Lina

Gojo spends the day in a daze. Somehow everything feels more dull after you’ve gone. And he’s not sure how to feel about that. The sound of skates dragging over concrete floors makes him cringe, equipment bags hit lockers, voices bounce through hallways with the same familiar rhythm they’ve had for years. But underneath it, there’s an absence that irritates him in ways he can’t immediately explain. It’s like a weighted blanket covering him from head to toe. Everything between you and him had escalated so fast, your dorm becoming too familiar within the past days. But everything is about to change, he can feel it in his gut and Satoru is almost never wrong. He doesn’t know what he feels when he thinks about it, he wants more time with you, needs more time. 

He keeps catching himself reaching for his phone before drills start, thumb already unlocking the screen before he remembers you’re probably with Megumi. Or asleep. Or ignoring him on purpose. He doesn’t know why you still sometimes do that at this point, he’s sure it’s simply to get a rise out of him. The messages between you sit open in his head constantly anyway. The photo. Flashes of your days together. The way you’d looked standing barefoot in your kitchen when he surprised you at the door, irritation melting too slowly into something else. The way you always react physically before emotionally, like your body betrays you before your mouth can catch up. He’s not sure you know that about yourself, thinks that you’re trying to hide it with your explosive reactions so nobody notices. 

He thinks about your hands a distracting amount. The small callouses you have on the sides of your fingers from pulling on the laces of your skates. The way you grab his hoodie when you’re frustrated with him like you’re restraining yourself from saying something sharper. It’s fucking annoying. 

Toji blows the whistle. “Focus.”

Satoru realizes too late that the puck has already left Chousou’s stick. It slams into the board behind him. A couple of teammates laugh under their breath. Normally he’d laugh too. Turn it into performance. Make a joke before anyone else can process he missed it. Today he just exhales sharply and circles back. The rink doesn’t feel right today, which is the worst. Out of all places in the world, the ice is usually a guaranteed comfort for him. It scares him when that doesn’t happen. Practice moves fast around him. Line changes, transitions, scrimmage rotations, but Satoru feels half a second delayed inside his own body. Like part of him is still back in your dorm watching you pull one of his shirts over your head while pretending not to notice he was staring. It’s getting embarrassing.

Gojo’s phone keeps vibrating through practice. Not enough to fully interrupt anything. Just enough to fracture his concentration every couple of minutes. He catches himself checking his phone during water breaks, but the messages aren’t from you. Nothing. Everything is from the family groupchat. Satoru ignores the first few out of stubbornness more than restraint, but eventually curiosity wins. He unlocks the screen one-handed, sweat cooling against the back of his neck. The first messages he reads are from his mother.

Your father spoke to someone from the federation again.

There are opportunities outside of hockey if you’re serious about your future. 

She follows it up with:

You’re twenty-two, Satoru. 

This cannot be forever. 

Then his father's response underneath:

The sponsorship meetings next month are important.

Try to look less exhausted in public appearances. It’s still important to show professionalism, even when you’re quitting the sport later.

Gojo laughs once under his breath. Not because it’s funny, just because the alternative is putting his phone through the boards. The irony almost makes him sick. They spent years building him into this. The perfect captain, media darling, impossible little prodigy they could point toward at charity events and business dinners, and now they’re bored of the version they created because hockey stopped looking prestigious enough beside inheritance and politics. He listened to them, always had. Satoru gave them everything he had, put his all into this. They gave him this small thing that he grew to love and now they’re trying to rip it away from him. This is everything he has. The rink, the team, the attention, the fame, everyone surrounding the rink. Skating is the only world he cares to know.  

The irritation settles too deep under his skin to stay cleanly separated from anything else. From Sukuna. From you. From the exhaustion crawling through his body lately that sleep doesn’t seem to touch anymore. Worst of all, he wants to text you about it. That realization alone is enough to make him angry. Not because he thinks you’d fix it, but because he thinks you’d understand the pressure too well. And that’s something dangerous. 

