milesy

The lights were off, the only thing that lit up the room  were the party lights that Nayeon bought to celebrate her birthday party. You were sitting on the couch around your friends when you looked at Yoongi, dressed like Tony Montana, leaned against the wall with crossed arms. He was wearing a whole white suit with a red shirt underneath, you found yourself wanting to take off his jacket, maybe his shirt and pants too, but he looked so good you might as well make him keep them on. 

You know him too well, he shot you a look that could only mean one thing. 

‘Come. Here.’ His eyes said, but you shook your head just to annoy him.

‘Come get me.’

It's his turn to shake his head in disapproval. You would be lying if you said that you weren’t thinking the same thing as him, you got maybe too intoxicated in his cologne when he arrived at your apartment and he whispered in your ear that he didn’t know if he could control himself if you were wearing that white mini skirt. Yes, you knew that Yoongi liked the angel costume and white corset you chose, you knew he got a little turned on when he saw you wearing fake angel wings and lip gloss, but he seemed to be… maybe too into you that night? He couldn’t stop looking at you from across the room, and when he was next to you he kept his hand on your waist, bringing you closer and closer to him. You saw him walking towards you, he offered his hand and you took it. You both laughed like you shared a secret and  guided you to your room as if you didn’t know the way. Then, the question you tried to avoid all night popped in your head once again, was Yoongi jealous?

It all started when he was sitting on his studio chair, his phone rang three times receiving a chain of cryptic messages sent by you.

[Baby]: Friday night, you and me.

[Baby]: My place.

[Baby]: Bring a costume.

[Yoongo]: roleplay?

[Baby]: ????

[Baby]: No??? 

[Baby]: Nayeon's birthday party, she invited you. I forgot to tell you, you have to bring a costume. 

[Yoongo]: i don't have a costume

[Baby]: Then get one, big boy.

[Yoongo]: it's not even halloween ? 

He waited for your answer but you didn’t reply. He stared at the “Seen at 4:12 pm” on his phone screen, leaving him talking alone.

Two days passed since you sent those messages when he opened the door of his apartment on a wednesday and you were already there, on his couch watching A Cinderella Story.

“Maybe giving you the key was a bad idea.” Yoongi said, taking his shoes off. Except for that night last month, he thought, when you waited for him on his bed wearing lingerie, but that was a whole different discussion.

Yoongi walked towards you and you made space for him on the couch.

"Did you think about your costume?" You asked, ignoring him, going straight to the point. 

"Can I go without one?" 

"Nayeon is gonna be pissed at you if you go without one. You would be the only one." 

Your flatmate and Yoongi got along pretty well, Nayeon liked him as long as he treated you right and Yoongi had learnt to like her, he couldn't understand how you, two completely different people, were best friends. She was too energetic, almost chaotic, and talked all the time, when you were more quiet and timid. In the last seven months Yoongi got used to spending time with Nayeon when he was at your apartment, and he was fine with it, until that led to him to wear a costume for her birthday party. 

"Who's going, anyway?" He asked. 

"A bunch of people. Jungkook, Eric, Yongsung, Kevin..." You started to list all of your friend’s names, but Yoongi stopped listening when he heard that name. Suddenly, the idea of going to the party didn’t sound so bad.

"What are you wearing?" Getting closer to you, he put his arm around your shoulder, pressing your body against his.

"I was thinking about an angel costume." You answered, playing with the straps of his black hoodie. 

"Mmm... like a Victoria's Secret angel?" He asked, kissing you softly for the first time that night. 

"No, but if you wear a costume I can be one for you by the end of the night." 

Then, Yoongi started to think of a costume.

Now you were there, just a few seconds away from disappearing in your room with him, but the question still hung in the air. 

Earlier that night, he arrived and gave Nayeon the present you bought together. It was just a simple silver ring with a beautiful stone on top of it, but you knew your friend would love it when you picked it. Then, people started to arrive and your apartment started to get full. How many people did Nayeon invite? How were all those people going to fit in your tiny place? She didn’t care, she was already dancing in the living room under the green and purple lights, it wasn’t her fault that everywhere she went, she made a new friend. 

Nayeon was your best friend and you loved her, you agreed with her when she proposed to wear matching outfits —she was wearing a red dress and red horns, dressed as a devil—, you helped her with the snacks and to decorate the place. It wasn’t a big deal, you loved doing things for her, especially on her birthday. When she started to move her hips towards you as Super Bass by Nicki Minaj started playing, you tried to draw the line and say no to her. You failed. 

“There’s no right way to dance to this, please.” You whined in embarrassment as you tried to follow her steps, she grabbed your hands and brought you closer to her, guiding you to a ridiculous dance. You knew your face was red, but Nayeon’s happy face was enough for you  to ignore it. 

“I know you loved this song!” She said.

“I love a bunch of songs,” you said over the music. “I don’t dance to all of them,”

That didn’t stop her to force you to keep dancing, her dance moves were ridiculous, but you looked more stupid trying to follow her.  

The song was about to end when you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist, suddenly you were being dragged away from your friend, who looked behind you, faking an upset grin.

“Sorry,” Yoongi’s deep voice resonated behind you. “you already got your share of her. It’s my turn now.”

“But it’s my birthday!” She complained.

“Not in South America.” He replied, making Nayeon roll her eyes. Classic Yoongi. 

He spinned you until you were facing him, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer to him. When a slow r&b song started, you remembered one thing about Nayeon: she didn’t know how to make a playlist, let alone a party playlist. It was either have her phone connected to the speakers Jungkook lent her, or pay an expensive dj (that was her excuse). But the song was fine, it worked.

“Is Min Yoongi taking me to dance?” You wrapped your arms around his neck and he placed his hands on your lower back, making you feel butterflies when he slowly started dancing with you “Are you trying to seduce me?” 

You saw his gaze traveling from your eyes to your lips and back to your eyes again, he lowered himself, you parted your lips just waiting for him, but he pulled back. 

“I don’t need to do that, I already did it” 

He swung from side to side to the rhythm of the music, grabbing your hips so you could move alongside him. Neither you or him were the type to dance at parties, both were too aware of people around you, but maybe if you pretended that it was just you and him, it wasn't so bad. 

Yoongi was taller than you and most of the time, when you were that close to him, you had to lift your head to look him in the eye. If you didn’t, the only thing you could see was his chest. And in that moment it was hard not to think of it  when it was right in front of you. 

You tried not to laugh at the thought, if you told Yoongi all the tiny things about him that turned you on he would laugh too, he would tease you about it every time he had the chance. You liked to think that you keep those things as a secret, from his exposed chest to way he pressed his fingertips on your hips, the kind of things that weren’t necessarily sexual but made your stomach flip. You liked when he stroked your hair a certain way and how deep his voice got in the morning, when he was driving or when he lay down on the bed and put his hands under his head, flexing his arms.

You snapped out of your thoughts when you felt his hands on your face, making you look at him. You could notice that it was hard for Yoongi to make eye contact, and you liked looking at him until he ran away from your gaze. Sometimes you think that Yoongi doesn’t like eye contact because maybe if you looked into his dark eyes for long enough, you would discover a secret. In that moment, you thought that you were about to do it. 

“You look hot.” You confessed to him, but he scoffed at the compliment. 

“Do you think?” 

“Yeah, I thought you weren’t going to make an effort. Like Jungkook.”

You looked at your best friend as leaning on the wall, dressed in blue boxing shorts and a black tshirt, his blue boxing gloves hanging around his neck. That wasn’t a costume, that was just Jungkook on a tuesday. 

“What’s up with him, by the way?” He asked, whispering in your ear in case your best friend might hear him. “I saw him glued to his phone since I arrived.”

“Oh you know…” you sighed “ladies problems, I think.” 

“Is he fighting?” 

Yoongi was one nosy bitch. 

“Not at all, I think he wanted to invite her or something, but he didn’t.” You ran your fingertips on the hair of his neck, watching how a little smile appeared on his face as he observed Jungkook typing on his phone. “Don’t you dare…” You warned him, making him pay attention to you again. 

“What?” He asked, playing dumb.

“Don’t tell him that I told you.” You clarified. Sometimes it seemed like Yoongi’s only purpose in life was to tease poor Jungkook. 

“Why do you always think bad about me?” He whined, his lips forming a pout. 

“I don’t! But I know you want to. You’re gonna get me in trouble.” Standing in your tiptoes, you kissed away that ridiculous pout on his mouth. 

When the room started getting too hot, you took Yoongi to the little balcony your place had. It was small but it had a view of the campus and the dark sky. Then again, for the second time that night you felt Yoongi’s arms hugging your back.That was maybe one of the first clues you got that night, it was rare for him to do things like that in public. Usually, you were the one who showered him in kisses or hugged him in places that weren’t his bedroom. A tiny you was dancing of happiness in your stomach, wanting to turn around and steal a kiss from his lips. But the other tiny you, the rational one, was telling you not to get used to that kind of stuff, they never lasted for you. 

You tried to shut her up, turning around to see Yoongi’s smirk plastered on his face. 

“You are going to ruin my wings if you keep doing that.” You warned him. 

“Okay… I prefer you like this anyway.” He leaned forward  to leave a short kiss on your collarbone. It was a cold night and you weren’t wearing much clothing, but that wasn’t what sent a chill to your spine. “And I like your wings.” 

“They look good, don’t they? The lady in the store thought they were for a kid! I didn’t tell her they were for me.” 

“If I have to guess, she supposed that because only kids dress up?” He tried to annoy you, still opposed to the whole costume party thing. 

“Don’t you know what fun is, Sir?” You teased him, tilting your head. 

“I know what fun is. I am a fun guy.” He defended himself. 

“Debatable. But you showed up today and I must say this, no because of the nature of the relationship we share, but because I mean it, you must have the best costume tonight.” 

“Wait, what’s the nature of our relationship?” A cocky smirk tugged from the corners of his lips, pulling you closer, if that was possible. 

“Shut up, that’s why I can never compliment you.”

“Tell me baby, will the nature of our relationship get me a pass for going to sleep instead of cleaning tonight?” He asked. 

“Don’t even think about it” You said, shaking your head. “You get no privileges, you and Jungkook are helping me. God knows how drunk Nayeon will get.” 

Yoongi laughed and didn’t argue with you anymore, but his question stayed in your head for a few seconds, and the word ‘relationship’ almost vanished into thin air, creating a cloud above your head, you blamed yourself for using it.

Sometimes you thought you were so awkward, you didn’t know how Yoongi was never capable of seeing it. You said things and then immediately regretted it, wondering if he thought you were getting too attached to him. 

You hardly ever lied to yourself, you could never escape the giant monster of your thoughts and you always had to deal with the truth. It was difficult to accept it, but carrying with the feelings you had for the man in front of you was worse. 

Seven months after meeting Yoongi you found yourself in this place, with his arms wrapped around your waist at the birthday party of one of your best friends. Almost all your friends knew him, all of them liked him, and you were happy to say that all of his friends thought the same about you.

For a second, you asked yourself how was the image that he had of you, did he really think you were built for that? You saw yourself as a person who could never go against her own feelings, you knew that if you feel something it’s better not to suppress it. Since the day Yoongi kissed you in his car you knew that if you developed feelings for him, you were screwed.

And screwed you were. 

The human being is not so complex, and you thought that you were the least complex human being to ever exist. You saw yourself as weak and if someone was staring at you the way Yoongi was doing right now, you would fall. 

You tried not to melt at his fond dark eyes, he was way too close to your face, making you nervous. Why was he making you nervous? Was it his gaze or the way his hands were tied together on your lower back? Or was it the way you were caged between him and the urging feeling to spit certain three words on his face? 

Lately you felt like you and Yoongi stared at each other from across the room like you share a secret together, and it was a matter of time until one of you screamed it. The thing was, you believed your secret was not the same as his. 

“What?” You asked when the silence and his gaze upon you were too much to bear. 

“I have something for you.” He confessed.You watched his eyes fly to another place that was not your face, escaping from it. 

“Like what?” His eyes come back to you to stare at your rosy cheeks and glossy lips curved into a tiny smirk, almost inviting him to bite them. Instead, he bit his own, holding himself back. 

“Like a present.” Yoongi answered like it’s nothing but you knew he expected you to be surprised. You lift your eyebrows, satisfying him. “What is that face? Is it impossible to believe I wanted to give my girl a present?” 

Then, your stomach turned upside down, you were sure your cheeks were burning red and the tiny you (the one who didn’t give a fuck) screamed so loud that you were afraid he might have heard her. 

“No, I just thought you were going to say something inappropriate.” You tried to play cool. You failed, making Yoongi throw his head back and laugh at you, shaking his shoulders.

“What did you say?” He teased you “Inappropriate? Do you think I say inappropriate things?” He made emphasis on the word every time it rolled out of his tongue. 

“Oh my god, shut up!”

“I don’t think you thought I say inappropriate things the other night when you told me… mmm, what was what you told me?” 

Your eyes popped open when you realized what he was trying to say, putting a hand on his mouth before he could answer his own question. “Stop it…”

“I don’t want to.” He whispered, almost daring you to make him say whatever he was going to say next. You were wrong, Yoongi’s only purpose in life was not just  to tease Jungkook, but you as well. 

“You’re mean. I want to know what it is.” 

“Just for that you have to wait.” He said and you rolled your eyes. “But I like when you use funny words.” 

Breaking news: Yoongi was soft. Was this a secret? Not to you at least, but you could tell.  Not only because he bought you a present, not only because he grabbed your face and left little pecks on your lips until he thought they were enough.

