we gonna do?"
"you're the one who asked me."
"you usually don't like my suggestions," gojo says, almost pouting. he's a child in every way, soft and warm, and probably sticky, and far too tactile. the gojo in your imagination is blurred, less extravagant, and so much easier to be around.
"you've suggested two things," you tell him, "a party, and getting coffee. that’s not enough variation to tell if your suggestions are actually bad, or if those are flukes."
gojo laughs. "have you had lunch yet?"
"no."
"so, let's get something to eat," he looks at you inquisitively, leaning in with feigned concern on his face. "you're practically withering, sitting here. the wind is going to blow you away."
you look at him, not even considering it. it's so strange--sure, you've gotten your fill of gojo satoru over the past two weeks, being that he texts you every hour like you might forget that he exists--but you do want to go. that's why you can't consider it.
you're not falling victim to this. at least, not once again.
"do you want me to fail out of school, or something? is one of your schemes dependent on my absence? why are you always dragging me away from here?"
"you never even fight back," gojo points out. "you come along willingly every time."
"after thirty minutes straight of your brainwashing."
"it's only been five," he says, removing one of his hands from the textbook so he can lean on his elbow, "and you've already given in."
"are you agreeing that you always brainwash me into things?"
gojo quirks a brow, tilting his head. "i'm just saying that you're pretty weak."
"maybe you're just--" you stop, looking away from him. you try to shake your wrist away from the grip he's got on it, but it doesn't work. "never mind."
"no, what were you going to say?" gojo asks, smirking. "hmm? something about me--"
"--nothing, obviously--"
"--being strong? was that it?" he runs one of his fingertips against the skin of your wrist. "it's okay to admit, you know."
you refrain from shivering and huff. "i wasn't going to say that."
"i'm pretty sure you were."
"you're not that strong," you say, as he actively retains his grip on your wrist. he's not strong, just slippery.
"well, you're the one getting lunch with me."
"i have agreed to nothing."
he grins. "so, what are you in the mood for? kakigori sounds good, doesn't it?"
"we are not getting dessert for lunch--"
*
“hey, are you listening?”
“uh, no.”
gojo nods, tapping on your notebook for the eighth time today. one of his later classes got canceled, so he's taken this time to graciously help you out. he's a genius--according to no one but him--and has a wealth of knowledge he wants to bestow upon you.
so here you are, now, in a secluded corner of the library (at the insistence of gojo, who believes that his tutelage is going to be leaked somewhere on the internet, for waiting eyes to see). you've been studying for less than fifteen minutes, reviewing different sets of fundamental physics so you're prepared for a test next week, and at this point, your fingernails are going to create indents in the wooden table as you claw your way to freedom.
“great. so an object's ability to resist—“
“this stuff is unfair.”
“the... laws of motion?” gojo asks, tilting his head.
“yeah, and all discoveries," you say, leaning back mostly to annoy him. he's different like this, dutiful and incredibly intelligent. if there was any perfect time to mess with gojo satoru, it would be this moment.
"now, if you want to figure something out, you have to read centuries' worth of information. you can’t just start.” you huff, rolling the pen towards gojo. “if i were like the twelfth person in existence, i would’ve come up with it too.”
“and yet you keep forgetting about inertia," he shakes his head at you, glasses slipping down his nose. your finger itches to push them back up. you don't, though, obviously.
“if something moves, it moves. if something doesn’t move, it doesn’t move. science. who needs to know more than that? we could just stop all research," you shrug, yawning, "it's pointless.”
gojo, for all of his saccharine-mannerisms and glowing nature, looks disgusted. a hand goes to his mouth like he has to refrain from gagging.
you purse your lips, trying to keep from laughing. but his eyes are so frightened that you can't help it. you laugh, leaning over your notes so you don't have to look at him anymore.
"i..." gojo sounds dumbfounded. "i've never been so repulsed by another person."
"oh, come on," you say, reaching across the table to where he's sitting, so you can pull at his sleeve and move his hand from his face. "why are you turning green?"
"i'm in shock."
"i thought you liked adrenaline," you push his arm down to the table, and gojo allows this, looking completely limp. you laugh again. "do we need to call your doctor friend?"
"i don't want shoko anywhere near you," he answers, almost monotone--if that was possible for gojo satoru, which it's not. "she might faint."
you roll your eyes. "i was just kidding. i read the textbook, i know what inertia is."
"maybe you shouldn't. you're ruining my reputation."
"your reputation?"
"i shouldn't be seen with someone so ignorant. you'll probably dumb me down."
you pinch his hand, and gojo snaps it back immediately, hissing, "you need to read a hundred more books," he mutters, almost aggrieved. "just to recover from what you said."
"you're so dramatic."
"we've only been reviewing for ten minutes," gojo's mouth is turned down, nose scrunched. "you’ve spent hours and hours in here and you can't even handle this?"
"wow. this is a sensitive topic, huh?"
"our friendship might be over. even suguru doesn't say anything that uncultured, and he thinks physics is just a cheap excuse to piss my parents off."
"he's into ethics, isn't he?" you ask, sitting back. you grab your pen again, mindlessly doodling on the corner of a page. "maybe you should introduce us. he'll probably be my friend in your absence."
"you don't deserve that."
you snort. out of the corner of your eye, you can see gojo slouch in his seat, arms crossed. he's got a haughty look on his face, entirely pretentious and even a little bit...
you shake your head, sighing. "will it make you feel better if i say that i've read three chapters ahead of the class? i get most of it, honestly."
"most of it?"
"besides angular motion, or whatever."
"or whatever?" he repeats, even more discontented now.
you laugh. "okay. will it make you feel better if i let you tell me all about that, no complaints, and buy you something from the vending machine?"
he huffs, and his eyes trace over your face, searching for an answer. "i want something actually good. from the corner store."
"sure," you tell him, pushing the pen his way. "i'll pay you in snacks."
*
you look up, and he's already there.
gojo is a constant in your world now, whether it be a notification from your phone, a whisper in the hallway, a half-assed attempt to get you to flinch at his arrival--he's there, he's typically smiling, and you always feel that he was just waiting for you to show up. as if he'd been expecting it, hoping for it, and finally rewarded for his patience.
"gojo," you say, automatically. it's a calling card, some gamble that you no longer have to make with yourself.
"y/n," he says back, and he is grinning, but you already knew that.
it's dark right now, a bit too late to still be on campus. you're not sure why gojo's here at this time, when you know that his last class gets out much earlier, or why he's right outside the humanities building, leaning against a wall as if someone told him to wait there.
you'd been loitering in a classroom, trying to spread the time until you had to walk to work. you're already exhausted from today, but gojo doesn't even seem to notice. he falls into stride right beside you, and every centimeter of him reflects off the streetlights, burning into your eyes. maybe he wasn't waiting for anything after all.