The team notices eventually. Not directly. Hockey players rarely do things directly, but the energy shifts around him. Conversations pause when he misses an easy pass. Glances linger a little longer after drills. So he overcompensates in the way he always does. Louder jokes, riskies plays, more speed. He starts skating like he has something to prove again. Which is exactly why Sukuna buries him during scrimmage. It happens while everyone is paying attention. Satoru pushes too aggressively into the offensive zone, trying to split defenders instead of resetting the play. It’s flashy. Stupid. The kind of move that usually works because he’s talented enough to make stupidity look intentional. Sukuna reads him instantly and steals the puck clean off his stick. The transition is brutal. One second Satoru’s driving the play, the next Sukuna is tearing down the ice untouched, shoulders low, skates cutting violently into the surface. He snaps the puck past the goalie with enough force to crack the sound through the entire rink. Toji blows the whistle and tells them to continue playing and get back to their positions. Satoru turns sharply toward center ice, jaw tight. Sukuna skates backwards, watching him. That’s the worst part. The knowing. Like Sukuna can see the distraction crawling under Satoru’s skin. 

The next shift gets uglier. Checks land harder, rougher. Satoru drives Sukuna into the boards hard enough to rattle the glass. Sukuna responds by hooking his stick against Satoru’s ankle during the next transition. Neither gets called for it, Toji lets it happen. By the end of practice, Satoru’s exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with conditioning. His jersey clings damp against his spine. His knuckles ache from gripping the stick too tightly. His thoughts keep drifting somewhere they shouldn’t. You. Of why you haven’t texted him yet, if he went too far with that comment about being together. Pathetic. Practice passes before he realizes it. 

The locker room empties gradually around him after. Showers hiss on briefly, then shut off one by one. Equipment bags zip closed. Voices fade down the hallway. Satoru stays seated in front of his locker longer than necessary, elbows on his knees, towel hanging loose around his neck. His phone glows in his hand again, but it’s still not you. Across the room, another locker slams shut. Of course, it’s Sukuna. The room settles into silence around the two of them. For a moment neither of them speak. Sukuna sits down, forearms resting against his thighs while he unwraps tape slowly from one hand. The motion is methodical. Controlled. Gojo knows his teammate is paying too much attention to the action, he’s avoiding his eyes on purpose. That worsens his anger. Satoru leans back against the locker behind him. 

“You gonna stare all day or say something?” Sukuna laughs quietly without looking up. He’s showing no signs of what happened between them at the bootcamp. “You’re slipping.” 

The words jab Gojo straight in the chest. There’s no theatrics, no insults layered over them. Simply observation, something Sukuna is good at. Satoru smiles automatically, thin and sharp. 

“I have one bad scrimmage and suddenly you think you’re McDavid.”

“No,” Sukuna says. Then he finally looks up. “I just think you’re distracted. Have been for too long.” 

Silence stretches. There’s only the sound of water droplets leaking from the showerheads on the side. 

Satoru’s jaw tightens slightly. “Didn’t realize you cared.”

“I don’t.” Sukuna tosses the used tape into the trash beside the bench. “But whatever this is? It’s making you sloppy.”

Gojo’s fingers drum once against his stick. This is dangerous territory. Because he knows Sukuna isn’t just talking about hockey. The irritation crawling under his skin sharpens, but his teammate moves before he can throw an insult at him. Sukuna lingers at the door, glancing back at his captain before leaving. 

“See you tomorrow.” 

Satoru sits alone for a while after the locker room empties, elbows on his knees, phone hanging loosely from one hand. The overhead lights hum softly above him, cold and sterile. Another message pops up. It’s his mother again. She’s saying something about attending the next event surrounding the team before the playoffs. He hasn’t seen his parents in a while. His jaw tightens at the thought. For a second he just watches the typing cursor blink in the empty reply box. Then he locks the phone without answering. The silence presses in immediately after. Too much space, too much noise in his own head. His gaze drifts toward the hallway outside the locker room where distant laughter echoes from somewhere deeper in the building. Teammates probably heading out for food. Normal. Easy. Suguru invited him earlier today, but he declined hoping he’d see you immediately after practice. But you’ve been awfully quiet all day. He wonders what you’ve been talking about with Megumi. Is the coach's kid sabotaging what’s blooming between you two? 