You didn’t make Yoongi vulnerable, you just showed him that it was okay to be vulnerable with you. 

Between giggles and short kisses, you felt like you were alone again, until Jungkook entered the balcony with a bottle of beer in one hand. He stared at both of you, not really looking guilty for interrupting the moment. 

“You guys should get a room.” He joked as he leaned on the railings of the balcony. “No funny business in public, that’s what I say.” 

“What’s up, kid?” Yoongi asked him, not taking his hands off you. “Are you jealous because your girlfriend couldn’t come?” 

Your eyes snapped at Yoongi the second the question slipped out of his mouth. You hit his shoulder, regretting ever telling him about Jungkook’s not-girlfriend. Jungkook’s eyes moved like ping pong balls, they went from you to Yoongi and back to you again. 

“What? Did you tell him?” Your poor friend looked at you like you betrayed him. You felt guilty for a second, but to be honest, he was a little bit… dramatic, and Yoongi laughing in the back knew it. 

“It was an accident! You never told me not to tell anybody.”

“But you should have known!” He argued. 

“How could I!?” 

“You just… should have?” Jungkook’s expression changed to a calm one, realizing you are right, he never told you to keep the secret, but he can’t help to be a little upset at Yoongi for reminding him that his not-girlfriend was at her house instead of being there with him. 

“You are like two old ladies.” He said drinking from the bottle “Always gossiping.”

You and Yoongi gasped, looking at each other like Jungkook insulted the both of you.

“We weren’t gossiping!” You tried to defend the man beside you and yourself “I mentioned it to him and he didn’t know.”

You were totally gossiping. 

“Anyway…” Jungkook said, sighing in defeat  “I didn’t know if she wanted to come.”

Yoongi and you share glanzes, knowing it was really easy to make Jungkook talk, it was really easy to make him forget that you told Yoongi at least. 

He couldn’t be mad at that though, in the back of his mind he knew that telling you something automatically meant that he was telling Yoongi too. 

“Why do you think that?” Yoongi asked,

“I don’t know, what if she is not interested in meeting my friends?”

“Oh my god, Jungkook. She’s probably right now at home wondering why you didn't introduce her to your friends already.” You said like it was obvious. Been there, done that. But it didn’t seem obvious to him, Jungkook snapped his eyes at you like he just remembered you were a girl too. In that moment, his mind made a strange connection; if you were a girl, you must know every girl’s secret. 

He took a step forward, now interested in the conversation. 

“How do you know that?”

It was difficult to make a guy understand that kind of stuff, so you took a second to think about it. 

“Think it this way, okay?” You started, now you had two pairs of eyes paying attention to you. Yoongi listened to you like you’re about to reveal a code from the secret book of girls. “Imagine it’s friday, you don’t have any plans except for playing games until you pass out. You text your girl, ask her what is she doing tonight and she tells you she’s going to a party. She tells you everything about it but doesn’t ask you to go with her, you stay at home playing fortnite with… Seokjin? How would you feel?”

“Terrible.” The answer that came out of Jungkook’s mouth was automatic, his eyes were filled with horror. Again, Jungkook was dramatic after all. 

“Well, I don’t know her to say that she would feel terrible, but I would be kinda bothered.”

“Would you?” Yoongi asked. You looked at him, trying to imagine a scenario where that situation happened to you. You think of the Yoongi of the past, and the way all the pretty girls throw themselves at him at parties. But you also think of the Yoongi in the present, the one whose arms are wrapped around your waist. Mmmm… You would be bothered anyway.

“I mean… Yes, I think so” You answered. He just nodded, looking like he just did a mental note. “Next time, invite her.” You said now to Jungkook. 

He answered a short “I will” and started typing on his phone again, his presence becoming unnoticeable. Yoongi’s lips were curled in a tiny smirk when you body returned to his arms. 

“Are you sure you’re not majoring in psychology or something?”

“Are you implying that next to him I look like a psychology major? That’s kinda rude, bubba.” You said, making him laugh. “But no, men are too dumb to notice what’s in front of them sometimes, especially Jungkook when it comes to girls.” 

You remembered the first time Yoongi introduced you to his friends, you had already met Hoseok and Namjoon, met Seokjin at an event that Jungkook invited you to, but you never met his other friends, the ones who weren’t  from work or famous. 

One night he invited you to meet two of them, Minho and Jinyoung. You thought about the way he introduced you, just saying your name, not “this is my friend” or “this is my girlfriend”, just your name. You never expected him to give you a title, at that time it was okay, and his friends never asked about it. They were friendly and they seemed to like you. Yoongi cooked for the four of you and throughout the night they kept sharing stories about their teen years, asking you about your years in high school too. Yoongi couldn’t erase the smile off his face, he was happy and so were you. By the time they left his apartment he was a bit drunk, so you took him to bed and said goodbye to Minho and Jinyoung. When you were on the bed about to fall asleep he slurred a sweet ‘thank you’ and told you that he could tell that his friends loved you. 

“Do you think so?” You had asked him.

“Yes.” He confirmed “You’re easy to love.” 

Yoongi fell asleep right away, but you stayed awake for another half an hour after that. The warm memory of that night came back like a sweet kiss on the cheek, feeling like you were on top of the world. 

Yoongi stayed on the balcony talking with Jungkook, you see him through the glass as you sit on the couch next to your friends.  It was endearing to watch them together, when Yoongi took Jungkook under his label he promised all the good things to him, and in a couple months he managed to keep those promises. You appreciated that, before Yoongi, Jungkook tried so hard to make his dream of being a singer come true, but he always found complications along the way, making him come back to square one over and over again. When he told you that Yoongi had signed him, you were as happy as him. You believed that Yoongi saw Jungkook the same way that you did, both of you believed in him. 

You were talking with your friend from class, Yongsung, when your gaze got blocked by someone who sat in between you two. 

“What do you think?” Kevin asked, making you judge his costume “Do I pass?” He was wearing just a white shirt and black pants, in his collar was tied a short cape and on the corner of his lips there was fake blood, he was a vampire. You and Yongsung analized his outfit, it was simple but it worked. 

“Basic.” Yongsung answered, “But you pass.”

“Basic?” Kevin repeated like he was offended. “I’m doing my best here.”

“If that’s your best, I don’t want to see your worst.”

“I think you look great.” You said so you could stop them from fighting “At least you dressed up, I’ve seen some guys who didn’t. Nayeon said that if she saw someone without a costume she would kick them out.”

“Did she?” Yongsung asked.

“She didn’t, but she wanted to.”

You spent a few minutes talking with them, judging people’s outfits like yours weren’t the cheapest thing you could find in the store, but it was fun and you didn’t know most of them, you wondered if Nayeon did. 

You were closer to Yongsung, you had known her for a few years and you shared almost all your classes with her. With Kevin too, but he was barely a new friend. You had a suspicion that he didn’t see you like that, but a potential-something-else.

You met Kevin a few months ago, at a time when you felt like you had no control over your mind and heart. It was after you failed an important exam and he offered to help you for the next one. You appreciated it, but the only thing that made the sadness go away that week was a hug from the man in the red shirt outside. 

You remember that week, it was the beginning of winter when he gave you his number and a warm smile, promising you that no one died because of a failed exam, it was hard to believe him. Your mind was tired after studying all those weeks, your heart was tired too, but for another reason: you were in love with a man who didn’t want to be in love, how bad was that?

Transitioning those days with only questions filling your mind after admitting the truth to the mirror, wondering what you were supposed to do, tell him? leave him? stay quiet and pretend everything was okay? The last option was the one you thought was the most effective, but it was not. Everytime you looked at Yoongi you felt like you were at home, how could you run away from him? How could you stay? 

Yes, Kevin was nice, funny, charming and handsome, but the tiny you inside your mind couldn’t help but scream: He is not Yoongi!

You had already declined the subtle invitations of Kevin to hangout, you liked him but as a friend, were you clear enough? It was like you had the spot saved for another person but you weren’t sure if that person wanted that spot, it felt stupid. 

The consequences of your choice of pretending everything was okay were slowly taking over, but you didn’t realize until Kevin started to flirt with you right under the gaze of Yoongi, who stared at you from the balcony: he put his arm on the side of the couch, almost rounding your shoulders, a friendly gesture, but you knew better “You look great, too.” he said in a low voice, like no one was supposed to hear that, except you.

But let’s get things straight: Kevin didn’t know about Yoongi, unlike everyone else, your other friends knew he was your not-boyfriend and that things were… complicated? He was not your boyfriend but you were exclusive? If you were to explain that to Kevin he would laugh, he didn’t need to know, you wanted to keep things private, not everyone needed to know about your sex life, especially not the guy who joined the group two months ago. 

It was simple for him, you didn’t have a boyfriend? You were single, how could that be complicated?

“Thank you, I improvised. If it were my choice, I would have chosen another outfit, but Nayeon insisted. You know how she is, she likes to be in control all the time. Her rising sign is virgo.” You started to rant, feeling like he was getting too close to you. It was a habit of yours that you could never get rid of, if you were nervous, you started to talk to fill all the silent gaps. 

“Yeah? What’s your rising sign?” He asked curious, Kevin didn’t know shit about astrology. 

You never really had a serious relationship until your last (and first) ex, but growing up you had a large group of female friends who shared with you every single thing about their relationships with their boyfriends. If there was a secret book of girls, it would have been written by you. Somehow, you had learnt how to read men, they were basic and all of them reacted the same way to the same things, they said the same things, did the same things, and flirted the same way. It was the first time you perceived Kevin as part of those men, when he got closer and started getting bolder. Was this the same Kevin from class? Or this was the beer taking place instead of him? 

“Uh… Cancer…” You said trying to pay attention to anything except his eyes. 

Rule number one: Men have this misconception when they’re flirting, they think that if you stare at them long enough, it means you want to kiss them. If you don’t, avoid their eyes!

“What does it mean?” He kept asking. 

“I don’t really know, I’m sensitive I think, that’s what Nayeon says, she knows a lot about that stuff. By the way, did you give her a present?” 

A tip that can be useful: try to make them remember that you are friends. 

“Uh… No… Do you think that I should have…?” Accidentally, you crossed eyes with him again, he was giving you one of the most radiant smiles you’ve ever seen. Kevin was really beautiful, you know he has like a thousand girls waiting for him to take them out, but you weren’t one of them. Sometimes you wonder if your heart would have felt something for him if it wasn’t so in love with another man. 

“Maybe you should have, Nayeon loves presents.”

“What did you give her?” 

You looked at him hoping that he didn’t notice how your mind flew directly to the day you picked Nayeon’s present with Yoongi, you had the idea and he knew a place. The image of Yoongi standing outside the apartment with the present on his hands earlier that night flashed your thoughts. You smiled, and Kevin wanted to believe you were smiling because of him. You weren’t. 

“A ring, she’s into that.” 

He nodded, looking at the tiny space in the couch that separated you from him, you were a few centimeters close to make him think that you liked him a bit more than you did.

“That’s nice…” He said, hesitant. You played with your fingers, already choosing the blurt of words you were going to say before he said something you didn’t want to hear. But he was too quick “So, I know you have a few days free, huh?”

Yes, you had a few days free, but they were occupied by Yoongi’s birthday. 

The question faded in the air as you connected your eyes with his dark gaze outside. His eyes went from you to the masculine arm resting on your side of the couch. It was nothing, yet, Yoongi could notice. 

A light bulb went on in your head when you remembered rule number two: sometimes men will stop insisting when they know you have a boyfriend. Was it sexist? Yes, it was. Was Yoongi your boyfriend? No, he wasn’t. But it could work.

“Have you met Yoongi?” You answered with another question, trying not to feel bad for ignoring him. You invited him inside with a simple hand gesture, Yoongi didn’t hesitate to start  walking towards the window, he opened and entered inside, Then, you looked at poor Kevin again, who was waiting for an answer.

“Yoongi?” Kevin repeated with eyebrows furrowed, but his eyes shifted to the man next to you when he noticed his presence. 

“That would be me.” He said sitting next to you and grabbing your waist to pull you closer to him, leaving his hand in that place for so long that you felt like it was burning through your clothes.

That was another clue. 

You could describe Yoongi listing the things that he was and the things that he was not: Yoongi was  talented, funny, a little bit grumpy, passionate and kind. Yoongi was not selfish, not picky, not ungrateful, not jealous. That’s what you would answer if someone were to ask you a few days before that night, but now you were a little unsure about that last one. 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Kevin.” He introduced himself, as his arm dropped from the side of the couch you felt like something in the room shifted. 

“Oh, yeah. I think she mentioned you once.”  

Yoongi was polite too, but today was the exception. No hello, no nice to meet you, just a “she mentioned you once”, talking like you had to read between lines. Lucky for you, you were an expert in all Yoongi things. 

Translator of Yoongi: “she mentioned you once” meaning “She said your name once, but you aren’t important enough to be mentioned twice.”

What you didn’t expect though, was what Kevin was about to say next. 

“I see, she never mentioned you” The words came out of his mouth almost hesitantly, like he tried not to sound so bitter but he did anyway. The worst part was that he was right, you never mentioned Yoongi to Kevin. 

You expected that he would finish the sentence with something else but he didn’t, that was it. Silence for the longest five seconds of your life. But Yoongi was smart, scoffing at him like he just told a silly joke, the grip he had on your waist became firmer. You feel like you just became smaller between the two men, but most importantly you wonder, what the fuck was that?  