"where are you headed?" he asks, pocketing his phone. "it's late for you, isn't it?"
"i've been studying until i have to walk to work, most days. it's better than taking the train twice."
"ah," he nods, looking up at the sky. the sun has almost disappeared, clouds covering the whisper of the moon you should be able to see, everything just a bit dimmer than usual. "let's go, then. i'll walk you there."
"what? no," you shake your head, slowing so you can look at him. "you should get home. it's not that far, just a block or two away. ten minutes, at most."
"exactly."
"exactly, you should go home. i'll be fine, and i don't need you hovering over me all of the time."
"how is walking you there 'hovering'?" gojo asks, shaking his head at you. "besides, i'm not going just for fun. i need things at the konbini."
you squint at him, only half trusting that. "then i'm making someone else check you out."
"good idea. you can look at the imported goods with me."
you shake your head, but continue walking. gojo satoru has never learned the word no, and probably never will. "how was your class?" you ask him, after it's been quiet for a minute.
"so boring," gojo drawls, tilting his head back. "the class had to review electromagnetic induction and practical applications again. i should've taken the course earlier in the morning, so the dense people wouldn't be lounging around and asking the same question four times."
you snort, looking up at him. "so what'd you do instead of the review?"
"played grimvalor on my phone. i'm level 43 now."
you shake your head, stifling a laugh.
gojo tilts into you, his equilibrium entirely unfunctional, apparently. "how was your class?"
"same thing, pretty much. i just read a couple of articles and made a dull comment every five minutes for participation."
"we're the standard for academic role models, huh?"
"pretty much."
gojo exhales, looking down. his hair is messier than usual today, like maybe he hasn't washed it since last week. you don't see him as often, and the repercussions of that are being blindsided by every little change. he got a haircut two weeks ago, and you spent five days simply recovering from that shock.
gojo clears his throat. "how late do you work?"
"until ten or eleven," you answer, kicking at a rock. "it depends on how the shifts ended up. one of my coworkers was sick."
"that's pretty late."
you shake your head. "it's not too bad. besides, i don't have class tomorrow."
"right."
you look over to him. it's still pretty warm outside, so he's in a half-wrinkled t-shirt, hands shoved into his pockets. you've never seen him at this time. usually, he'll find you in the library for the fifteen minutes he has in between classes, or you'll get coffee after your ethics class, but when the sun begins to dwindle, the image of gojo is purely fiction to you.
you'd think that there would be some version of withdrawal at this point--or last semester you would--with the approximate hour you see gojo every week, instead of the two or three added up across only two days. but you haven't noticed any symptoms yet. most likely because he texts you like you're his diary, tells you every thought that pops up in his head, and goads you into doing the same (which, so far, has a 65% success rate, but he's getting better).
so this version of him is new. but not bad--the only bad thing about gojo satoru is how often he pops into your head.
"you're tired, huh?" you ask him, lip turning up. "you're… less jumpy than usual. i didn't think i'd live to see the day."
"my brain needs enrichment. i didn't even get to take a nap in analytical chemistry because there was a lab," he leans on your shoulder, almost whining as he pretends to trip. "i'm wilting away."
you relax into his hold, a bit pleased by how warm his arm is as it wraps around you. "maybe you should go to bed earlier than four in the morning."
"no," gojo groans, voice low, "i have too many things to do."
"you sent me pictures of digimon world at two-thirty, yesterday."
"you were still awake." you can see him watching you from the corner of your eye, his eyes so very woeful.
"not the point."
gojo grins, his energy seeming to pick up a bit. he's a classic extrovert in that way, livened with every extra ounce of attention you pay him. "aw, are you worried about me?" he says, honeyed eyes, honeyed voice, "it's okay, i'll go home and tuck myself in."
"really? you don't have someone else to do it for you?"
"suguru is working on a paper tonight."
you snort.
gojo doesn't move back, even when he goes quiet once again. he keeps his arm wrapped around his shoulder, and with every step you take, his fingers tap against your bicep like a taunt. you can't tell if he's doing that on purpose, or if he's just that close. you can almost hear him breathe, could focus and feel his ribs shift with every beat of his heart.
you shouldn't be focusing at all.
"oh, hey," you add, after a moment. "can you help me with this exam coming up? i know we just went over some stuff, and it's not for another week, but the section on dark matter, or whatever, is... basically incomprehensible."
"to you," gojo murmurs, voice light, hunched over so you can hear him clearly. "but sure, anything to help a friend. i'm very charitable like that. what day?"
"thursday? after class?"
he grimaces, and his steps slow just slightly. it's pure luck that you left early enough to contend with his sluggish pace. "i've got dinner with my parents thursday night."
"oh, really?" you tilt your head at him. "do they live close by?"
"no, in kyoto. they're just coming to be nosy."
"about...?"
"my classes, mostly. and to check my kitchen for bugs, make sure i'm not spreading rumors about the empire, that kind of stuff."
you blink. "do they--"
"how about tomorrow?" gojo interrupts. "are you working?"
"yeah, but not till four."
"okay. want to get lunch again? i know you liked that spot i showed you."
"you liked that spot, and just dragged me along--"
"so, that's a yes."
you roll your eyes. "okay. noon."
"it's a date," gojo says, "oh, you've got--"
and he points to your shoulder, where a rare, minute, incredibly inconspicuous spider resides.
you squeak and jump away from gojo, even though that's not going to do anything. you would shake it off or rub at your shoulder, but you'd rather die, really.
"okay," gojo laughs. "just hang on." he brushes a hand against your shoulder and then peeks around your back. "it's gone. such a little guy, too."
you shiver, closing your eyes.
"are you really afraid of bugs?"
"only the ones that can crawl up my face and into my eye sockets."
"so all of them?” gojo asks, hand still on your shoulder. “does that happen to you often?"
you open your eyes and scowl at him. "it's a perfectly normal fear."
"uh-huh."
"i'm serious. one time, when i was a kid," you shake your head, grimacing, "i woke up to one crawling in my ear. i heard it moving. it could've laid it's eggs in my brain."
you open your eyes to see gojo pursing his lips, clearly trying not to laugh.
"hey," you say, pointedly, "lots of people are afraid of spiders."
"including you, apparently," he says, entirely teasing, entirely too amused.
you huff, taking a step away from him as you resume walking.
"no, honestly," gojo murmurs. "i get it. that's really scary. no need to defend yourself, being afraid is perfectly normal."
but he says it like he really doesn't get it, because he can't. you remember that day in the library, months ago now, when he said the same thing.
but this time, you actually believe it. before, you thought he was being boisterous, arrogant, even. like maybe he was trying to impress you.
now you can see, though, that maybe he just truly doesn't understand.
you have to ask anyway, so you look towards him, eyes light. he's still illuminated by the light, and you can see every shape that makes up the slope of his side profile. “aren’t you scared of anything, gojo?”
gojo looks up, thinking about it for a moment. he doesn't seem to care that you've asked him this before, or that you want him to tell you that he is scared of something.
and it’s not like usual. usually, he’d make a joke. tell you he’s too perfect, too practiced to be scared. but now he considers it, legs pushing against the ground. he must be more tired than you thought.