Satoru suddenly feels exhausted by the idea of being alone with himself for the rest of the night. That’s the real problem lately. Sure, the shit from his parents doesn’t help and neither does the fact that the team could be doing better. It’s not even you. It’s the moments after everything goes quiet. But then the party he’s hosting comes to mind, at least he’s got something to look forward to. And maybe, just maybe, he can show everyone you’re together. He’s sure you’re just scared to put a label on the situation, he gets it. You just need a little time, and he needs to be a little extra sweet. His thumb moves almost automatically before he fully thinks it through. Opens another contact thread buried lower in his messages. There’s no name saved, just a number. The conversation history is short. Mostly addresses, times, quantities. Satoru stares at the screen for half a second before he starts typing. 

can you get me an eightball before friday?

Three dots appear almost instantly. The guy asks where they should meet, if he wants separate bags. There’s no discussion about the price, Gojo is familiar with it. Satoru leans back against the locker, eyes unfocused on the ceiling. His phone buzzes again before he answers. It’s a message from you this time. 

You alive?

Something twists in his chest. He’d been waiting for you to contact him, but now that it’s happening it feels unpleasant. It’s too much at once today. His parents wanting him polished and manageable. Hockey wanting him perfect. You wanting him after he’s been chasing for months. He still wants you, he hasn’t gotten you entirely wrapped around his finger yet. Maybe that’s part of why he keeps coming back. Because with you, at least, wanting feels ugly in an honest way. He’s rarely spent so much time trying to get with a girl. Maybe he’s serious about it for once. Satoru switches back to the dealer’s messages and makes an arrangement. Then he finally opens your message, his expression softens immediately despite himself. That irritates him too. 

–

“Congrats on second place.” 

Megumi lets out something between a laugh and a scoff. His eyes are focused on the ice cubes slowly melting in his drink, he swirls them around with a straw. “Like you’d be happy to hear something like that from me.” 

“I’m trying to be a supportive friend here.” You say.

“I know, I know. Thanks.” Then his eyes finally meet yours. “So, what is it?”

You take a deep breath and sigh. “I’m sorry.” 

“About what?” He frowns. 

“I heard you’ve been talking to Toji again and you haven’t talked to me about that, and it’s just… I know it’s because I’m always so quick to judge. So, I’m sorry about that. And I want you to feel like you can share stuff with me without having to worry about me shooting everything down.” 

Megumi blinks a few times. The ice shifts in his glass. Then he nods. “Thank you.”

You shyly smile at him. “So… do you want to talk about it?” 

He inhales deeply, straightening his back in the process. “A bit. It’s not a lot to be honest, but yeah, I guess I was a little afraid of how you’d react. It just really feels different this time. And I know- I know how that sounds, okay? He’s being normal about it, not trying to fix everything all at once or pretend nothing ever happened.” He glances your way again. 

“Okay.” You nod, hoping he’ll spill more.

“He uhh… he asked if I wanted to visit the grave together.” 

“Oh, wow.” Now it’s your turn to blink at him. “Have you been already?”

Megumi shakes his head. “He told me to pick a date. I’m not sure when but… I want to go.” 

“When was the last time you went?” 

“Tsumiki and I visited last month.” 

“Did he invite her too?” You ask.

“Kind of, I mean she probably won’t go. She shares more of your feelings.” He smiles. 

“Well,” you start, “maybe she will go for you.” 

“We’ll see.” 

A comfortable silence settles over the two of you. Megumi looks lighter, as if a weight almost literally lifted off his shoulders. He avoids your eyes slightly, and you know it is because he always feels awkward after you’ve had a hard conversation. The fact that you care enough is sometimes a little too much to comprehend for him. That’s why he decides to steer the conversation into another direction. 

“How have you been?” 

“Triple axel is getting better, I hope to revive it before the GP Final, but that’s probably too optimistic. But other than that I’ve uh…” You still, not sure whether to tell him the truth or not. Across the table, Megumi clocks your hesitation immediately. He remains quiet, urging you to continue without words. “Megs, I… it’s stupid.” 

His sharp look softens immediately when he hears the emotion in your voice. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’ve been seeing Gojo.” You manage to get out before immediately averting your eyes. You can’t bear to see his disappointment. But… nothing comes. After a charged silence, you slowly dare to meet his gaze. There’s a small frown between his eyebrows, but there’s no anger.

“I’m just confused, to be honest.” Megumi says with a small shake of his head. 