The moment passed when Eric and Youngsung saw Yoongi and turned to talk to him. Did you already mention that they loved him? Because they do. 

“What’s up Yoongi? Did the queen already judge your outfit?” Yongsung asked him. He looked at you smirking and then back at her. 

“Yeah, and I think I won the contest, she told me it was hot.” He said, making your friends laugh, or at least Youngsung and Eric. 

“She only said that because she wants to get in your pants,” Eric said “don’t trust women like her. The moment she gets bored of you she will say that your outfit looked like trash.”

He was talking about what you said about his costume, he was the Joker. You didn’t say it looked like trash, you said it looked cheap, but only because he said that yours looked like the kind of halloween costume they mention in Mean Girls, when you were going for A Cinderella Story. In other words, he said you were dressed like a slut. Who wants enemies with friends like that?

“I didn’t say it looked like trash, I said it looked cheap!” You repeated. 

“You’re a mean girl in real life, you know?” Your friend said. 

“She’s right, though.” Yoongi defended you with a devilish smile on his face, the words of Kevin were almost long forgotten, but something made you feel like they weren’t. You would have paid to know what was happening in Yoongi’s mind. 

“You just said that because you want to get in her pants, you’re just like her.” 

“It takes one to know one.” Youngsung joined him. 

You couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty, it wasn’t Kevin’s fault that you couldn't talk about your relationship with Yoongi because it was… complicated. It wasn’t Kevin’s fault that you didn’t know how to get out of situations, asking Yoongi to come and save you. You weren’t expecting Yoongi to react that way, didn’t expect Kevin to say that. Now, you were thinking how to make it up to Kevin and how to make it up to Yoongi, wondering if Yoongi even cared about what Kevin said. 

A sense of comfort was wrapped around you when you saw Jungkook joining the couch in front of you, thinking that he could save you from the situation you believed you created. You looked at him, holding your gaze and raising your eyebrows, hoping that he understood what you were trying to say. Jungkook looked at Yoongi and the way he was hugging you and then at Kevin, who seemed out of place next to you. Jungkook raised his shoulders. 

‘What is happening?’ he tried to say. 

‘I don’t know’ you communicated. ‘Save me’ 

But he can’t help you, and even if he could, he wouldn’t. He crossed his arms over his chest, marking a distance between the two of you. On this side, you were between two men, the one you loved and the one you tried to push away, on the other side there was him, laughing at your situation. That’s what you got for judging his outfit and saying he didn’t make an effort. Jungkook failed to be your best friend tonight, but you deserved it a little after laughing at everyone’s costumes. 

Looking to your right you stared at Yoongi thinking of that knowledge in men you thought you had, looking at him in the eyes you realized that Yoongi was not like other men, it was harder to read when it came to those things. You knew how to tell when he was tired, when he was upset, when he was happy. You knew the look on his face when he wanted you to stay the night, you knew the smile that appeared on his face when he was about to say something snarky, but there was a barrier when it came to things like that. 

The night passed and he disappeared with Jungkook in the living room to appear again against the wall, inviting you to your room like it was his own. 

You walked through the crowded hallway, bumping into people and stepping on crunchy chips, already thinking of the mess you will have to clean after all of them leave, but all the thoughts vanished when you entered the room and he closed the door behind you. 

Yoongi pushed you against the wood devouring your lips, introducing his tongue inside your mouth without permission. He sneaked his hands under your skirt, squeezing your ass cheeks in his palms and pressing you against him, he couldn’t bear to be another second away from your body. He kissed you desperately, like he waited for that moment all night. You tried to follow his pace, grabbing his hair in your fingers and making a mess of it. 

“Listen,” you said between kisses “stop looking at my boobs, you’re too obvious.” You scolded him, but he just laughed against your lips. 

“I can’t.” He confessed, catching your bottom lip in his teeth to bring your mouth closer. “How do I take this off?” You felt his large hands looking for the bow that tied the corset together, but you stopped him, grabbing his hands to guide him to your bed

“No, you can’t.” You tried to kiss him again, but he looked at you confused, furrowing his eyebrows. “It’s hard to take it off and we have to be quick, what if they start singing happy birthday?” 

Yoongi rolled his eyes but he allowed you to take his white jacket, exposing his strong arms in that tight red shirt. You put your hands on his shoulders, making him sit on the bed. 

“So I can’t eat you out?” He asked with disappointment in his voice, you shook your head. “Let me finger you, then”

“No,” You climbed your bed when he sat against the headboard, straddling him “it’s supposed to be a quickie.”

“I don’t want a quickie”  He whined, grabbing your hips and pushing them down to his own. You huffed, looking at the little pout that formed on his mouth about to give in to him. But no, you wanted to sing happy birthday to your friend, so you forced him to play along. Your hands traveled up to his chest and kissed him with urgency, feeling like time was running out of your hands. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips to make you roll them against his crotch, the only barrier between you two were your panties and the thick fabric of his pants. 

Yoongi had no problem with fucking any way you wanted, he was happy to do it either way, but he had his preferences. He liked to have his time and to be on his bed, yours was too small. He wanted you fully naked because he liked to be the only one who got to see you like that. He tried to hit it from the back a few times before and it was good, it was always good with you, but it wasn’t the same. He preferred having you right in front of his face, to feel your shaky breath against his mouth and hear your whimpers next to his ear, to kiss you until you were so lost in the feeling of his cock inside you that you couldn’t kiss back anymore. 

But when he didn’t have much time he enjoyed it too. The memory of a rainy night on his bed assaults his mind sometimes, one thing led to another and you confessed that you had a current fantasy of getting fucked on his studio chair. Yoongi opened his eyes so big you thought he saw a ghost, and even though it was the heat of the moment and he confessed some pretty nasty stuff too, your words pierced through his mind. Did that mean that every time you were sitting on his lap you were thinking about… that? The thought made him shiver like he was a teenage boy all over again. He remembers how nervous you looked when he confessed the things he would like to do with you, but it took just one confession from you to tear him apart. If Yoongi thought you were wrapped around his fingers he was wrong, you had him ten times worse. 

He decided to make your fantasy come true, even if it was slightly uncomfortable and during work hours, even if you weren’t fully naked and not on his bed. 

You knew he liked it either way, so why did he want to keep you in your room so bad?

At that point the question was still on your mind, but you wouldn’t dare to ask him, not yet. It only took a second for you to forget about it, when you felt his tongue running d0wn your neck you were already thinking about other things. 

“You’re too greedy” You said as you tried to keep up with the pace of his hips, it was enough to forget about Yoongi’s behavior that night but not enough to satisfy you or him. 

“You made me like this.” He murmured. His nose brushed the column of your neck and then he trailed wet kisses down again, you closed your fists on his shirt tightly when he picked up a  faster pace, a tiny moan left your lips. You felt like you were seventeen on the couch of the guy from school you had a crush on, making out all afternoon but never doing anything. It was different with Yoongi, you anticipated all of his movements and all of his kisses, wondering what he was going to do next, and he enjoyed watching you trying to get off on top of him, helping you grind yourself on him so he could fuck you right later. 

Then it came the confirmation that he was jealous, his teeth nipping the skin of neck with only one mission: to leave a mark. It was unusual for him to leave marks in visible places, he preferred your inner thighs or the top of your breasts, he didn't like scandalous things. He was simpler, he enjoyed knowing that you had marks under your skirt but he was the only one who knew about them. 

But he was a man too, and men were simpler than simple.

You almost let him do it, you were too focused on the pressure between your legs and the grip his hands had on your ass, until a groan that escaped from his mouth shook you back to reality for one second. You grabbed his round cheeks from the crook of your neck and made him look at you. 

“No funny business.”

“I’m trying to fuck you right now.” He whined again, trying to get back to his original plan, but you stopped him. 

“I mean it, we have to get back.” You warned him, looking down to unzip his pants, encountering a similar but better surprise: he was pretty hard. You smirked to yourself, quite proud to be honest, getting his pants down. 

“Stop smiling like that.” He caught you as his fingers found the strap of your panties under your skirt. 

“Why?” 

“Don’t play dumb.”

“You’re seeing ghosts.”

He squinted his eyes towards you but didn’t answer the question, instead he grabbed your hips and lifted them just enough to slide your panties down your thighs. You helped him to take them off and sat back again on his lap. He wasted no time, his boxers followed his pants and with a swift motion his hands came back to your hips to push them down, pressing your wet core against his dick, making you gasp.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you? Laughing at me like it wasn’t your fault.” You bit your lips, trying to hold back a moan. “Laughing at me like you weren’t dripping right now.”

Yoongi started to roll his hips just like before, but this time it felt ten times better, it showed in your face, and even if he always tried to keep up his dominant mask, it trembled sometimes. He preferred to have you naked on top of him, with your bare tits in front of his face like you were just for him, but there was something about fucking you in you angel costume that was about to drive him crazy, especially in that white mini skirt that wasn’t long enough to hide the way you were rocking against him.

You wanted to answer him, to spit a snarky comment or to laugh on his face, but there was no time for that, his low voice made your stomach flip, your outfit started to feel hot, the two pieces of clothing you were wearing started to suffocate you. A devilish thought  was built in your mind in just a few seconds, the tiny you begged you to ask him to flip you over and fuck you however he liked, to eat you out and miss the happy birthday if he wanted, the tiny you didn’t care. 

The rational you didn’t exist anymore, she disappeared when Yoongi’s cock started to rub your clit, kissing you softly, a contradictory gesture from the way his palms on your ass were pressing you to grind on his cock.

“Now you’re quiet? Don’t you have something to say?” 

“Yoongi... Stop!” You whined quietly, but he didn’t take you seriously, he laughed at you again. 

“You’re funny like that, trying to tell me what to do.” He groaned, positioning yourself so your entrance would align with the tip of his cock. Your whole body shivered at the feeling, now you were paying full attention to his words. “Trying to tell me how to fuck you. But guess what, baby? I’m gonna fuck you the way I want, how I want, as long as I want and you’re gonna love it, okay?” He looked at you waiting for an answer, but you just nodded, enough for him to start introducing his member inside you slowly, you bit your lips hard, digging your fingernails on his shoulders. “Now be a good girl and hold your skirt up so we can watch how you get fucked.” 

You obeyed, grabbing the hem of your skirt and holding it up against your abdomen, starting to feel the slow drag of his member filling you up. Both of your moans left your lips at the same time, your bodies were aching for each other since your friend let him in wearing that fucking costume. 

He grabbed your ass to sink you deeper until you were full of him, his eyes focused on the direction where your bodies connected and then they came back to your face, catching the perfect sight of your face, you furrowed your eyebrows as you bit your lips trying  to hold back the sound that was about to come out of your mouth. He slid his hands up your clothed body, traveling up to the white corset to squeeze your boobs. Oh, how he wished to take that stupid corset off and wrap his lips around your nipples until you were creaming his cock. He could do it, he could convince you to throw it away and waste the next hour inside of your room, but if you wanted to sing happy birthday to Nayeon so badly, he would let you. 

You waited for him to move first, you feared that if you did it you would lose control of the sounds you would make, and he noticed, not really happy with the idea of you holding back. 

“Why so shy, baby?” He whispered, starting to set a rhythm with his hips.

“There’s… people outsid-…ah…” your voice got interrupted by a high pitched moan that escaped from your lips, he smiled satisfied and then, you started to move with him, pushing your hips forward to meet with him over and over again. 

“What about it? You don’t want them to hear?” he teased “You don’t want them to know how good I’m gonna make you feel? I think they already know.” 

The idea of your friends knowing that you disappeared with Yoongi in your room was embarrassing, but the urge set a pace and fuck yourself on him was stronger. Riding him always made you feel like you hadn’t fuck in months, and the last time you did was just last wednesday, when you woke up in the middle of the night and cuouldn’t go back to sleep. 

If the headboard was making any noise as he thrusted into you, you didn’t notice. Your body responded to him like it was second nature and your hands clung to his chest in search of some stability. “S-stop t-that…” you could only whisper but it was useless trying to be quiet, your whines were already giving you away, maybe the headboard too, but you convinced yourself it wasn’t making any noise. 

“That’s what you want, baby?” He asked in a sweet tone, leaning forward to brush his lips over yours “You want me to stop?” He slowly stopped his movements, gripping your hips to keep you in place. 

You shook your head in denial “N-no, that’s not what I..!” a choked moan slipped out of your lips when he thrusted his hips forward, you felt how your walls clenched around him, begging him to keep going.

Yoongi loved having you on top, he loved watching you trying to set the perfect pace so you could fuck yourself better on his cock. He knew one thing: every time you did it, you did it better. On the other hand, you were sure that riding him was just an illusion of power, there were very few ways to dominate Yoongi (one of them being pink heart shaped handcuffs, but that’s a story for another day), riding him wasn’t one of them. He always found a way to take control of things, now it was to grip your hips and sink you deeper on his cock. 

The position made you feel every single inch of him, quickly building a strong feeling down your belly and between your legs. You were a little embarrassed by how close you already were, but he wasn’t much different, the way his adam apple moved up and down gave him away. 

“Keep going, please…” 

“Are you gonna keep telling me what to do or are you gonna let me fuck however the fuck I want, huh?” You watched the way his lips moved with hooded eyes, regretting the decision of not letting him eat you out. 