“no… i don’t think so. not really.”
“how come?”
gojo looks over, tilting his head. “what do you mean?”
“how come? if you told me something you were scared of, i would ask the same thing. so how come you’re not?”
“hmm…” his hair rustles in the wind, falling behind his glasses. it must be so dark to him. “nothing seems scary, i guess. there are lots of irritating things about life, but all problems have a solution. i like problems because of that. i like finding the way out.”
“is that why you like math so much?”
his cheek twitches. “maybe.”
“but you’re not scared of, like, losing something? or that something might be missing? there are tons of problems that can’t be solved.”
“there are tons of problems that don’t have solutions yet. doesn’t mean it’ll always be like that.”
"that's a closed-minded way to look at it. lots of things can happen--"
"are you trying to convince me to start being afraid? that's a cruel thing to do--"
"i'm just saying--"
“—and it's pointless. why not just pretend that things can be better? nothing bad can come from that.”
“pretending doesn’t make things true, you know? if you’re always pretending, then nothing real ever happens. isn’t that the bad?”
he turns towards you, and you hadn't thought of it before, but he doesn't have his glasses on. it must be too dark to see.
his eyes should be dimmer without the sun to reflect off of them, but they’re not, really. you wonder how far he can see, if he knows more than you just because of that.
"is it?" he asks, and he's almost joking, but you can see it--a real question on his face, as rare as him not having an answer.
"i think so. i'd rather know what's real and have nothing, then have something pretend that i always need to worry about."
"you don't need to worry about anything."
you smile.
*
it's late one night, and your phone rings.
you're standing in your kitchen, suddenly hungry even though you have class early in the morning and probably shouldn't be standing here, calculating how fast you can make a snack and then brush your teeth, and if you should just give up on going to sleep at all.
when your phone begins to buzz against the counter, you flinch.
you're not technically phone-adverse, just phone... ambivalent. just unfamiliar with the ringtone that you set a couple of years ago, and why anyone would be calling you at eleven, or in general. anyone who matters would just text, wouldn't they? you get spam calls every couple of weeks, but never this late, and never this loud. and when did you turn your ringer on?
you grab your phone, abandoning the pot you were getting, and look at the caller id.
who could it be other than gojo satoru?
it's strange, though, gojo has no qualms with texting you--no boundaries, no care for how late or how frequent--but he's never tried calling before. you figured he was always too busy, talking with someone else while mindlessly typing something out to you, or maybe he found your voice annoying and didn't want to risk the integrity of his hearing by introducing static to that mix.
maybe this is a butt dial.
you answer either way, already knowing that something will come out of this--even if it's just the knowledge that gojo fell asleep with his phone in his hand, and has a tendency to call people in his sleep.
"y/n," he says, just as you click answer, no room for hello or why are you calling me? "i'm dying."
you swallow. "gojo?"
"who else?"
"you're dying?" you repeat, warily, leaning against your kitchen island. it's a bit cold right now, too late to speak too loudly.
"yes," he coughs into the receiver. "will you say something nice at my funeral? tell everyone that they were wrong about those kajyu killing me? every gram of sugar added a day to my life span."
gojo's voice is just slightly different through the receiver. it's almost blurred--enough that you feel slightly grateful. his normal voice is too much, too close. at least, like this, you can turn the volume down or pull the phone away from your ear.
you almost laugh, then consider that he might be serious. "and why, exactly, are you dying?"
"i got t-virus."
"t... what?"
he huffs through the phone, just slightly out of breath. "do you have any hobbies?"
"did you need something, gojo?" you ask. "need me to call someone else?"
"who would you call?"
"a medium, or something. to get rid of the evil spirit inside of you," you step away from the counter, leaving the kitchen to go sit on the couch. gojo could fill hours of dead air with his rambling, and you doubt he's going to let you go anytime soon.
"you know a medium?"
"not yet."
he almost laughs. then hacks again. there's a brief pause where he must be drinking water, or coughing into a pillow, before he returns. "i sound like my professor."
"i really think you need to get over that," you tell him, turning up the volume and resting your head back. you look up at the ceiling and trace the different shapes of dust on the ceiling.
"no, she probably gave me this disease."
"have you even seen her since last semester?"
"maybe it's--" he coughs again, "maybe it's dormant. just waiting for me to feel safe so it can attack."
you laugh. "do you have any medicine? water?"
"yes," he moans, pathetically. "suguru has locked me in my room. i'm quarantined. it's so cold, and he wouldn't even let me take the blanket from the couch, and we only have the cough drops that taste like bad lemons."
you bite your cheek, shaking your head even though he can't see you. "poor baby. is this why you were acting so weird on thursday?"
"you kept making eye contact with me," he whines.
"so... yes? you're delirious?"
"i'm bored," he clears his throat. twice. "and dying."
"i'm not sure how to help you with that."
"entertain me."
"we've talked about this," you say, "i'm terrible at entertainment. and talking. and helping dying people. though... that last one is probably pretty common. what about your doctor friend? shoko?"
"you're not terrible," gojo sniffs, ignoring everything else you said. "you talk to me every day."
"you talk. i just respond. i'm kind of exploiting you… or maybe it's the other way around."
"i like when you talk," he says, quickly, just a slight rasp to his voice.
you pause. "yeah?"
"yes. keep doing it."
you lick your lips, forgetting completely about what else you were going to do before bed. you slouch further into your couch, glancing at your phone like gojo might've hung up in the last five seconds. he hasn't. "you don't find my voice annoying?"
"...what?"
"you've never called me before now. i thought maybe my voice was really annoying to you. nails on a chalkboard, or something."
"i never called you because..." gojo doesn't continue, but you can hear him move, something muffled into the receiver. "i--i like your voice. it's nice."
"you sure? you're not calling me just so you die of a migraine more quickly?"
"yes. it's soothing."
you laugh.
"so soothe me," gojo says. "i'm in distress here."
"i'm honestly surprised you haven't gotten sick sooner. you get way too close to strangers. most people don't even wash their hands, you know. including you."
"i wash my hands," gojo claims, though too weakly to be genuine. "and it was my professor. she cursed me."
"i'm looking up that medium now."
"no," gojo coughs. "just talk to me. call a medium after i die."
"the spirits will probably be released by then."
"y/n," he whines, so soft.
"okay. okay..." but then you can't think of anything to say. you wonder if he's recording this somehow, waiting for you to flumble the conversation. you wonder if he'll hang up eventually, through the dead quiet, or if he'd wait. "i don't have anything to say."
gojo groans. you feel almost bad--his voice sounds so terrible, and you should probably be taking pity on him, should probably just start saying nonsense so he doesn't have to strain himself any further.