“You’re not mad?” 

“I just told you I’m confused.”

“Right, sorry.”

“What happened?” 

You roll your eyes, recalling the past days. “I don’t know… I guess I was weak.” 

“Don’t you think there’s more to it than that?” Megumi questions.

“I don’t know, maybe I’m confused too. I mean, I don’t understand why I keep going back.” 

The waiter comes by at that moment, taking Megumi’s empty glass and immediately asking if he wants something else. He shares a look with you and orders two more drinks despite you not having finished yours yet. 

“Okay, here’s the thing.” You start. “There is absolutely no reason why I should still be with him. I mean– we’re not together, obviously, but you know what I mean. I shouldn’t even be talking to him after what he’s done. It’s not… we don’t… this between me and him.” You gesture vaguely, hoping it will somehow aid your explanation. “It doesn’t fit me. It’s not me. That’s why I don’t get it.” 

“You like him then?” Your best friend bluntly asks.

“No– I mean, I don’t know. Maybe, what else could it be?” 

“He likes you, at least.” 

You give him a stern look. 

“Okay, sorry.” Megumi says. “Yeah no, everything you’re saying makes sense.” 

“I don’t know what to do. On one hand I want to continue and see where this goes but I feel like I already know it’s going to be a disaster in the long run.” 

“I think so too.” 

“See! I should stop things between us, but why don’t my feelings add up?” 

He shrugs. “Sometimes doing the right thing doesn’t feel good, but it’s still good for you in the long run.”

“Ugh… you’re right.”

“So, are you going to break up with him?” 

“We’re not together.”

“You’re quitting the situationship then?” 

You bury your face in your hands, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t knoooow.” 

He laughs, short but genuine. “You’re saying that a lot.” 

"... I know.” 

“I think there’s only one thing you can do.” The skater starts. “You just continue and figure out what you feel–”

“But–”

“And then find out you were right all along.” 

“Megs!”

He reaches across the table and takes your hand. “You’re gonna have to figure it out for yourself, (Y/n).” 

–

You’re laying on the couch at night watching Love Is Blind when there’s a knock on your door. 

“It’s open!” You yell, already knowing who it is.

Gojo strides in with a soft grin on his face that only grows in size when you turn around to look at him. His hair is damp, probably from the shower he took after practice, a cloud of cologne engulfs him like a second skin. He’s lucky you like it. You move your legs and Satoru drops down on the couch across from you. He steals a glance at the TV screen.

“The dramatic reality show again?” 

“Yup.” You reply.

“C’mere.” He gestures. And you stretch your legs in return, resting them on his lap.

“How was practice?” You ask him after a short while.

Gojo shrugs, not taking his eyes off the TV. “Nothing special.” He runs his fingers over your legs, absent mindedly caressing the skin. After a while, he breaks the silence when he glances your way. “Have you eaten yet?”

“...Not yet.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re dieting before the Grand Prix Finale or something.” The hockey player jokes.

“I’m not.” You roll your eyes. “Though losing some weight never hurts in this sport.” He pinches you, and you pull your leg back with a squeak. “Hey!” You say through a laugh.

“You should take care of yourself.” He frowns.

“I do. It’s fine, I’m just a little stressed, okay?” 

Satoru just narrows his eyes at you. 

“It’s fine.” You press.

“I’m sure you’ll win.” He smiles, carefree in that way only he can be. And you’re not sure he understands your doubts, what you are actually afraid of. 

With a sigh you rub your temples, closing your eyes for a moment. “You never know in my sport.”

“Otherwise there’s always next year, or the one after and so on. You’ll be fine.” Gojo says with a reassuring squeeze. 

For a moment you just look at him. “How much do you actually know about figure skating?”

“What?” He laughs, confusion laced through the word. 

“It’s not that easy, Satoru. This might be my final season if things don’t work out. I have to do this right, otherwise I might not make it to the Olympics next year. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Of course, but it’s not like you won’t make it to the next cycle–”

“I’m not gonna be around for the next Olympic cycle.” 

Gojo moves to hit the pause button on the TV remote. You retract your legs as he does so, distance opening up between you two. There’s that glint in his eyes again, cold and detached. Like he’s telling you to talk to him very carefully.

“What are you saying?” Gojo asks.