“Please, just… just fuck me, I’ll stop.” you cried as you got closer to him, pressing your palms over his chest and enveloping his lips into a desperate kiss, he didn’t oppose, he was easy like that. His hands went to squeeze your ass cheeks one more time, thrusting deeper inside you again. He helped you move up and down until you caught up with his fast pace. 

How could you have a man like that and not be in love with him? No one ever kissed you with such determination, so sure of himself yet so scared to let you go, like time was about to end every second that passed. 

You never had that level of intimacy with anyone, not even with your ex, he never kissed or fucked you like that. With Yoongi everything was passionate, he made you squirm under him during the night and made breakfast in the morning. He told you how pretty you looked when you jumped into his car and listened to the songs you recommended to him. He sneaked you into your own bedroom just because he was jealous and horny. 

“Fuck baby, you’re so tight.” God, your ex boyfriend didn’t have a mouth like Yoongi either. He wanted to sit back and enjoy the view of your tits bouncing out of your corset, but if he did he would lose it immediately, he didn't know where to look anymore. You responded with a deep moan, allowing yourself to rest on top of his chest, a clear sign that you were about to cum “Are you going to be my sweet angel and cum for me?” You nodded, his thrusts starting to get sloppy yet faster.

“I-I’m... so close.” you managed to say. 

There would be time to worry about your appearance later, but the sight of him lost on his own pleasure, with his eye barely open and messy hair made you realize that you looked as fucked up as him. But he looked so hot like that, you wouldn’t want it any other way. 

“It’s okay angel, I’m close too.” The nickname rolled in his tongue in such a natural way, in the end Yoongi was not so wrong about the roleplay thing. You found it cute, in his voice it sounded sweet. 

You were too intoxicated in the way he was pounding inside you, too on edge of your climax. The worry of being heard left the room a long time ago, replacing it with the dirty sound of your wetness, your cries of pleasure and his deep groans. 

“Don’t stop, please” you whined.

“How could I when you feel this good?” You felt his cock throbbing inside you, making you arch your back and press your chest against his “Cum for me baby, want to see your pretty face when you do.” It only took one thrust of him to make you cum around his cock, he helped you ride your high as you filled the room with choked cries and the tortured sound of his name. “Can I cum inside you?” he asked as you tried to focus your blurry gaze, nodding because you didn’t trust your voice. “Okay angel, now lift your skirt again and let me see the mess you made.” His voice came out as a shaky breath, the desperation slipping out of his tongue. You rolled your hips once again to help him to reach his climax, crying out at the feeling of his cum slipping out of you, wondering how the fuck you were going to walk out of this room acting like nothing happened, Yoongi’s low moans were enough to make you forget about it. 

You felt like every muscle of your body was on fire, your thighs were shaky and sticky but something made you smile. You rested your head in his chest, feeling his fingers brushing your hair as he sighed. The room became silent, the only sound you could hear was the music outside and your heavy breathing. You stayed like that for a while, he was too content to break the silence.

But curiosity was eating you alive, so you lifted your head and kissed him on the lips, he closed his eyes and kissed you back, having no idea what you were going to say next. 

“Bubba, are you jealous?” You finally asked him. He opened his eyes like you just said a forbidden word. 

“What?” He murmured, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Don’t look at me like that!” You laughed

“Baby, I’m still balls deep inside you, do you think this is time for a conversation?”

“Yeah, why not? I wanted to ask.” You said, playing with the chain that hung around his neck, he huffed. 

“I’m not, why would I be? Why should I be?” He started questioning, the words slipping out of his mouth like he couldn’t control them. 

“Don’t lie to me” You warned. 

“Jealous of who?” He asked, avoiding your gaze. 

“Of Kevin!”

He stayed in silence for a while, and then his eyes came back home to yours, looking at you with the funniest expression, trying so hard not to snap. For a moment you thought he was about to lie again. 

“And what if I am?” 

“I knew it!” You exclaimed before he could retract himself “But why?”

“What, I can’t? I don't want other guys to be looking at your tits. Is that so wrong?” 

Your hands came up to cover your chest, furrowing your eyebrows “He wasn’t looking at them…”

“He was, baby. I know because I was looking at them too.”

“Oh my god, Yoongi...” You complained, why did he always have to make your cheeks burn red?

“Don’t Yoongi-me...”

“He wasn’t, but that was not the point.”

“What is it, then?” 

“That you don’t have to feel jealous of him.” You almost whispered. 

“Then why did he say that you never mentioned me?” He asked. In that moment you could see a different layer of Yoongi, one that didn’t use words to hide what he was really feeling, he couldn’t find a way to ask that question in any other way than to be direct. 

“I have known him for only two months, bubba.” You explained “He barely knows anything about me, I told him nothing about me. But I’m sure he likes me and said that to upset you, don’t pay attention to him.”  

“Only two months?” He asked.

“Yes, he helped me with that failed exam that made me cry. We always talk about school, but tonight was different, I don’t know why.” 

Yoongi looked like he was thinking about it, processing your words and changing his mood. You were right, there was no need to be upset. After all, all your friends knew him and loved him. His face softened.

“And besides, I only want you.” He stared at you from above. He was face to face with you and yet  he was so blind to see what you wanted. He was the only guy who could have you like that yet he still got jealous of someone you never thought about. 

You thought about Yoongi all the time when he was gone. You thought about him when you were cooking, wishing he was there to taste your food. You thought about him when you passed by the music store, when you see a fluffy brown dog down the street or when you hear the sound of the piano in a movie. 

You thought he knew all this stuff, but he was unaware of all of it, even if he was the only person you allowed to be inside you and have a conversation at the same time. 

“You do?” He asked.

“Yeah, pretty much. I mean, look at me, You know I don’t do these things with other boys.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Then stop pouting!” 

He laughed with you and shut you up with a short but sweet kiss. 

“Stop scolding me.” He whispered against your lips. 

“You need to be scolded sometimes.”

“Get up, let me clean you up.”

You sat on your bed before leaving the room, staring at yourself in the mirror, wondering if you were presentable to go out. Then, you remembered something.

“What did you get me?” You asked him. “Tonight you said you got me something.”  He nodded, remembering the gift. He stood up from the bed and looked for something in the drawer of your nightstand. He took out a thin but long black box and handed it to you without saying anything. “Did you hide it in my drawer?”

“Yes, when I arrived.”

You opened the box to find a golden necklace with three white pearls in the middle, it was the same necklace you were ogling in the store where you bought Nayeon’s ring. He came back and picked it for you. 

You stared at him with the sweetest look you could ever give him and jumped right into his arms to hug him. 

“You’re the cutest” You said between giggles “Thank you, it’s beautiful. I love it”

“Of course you do, I saw you in the store about to go bankrupt  to buy it. I couldn’t let that happen.” He laughed. He knew you so well. 

“And people think you aren’t sweet.”

“Don’t tell anybody about it.” He joked, hugging your waist and pressing a kiss to your lips “No one can know.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect your bad guy reputation.” 

Yoongi and you left the room acting like nothing happened, you sang happy birthday to a drunk Nayeon and ate the cake you made for her, everyone liked it, including Yoongi, who ate two pieces. 

Kevin didn’t try anything anymore, not after Yoongi kissed you in front of him, he got the idea. Nayeon gave you a funny look when he saw you again after half an hour, like she knew a secret she wasn’t supposed to know. 

Everyone left except Yoongi and Jungkook. You decided to clean the apartment the next day. Jungkook slept in Nayeon’s bedroom on a spare mattress and Yoongi followed you to yours to change into his pajamas and prepare to sleep another night in your one person bed. 

“I’m gonna buy you a bigger bed for your birthday,” He said, hugging you from behind “we can’t keep sleeping like this.” 

“I’m afraid we have to, a bigger bed won’t fit in this room.” 

You secretly loved sharing your small bed with him, there was no way for him to escape from you and the only comfortable position to sleep in was spooning. 

“That sucks.”

“But I like spooning.” You confessed.

“We can spoon in a bigger bed.”

You laughed, grabbing the hand he had on your waist and bringing it closer to your chest. He buried his face on your hair, attempting to fall asleep, only then you allowed yourself to step inside your mind. The rational you made an appearance and got informed about the events that happened during her absence.

Even pressed against him on the bed you felt like there was an abyss between the two of you and the things you wanted. The rational you did a list of them: firstly, you didn’t do “casual”, you never did, you didn’t like it. Yet, there you were, wrapped around some guy’s arms, waiting for him to tell you he was ready to be serious about you. 

You enjoyed the night, you didn’t want those thoughts to cloud your mind, but it’s almost impossible to stop them. A version of you that you never met was created in your head as you allowed those thoughts to wander in it. She looked like a nightmare, like someone you wanted to erase, a version of you who waits for someone to love her or leave her, not really sure what the man she loved was going to choose to do, not really sure of anything at all. You start to feel embarrassed, wondering if this is the view your friends had of you, if Nayeon or Jungkook saw the way Yoongi had you saving a spot he wasn’t sure if he wanted.

You were about to be dragged into one of the deepest places of your mind but then, his deep voice reached your ears, making all those ugly thoughts disappear in a second. 

“You know that you’re the only one I want too, right?” He asked, referring to the previous conversation you had.  Did you know? You felt like it was news to you. 

“Now I know.” You answered. He kissed your cheek and said something before falling asleep.

“Now you know.” 

You found it funny how Yoongi was the one to blame for all those thoughts but also the only one who could make them disappear. You fell asleep right after him, deciding not to torture yourself with any more questions, at least for tonight. 

.・゜-: ✧ :-

you sigh a great deal in your life, but none of them compare to the way your chest heaves when you find yourself doing something you know you’ll regret. it’s never a shock that these regretful choices often accompany a certain white-haired man.

the pitch black darkness of your room is pierced by a beam of bright light from your phone screen, your tired eyes reading over the message once. twice. three times.

gojo 🤑: hey can i ask for a favor? pleaseeeeee?????? 🙇‍♂️🙏🙇‍♂️🙏🙇‍♂️🙏 im begging you 😫😫

you groan, tossing your phone to the side to run your hand down your face, letting your fingers catch on the soft skin around your eyes. despite the many years you’ve known him, your hand still trembles as you type out your response, another sigh escaping your lips.

you: what the fuck is it now

the urge to slam your head into the nearest wall makes your neck twitch, the ghost of the movement lingering over your body. why did you even bother asking?

gojo 🤑: i knew you’d say yes 😁 you just love me SO much come to my place tomorrow early too better be there before sunrise

you:  i’m going to kill you for this one satoru 

setting down your phone, you will yourself to close your eyes and forget about the man who’s been the cause for all your inner turmoil lately.

to be honest, he’s been the cause of your inner turmoil for the past year and a half, as pathetic as that may be. it’s not your fault he’s handsome, charming, funny, reliable—the list goes on. sure, he can be slightly immature at times, and he often shies away from commitment, but who doesn’t have flaws, right?

you squeezed your eyes shut even harder, trying to clear your mind of all things gojo.

the thing with love is that, at its worst, it can stay a secret for years and years to come. you can pine and yearn for someone so terribly, every fiber in your body craves them, and they would never know. you never have to tell them anything. that choice alone is what has put you in your recent predicament.

if life was black and white, perhaps you could have stopped being friends with him the moment you noticed the way your heart raced at the mere thought of him. but things don’t work like that and, frankly, you think gojo would hunt you down if you even tried to cut him off.

you’ve tried to rid yourself of this 190cm lanky demon several times over the course of your life, however you’ve been unsuccessful every single time. when you met him 14 years ago, you didn’t think satoru gojo would become your best friend. in fact, you found him annoying, like a pesky mosquito that refused to leave you alone no matter how hard you swatted at him.

the two of you had your fair share of fights growing up, some lasting mere hours, others stretching on over the course of a couple days. despite that, you both managed to make up and forgive each other no matter what. 

you had believed then, as a hurting teenager, that one of your more serious arguments would eventually drive you both apart. after all, the similarities between you both were few and far between. for some reason entirely unknown to you, your scathing words never pushed him away.

and now that it's been 14 years, you’ve grown too fond of him to be able to imagine a life without him. 

so, you’re forced to swallow back the way your feelings crawl to the back of your throat when you’re with him, resting at the tip of your tongue, because you know he’d never see you as anything more than a friend. 

hell, it was obvious. the two of you have done everything you could possibly do as a couple: go on amusement park “dates”, spend hours in the arcade together. he’s even insisted on cuddling, changing in front of one another, sharing a bed. yet, gojo has never seemed to look at you any differently. 

and none of it ever bothered you either—until last year, when you saw him in a different light nearly overnight. in comparison to all else you had done with him, this was absolutely minuscule, but it's the reason gojo takes up so much of your thoughts even now. 

you had come over to his apartment. it was a saturday and every saturday, he insisted the both of you hang out. when you met him as a dumb little kid, it was easy to hang out whenever you both pleased. things are obviously different now that you both have responsibilities. 

being busy with university and your part-time job, you and gojo began to see less and less of each other. still, saturday evenings stayed dedicated to your long-standing friendship. that day, your shift at the grocery store was particularly grueling: loud babies wailing, irritable customers screaming in your face. to top it all off, you had a headache and had to skip lunch. safe to say, you were exhausted. 

you got to gojo’s house, knocking on the door, almost falling asleep against the wood. he didn't greet you. in fact, he wasn't even home. this wasn't uncommon, you simply pulled out your spare key and walked inside, making a beeline for his couch and letting your body sink into the soft cushions. the guy was unbelievably rich for a university student—not that you were complaining. 