"you could call someone else, you know. you should. you have lots of friends. i'm sure they have things to talk about."
"i don't want to call other people."
"well, if you want to be entertained, i'm probably not the best option. what about--"
"tell me about your day."
"i... why?"
"because i want to listen to you," his voice breaks, and he clears his throat. "before i die, i mean."
you laugh.
"i don't want to talk to anyone else," gojo says again, but he sounds more serious this time--like he almost never is. then he coughs.
you wince and think for a moment. "one of your other friends--"
"you're my friend."
“yeah but--you… you have lots of friends. you are friends with everyone, gojo. it's not—“
“i’m your friend,” he says, like he’s said it before, like it’s different. “you’re not friends with everyone.”
“i—“
“i like being your friend. i like it the best. you’re… it’s not the same with everyone else, you know? don’t you know that?”
"do i?"
"just talk to me," gojo murmurs. "suguru's not going to let me out anytime soon."
"then, i'll lose my voice, too.”
"i'll talk to you, then. we can trade."
the muscles in your face relax, then, eyes softening, and you know that if gojo were right in front of you, he would be grinning. he would have his victorious face on, proud to have made you pause. "yeah?"
and you can hear it, too, when he actually smiles. it's louder than your ringtone was. "yeah."
so you talk to gojo satoru for an hour or two, telling him things that he doesn't need to know, thoughts about the squirrel you saw on campus the other day, the kid in your class who tripped down the aisle when he was going to sit down, the rotten mandarin you found in the back of your fridge.
gojo listens the whole time, answering in rasps and whines from the back of his throat, and eventually, you listen as he drifts off to sleep, snoring through his stuffy nose.
*
it's too late for this. that's the only thought that's running through your mind currently, as you wait in the train station, a much too large presence right next to you.
it's dark enough for there to be a slight chill in the air. that's the only reason you're standing this close to him in the first place. he radiates heat, and heat can only flow from a hot object to a cooler one, as gojo would probably tell you.
it's happened again, for whatever reason. gojo just shows up--he appears out of nowhere, like there are copies of him lingering around, just in case someone he knows also passes by. and he must be stalking you at this point, or have some weird sixth sense that lets him know where you're going to be, and exactly when.
you were walking right out of class when you spotted him, leaning against another wall, unconcerned with every other person moving around him. he didn't even attempt to stop seven different people this time, just gave sincere waves and a pat on the back when a friend passed him by.
but he never stopped, never tried to strike up a conversation, just kept his eyes on you, and then grinned.
it's not weird that you notice him first, out of everyone else. gojo satoru is unique in that way, his hair is exuberant, his eyes are ridiculous, and who else wears sunglasses inside? he's noticeable--with his serene stance and clear face--and that's obviously the only reason you notice him.
and when your feet shift, headed towards him in less than a split second, it has to do with the laws of attraction or something, and not actual attraction. gojo is your friend. you like that about him.
he grins the whole time you make your way over to him. he keeps his eyes focused on yours and only gives you a once-over when you're close enough to touch, checking to make sure that you're all there. and when you tell him that you're heading home, he says that he's going too.
"what?" you tilt your head at him, ignoring how you can smell him when he pushes off the wall, getting even closer for just a second. he smells like an entire forest, fresh and icy, mixed with all of the sugar he consumes every day. "no. you live on campus."
he shrugs, bending his knees just a bit, and tilting his ear towards you, like he wants you to know that he's listening. even though he isn't. "i need to make a trip anyway. i'll just go with you."
"i'm going to the station."
"nice. that's the first stop on my trip."
"what--" and you try to complain, but he swipes your bag from your shoulder before you can, and he walks away looking absolutely ridiculous with two backpacks, his stride unfairly quick.
and you chase after him because he's just taken your backpack hostage, and he'll probably pretend you've had an agreement to trade this whole time, pull out some ochrestrated document that you apparently signed.
so here you are. gojo satoru to your left, still carrying your bag--no strain, even though you brought every textbook you own today--tapping his foot on the ground like the rattling of the train tracks has a consistent rhythm that he can follow. you've been here, standing like this, for at least ten minutes now.
you tried to push him away when he began to walk down the steps with you, taking them two at a time, but he swore that he needed to stay until the train arrived, just to see something.
so you're standing there with your arms crossed, huffing every minute or two just so he knows that you're irritated by his very presence. but gojo just keeps looking over at you, raising his eyebrows gently, and then looking forward again with a satisfied smile on his face. he's undoubtedly winning this game, despite the fact that you never agreed to play in the first place.
even through his glasses, you can see the way his eyes trail down your face, jumping from your eyes to elsewhere, before he finally looks away. you can feel it when his arm brushes against yours every time he shifts; your nerve endings jump with every slight movement.
it's unnerving. it's incredibly frustrating, and you still don't understand what he's doing here--and that's what he likes about it. there's nothing that gojo loves more than getting a rise out of you.
you can only handle so much of this, though, so eventually you turn towards him, looking at him with a straight face.
and you wait for a moment, making sure to keep every muscle around your mouth still, keep your eyes focused on the bridge of his nose without faltering.
"what?" gojo asks when you've been staring at him pointedly for a whole minute.
“it’s weird," you tell him, eventually, because the words just come out.
you were really planning to stay silent this entire time. you wanted to unnerve him back, play the game with some new rules. gojo is the one who tricked you into following him, and then decided to stay, so if he wants conversation, he's going to have to be the one to make it.
but every second that gojo doesn't say something is another second where he has a thought that you're not privvy to. another second where he could be thinking anything, and you'd never know.
and somehow that's even more infuriating than having him follow you around for seemingly no reason. and it's harder when you're looking at him like this--when you can see the curiosity on his face, untethered by whatever act he wants to put on. you shouldn't have turned.
you shouldn't have gone to class today. that's where your line of mistakes really started.
“what?” he repeats, already smirking as he looks at you. he knows exactly what he's doing, and maybe that's the worst part.
“i just…" you pause, swallowing. if only you could think as quickly as him, have some brilliantly constructed thought to draw him in. you don't have anything to say except what you've been thinking about for the past week, some alternate thought you would never share with gojo except for in this circumstance. "people--people always say there’s someone out there who you’ll just click with. instantly. like that exists.”
gojo raises a brow. he looks confused for a second, unsure why you're bringing this up, but then he answers: “who says?”
“i don’t know. socrates or something," you mutter, almost absentmindedly. you look away from him, because that's too distracting. that's how you got here in the first place. "there’s someone in the world who will know what you’re saying, who you are, just automatically. like they can see right through you.”
gojo taps your foot with his. “that’s nice.”