“This is all I have left. I’m retiring after the Olympics. There’s a whole generation of girls who are way more talented and gifted than me who will easily win once they compete as seniors. I get it, you think differently. Your career is just getting started, you have years ahead of you. But for me, everything is happening right now. These two years will make or break my career.” You ramble, not able to meet his eyes until you’re done monologuing. 

He nods, slow and careful, leaning his elbows on his knees. Then he turns towards you. “You scared about what comes after?” 

“Yeah.” You breathe.

“I’ll take care of you.” He teases.

You roll your eyes. “Oh lovely, being the trophy wife of Gojo Satoru.” 

“Hmm, lots of girls would kill for that spot, you know?” He grins and scoots closer, cradling your cheek in one hand. He slowly leans over, pushing between your legs to get access to your lips, and gives you a long, slow kiss. “I’d make more than enough for the two of us, sounds like a pretty good deal if you ask me.” 

A small laugh escapes your lips. “Right, you’d always be at practice or in another city for games. Or you’d take me with you like a piece of armcandy but never make time for me because you’re always ‘with the boys.’” 

“I can make time for the things I love.” Gojo winks. 

You know he’s teasing, know he wants to get a rise out of you. He always does this, flip things around when it gets somewhere serious. Like everything is a joke to him. You wonder if you’ll ever genuinely get to talk with him, without the padding, the rose-tinted glasses. Will he ever let you in? A few days ago you thought you were really getting to know him, that you were seeing the person behind the image he created for himself. He’s trying to distract you with that word, ‘love.’ Because he knows you don’t want him to say that to you, because he knows you’d be devastated and delighted at the same time if it were true. It’s how he tests the waters. You can’t figure out if he truly wants to be with you or if it’s all a game to him, another distraction before he moves on to the next one. Talking about a future together when you’ve barely spent a week fucking, it’s ridiculous. 

“We both know what you love the most, Gojo. And it’s never gonna change.” 

The smile drops from his features as he freezes. His thumb lingers on your cheek, slowly stroking the skin one more time before he carefully backs away. Satoru watches you, those blue eyes flitting from one side of your face to the other. Then he breaks out into a smile again and rises from the couch. He walks over to your kitchen counter, disappearing from sight, and you hear him grab a glass of water for himself. You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts in.

“You wanna order some food? I’ve got a collab with Uber Eats so I can order food for free up to like, 300 dollars a month. I only have to mention them in my story whenever I order, do you mind?”

–

The next day, Satoru stands beneath the showers, head tipped back into the spray. He left practice late once again, Toji made him do extra drills with Sukuna. Across from him he watches the water cascade down the tattooed man’s back. The silence between them always feels crowded. Eventually, Gojo breaks first.

“You coming tomorrow?”

Sukuna doesn’t look over. “The party?”

“No, my wedding.” 

There’s a short laugh. “No.”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “The party, of course.”

Water runs down between Sukuna’s shoulders. He scrubs a hand through his hair before answering, the muscle on his back rippling under his skin. “Probably.”

Something about the answer irritates Gojo immediately. “Probably?”

The vice captain shrugs. “Heard she’s coming.” 

Not even a name. Neither of them needs one. The muscle in Satoru’s jaw tightens. “You making your social calendar around her now?”

“Maybe.”

The response pisses him off more than it should, because it sounds genuine. Satoru scoffs, reaching for the shampoo bottle harder than necessary. “Don’t waste your time. She’s with me.” 

The words leave his mouth before he thinks about them. The second they do, he knows they sound wrong. Possessive and desperate, like he’s trying to convince himself. Across the room, Sukuna finally turns. Really turns, looking directly at him for the first time all evening. For a second he says nothing, scanning the captain of his team up and down. While Gojo normally wouldn’t care, he somehow feels exposed now. 

“Is she?” 

Satoru’s shoulders stiffen. “What does that mean?”

Sukuna laughs quietly. “Nothing.”

“Say it.” 

“You want me to?” Water runs down the bridge of Sukuna’s nose as he leans back against the tile. “I just didn’t notice.” 