you wanted to stay awake, wait for him so you could follow through with your usual saturday shenanigans, but you just couldn’t. 

the couch was awfully comfortable, cradling your fatigued body, lulling you to sleep. your eyes fought against the instinct to close, but ultimately, you lost and gave in. darkness enveloped you as your head fell back. it was a rather uncomfortable position, but at that moment, you didn’t have enough energy to care. 

you fell asleep in mere minutes, and because he has the worst timing, gojo showed up seconds after you had bid goodbye to consciousness. 

to this day, you’re still unsure if you had dreamt it, or maybe you had jolted back into a state of semi-awareness when your noisy friend barged in with a loud, “honey! i’m home!". what you’re sure of, is the fact that he had moved you. while drifting in and out of sleep, you felt his cold hands press into the muscle of your arms as he laid you down, moving you into a much more comfortable position. 

perhaps you were still in the throes of deep sleep, sinking into pillowy clouds in your dreams and that’s why you conjured up this moment. it might not have happened at all. or…perhaps gojo did lean over you, his warmth spilling over your cheek as he pressed his lips to your forehead. they were slightly chapped as they brushed against your skin, and you felt the gust of air as he sighed his goodnight.

you wonder if he had smiled. 

it wasn’t like gojo had never been affectionate with you before. in fact, you’re pretty sure physical touch is one of his love languages with how prone he is to clinging onto you like some parasite. some things, like forehead kisses, are strictly outside the bounds of your friendship.

there’s something so intimate about that gesture, something far more genuine and laced with a kind of devotion that never exists between people who are simply just friends.

the following morning, you wrenched yourself out of his apartment with the excuse that you had to feed your fish. you don’t even own fish. 

the feeling had been so utterly foreign. you couldn’t remember a time when you had ever felt this nervous around gojo—your palms sweaty, a tingling feeling racing up and down your spine. the realization dawned on you the moment you had woken up.

this feeling, which had laid dormant at the bottom of your heart, flickered to life, merging with the very blood that pumps through your veins.

maybe, gojo had always been more than just a friend. more than a best friend, even. 

you don’t know how to face it—the truth about your feelings. you try and fail to move on, try and fail to confess, try and fail.

which is why it wasn’t surprising in any sense that you were awake, before the sun had even graced your city, slipping on your shoes so you could go and see what your best friend wanted from you. 

.・゜-: ✧ :-

“you have a what?”

gojo snorts, rolling his eyes, “why’d you say that like i asked you to get naked or something? listen: i have some errands to run and i need you to look after this kid of mine.”

you’re struggling to wrap your head around everything he just laid onto you. even if the only new information was that he, seemingly overnight, got himself a kid. how did satoru gojo end up with a child in his care?

you sputter, trying to come up with something to say. “since when did you have a kid?”

“i adopted him a few days ago, saved him from some family stuff. anyways, can you look after him or not?”

you really hate yourself for saying yes, but you say yes, and suddenly you’re sitting on the couch with the world’s grumpiest child next to you. it’s been a few minutes since gojo’s left to do god knows what, and neither of you have said a word. you expected megumi to get off the couch and go do his thing, while you figure out how to look after him, but he stayed glued to the spot gojo called him to.

“so…how old are you?”

silence. 

“i’m twenty-two, just like satoru.”

more silence.

you probably wouldn’t have known his name had it not been for gojo telling you. 

you sigh—he clearly doesn’t like you. it stings a little bit, you liked to tell yourself that you’re the type of person kids naturally gravitate towards, but clearly there are exceptions. 

“what’s your…favorite color?” you try once more, and again, it’s met with silence. the boy hasn’t even looked at you, staring straight ahead, preoccupied with something else. 

“well, mine is probably blue. i think it’s such a nice color—like the ocean and the sky. and there’s so many shades, but lighter blues are especially gorgeous,” you ramble, feeling a bit embarrassed. 

he lets out a breath through his nose, and you perk up, waiting for his response. “i like pink. do you like blue because it reminds you of gojo’s eyes?”

you laugh, perhaps a bit too loud. out of all the things he could have said, you certainly weren’t expecting that. 

waving your hands in front of you, you try to shrug off his question, “no, it’s nothing like that! he’s just my best friend.”

megumi nods, but something tells you he doesn’t believe you. you can’t believe you got bested by a six-year-old. shaking your head, you interrogate him some more about his hobbies, and megumi responds with one word answers. eventually, the two of you settle on reading him some non-fiction book that you’re surprised even interests him.

as the hours stretch on, megumi warms up to you a little more. or something like that. he’s started asking you more about yourself, and even let you inside his room, showing you his growing collection of books about animals. 

he’s strangely interested in your relationship with gojo: asking how you two met, why you wanted to be friends with him. whenever you give him your answer (some bullshit you make up on the spot because—really. why are you still friends with an idiot like him?), he hums like he’s learned some fundamental truth about you. 

honestly, the kid scares you a little bit and it makes perfect sense that he ended up with satoru gojo as his parent. 

speaking of: the fact that gojo was even allowed to adopt him in the first place makes you question everything you ever knew about him. then again, there’s always the possibility that this was by no means a legal adoption. he did say megumi was saved from some family troubles, and knowing your best friend of several years, this very well entails kidnapping. 

you furrow your brows, looking over at the six-year-old doodling some large fluffy dogs, “did gojo just scoop you up off the street?”

“something like that.”

well. that’s alarming. 

when gojo gets back, he doesn’t really offer you much of an explanation as to how or why he suddenly has a kid. you were naive for thinking you would get one at all. instead, he tucks megumi into bed, sits you down at his dinner table, and shares some of the takeout he brought home with you. 

you expected that to be the last time you’d be babysitting megumi.

but then you’re back in two days, and then the day after that as well. and then the day after that too. 

now, you’re a good friend who loves helping out your friends, and you’re a good samaritan who will provide your aid where it’s needed. in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t even that terrible of an arrangement. you could definitely live like this.

but then it’s been a week of being called to babysit, and you definitely can’t live like this.

you don’t have the heart to look gojo in the eyes and tell him you can’t do this anymore, so you keep going. love makes people do crazy things, even if it’s ignoring pending assignments so you could color dogs with a grumpy little boy.

you rub the sleep out of your eyes, yawning as you get dressed, “why don’t you get an actual babysitter? i doubt i’m being a good influence.”

of course, your academics are your top priority. but you can’t help but think about how megumi might turn out if the only people he seems to be surrounded by are you, and your impulsive, borderline insane best friend. 

gojo’s voice crackles over the phones as he laughs, “you see, i would. but megumi keeps asking for you- actually, he insists that it has to be you.”

maybe, you’re just being dramatic. this isn’t that bad anyways. 

this time when you step into the gojo household, your beloved best friend already has one foot out the door. normally, he lingers, giving you both sickly sweet goodbyes, scooping up a struggling megumi into his arm to plant a big wet kiss on his cheek. 

he offers you one too, which you quickly decline. 

“i won’t be back until really late today,” satoru grimaces, pulling the door shut only for you to pull it back open.

you pout, slightly alarmed, “but satoru, i have an essay to work on!”

“just use my laptop!” he shouts as he runs off. you wonder how he has the time to do any of his own assignments. 

you figure he’s probably out meeting with his model UN group. it’s one of the few academic pursuits in his life that gojo is very serious about. either that, or he actually took up the tutoring offer from nanami (but you highly doubt that).

megumi has yet to wake up, so you go on a hunt for gojo’s laptop to start on your essay. might as well be productive while you have the chance to. 

you find it resting on his desk in his bedroom, and bring it over to the living room. it’s only when you open it up that you find out it’s password locked. you try texting gojo, but something tells you he won’t be responding. 

if you can’t guess the password, then you have to begrudgingly start your essay on your phone, which sounds like a nightmare.

your first guess is his own birthday. satoru has a habit of acting like his birth reset the course of planet earth, so it wouldn’t surprise you if that was also his password. surprisingly, you’re wrong. and you’re wrong about it being geto’s birthday, or megumi’s birthday (which you only learned recently), and even your own birthday. 

you’ve definitely ruled out the possibility of it ever being nanami’s birthday, which leads you to believe it isn’t a birthday at all. bringing your hands together, you steeple your fingers and bring them under your chin; trying to think like gojo is hurting your brain.

clearly this isn't working out. gojo's an enigma and trying to put yourself in his shoes is making you lose what few brain cells you've managed to save. 

so, you make your way into his poorly guarded room.

you tend to keep a safe distance away from his bedroom for obvious reasons—lord knows what gojo has lying around—so it feels strange to open the door and step inside. 

your first impression is one of surprise at how clean it was. knowing his tendency to leave many of his chores untouched or half-completed, you expected his room to be a reflection of his laziness, but you can actually see the floor. his bed is made and his dirty clothes lay in a hamper in the corner, clean clothes folded and placed off to the side on his bed. 

his desk is a tad cluttered with random trinkets, many of which you recognize from your countless adventures with him, but it’s organized enough.

“okay, if i was satoru, what would i make my password?” you whisper just under your breath as your eyes continue to scan and scrutinize his room. 

you walk up to a few post-it notes stuck on the wall, hoping that one of them might be his password. you remember the amount of times gojo’s gotten locked out of his email, social media, and other things—it would only make sense for him to write passwords down.

unfortunately for you, all of them are reminders to take out the trash. 

pulling out the chair tucked into his desk, you take a seat, sprawling out as you continue to take in his room. growing up, you spent hours upon hours cooped up in satoru’s room. the two of you spent your time playing video games, watching tv shows you were definitely too young for, and talking about everything and nothing. 

when you got bored of his room, the both of you would do the same thing in your room. 

somewhere along the years, you stopped hanging out in each others’ rooms. you suppose it’s only natural—your bedroom goes from being a place to sleep to a clear insight into the way you live your life. 

gojo’s room lacks the mess you would’ve expected, but it’s still obviously his room from the several polaroids stuck to the wall, the kikufuku wrappers on his desk, and the growing collection of mugs accumulating on the nightstand. 

it makes you smile, despite the fact that the several mugs are nothing short of disgusting. next to them is a framed picture. you never took satoru for someone who’s sentimental, and out of sheer curiosity, you walk over to see what it is. 

your smile only widens as you realize it's a picture of you and him from when you were young. you recognize the park the two of you are at instantly: it was where you both met. you were both only just kids back then. he basically ran into you and felt guilty, so he offered to hang out with you since you apparently looked lonely. you took offense, obviously, and told him to leave you alone. 

he did not and suddenly you found yourself with a new friend. gojo forced himself into your life and after a few short days, you decided he wasn’t all that bad. the picture was taken by his mom, before the both of you parted ways, only to immediately find out you lived across from each other.

you flip the frame over, surprised to find a date scribbled in the corner. from the year alone, you figure it was the day the picture was taken. realizing you may have stumbled across his password, you rush back to his laptop to try it. 

lo and behold, it worked.

you sit there for a moment, desperately trying not to read into what you just found out. surely, there’s nothing more to this than satoru choosing a date for a password. he probably didn’t want to go with a birthday since it would be too obvious, so he picked another date instead. 

shaking the annoyingly hopeful thoughts crowding your mind, you quickly begin working on your essay.

you only get halfway through your essay before megumi joins you, silent as always, but from the way he’s side-eyeing you it’s obvious he wants your attention. you spend the rest of the day with him as you usually would, reading and drawing, sharing bits and pieces about your life.

somehow the conversation spirals to when you and gojo met, and you’re not sure if you’re still hung up over his password, but you find your voice shaking a little as you recount the many things you’ve done with him.

eventually, as the sun begins to set, you get dinner ready and eat on the couch with megumi by your side. some random cartoon show is playing on tv, but megumi seems much more interested in mimicking the way you’re forking pasta into your mouth. 

he helps you clean up, and shuffles in next to you on the couch once more. you don’t remember megumi falling asleep, or when you fell asleep as well.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

when you wake up, you're surrounded by warmth. it feels like you're sinking into something akin to moist, spongy cake. the sunlight melts over your closed eyes, and you flutter them open, blinded by white very briefly as you get used to the daytime once more. 

and then you notice gojo laying next to you, elbow pressed into the mattress as he holds his head up with his palm, obviously shirtless and staring down at you. all the air in your lungs escapes you quickly, getting tangled in your throat as you choke. 

you frantically point at his torso, and the bed the two of you were sharing, "what- you- what?"

he laughs and it does little to calm you, "don't worry, we didn't do anything.

“i didn't want to leave you on the couch after i pried megumi away to send him off to school."

he shrugs off the comforter, making your thrashing heart slow down at the sight of his sweatpants. you can feel your own clothes from last night on you: your uncomfortable jeans and an old cotton and polyester t-shirt. 

you frown, following him, "megumi goes to school?"

"yeah?" he says, while your eyes flit all over his chest. "he's six, what else would he be doing?"

you decide not to comment on the fact that megumi hasn’t been attending school for the past couple days, trusting that gojo knew what he was doing. that’s probably a mistake but it’s not your problem to worry about. 

the two of you file out of his bedroom, and you scroll through your phone while waiting for him to leave the bathroom. 

"i can't believe megumi slept with you last night. and on top of that, he was clinging onto you like a dumb koala."

you could barely understand gojo with his toothbrush shoved in his mouth, but you could make out enough to respond with a smug smirk, "sorry that i'm better at this than you are."