“yeah… well, no. because if that’s what you are to me, then i must be pretty easy to understand.”
gojo leans over to catch your eye, ready to be offended.
you peek at him through your brow, a tiny smile building. “cause you’re so simple-minded.”
“hey.”
you grin. “just kidding. a little, at least.”
“and i thought you were saying something nice for once," he shakes his head, settling back in against the wall and sighing.
“nice…” you stop, looking the opposite direction. “nice. it’s nice, i guess. i find it so hard to be around other people. it takes weeks to finally relax and just… be around. but i’ve never felt that way with you. i was... confused, but never very nervous. it was automatic, the way i got you.”
gojo turns, leaning in just slightly. your eyes dart to him, and the look on his face is contemplative. but he doesn't say anything--like he knows that there's more, or maybe he just wants to bask in it.
you stare forward, wondering if he's ever felt the same about you. probably not--but that doesn't really matter. gojo is incredibly impatient, reckless, and too fast for everyone else around him. he chats with anyone and takes any conversation. and yet, with you, he's slower. he waits, as if he knows that something good will come from it. and you know that he would keep on waiting, even if nothing ever did come. he's hopeful, in that way, but still hesitant.
“i bet you’ve never felt like that, huh?" you say, finally. another train passes, blowing gojo's hair out of his eyes. his cheeks look a bit flushed, maybe from the breeze. "you get along with everyone. even when they don’t get along with you.”
“pretty much…" he murmurs, "but i like you best,” satoru says, like it helps.
“yeah?”
“yeah.”
"is that why you're following me around?"
satoru scoffs. "i told you," he insists, "i have a trip to go on."
"and it requires you to tail me to the train station?" you ask him, just as your train arrives.
"it does, actually," and he's amused, again. almost poking at you--there's something about this that you don't understand, but he's not going to just say it. that's far too easy.
you raise a brow, then reach out to take your bag from him. his hand brushes yours as he does, though reluctantly, tingles running down your spine.
"lets never do this again," you say to him, taking a step forward.
"i'll see you next week."
"i'm serious."
"text me when you get home, or call," satoru calls to you as you walk away. he's still grinning, standing there so he can watch you go. "i just got pikmin four, so i'll be up till dawn… i could use some company."
"goodnight, gojo."
"night."
*
you're sitting on your bed, a textbook in your lap, your notes drifting somewhere beneath some covers near you. studying has been harder recently, mostly due to a certain white-haired man and his penchant for opening his mouth every two minutes. as much as you admire satoru's ability to never stop talking, your grades don't quite agree.
but you've got an extra day off this week, all of your classes canceled, so there's plenty of time to study between work and sleep. and satoru is supposed to be busy, anyway, planning some sort of celebration for some probably made-up holiday--national desk chair day or something--with every other person on campus.
you weren't exactly listening when he told you about it, which is likely a good thing--the more information you know, the worse. you can't think of satoru every minute of every day, and even if you could, you'd probably go insane.
still, every ten minutes or so, your eyes will drift over to your notebook, lingering on the margins where satoru started doodling when he thought you were too distracted to notice. there's mini versions of him and you, drawn with shaky lines and text bubbles written in the worst handwriting you've ever seen (unfortunately, that doesn't make you want to rip them out and laminate them any less).
so you're re-reading something, trying to calculate how much longer you need to write notes on this chapter before it's acceptable to get a snack. probably only... five more minutes, right? that seems reasonable.
and it's right then that your phone rings.
satoru has his own ringtone now, at his insistence, so you know who it is immediately. he calls you frequently ever since that initial night, claiming that he needs entertainment or company, and sweetening you with every mention that he likes your voice, every half-assed and flustering sentence that leaves his mouth with no regard for your feelings. he's easier over the phone, where you can't see every expression he makes, every whisper of fondness that crosses his face. but he's harder, too, smoother than usual, with more variation in what he says.
but it's sunday, and it's late, and satoru is supposed to be at a party. actually, you're pretty sure he's supposed to be hosting it, if the bits of conversation you picked up on are to be believed.
you pick it up anyway. he's so hard to ignore. "gojo?"
"y/n," he drawls, almost whispering. "did you call me?"
you lean against your headboard, sighing. "you called me."
"hmm..." you hear something in the background, maybe a phone drop, then satoru's back. "i miss you."
"are you... drunk?"
"nah," he murmurs something, sounding like he's grinning. "couldn't be."
"so... yes," you shake your head. you should've known better than to answer him. "i saw you two days ago," you add, like it makes a difference.
"that's too long. you didn't text me all day. and i thought you were going to come."
"i told you i wasn't," you whisper, kind of smiling. "i rejected you explicitly this time, like you asked."
satoru must drop something, because there's another pause. and then it gets much quieter, and you can suddenly hear every curve of his mouth, every shift of his throat as he talks. "i thought you were kidding."
"i don't lie all of the time, gojo. i'm--i'm not you."
"but i miss you," he's pouting, for sure. and he's still whispering, like he thinks that this is some secret he's not supposed to be sharing with you. and he probably shouldn't be--gojo is good at saying just enough to keep your delusions to a minimum. but he's drunk. "you should come."
"it's..." you move your phone from your ear, checking the time. "one in the morning."
"you can stay with me," he suggests. "i want to see you."
"the train is a half an hour, and i don't want to walk around this late. besides, i bet you're going to fall asleep soon. you seem like a drowsy drunk."
"that's mean," he murmurs, and you hear a door shut. "i could come get you, or stay over. whatever you want."
you pause, taking a deep breath. he's drunk, that's why his voice sounds so warm and so soft, even over the phone. he's drunk, which is why he's offering, even though you've never been in the same vicinity this late, never been to his house, or his room...
"i want you to drink some water," you tell him, eventually. you say it gently, hoping that he can't hear the hesitance in your voice. it shouldn't matter. he's drunk. "and then go to bed. okay? i'll call you tomorrow, if you want."
satoru hums. he's liquid now, free-moving and restless. "you will?"
"sure," you answer, easily enough. like he wouldn't call you anyway, even if you weren't having this conversation. " i had a question about this heat capacity equation, anyway."
"do you promise?"
"are you a clingy drunk, too?"
"i'm always clingy," he answers, evenly. you can hear it when he swallows. "now promise."
"i promise, gojo."
"swear on our pen," he adds, stubbornly.
you laugh. "you have it, so i don't think it would count even if i did."
"i should come over and give it to you then."
you breathe in again. "did you get some water?" you ask, ignoring him. it's not worth it to entertain that.
"yes. i have a..." there's a loud sound, and then satoru laughs at something. "bottle... somewhere."
you wince and choose to pretend that you didn't hear that. if he's hurt, surely someone there could help him, right? "okay. drink some and then go to bed," you murmur, a bit softer. then, as an afterthought, you add, "don't choke on your spit."