The words cut exactly where they were meant to. Satoru feels it instantly, that raw place he’s been avoiding for the past couple of days. Your dorm, the texts. The way you’d dodged every attempt to define whatever existed between you. The way you’d smile and change the subject, distracting him with your touch, the heat of your body. The way he’d let you because having something undefined felt better than risking having nothing. 

Sukuna sees the reaction and smiles. “You look upset.” 

“Shut up.”

“Did she tell you that?”

The temperature in the room seems to spike. “Careful.” Gojo warns and throws the shampoo bottle to the ground before washing his hair. 

“What?” Sukuna’s expression sharpens. “Did she actually say she was yours?” 

Silence. The answer hangs there, neither of them need to hear it. Satoru washes the foam from his hair, letting the water act as an excuse not to look at his rival. He rubs his hands over his face, through his hair again and spits the water out of his mouth. Sukuna is still looking at him when he opens his eyes. 

The worst part about all of this, is that Satoru understands Sukuna. Not intellectually, not in a way he’d ever admit. But there are moments, quick and fleeting, when he catches a glimpse of himself reflected back through him and immediately wants to break something. Because Sukuna looks at the world the way Satoru secretly does when nobody is watching. Hungry. Never satisfied. Always taking inventory of who has what and whether it should belong to someone else, him. Maybe that’s why they’ve spent years circling each other before Gojo decided to see what he was made of at the bootcamp. See if he could pull at his strings the way he can with everyone else. Not because they’re opposites, but because they’re too similar. The realization makes his skin crawl, makes him want to close the distance between them. Sukuna is still watching him, which makes it worse. 

He hates how they’re always observing each other, no matter where they are. The glances often come and go, brief and casual enough to deny. But they’re always there. A pressure against the side of Gojo’s vision. He hates that he notices. That he notices everything. Hates that he notices when Sukuna gets injured. When he cuts his hair, when he gains weight, when he starts smoking again. Hates that he can read his moods from the way he skates. Hates that Sukuna can probably do the same. Somewhere along the line they became experts on each other. Not friends or enemies, something more invasive than that. Years of locker rooms, bus rides, practices and competitions. Watching each other fail and succeed, watching each other become men. The familiarity feels intimate, which is exactly the reason they avoid looking at it directly. Because once you acknowledge intimacy, you have to acknowledge care. Neither of them can stomach that. The team thinks they hate each other. Most days Satoru lets them believe it. It’s easier. Hatred is clean and simple, predictable in a way this thing isn’t. This thing follows him home, lives under his skin, turns every interaction into a test he doesn’t understand the rules of. 

Sometimes he catches Sukuna looking at him the same way he looks at a rival across center ice before a faceoff. Focused. Intent. Like something important is about to happen. And sometimes, impossibly, it feels identical to the way Sukuna looks at you. That realization settles somewhere low in Satoru’s stomach. Heavy, taking up space. The competition changes shape. Suddenly, it isn’t about winning. It’s about being chosen, seen, wanted. The thought disgusts him. Mostly because he can’t entirely tell whether he’s thinking about you, or Sukuna, or both. Across the room, Sukuna’s mouth twitches. Like he already knows. Like he arrived at the same conclusion a while ago and has been patiently waiting for Satoru to catch up. That might be the thing Gojo hates the most. The possibility that Sukuna understands him better than anyone else does. Better than his parents, better than his teammates. Maybe even better than Suguru, or you. The possibility sits between them, balanced on the edge of violence and confession.

Satoru takes a step forward. Then another. The distance disappears quickly, years of rivalry compressed into a few feet of wet tile and bad decisions. Sukuna doesn’t move, nor back away. Doesn’t break eye contact even when Gojo is way too close for comfort. 

“You think you’re funny.” Gojo says.

“No.” Sukuna says under his breath. “I think you’re losing your mind.”

For a moment neither of them speak. There’s only the sound of the showers, the rays of water hitting the tiles. Their breathing. The hammering of Gojo’s heart. There’s a distant slam of a door somewhere down the hallway outside the locker room. Then Sukuna’s gaze drops briefly. Not enough to be subtle or accidental. When his eyes return to Satoru’s, something has changed. 

“Not thinking about sharing anymore then?” He muses.

“Never said that.” Gojo breathes. 