"i'm telling you—it's the maternal instincts!" he huffs, walking back into the bathroom with the slam of the door. "do you have any idea how hard it was to pull him away from you in the morning?"

he's yelling from inside the bathroom, and you roll your eyes as he keeps complaining. 

"i basically got in my morning work out! and then-!" he starts again, this time opening the door, wiping his face with a small towel, "that little shit had the audacity to start wailing when i carried you off to the bedroom

"whining about how you were his or whatever," gojo trails off, his voice getting quieter as he begins to mumble. "as if i didn't know you first."

you feel your chest tighten as your heart swells; it's surprising how quickly you've grown attached to the little kid. for all his efforts, he was actually pretty clingy.

a laugh bubbles up your throat, the corners of your mouth twitching up with amusement as you come to a realization.

"gojo...are you jealous of a little kid?"

he gives you an incredulous look, scoffing in offense, "gojo? you mean satoru—first of all."

the laugh you've been holding back bursts past your lips, escaping you as you shut the door in his face. 

"second of all," he shouts, "no. i am not jealous of some kid!"

"i beg to differ!" you call out, and he doesn't respond. you enjoy the silence: this feels good. this feels domestic, and natural, and good. 

it makes your stomach twist when you realize that gojo is nothing more than a good friend. and he'd never see you as anything more than that. 

"what do you want for breakfast?" he asks suddenly, and you clear your thoughts. 

"nothing, coffee is fine."

"okay, no. i’m making waffles," he hums and you can hear him walk away, his footsteps making the ground shake. 

you go about your business in the bathroom, exiting a few seconds later to meet gojo in the kitchen. he's busy gathering ingredients, setting everything down onto the marble counters as he hums a song you recognize as one you introduced him to. 

leaning against the cool counter, you begin to speak, "you know the heart attack you gave me today morning?"

he responds by turning around, giving you a wolfish grin, which you pointedly ignore. 

"why didn't you leave me on the couch anyway?"

this was the first time gojo has ever made an effort to pick you up and move you somewhere else, let alone his own bed. you've slept over multiple times before, and always woke up on the couch. 

he stills, hesitating for a moment and you can feel the air almost pause. 

"and what? leave you to complain at me about how you slept weird?"

he brushed off the question, both you and him know that. but you let it go, opting for admiring your best friend, and crush, work the kitchen. 

gojo isn't the best cook, certainly not better than you, but he can hold his own. that being said, gojo's a messy cook and always leaves the kitchen like a hurricane swept through it. 

he looks good, but then again, the moments where he looks even mediocre are few and far between. his sweatpants hang low on his hips, and the watery sun from the cloudy sky outside spreads over his back and his porcelain hair like it's meant to be shining on him at all times. 

you come around the side of the kitchen, hoisting yourself up onto the counter gojo was working on, allowing your gaze to settle on the curve of his nose and the way his lips were parted with focus. his eyes seem to take on an almost mystical glow—vivid cerulean irises flitting from the different bowls laid out in front of him. 

"take a picture, princess, it'll last longer," he mutters with a ghost of a smirk. 

"you're so annoying."

his boisterous laugh takes up the whole room, and you bite your lip, looking down at your swinging feet. 

he calms down and pours the batter into the warmed up waffle maker, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth with focus, "you know, it took megumi weeks to warm up to me. he's not shy but...he's kind of picky with people."

this surprises you. 

sure, when you first met him, megumi wasn't the kindest. but it didn't take you long to break him out of his shell. he wasn't the most talkative, but it was the little things: when he leaned into your side while you sat beside him, when he mimicked the way you had eaten. 

megumi is observant and mimicry is the sincerest form of flattery. 

"i hadn't noticed..." you finally say, trailing off. 

gojo exhales something of a laugh, "that's because he loves you."

"i think 'love' is pushing it-"

"no, no! you should've seen him today, bitching and moaning about how i'm making him leave you."

he rolls his eyes with a groan, muttering to himself in annoyance. 

you smirk, pointing at his face to make a quip about him rolling his eyes, when someone begins to bang on the front door. 

there's a quick, rapid succession of knocks, and then: "satoru! where are you?! you have class!"

you don't give gojo the chance to speak before you're jumping off the counter, rushing over to open the door. 

geto stands with his hands shoved in his pockets, brows furrowed until he realizes it's you who's opened the door, and not his perpetually tardy friend. 

"y/n, nice to see you," he smiles, bending down to meet your gaze. you flush, involuntarily. 

though your affection may lie with gojo, geto was still every bit as charming, and then some. 

you move out of the way, giving him the space to step into gojo's lavish flat. his sneakers squeak against the tile of the entrance as he stops next to you. 

"good to see you too, suguru," you grin back, wrapping your arms around your waist. 

he shuffles a bit closer to you, and you don't hesitate to lean against him, suddenly tired. geto moves with ease as he slips an arm around you, bringing you into his side. 

"i don't have class today, you know that."

gojo comes into view from around the kitchen, his eyes immediately fixating on the way suguru has you within his grasp. he visibly stiffens, eyes darkening in a way you haven’t seen before. he wears a kind of neutral look that you can’t understand.

suguru, on the other hand, simply raises an eyebrow, "are you sure about that? today is tuesday, not wednesday."

and this time when gojo stills, it's not with some unreadable expression that confuses you—it's with shock. he scrambles to pull out his phone from the pocket of his sweats, glancing at the date before letting out a string of curses. 

"c'mere," he gestures at you, then ultimately decides to pull you away, his hand closing around your wrist. 

you let gojo drag you into the kitchen, ignoring the way your skin burns at his touch, and he turns to you with an apologetic smile. he's stumbling out his words, hands gripping your upper arms as he speaks. "i can't be marked late by the professor again, or else i'm gonna be in so much trouble."

it’s beyond you why the two of you had to walk into the kitchen for him to divulge this information. and it’s certainly beyond you why gojo had let his fingers linger around your wrist, and on your upper arms. you ignore it, however, as you move towards the sleek, black keurig and turn it on.

geto walks into the kitchen then, shooing a very reluctant gojo to go get dressed. he moves over to grab you a mug for your coffee, which you graciously thank him for since gojo had a habit of leaving everything you needed tucked away in unusually high cabinets.

you set it under the coffee maker, waiting for the dark liquid to fill the cup. tendrils of steam spill out the sides of the mug, the kitchen filling up with the scent of the bitter drink. to your side, geto’s leaning against the counter, watching you with a soft smile. you meet his eyes with a curious stare, raising your eyebrows.

“something on my face, suguru?”

he laughs, warm and deep, shaking his head, “nothing at all.” he slides closer, reaching around you to grab a spoon before grabbing the creamer for you. “why’d you spend the night anyway? did that idiot bug you to study with him?”

you scoff at the thought of your ‘study’ sessions with gojo; they always devolve into the both of you watching a movie, your work forgotten on the floor. 

“nope,” you answer, pouring some of the creamer into your coffee, “i was babysitting his…kid.”

geto’s eyes widen ever so slightly, the only indicator of him acknowledging what you said. you open your mouth to say something more, but gojo comes running out of his room, jacket half-on. he eyes your closeness to geto suspiciously, before motioning for his friend to follow him with a wave of his hand. 

before they leave, gojo walks over to where you’re standing in the kitchen, grinning at you so sweetly. you know he wants something from you.

“would you– like to stay for dinner? with megumi and i?” he asks, voice just a hair above a whisper. had you not been standing so close to him, you might not have heard him at all. his expression remains sincere for a moment more before it morphs into an exaggerated pout.

“please?” he begs, dragging out the word just to irritate you.

“put that fucking pout away and i might agree.”

he takes that as a yes, pulling you into a hug that nearly spills the coffee out of your mug. “i’ll see you then,” he mumbles into your hair, arms wrapped tightly around your waist like you’d float away should he let go.

geto slams a hand against the wall, reminding gojo of his presence, “hurry it up, unless you wanna be late.”

you wave them both out, gojo blowing a kiss your way which you pretend to catch and stomp on. the action elicits a laugh from geto which earns him a shoulder punch from the taller of the two. they begin bickering as they walk away and you watch fondly, heart aching for something you know you’re never getting.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

when gojo gets back from class, he arrives with megumi in tow. the young boy stumbles inside, shrugging off his backpack as soon as he makes it in. you had let yourself in a few moments earlier, knowing gojo would be home soon. you wanted to help with dinner.

megumi notices you seated on the couch and approaches you slowly, giving you a short wave. you return the gesture just as gojo walks over to meet you both, large hands resting atop megumi’s head.

“ready for dinner?”

you nod your head, getting up, “i’m helping.”

“i figured,” he laughs, leading the way into the kitchen. you watch as he puts on the stupid apron shoko had gotten him as a gag gift a few years ago. ‘kiss the cook!’ is printed in red cursive on the front with kiss marks and red hearts around it.

gojo catches you looking at the words, leaning closer while pointing at his lips. “well? you read the apron, angel.”

you try not to put much meaning into the pet name and scoff, shoving him away. “are aprons suddenly law or something?”

“not all of them, but this one is.”

“oh yeah? and what’s so special about this one, satoru?” you ask, getting ingredients out from the fridge, the necessary produce needed for dinner tonight. 

“i said so.”

“in your dreams, dumbass.”

he grins, wide and yielding as he steps closer to where you’ve cozied up in a corner. you take a deep breath, trying to slow your heart thrashing against your ribcage. though his attention should be elsewhere, his eyes remain glued to your own. you turn around, back facing him.

it’s a precautionary measure because you’re sure that you’d make a mistake, staring at him the way you were. 

his chest presses against your back, the warmth of his body seeping through the cotton of his shirt and you can’t quite stop yourself from relaxing against him. 

“where did i put it?” he mumbles to himself, searching the cupboards above you. he doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about the fact that he’s crowding you against the counter, one arm resting on the marble countertop, caging you against him.

gojo pulls away rather abruptly, the feeling of him disappearing as soon as you had gotten used to it. “guess it’s not there after all,” he says, swiftly moving over to another cupboard to check. 

you, however, have a hand pressed to your heart, feeling it nearly beat out of your chest. 

megumi joins you both in the kitchen shortly after, and gojo brings him up to sit on some free counter space while the both of you maneuver around each other in the kitchen. you can feel megumi watching you as you hand things over to gojo, freezing when his fingers brush yours. you know he’s watching when gojo reaches around you for something, pressing himself against you.

you wait for the water in the pot to come to a simmer, softly humming the chorus of a song over and over again. eventually, megumi picks up on the repetition, humming along with you. it brings a smile to your face and you can’t resist pinching his little cheek. 

you’re too busy cooing at megumi (whose face has gone red from embarrassment) to notice gojo watching you both, leaning down, his cheek propped up by his arm resting on the counter. there’s a warmth in his gaze that you always seem to miss, this barely restrained desire to know you better than he knows himself.

he sighs wistfully, which gets your attention and as you turn, he’s walking closer. you let him wrap his arms around you, looking into your eyes for just a brief moment. his gaze is cloudy, like he’s wrapped up in his own head—your own pining reflected back to you. it startles you; you long to look inside his mind.

“this is really nice,” gojo hums, resting his chin on your shoulder. “we should do this more often.”

you can only nod in agreement, everything you want to say sticking to the roof of your mouth, sugar exploding along your tongue like a caramel candy. 

you swallow them down, deciding to keep them to yourself for a little longer. gojo squeezes you to his chest, then untangles himself from you. you watch him get back to cooking and you wonder if his heart is also racing, the blood rushing to his head, roaring in his ears. 

there's a whisper of something painful in the back of your mind. you ignore it.

seconds ago, you were close enough to share a breath. yet, when you watch him now, you feel as though you’ll always be miles apart.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

it’s been a few days since you’ve started babysitting megumi. you fell so easily into their routine, like you were always meant to be a part of it. and when you listen to gojo complain about how megumi likes you more, you begin to believe that you were. 

you fiddle with the keys to gojo’s car as you stand just outside of megumi’s school, waiting for the hordes of children to come running out. tired mothers sit on the few benches next to the entrance, rehashing the same gossip most likely. fathers stand possessively in front of their cars, arms crossed over their chest as they wait. 

it’s cold. the wind brings a chill that sweeps over you and makes a few strands of your hair flutter, landing in a mess covering your eyes. you blow them out of the way, tapping your foot impatiently. 

megumi’s school is rather small: just one main building, single-storied. in the back, you think there’s a garden, judging by the chain link fencing colored green thanks to the growing ivy wrapped around it. 

wreathes and small christmas trees are placed strategically along the sidewalk and on the walls outside, fairy lights strung from the roof of the school. the announcement board outside features a santa claus cutout smiling joyfully. the school is covered in christmas decorations as they prepare for the upcoming holidays, only a week and a half away.

you briefly wonder what gojo’s plans are, whether he’ll be taking megumi home to his family. you highly doubt it—satoru would hate to be on the receiving end of a stream of endless questions. how was he meant to explain megumi anyway?

along with that thought, comes another: would megumi miss his family over the holidays? 

you don’t know much about the boy at all, neither megumi himself nor gojo bothered to explain his past. however, it must be a pretty stark change to suddenly be under the care of a college student, especially one as eccentric as gojo. 

the clock ticks down to a minute before the end of the school day. a large crowd of children stand waiting behind the closed gates, squealing and screaming, waving frantically at their parents waiting for them.

you hear the bell ring and the gate opens, kids flooding out like a rush of water breaking past a dam. their little legs slam against the pavement as they race for their families. you keep an eye out for megumi, knowing that he wouldn’t be the type to behave so rambunctiously. 

it doesn’t take long for you to spot the top of his head, his spiky raven hair moving slowly behind a gaggle of loud children. megumi looks around aimlessly, probably for nanami who normally picks him up. his friend next to him, a pink-haired boy, grins at him and says something you can’t make out.

he must be loud, you notice, as megumi winces from the noise. his gaze eventually makes its way to you, and you watch as recognition flashes across his features. eyebrows raised and eyes wide, megumi makes a mad dash towards you, plowing down his friend in the process.

the sight of the pink-haired boy rolling around on the sidewalk makes you gasp, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your laughter at bay. megumi slows down dramatically when you wave to him, struggling to appear indifferent to your presence. it’s insanely endearing.