"i miss you," he says, again, more reckless this time, more sincere.
you can hear it now, when satoru is serious about something. you can tell when he's lying just for fun, making a joke just so he can hide something else, interrupting you so you can't ask him a question he doesn't want to hear.
so you know, right now, that he's not teasing. he's not just drunk--he's drunk and completely genuine.
you chew on your cheek, humming. "i miss you, too," you answer, fast enough that the words are blurred. "i'll call you tomorrow."
satoru says something, but you hang up so you don't have to hear it.
*
"i'm only allowing this," you tell satoru, hand still on the doorknob, pointing a finger at him so he knows that you're serious, even though he's looking at you completely unseriously. "because the library is closed. and that's hard for me."
"--for us."
"so, you can come in, but you can't say anything. don't comment on my cat pot, don't look through my photo albums, and don't touch the books on the mantle."
satoru raises a brow. "are they cursed?"
"yes. say 'okay' and then you can come in."
"okay," he drawls, leaning down just a bit, tilting his head at you as if he really likes the view from right there.
you narrow your eyes at him, but open the door anyway. you get barely a second to take off your shoes--and watch him do the same--before he's coming in, full-force, his presence taking up every corner of your admittedly small living room.
gojo satoru is in your apartment, for the very first time, and now he's actually everywhere. he's at school, in the library, at work, and in your house, looking around and touching the things on your shelves, even though you just told him not to. and for some reason, you don't even want to bicker at him about it.
it's interesting watching him gravitate over by the windows, which you haven't dusted in weeks. he picks up the books you told him not to look at, pulls out a photo album, and glances back at you, as if daring you to say something about it. you don't, only roll your eyes and set your bag down.
"it's so warm in here," satoru says, almost laughing. "why do you have seventeen different candles?"
"did you actually count?"
he turns on his heel, tilting his head at you. he looks more like a kid than you've seen in a while, his eyes crinkling even through the glasses, his smile boyant and proud. someone just told him he could have a treat, someone just offered him a brand new toy--he'll covet this moment for the next few hours and then forget all about it.
"they smell nice," you tell him, sitting on the couch. "c'mon, you said we would study."
and that's why he's actually here. the library is closed--for a reason neither of you know, even though satoru texted every contact in his phone to see if someone had an answer, to no avail--so you need someplace else to study. you would've gone to satoru's house, had suggested, actually, but he said it was easier to just come here.
you're not sure if he's just being nosy, or if that's actually true for some reason. he lives on campus with his best friend, in a two-bedroom that's closer, and probably bigger, and for some reason, unbeknownst to you, off-limits.
maybe he's got a harem living there. maybe that's where the demons on campus meet up every night to reflect on all of the souls they've stolen that day. maybe he's a hoarder and collects every piece of trash you've thrown away these past few months, making a sculpture out of every wrapper and water bottle. either way, it's led to this--him, walking around and looking at every wall like they might offer him a unique perspective into your core (which they won't, because you paid them off).
still, you clear your throat. "gojo," you say, sing-song, "remember what we came here to do, buddy?"
he gives you a look, picking up a handthrown mug you got at a market, half off. "there's so many things," he replies, almost bewildered. "i thought you would have one poster and a knitted blanket."
maybe he thinks you're the hoarder. maybe he finds you entirely too sentimental.
"really?"
he grins. "no. i haven't thought about it. but this is... fitting."
"okay, well, if you're done psychoanalyzing me based on my decorations, can you sit down?"
"you haven't offered me something to drink yet."
you raise a brow. "do you want something to drink?"
"yes," he answers earnestly, "do you have juice?"
"are you serious?"
he puts the mug down, walking towards, giving you a look that says are you actually asking me that?
so you sigh. "i can make tea, but i don't have any of the syrups that make it edible to you."
satoru sits down, frowning. "why not? weren't you expecting me?"
"no. it's kinda strange to see you here, actually," you stand up and take a step back, looking at the full picture. it's obvious how well he fits against everything else, sitting in the sunken part of your couch. maybe you'd accidentally created that spot just for him, widdled away during all of the times he crossed your mind while you were watching tv. instead of saying this, you just add: "it's weird."
"i think you should get used to it."
you snort, walking towards the kitchen with your back to him. "i'm gonna make tea," you tell him, "i'll put 100 grams of sugar in yours."
"150." satoru calls back, and you just shake your head and turn on the kettle.
when you return, mugs in your hand, satoru is staring down at his phone, pouting at the screen like it personally attacked him. he looks completely comfortable, despite this. he's thrown your blanket over his lap and tucked his feet under his knees, so deep into your couch he might be touching the springs.
"you okay, there?" you ask, setting the mug down in front of him. he's gotten a single notebook out, and your pen, you note. "what's wrong?"
"no one wants to play the new sorcerer mmo with me," satoru says solemnly.
you give him a look, grabbing your notes. "were you planning on ignoring me the whole time you're here?"
"i mean, later, tomorrow," satoru says, setting his phone down and lying back against the couch with his arms crossed. he's taken off his glasses too, hair still ruffled from the wind outside. "i just bought it. the reviews were really good."
you sit down next to him, patting his head as consolation. his hair is too soft. he probably strung each strand through a loom.
he side eyes you, licking his lips, though his head pushes up, like he enjoys your hand being there. "will you play with me?"
"what type of game is it?"
"it's a multiplayer game. magic-based."
"oh," you say, nodding. "then no."
he whines, slouching even further on the couch. you pull your hand back and drag a corner of the blanket over to your lap. you ignore the way he moves closer to you, knee touching yours. "but why?"
"i don't play video games, and i don't want to hear you bragging when you inevitably win. besides, where would we play it? all i have is a tv, and a shitty computer."
"you can't win, exactly," satoru argues. "you can complete individual goals. and i don't brag."
"you went on a twenty-minute rant about a mario game the other day."
"okay, well, that was a very impressive win, and i wasn't even--"
"we have to study, gojo," you say, shoving his notebook towards him. "that's why you're here."
he remains fixed in his spot, arms still crossed. “nobody understands me.”
you laugh. he's close enough that he can probably feel your ribs shaking, and could notice if you took a deep breath in.
his eyes tilt up, grin a slight thing. “what?”
“does anybody understand anybody?" you ask him, almost teasing. "isn’t that a fundamental of life? we spend every day analyzing other people in the hopes that we’ll just get it, eventually. but you can’t get it."
you pick up your mug, taking a sip, and you can feel satoru watching you the whole time, so curious. but you ignore that--you've gotten pretty used to the feeling of his eyes on you.
he waits, though, because he knows there's something more you have to say. he can tell--maybe you spend too much time together, get far too close. he shouldn't be able to read your face with a single glance, but he can, and he does.
"you can never see the way i think," you continue, shrugging. "and i can never see the way you do. that’s like… the only given thing. we can’t understand each other. it’s impossible.”