“You’re so full of shit.” Sukuna says as he steps closer. Gojo can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“Fuck you.” But the words don’t come out sharp like he intends them to. They’re lost between the showers and steam as he crashes his lips to Sukuna’s. To his surprise, the vice captain doesn’t pull away this time.

It’s messy, impatient, it doesn’t start off shy and slow. There’s a hunger, the competition between them still lingering as Sukuna bites Gojo’s lip and he returns it with the same fervor. The taste of iron mixes with water when Satoru pushes Sukuna back under the shower stream. Hands slip on skin, eager to grab on but unable to steady themselves. 

Gojo hates the way Sukuna’s muscles flex under his touch. Hates how Sukuna’s grip on his arm and midriff is so strong it almost bruises him, the way he wants him to push even harder. The way his teammate kisses him is incomparable to the last time they were this close, like he’s made a decision for himself. And Gojo gets it when he feels Sukuna’s hand around his throat again, because of course it always has to be about power between them. His breath hitches, but he’s determined to turn the tide. Satoru pushes his lips back harder, catches a groan at the back of Sukuna’s throat when he moves his hand down the ridges of his tattooed abs, even further down to where Gojo knows he’ll have control over him. 

Then Sukuna pushes him off, Gojo almost chokes on his spit because of the pressure put on his neck. He coughs once and spits on the tiles. Gojo then glares at him, breathing heavily. They’re still standing way too close, neither of them yield and break eye contact. There’s a smear of blood on Sukuna’s lip, but neither of them know who it belongs to. Then Gojo looks down, sees the evidence of what just happened between them and laughs once. Short and mean. He takes a slow step back, and says the following before turning his back: 

OKAY THERE'S A LOT OF BUILDUP SO STAY WITH ME

(you might think while reading this: what is the issue? you're making a big thing out of nothin? well... perhaps I am, but I've been thinking that I'm imagining things about the situation I'm gonna explain but it turns out I wasn't and men are so confusing)

Years ago when I was studying for my bachelor's degree I lived in a very big student home. Where I come from, most colleges don't have dorms or only have them for international students. The students that don't live at the dorms live in houses together, and I lived in a building with around 15 people, half girls half boys. You'd think there'd be a lot of drama and romance between the roommates, there was some but it was mostly between the girls (bc like almost all the girls are were queer).

Like a year after me living there a new guy came to live with us, let's call him Mark. Small description of Mark: tall gym bro who respects women, we love to see it, but is also like... really a 'guy' if you know what I mean? When Mark came to live with us I was at the start of dating someone (and am still happily together with this person today) so I always looked at our interactions in a platonic way. We had a lot in common, the same hobby's and interests, so he just became one of my better guy friends in the house. I was living in this student home during covid, so all of us became super close since we couldn't really hang out with anyone else. Because of this, we're still a close friend group today.

Fast forward a couple of years, okay. Most of us have moved out of the house, but we still meet up occasionally on birthdays or we see each other at New Years (since that was always THE party at our house). At this point in my relationship, my partner and I decide to open it up and experiment with other people. (Note: Open relationships don't work for everyone and that's fine. However, it works very well for my partner and I, and we're doing just fine years later, so pls let me live.)

Since my former roommates are my close friends and we go to festivals or go clubbing together, I let them know about my relationship the next time I saw them because I don't want anyone to freak out and think one of us is cheating if they see us making out with someone else, if yk what I mean. Most roommates find out earlier than Mark because he was super busy with finishing his studies and skips a few meetups. He finds out at a New Years house party (this was like 2yrs ago) and bro just hangs around me the entire night. At one point I ask my friend who's house we're at if I can lie down in her bed for a second because my back was hurting (back problems at 23 is iconic don't let them tell you anything else💅). Some people come and go to check on me, it's cute, we yap, we chill. At one point, Mark enters the room when nobody else is in there besides me. We talk for a bit, I was feeling somewhat better so we decided to go back to the party. I move to open the door AND BRO PUSHES IT SO IT CLOSES AGAIN-

I pretend I do not feel the vibe shift, ok. I turn towards him and I'm like, what's up?? And he like opens his arms to give me a hug bc I was feeling bad (it's giving "where's my hug at"💀). I GIVE THE HUG PRETENDING NOT TO KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING because I was wondering if he would be brave enough to make the move or not. We exit the hug, he doesn't do it. I turn back to the door, ISTG I FEEL HIS FINGER GRAZE MY WAIST BUT I PRETEND NOT TO NOTICE. Nothing else happens for the entire night... ts was strange.