“hi megumi,” you smile, reaching out a hand to brush over the unruly strands of his hair. megumi wrinkles his nose at the feeling of your fingers smoothing over his scalp, but he returns your greeting.

“hello. where’s nanami?”

the abruptness of the question barely phases you. you’re used to megumi’s bluntness.

“well…satoru forgot to tell nanami to get you today, so i showed up instead,” you answer, leading megumi towards gojo’s car. 

you barely had the opportunity to really take in this car on your way to the school, borderline speeding so you wouldn’t show up late. curse you for falling asleep for too long. everything about it screamed gojo, from the color to the model (appropriately flashy for a very flashy guy). it’s not your kind of car by any means.

you grab megumi’s backpack while he clambers into the backseat, hopping up onto the booster seat placed on the right. the bright orange flames decorating the fabric is a pretty strong indicator that gojo bought this thing without consulting megumi. handing him back his backpack, you climb into the driver’s seat.

the drive is a lot more peaceful when you’re not racing against traffic lights and skating just under the speed limit. you think of the last time you were in this car—it was too long ago for you to be able to recall.

stopped at a red light, you allow your eyes to wander a bit and explore the front dash. gojo’s placed a small cat figurine in the corner, but aside from that, his car lacks much personality. the only other decorative piece he’s got is a small keychain hanging from the rearview mirror. 

you eye it carefully, wondering why the fraying twine and colorful beads seem so familiar to you. it takes you some time to remember the bracelet you had gifted gojo years ago, in fourth grade. you had spent recess with some other friends of yours, making friendship bracelets. when you went to give gojo the bracelet you made for him, you were met with petty hostility.

he had been upset because you had ditched him, but his grievances were quickly forgotten as soon as you handed over his gift. he wore it every single day until he couldn’t anymore. when you asked about it, satoru explained that the bracelet had come apart. you weren’t surprised: he wore it way too much and that thing was holding on thanks to a flimsy knot you put together as a chubby fingered nine-year-old.

you hadn’t expected him to keep it after that, let alone turn it into a keychain to hang in his car. 

the fact that he had held onto it even after all these years makes your heart flip in a way that you know is dangerous. tightening your grip on the steering wheel, you focus back on driving. 

once you’re back in the apartment, you decide to get started on making megumi some kind of snack to tide him over until dinner rolls around. you watch him rummage around in his backpack, walking over to you with a piece of paper in his hand. 

he tugs on your apron, handing you the paper without a single word of explanation. from a quick glance, you gather that it’s a drawing and you grin, “this is so cute, megumi!”

sure, you didn’t really see it yet, but he doesn’t need to know that. you have to foster creativity in children when they’re young in any way you can, even if it means lying sometimes.

you set aside some strawberries to dice, making a mental note to put the picture up on the fridge. gojo has an abundance of random magnets from all the places he’s visited; might as well put them to good use. 

when you grab the drawing off the counter, really take a look at what’s on it, you almost can’t believe it. for a moment, you wonder if you’re simply projecting your twisted hopes onto this kid’s art piece. 

megumi’s decided to draw himself, standing with his brows furrowed, next to a very long man who you can only assume to be gojo, judging by the white hair and sunglasses. on megumi’s left, is someone in a blue sweater, shorter than gojo. it’s you.

there was clearly an attempt at drawing hands that fell apart into a jumble of squiggles but you get the idea: they’re all holding hands. at the top of the drawing, in large messy handwriting is the title.

“my family.”

megumi runs up to the counter, eyeing you carefully as you take in the drawing. you’re struck with the sudden urge to confess to gojo, convince him to make this boy’s vision a reality. you think he deserves that much.

but your heart aches in a way it never has before—filled with this dreadful yearning for a man you know will never look at you the way you look at him. 

the whispers in the back of your mind come together and someone flickers to life, like the flame appearing from a lighter.

“this is beautiful, megumi,” you whisper, sticking it onto the fridge with a magnet advertising vegas. something malicious squeezes around your lungs, digging it’s claws into your heart but you gulp back the pain. 

megumi is none the wiser, nodding in agreement and waiting patiently for you to hand him his snack. he runs off, taking a seat on the couch and you watch him eat, realizing how sickeningly domestic this whole scene is. 

you hate it. 

hours pass unceremoniously. gojo barges in with a slam of the front door, practically shouting at the top of his lungs.

“there they are, my two favorite people!” he grins, kicking off his shoes. you close your laptop, leaving it on the couch as you get up just in time to dodge gojo’s hug. he stumbles forward onto the couch where you were sitting previously.

while he grumbles about evil you are, you decide to grab the picture megumi brought home. once again, you’re struck by how domestic your actions are, and you hesitate. 

gojo, however, is already making his way over to you, holding megumi captive in his arms. “what’s that?” he asks with a nod of his head.

you turn it around, holding it up to show him and you watch carefully as his eyes flicker from person to person. his grin falls into a gentle smile, somewhat guarded, and he uses his free hand to take the picture from you.

megumi takes this opportunity to launch himself out of gojo’s grasp, scurrying off to his room. you eyes follow him as he disappears behind a wall. when you bring your attention back to gojo, he’s stepped closer to you.

his stare is intense, unwavering, and it directly contrasts with the amused smile he wears. you don’t know what to think—in fact, you can barely think at all. the air is thick with tension, it presses down on your chest until you can barely breathe. 

“it’s a perfect family, don’t you think?” he asks, his gaze softening as he looks down at the drawing. the atmosphere shifts but you still feel breathless, filled with this ache to wrap yourself around him. 

“yeah, it is,” you say, ever so quietly because you’re scared that anything louder would break this feeling. he’s so close, you could close the gap and kiss him right now. 

there’s a crash, a large stack of books laying on the floor, papers scattered everywhere. megumi stands next to it, eyes wide and terrified. his small hands curl into little fists and he takes a deep breath. “didn’t mean to. sorry.”

“it’s okay, megumi,” you reply, swiftly moving to his side. the moment is forgotten, the kiss never shared. “it was an accident.”

he nods, but he stares at you with watery eyes and your heart breaks. scooping him up and into your arms, you walk him out onto the balcony. he tries not to cry, you let him know that it’s okay if he wants to. 

gojo remains standing in the kitchen, the drawing still in his hands. he stares at it for a long while, letting his mind wander to a world where it’s more than just a little kid’s silly art piece.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

you shove the last of your shirts into your suitcase, frowning at the way it bulges out when you zip it shut. it’s the week of christmas, four days before the actual holiday, but you’re only just leaving to go back home. 

megumi’s on break, so is gojo, so you’re not really needed. you wish you were—you miss both of them.

setting the suitcase upright, you go down your checklist of things, making sure you packed everything. you still haven’t mentally prepared to see your extended family, knowing they’ll be chasing after you with questions about your dating life.

‘have you gotten a boyfriend yet?’ 

‘can we expect an engagement soon?’ 

‘any plans for kids?’

it’s all horrible and invasive and you don’t get why any of that matters to them at all. it’s your life, your choices. if you’re not bringing it up yourself, there’s no need to hound you about it every single time you see them.

your phone buzzes in your pocket from a message, and you’re unsurprised to see that it’s from gojo.

gojo 🤑: hey bbg 😳

you: kys  what do u want

gojo 🤑: what are ur christmas plans 🤔

you furrow your brows at the question, wondering why he asked at all. every single year, you always do the same thing.

you: going home…. what else would i be doing genius

gojo 🤑: LAMEEEEE i was gonna ask if u wanted to come over ig but whatever u hate me 😢😢😢

you finish off the conversation, letting him know that you do hate him, and that you need to get back to packing.

knowing his circumstances, you know that gojo is probably staying at home with megumi. he can’t exactly weasel his way out of explaining the fact that he’s managed to adopt a kid. it’s most likely why he asked if you had plans, despite knowing that you do. you know he’s probably feeling lonely—it makes your heart twist and tear. 

you fight the urge to ask him to join you as you drive home.

on megumi’s birthday, gojo proposes that you facetime him. you agree, obviously wanting to see the little boy who’s become so precious to you so quickly. the first thing megumi does upon seeing your face is frown. 

“leave your family. i don’t like gojo.”

you burst into laughter at the sight of your best friend’s face, jaw dropped in a mixture of shock and offense. gojo launches into a rant about how megumi is ungrateful, which only makes the situation funnier. 

megumi, however, finds none of this amusing.

“i love you, megumi,” you say between breaths, “happy birthday!”

“whatever,” he grumbles, but you catch a glimpse of his cheeks reddening as he runs off, leaving you with a still offended gojo.

you watch him shuffle around, propping up his phone against something. “what’s your secret, huh? what do you have that i don’t?”

“i’m just better.”

your smile must be infectious, gojo ditching his deep frown for a grin of his own. his eyes crinkle as you’re met with the whites of his teeth, cheeks bunching up. you can’t stand the effect he has on you, the way you melt into nothing the moment he looks your way.

“i guess you and megumi are just perfect for each other,” he sighs, avoiding your gaze through the call. “it’s cute.”

you’re stunned into silence at his genuine words, and your heart wrenches painfully as you picture the drawing megumi came home with. gojo ends the call quickly, telling you he’s busy. you don’t believe it but you let him leave, allowing yourself some space from him as well.

at one point, he frantically texts you letting you know that he forgot to get megumi a gift, begging for ideas. 

gojo 🤑: I CANRT FINF HIS CHRISARMAS LIADT ANWWER ME THIAS IS AN EMERGYE SOS 🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘🆘

you:  OMFG DO U HAVE AN OFF SWITCH have u tried his room.

gojo 🤑: omg look at u my little genius 🥰

you stare at his messages, finding yourself wishing for his emoji keyboard to glitch out and break. the next text he sends you is a picture of megumi’s wish list. you’re fairly certain that megumi doesn’t believe in santa, but it’s cute that he’s written a list anyway.

they’re all fairly normal: art supplies, animal books, toys you’ve never heard of. but what sticks out is the last bullet point, written neatly. 

gojo 🤑: he wants u to be his family  quick wrap urself up with a bow and mail urself to us 🎁 u would make a cute present 😘😘😘

you disregard gojo’s texts for the time being, focused entirely on megumi’s last wish. the fact that you appeared at all is shocking, considering the fact that you’ve only known him for a little over a week. 

you: yeah i’m wrapping myself up rn

gojo 🤑: pics or it didnt happen 😋

you scoff out a laugh, typing up your response. your mind is still dwindling on the wish list, on megumi in general. he’s quickly taken up residence inside your heart and it feels good to know that you’ve been able to do the same. 

christmas passes slowly, filled with the overwhelming scent of cinnamon spice and heart-warming laughter. of course, you didn’t escape the questions from your extended family. as usual, you brushed them off, eager to get out of the only conversation they seem to want with you.

but you like christmas, and this year, it’s made better by the several pictures gojo’s been sending you of him and megumi. in one, they’re ice-skating. in another, they’re making a gingerbread house. it’s all typical christmas activities but it warms your heart and you want nothing more than to be there with them.

you expect the rest of your holiday break to slip by, nothing special or new. you debated heading home earlier, but decided against it assuming most of your friends already have their respective plans. 

you weren’t expecting gojo to invite you to his new year’s party. in fact, you weren’t expecting him to hold a party at all. as much as he likes parties, gojo’s never one to throw one, especially at his place. 

in retrospect, going was probably a bad idea. if only you knew that before you agreed. 

.・゜-: ✧ :-

this kind of party is one you’re entirely unfamiliar with.

most of the parties you’ve attended never exceeded over ten people, small gatherings of close friends clearing out their busy schedules to hang out together once again like they used to. these kinds of parties are relaxed, you don’t have to dress up, you don’t have to put up a front.

this new year’s party is the kind that coaxes you into a simple black dress, perhaps too short, perhaps too low cut. this kind of party paints your lips a dark berry color that transfers onto your cup, filled with alcohol that burns as it slides down your throat.

this kind of party plays music so loud, it crawls under your skin, seeping into your head. you feel the bass reverberate throughout your chest, forcing your heart to beat faster like adrenaline coursing through your veins.

to say you feel out of your element would be a gross understatement. everyone around you is almost a stranger, wearing features you only vaguely recognize, enough for you to shoot them a smile and a nod as a greeting. 

you examine your hands as you stand leaning against a wall, watching people dance, laugh, shout. you’ve hidden yourself away in the dark (rather pathetic, you think), not knowing how to engage and not really wanting to either. 

“i figured you’d be in some corner,” a gentle hand touches your elbow as shoko squeezes herself past a small group of people to stand next to you.

you smile at her, grateful to find at least one familiar face. “you must not know me at all, shoko, i love dancing with sweaty strangers.” your sarcasm isn’t lost on her and she lets out a laugh, taking a drag from her cigarette. 

you’re surprised that gojo even let her smoke inside, but part of you feels like he’s unaware she’s doing it at all. 

she blows out, tendrils of smoke twisting around you both, invading your senses. shoko looks at you out of the corner of her eye, somewhat relaxed, very curious. “you’re still in love with gojo?”

you blanch at her words, turning to face her though she remains, still regarding you through her peripheral. 