“i understand you," satoru murmurs, and he doesn't look so upset anymore. he's been smiling the whole time, only watching.
when he says that, though, you can't help but smile back, shaking your head in only slight disagreement. “you can’t.”
“i can. and you understand me, too. even though you don’t want to,” he’s teasing. you know, because his eyebrows are relaxed. his face is so sweet, the icing sugar practically drips with every fluctuation of muscle.
so, you whisper back, “i want to.”
“yeah?” gojo leans closer, like it’s a secret.
“yeah.”
you can see his canine teeth as he grins, and you can watch the way his eyes follow the different points of your face, moving until they've done a complete circuit over every inch of skin. he leans a little bit closer.
you follow, swallowing and feeling that warmth in your throat--not from the tea, but a different warmth, one that builds with every second that passes, the kind that could keep you thawed for several frigid winters.
satoru always looks at you like he knows a secret, and he wants to wait until the perfect moment to finally tell you. every week that passes--every text, every conversation, every stilled moment after you laugh--you get even more desperate to know.
tell me, you want to say to him, and you want to say nothing at all because that would probably ruin this. because you've never been very good at talking, and so you should leave that to satoru. because you just want him to say it, without having to ask.
his eyes flicker down, just one more time, and he's closer than he's been in a while. he's pulling, tilted towards the earth, always, and towards you too. he's got a field that pulls you in, a net force that keeps you like this, stuck until he says so., until you decide it's strong enough.
you clear your throat, and eventually shake your head. you didn't want him to come to your house for a reason, you're realizing, because you knew that he would get this close, and it would be so much harder to ignore within the sanctity of these walls.
so you move away first, the knee that was pressed against him shifts, and you lean forward towards the coffee table and grab the pen, handing it over to him. "lets study. you can show me that game on your phone later."
satoru's smile doesn't waver, though it's less childish now. he leans in closer once more. "okay."
*
"gojo?"
he doesn't say anything, but you can hear him grunt from the end of the line.
"are you being held captive?" you ask him, just slightly serious. "cough if you're in danger."
"i'm fine," gojo answers, his voice muffled like he's holding the phone up against his pillow, the sheets buffering every movement.
you wait for a second. gojo always has something to say, so this is your usual strategy. you answer, he talks, and then you listen to him until one of you is too tired to keep your eyes open and hangs up, or stay on the phone until you wake up in the morning and realize he's stayed on the phone this whole time.
gojo doesn't say anything.
"you okay?" you ask him, after it's been far too quiet. it's strange, and you're beginning to wonder if he even meant to call you in the first place. maybe he's sleepwalking--talking?--or maybe he's drunk again, several bottles in.
"fine," he mutters again.
"are you sure?"
"i have a headache."
you frown and sit up. it's late enough that he could be asleep now, in his bed with the curtains drawn instead of calling you, prolonging this. you remember that day in the library, i get headaches, too.
"oh," you whisper. "did you take some medicine?"
"yes."
"drink some water?"
he grunts again.
"do you... maybe you should go to sleep. we're supposed to meet tomorrow for lunch, anyway."
you can hear gojo swallow. he's so soft like this, his voice dimmer when it's past ten. it's silly, honestly, that this entire time you've been waiting for him to call. that you wait for him every night, like a kid standing by the door.
you feel bad. maybe he feels obligated to do this, instead of going to bed like he should definitely do.
"will you..." gojo starts. he sighs, and it makes your spine twitch. "will you stay on the phone with me?"
"while you sleep?"
"yeah."
you blink. gojo is a closed door, a wall between the rest of the world, and you know that he has trouble being vulnerable, even with you. that one drunk phone call spoke louder than he ever would, his expressions full of entire worlds that you could explore. you've had to chip away at him this whole time, had to listen close enough to hear the waiver in his voice, to see the pleasure in his eyes--beyond the amusement, past the curiosity. you wonder how long he's been lying there, with his eyes closed, trying to fall asleep so he could avoid the pain altogether. how long it took him to finally press on your contact?
maybe this is what true co-dependency is. maybe you don't even mind it. you know, in the smallest voice in the back of your mind, that if gojo asked you to come over right now, if he sent you his address and asked if you would stay the night, you would say yes--without hesitation.
maybe you'd do a lot more than that if he just asked.
but this one is easy. "yeah," you answer. "sure. just close your eyes, i'll try to be quiet."
"don't," gojo chokes out. "just.."
"okay. i'll make a lot of noise then," you murmur, slight taunt. "you'll have nightmares."
"just stay."
"okay," you answer. "i will."
*
you're just sitting on your bed, flipping through an old book and trying not to watch satoru from out of the corner of your eye. he's been here a lot more recently, swearing that he just wants to see you home, and then walking through the door before you can even think of saying no.
he's through the door like he lives here, like he just belongs here, with you, and if he said that out loud, you're not even sure how you could argue, if you would want to.
satoru always settles in with no hesitation, never questioning whether he'll be able to get his stuff for class tomorrow, or if he might need to change out of the same rumpled blue shirt he's been wearing for two days. he doesn't bring stuff like that up because he knows that you would only begin to voice the reasons he shouldn't be here, not like this, and certainly not right now.
you're sort of glad he never says it, so you never have to either.
instead, you've been letting him do whatever. offering your phone charger up, letting him go through the cupboards even though you already know there isn't anything that he might like.
and you like this. if earlier in the semester you had to get used to the sudden lack of satoru, to his chattiness and constant laughter, now you don't have to get used to anything. there's no adjustment period, no time spent in your bathroom breathing, trying to reconcile with your lack of privacy.
from that very first night, you could tell. he just fits here. he makes himself at home, and you like that. you told him before--you feel comfortable with him, speaking to him and getting closer, and so it makes sense that you'd only grow more and more comfortable, get used to him as time passes.
gojo satoru is your friend, sure, but you've never had quite a friend like him. and you've never felt like this, sitting here, heart pounding harshly even though you're not afraid of anything.
satoru isn't trying to trick you into anything, now. he's not investigating you, not looking for something you thought that he wouldn't be able to find.
he's just sitting at the end of your bed, scribbling equations down and humming absent-mindedly.
he's quieter now, too. he lets the silence go on, and it's nice. some part of you truly thought you would get tired of him, of being around him, but you haven't.
not yet.
"what?" satoru asks, after you've accidentally glanced up a few too many times. just like... seven. that's an average, right? you're allowed to look at your friend and admire his face.
"hmm?" you answer, pretending to focus on your book. even though the words are blurry and you couldn't give a synopsis of the last few chapters if you tried.
"do you need something?"
"nope. this is really well written."
satoru snorts. he sets down the pen, and when you glance up again, he's looking back. he's been waiting--you can tell, you can see it on his face, in the tension of his jaw.
you say it without meaning to: "this is just like the library."
he tilts his head, already smiling. "what is?"
"this. you keep looking at me. why do you keep looking at me?"