Couple months later we go on a weekend trip with the group. It's fun, it's cute, no crazy tension or vibes. I start to think I was imagining that he was into me. Anyways, I get my period at the weekend trip and I'm not feeling very well. Mark makes it his personal mission to look after me the entire weekend. Bro pulls up with blankets, hot water bottles and snacks, it's honestly super nice. But here is the thing: is it because he's lowkey into me, or is it because he's genuinely just a nice guy? Is it both? I have no clue, but I'm noticing his behavior. I share a room at the trip with one of the girlies, and one of the guys' rooms is right across from ours. Just before we're all going to sleep, my roommate and I can't get one of the blinds on one of the windows down bc the window is super high up and we're not tall icons. We ask some of the guys to help us. We're already in our pyjama's, nothing we haven't seen before. I was wearing a big shirt but still had to take my bra off underneath it, so I was in the middle of doing that when they came in. I pull the bra off underneath my shirt AND I MAKE DIRECT EYE CONTACT WITH MARK BC BRO WAS ALREADY LOOKING AT ME😭😭😭. Nothing happens for the rest of the weekend.

That summer I go to a festival with some of my roommates, Mark isn't there. I talk to one of the girlies and decide to share my thoughts on the situation and what I've noticed. I don't want it to become a thing in the group so I kept it between us. MY ROOMMATE DEADASS SAYS TO ME: "Oh but I'm not surprised, he's always had a thing for you." Excuse me?? Always?? Since when is everyone aware of that except for me?? Anyways, she's like "Why don't you just make out with him for fun." And I'm like uhhh idk because we're in this friend group together and I don't want things to go bad, yk. But the issue for me is that there are some vibes, but no one is talking about them and idk what I want with it... so basically I'm turning it into a bigger thing than it is.

We fast forward another year. Yes, another one. We're on another weekend trip, but nothing crazy happens. Some roommates buy tickets to go the festival we went to last summer and we try to convince more people to join us. Mark is on the fence about it because he wants to live a healthier lifestyle or whatever. (ok gym bro)

There are another couple of months that pass and the group is coming together at a housewarming party because one of the roommates moved in together with his girlfriend, fun! (This is super recent btw, like some weeks ago.) A couple of days before the party I get a text from Mark asking me about something super irrelevant that he could have asked ANYONE ELSE but ok. We yap about nothing for a bit and I ask him if he's sure he doesn't want to go the festival this summer. He's like "idk idk" and I'm like, "okay we're all gonna convince you tomorrow because it was so fun last year and if everyone tells you how fun it was, you will want to join."

OUT OF NOWHERE BRO SAYS: "You can try to convince me if you want." HELLO???? This tone shift and vibe goes on for a little while but nothing is said outright and I'm just so confused and pretending not to notice. The housewarming comes along and nothing crazy happens, but me and the other roommates convince him to go to the festival. He makes an offhanded comment to me about how "he already knew I'd convince him" and shit. I don't know if I find it funny or cringe or hawt idk. I'm just confused as to why he's way more forward than before.

Anyways, we move from the house to a bar and from the bar to a club. In between the bar and club Mark is suddenly gone, so I text him because I think we've lost the dude in the city because everyone is shitfaced. He says he went home bc "he thought he said goodbye to everyone" u-huh dude, of course that's what you thought. I just tell him to "get home safe." Bro replies: "Thanks baby" WHAT IS GOING ON

But this is finally confirmation that I wasn't imagining things. Apparently bro has been trying to flirt for literal years and has finally built up some courage or whatever. I am pretty sure that next time I see him, which might be at the festival, he's gonna try to make a move and IDK WHAT I WANT because I don't want to ruin anything in the friend group (but bro is lowkey build like Toji so who am I to pass up💀). And it shouldn't really be this complicated, and I'd totally be able make out with him and move on, but since I now know that it's been like years that he's been interested in me I'm afraid he won't be able to like, be normal about this. Does any of this make sense?

I hope y'all had fun reading about my chaotic life and roommate drama- any input would be appreciated💀 lmao