"you're looking at me, too, you know," satoru points out, softly.
"because you're looking--" you shake your head. "you did that before we even spoke. kept looking."
"did i?"
"yes. i thought you were pranking me, or something."
satoru scoffs, leaning towards you. he turns so he's almost on his stomach, staring at you stupidly. staring at you and making you stupid. "pranking you?"
"i don't know," you answer, shaking your head. "why else would you be looking at me?"
satoru does it again, then. stares for a moment too long, surveying you like there's something he could've possibly missed. at this point, he's probably seen every inch of your skin. he could give a detailed description, if someone ever asked. he might be the only person on earth that's looked at you this long, this hard.
he licks his lip and exhales, almost like it's painful to do so. "maybe i just thought you were pretty."
your finger catches on the edge of the book, not quite deep enough to cut you. "you did?"
he moves closer, nodding almost hesitantly. "yeah," he answers, easily enough. "i do."
"that's why you were staring?"
his smile is crooked. "mostly."
"what else, then?" you ask him, and don't fail to notice how close he is now. your hands let go of your book completely, and it could fall to the floor, and you'd barely notice. your fire alarm could start blaring, your hand could fall through every layer of your bed. it wouldn't matter at all.
you look away for one moment. for just a second more, you need a world without blue eyes, without irridescent smiles, without the constant need for more.
but then he speaks again. “y/n,” satoru whispers softly, like he’s about to say something no one else can hear. he does that a lot. gojo satoru is loud and imposing, but he’s not here.
not like this.
“yeah?” you ask, turning your head towards him. he's sat right next to you, years away from his place only five minutes ago, his homework completely irrelevant, and his eyes are lidded as he looks down on you, so close that they’re barely open.
“can i kiss you?”
you don’t move for just a second. suddenly aware of the feeling of the bed sheets against your hand. the up and down motions of your chest, every ache and pain in every molecule that makes you whole. satoru would tell you that it's bouncing, molecules going back and forth and spreading between the two of you. he would tell you that you've shared every atom, that there's never been a moment where he hasn't known you in that way.
you breathe in, then nod.
“yeah?” satoru asks, leaning towards you, his head tilting ever so slightly. you close your eyes so you don’t have to see anymore, worried that you’ll back away once it feels too real. worried that he's not real, but you want him to be so badly.
“yeah,” you try to whisper back, but it’s swallowed by the feeling of his mouth on yours.
you've only imagined kissing satoru sparsely. trying to reserve that for something else, trying to keep that thought from building in your head. but even in those moments, you never thought it would feel like this.
satoru is warm, almost burning hot, and as soon as you respond to his kiss, exhaling just so you can stay upright, he's moving even closer. impossibly closer. you can feel it when he takes a breath, like gulping for air, taking more, putting a hand on your neck and the other on your face, pulling you in, even if it means you can't breathe. why would you even want to, in this moment?
and he forces you to keep up with him, pleads without words for you to keep going, tell me more.
he could hold the entirety of you in his hands, could talk to you for years without his throat getting sore, could kiss you for hours without ever needing to pause or slow down. and you get it, in that way, because you could do just the same.
his lips are soft and smooth, and you've never done this with him before, but it doesn't feel like that. it feels like you've been doing this for hours. like every glance down to his lips, every eye brushes across his chin has prepared you.
but satoru doesn't push that far, not right now. he pulls back, keeping his hands on you, and whispers, "you want to know something?"
your hands are shaking, sweaty, and overwhelmed. your eyes open, and you attempt to focus back in on satoru, but it's impossible when he's this close. you can only see the pink to his skin, your sense of sight replaced completely with the feel of him. still, you nod against him, your nose brushing his. you make a noise, confirming.
"i'm scared."
you pull back a little bit more, blinking. "you're... scared."
satoru leans in, nodding. his breath is ticklish on your cupid's bow, and he tilts his head, teasing. you want him to kiss you again, you want to kiss him again, but you want him to keep talking. it seems almost impossible, but you want him to talk and never stop. he would, if you asked.
"of what?"
"you," he whispers, and pulls you closer again with the hand on your jaw.
"what?" you swipe it away, taking his hand in your own so you can look at him without satoru trying to stop you, and you look up, staring contemplatively at his eyes. "you're scared of me?" you ask, softly. your mouth is tired already, and you don't care. "you're not scared of anything, though."
he smiles, and it's dimmer than any satoru smile you've seen before. it's a smile that tells you he's being serious, genuine, allowing you a moment into his head, to get what he gets, see what he sees. you keep seeing new things, keep learning more and more about him, and you wonder if that will ever stop.
he wants you to understand, just this once. so you blink rapidly, telling yourself to pay closer attention, don't forget this.
"no, i'm not," he confirms, less confident, less boisterous than he always is. "but i don't want to mess this up."
"i..." you're still dazed, still shaking the littlest bit. "what?"
"i've wanted to kiss you for months, you know?"
your brows furrow. "you have?"
"yeah. yes. i--i kept..." he shakes his head. "i just wanted you closer, every day, and i didn't--i wasn't sure how--" he stops again, looks away, mouth still open like the right words might come out any second.
they don't, though, satoru looks between you and the wall, and he doesn't say anything.
for once, he's completely silent. you can hear the absence of his voice, that ringing in the air. he doesn't have the right option, and can't decide which words will gain him the most points.
so you just wait for a moment. he always waits for you, listens closer when you stumble over your words, ducks his head down so he doesn't miss a single stutter. he waits for you all of the time, so you can wait for him just the same.
but he only snorts, shaking his head. he's smiling almost sheepishly now, looking like he's lost everything. like maybe he's gained everything too. satoru swallows. "i'm not... i don't know how--" he tries to pull his hand from yours, but you don't let him.
"satoru," you murmur, leaning forward on your knees so you're closer to him again.
satoru looks at you, eyes wide and bare, entirely too big for his face, and as alien as ever. he's beautiful like this, lost as he is. he's beautiful in every moment, but it's different this close, this quietly. he tilts his head just slightly, in answer. i'm listening.
"if there's a problem, you’ll figure it out, remember? we will.”
his lip quirks, and he's staring down at your lips again. "yeah?" he answers, voice dry. "i like finding the way out."
"yeah, i know. me too."
“sometimes there isn’t one, though,” he adds, so hesitantly you want to catch the rhythm of his heart in a microphone and play it on repeat every time the world goes dark, want to take a net to trap all the butterfly flaps of his eyelashes so you can watch when things are quiet.
you want to share everything with him, want him to share everything with you.
he leans in again, nose brushing yours, head tilting just enough.
"it's okay to be scared," you tell him, just to make sure, and then kiss him again.
okay hear me out… dash hear me out… a sashisu x reader heist fic… courtesy of the louvre jewellery heist… are you guys picking up what i’m putting down…?
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