“you’re too easy to read,” she smiles, her posture curved, allowing her to relax against the wall. “i’m surprised you’ve gone this long without telling him.”

it’s probably the alcohol impairing your judgment, but you frown, sighing into your cup. “my alternative is losing him forever, so i can’t exactly be picky.” you don’t intend on letting her into your thoughts this way, even if it’s only a sliver of the way you feel. 

it would’ve been better to brush her off with a joke. shoko doesn’t seem to care, humming, “ i don’t know, i think you’d be in for a surprise.”

“well, i hate surprises.”

time flies by but the night remains young. you’ve loosened up a bit thanks to the alcohol, laughing freely, no longer worried about your attire. your two person party in the corner steadily grew, nanami and geto joining you after some time. 

gojo is still missing, but you suspect he’s out being a good host.

you’ve laid your head on shoko’s shoulders, laughing at nanami recounting stories from the tutoring he’s been busy with. geto stands to your left, reaching out a hand towards you whenever you stumble slightly. 

your cup is empty and you make no moves to fill it again, not wanting to exit the good conversation you’re having. you like hearing nanami talk about his work, hearing shoko complain about her lab partner, and hearing geto’s jokes. 

the four of you decide to get some food in an attempt to sober up. it’s then that gojo finally shows up. the crowd parts for him like he’s someone important. thanks to the effects of the alcohol wearing off, you can tell it’s because he’s shouting his way through the crowd. 

“why are you losers hiding from the party?” he asks, shooting shoko a glare when she takes a drag of her cigarette. she simply blinks at him, making no move to throw it out. 

“not hiding,” you respond, opening your mouth to bite down on the slice of pizza geto’s trying to feed you. “just eating.” your words come out muffled thanks to the food. geto shuffles his chair closer to your side.

gojo lets his gaze settle on you, lips slightly parted as his eyes wander, taking in your dress and your half-opaque lipstick. you think you see his eyes widen, you can’t be sure. you think you see him almost gulp. you can’t be sure. 

gojo reluctantly tears his stare away from you, watching his friend closely, jaw clenched. his anger is only invisible to you, the sight causing shoko to laugh (she marvels at your idiocy often). he grabs a chair and pushes it up right next to yours on the opposite side, arms crossed. 

he sits silently, glaring at you and geto, though you hardly notice. you’re too engrossed in whatever story geto’s telling you. he reaches over to brush some hair out of your eyes; gojo stands up abruptly, his hand wrapping around your wrist.

“actually, i have some important news to tell you,” he says, words short and succinct as he drags you away from the table. 

you’re too confused to stop him from pulling you all the way to the hallway that opens up into his bedroom. it’s only then that you wriggle free from his grip, staring at him, wondering what his problem is.

“what’re you–”

your back is pressed against the wall, he stands a few steps in front of you. he’s breathing hard and his eyes are blown wide and you wonder who this man is—the worry creasing his forehead makes him seem lightyears away from the satoru you know. 

“can i ask you a question?” he asks, the sentence stumbling out of his mouth like he wasn’t quite ready to say it. gojo doesn’t give you the chance to answer him, already talking once again. 

“do you like suguru?” he asks, taking a few steps closer, until he’s a hair’s width away from you. 

the question is so out of left field, you’re forced to take a moment and process it. gojo’s gaze hardens at your silence, and you stave off the urge to make a joke out of this situation. uncertainty makes your stomach churn—you’ve yet to see your best friend like this.

there’s a crease between his brows, lips downturned but not quite a frown. his words still hang heavy in the air, broken jealousy rearing its ugly head. his hand loosens around your wrist, but he doesn’t pull away.

you take a deep breath, feeling like you’ve taken in all the air left between you and him. “no. no, i don’t,” you whisper, heart beating so fast you almost expect the muscle to burst within your chest. 

your admission makes his shoulders drop, the tense atmosphere almost melting away altogether. gojo tightens his fingers around your wrist once more, bridging the gap between you both. he hovers above you, his free hand placed against the wall as he cages you against it. 

despite the years you’ve known him, sometimes you find it so hard to read him, understand his motivations. gojo leans close, his breath fanning over your lips. 

“so you just really like being mean to me,” he mutters and you furrow your brows, gnawing at your bottom lip. 

“i haven’t said one mean thing to you all night, satoru,” you say quietly, eyes downcast, avoiding his attentive stare. his eyes, as blue as the sky, still shimmer in the dark and you watch from beneath your lashes as they shift to a dulled luster. 

gojo drops his head into the crook of your neck, you can feel his lips move against your skin as he speaks, “there’s more than one way to be mean.” 

your breath is caught in your throat. he’s running his nose up your neck, smearing a kiss below your jaw. your lack of resistance only emboldens him further and he kisses the same spot once again.

and you let him, gulping back the unpleasant feelings that float to the tip of your tongue because who are you to ruin this? on another night, you might have untangled yourself from him, walking away and creating necessary distance between you both.

but he’s exactly where you want him, where you’ve been longing for him. 

so tonight, you simply mutter his name in warning, your voice cracking softly as he slides his hand around your waist. his touch burns, it's as though the material of your dress simply doesn’t exist under the weight of his palm. 

gojo presses his mouth to your ear. when he speaks, he sounds so resigned, almost like the woman that sits in your mind, taunting you with the possibility of everything unraveling. she licks at your wounds and her breath burns.

“i feel so…stupid when it comes to you,” he rasps out, pulling you closer. “you drive me crazy and i don’t know what to do–” he cuts himself off before he gets too deep into his rambling. anticipation steadily rises up your chest, higher and higher and higher.

“it’s always been you,” gojo says, letting you see his face once more. he leans over you, simply staring, the loud music fading away until it’s nothing but a beat behind the incessant thrum of your heart. 

the woman makes herself apparent, hiding just behind your eyes, her words piercing your skin.

you gather the courage to really look at him, ignoring the way the woman in your head sighs, telling you it’s not worth it—telling you it’ll hurt. she tells you it’s only going to ache, and tear, and rip apart. you shake her away. his eyes have you trapped in them, drowning in his blue, your hands wrinkling the fabric of his shirt. he doesn’t waver, shifting his gaze down to your lips.

“i love you,” he breathes out, his words so full of promise you nearly believe it. but then you remember where you are, you remember what you’ve been doing.

your hands rest on his shoulders, feeling the cotton material of his shirt under your fingertips. “you can’t mean that,” you reply in a whisper. 

the woman in your head shrieks at you until her voice turns hoarse and raw. you grab the collar of his shirt, closing the gap, your lips meeting his. gojo fists the silk of your dress, creasing the material against his palm. your trembling hand brushes along his cheek and he chases after your touch, tilting his head to the side, nose bumping against yours. he’s presses you into the wall, your spine meeting the cold plaster as goosebumps erupt down your arms. 

the woman shouts, the woman regrets. the woman tells you you’re making a mistake but she’s inevitably drowned out by the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. gojo brings his hand up to your jaw, fingers squeezing desperately. his kiss is all tongue and teeth, he steals your breath away.

a fire festers in the pit of your stomach, it’s flames fueled by his touch, his warmth, everything him. it curls into a burning in your chest. insatiable greed drives gojo to take you into his arms, your feet stumbling against each other’s as you make your way into his room. 

your back hits his comforter, you pull him closer.

the woman sits silently and weeps.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

you wake up with a dull pounding behind your eyes and a painful silence inside your mind. warmth envelops you as you twist and turn under gojo’s heavy blankets—it’s reminiscent of an earlier time. 

beams of sunlight force your eyes open and you prop yourself up, elbows sinking into gojo’s expensive mattress. cradling your head in your hand, you take in your surroundings: the stark white sheets, gojo’s sleeping figure next to you.

you watch him sleep for several moments, marveling at the fact that gojo is asleep at all. he’s always had trouble with insomnia, seeing him rest so peacefully makes you smile. 

you let your gaze sweep over his face, pressed into the pillow, messy hair obscuring his eyes. his shoulders are bare, and if last time taught you anything, it’s that gojo has no problem with appearing borderline naked in front of you.

scoffing, you turn to check the nightstand for your phone, pausing when a cold draft seems to linger over your arms and chest a bit stronger than usual. a pile of fabric resting against the mahogany floors catches your eye, and you stare at it blankly before everything begins to fall into place.

your fragmented memories connect, the night floods back to you, knocking the air from your lungs.

your dress on the floor, the very obvious smear of berry colored lipstick against his jaw. your incredibly apparent lack of clothing.

panic digs into your chest. the woman comes into view once more, her unwavering gaze staring at you with contempt. she crawls out of your chest, standing before you, several heads taller.

‘you messed everything up,’ she seethes. your heart beats faster. ‘he’ll never want to see you again,’ she says, her words stinging like a slap. it becomes harder to breathe. 

you don’t stick around to see what else she has to say, grabbing your dress off the floor with shaky hands. you pull it back on messily, grabbing your phone, rushing out of his bedroom as tears cling to your lashes.

thankfully, everyone seems to have cleared out of the apartment.

you don’t allow yourself to think, opening up the front door, rushing down the stairwell until you’re standing in the lobby of his apartment building. it’s too cold—they always crank up the air conditioning even if it’s the middle of winter. 

the lady behind the desk looks at you with pity. you suppress the urge to vomit. tears stream down your cheeks, trailing along your chin before they fall. you know you must look a mess. you wonder where else you left your berry colored lips. 

you call shoko; she’s hungover when she picks up but she hears the pain in your voice and she hears you bite back your tears. she’ll be there soon, she promises and you stand, waiting. 

you sit in her car, staring out the window. she tries to make you feel better by playing your favorite songs—it doesn’t do much to help. the song reminds you of megumi. 

the thought of megumi sends you spiraling further. how can you face megumi after this? how can you face gojo? he might not remember, but you always will. you’ll always remember the warmth of his hands, the way he held you near like you were everything. 

the woman tells you you’re sick.

shoko eyes you, taking in your tear-stained face. you don’t want her pity either, digging your nails into your palm as hard as you can. she’s stopped at a red light and she reaches over to take your hand in hers.

“you have to figure out where you both stand,” she says, calm and rational as always. sometimes, you wish she could see things the way you do. you wish she could hear the woman who haunts you. 

“i know,” you whisper, closing your eyes as you lean your head back against the seat. the car starts moving again. “i don’t want to.” your stomach churns, an awful mixture of anxiety and hurt rolling up your throat. 

you slept with gojo.

you feel sick. the woman slices at you with her knives. ‘you don’t deserve him at all.’

shoko white knuckles the steering wheel. she never takes kindly to your tears, it took you a while to figure out that it’s because she cares too much to see you cry. 

“you should confess. it’ll be good for your heart and mind,” she suggests as you see your apartment come into view. you’re not ready to be left alone with the woman. the cuts from her knives are still fresh, they still bleed.

you shake your head ever so slightly. “no,” you reply, selfishness motivating your choices more than anything. “i’m going to pretend i don’t remember—i’ll act like i was too drunk to remember.”

shoko disagrees with you, and she lets you know as much as she can before you’re getting out of her car, walking towards your apartment. your dress feels too short, you tug it down. the sunlight burns your scalp and you rush indoors.

as soon as you kick off your heels, gojo texts you. your phone is nearly dead and you debate putting off responding, excusing yourself with the fact that your phone ran out of power. you grow too curious, though, and you read his message.

gojo 🤑: hey when did u get home?

the striking lack of emojis makes the text feel impersonal, far from the man you know. the woman laughs at you.

‘he hates you.’

you:  shoko picked me up 

you pause, debating whether you should add more. let him know that you don’t remember, let him know that you believe nothing happened.

you: i rly went overboard on the alcohol ig  i barely remember anything 

you watch the bubble indicating he’s typing appear and disappear. your nerves fizzle and buzz, teeth sinking into your lips until you draw blood. ‘he hates you,’ the woman whispers.

gojo 🤑: yeah me too lol

you hate it. 

you’re reading into it too much, you think, but the woman says no. her lithe fingers encircle your arms, her sadness turning you sick. you agonize over your words, agonize over his texts. you can’t face gojo. you wonder if you’ll ever be able to see megumi again.

‘you’re selfish,’ the woman sneers, watching you tremble. ‘do you think you deserve to see him?’

‘what would he think of you?’

‘you’ve lost both of them.’

‘you should’ve listened to me.’

you don’t know what to say to her. she draws her arm back and strikes you.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

the following day, gojo informs you that megumi asked for you to babysit him. 

you had decided you would say no, for your own sake. the woman agreed so it must be the right choice. but then he tells you that megumi’s insisting—that he misses you—and how can you say no?

so you sit on the couch, right next to megumi as he reads from his new book (a christmas present from gojo). he’s laying against you, his head resting against your arm. neither you, nor gojo, have said a single word to each other.

it feels wrong, this silence that fills the room. it feels heavy. it keeps its palms pressed tightly against your lips, keeping your words trapped inside. you wonder if megumi can feel it too.

reaching over, you gently brush some of his hair out of his eyes and he stills, turning around to look up at you. his eyes are wide, they waver as they flicker between you and gojo.

“did you guys fight?”

you notice the way he wraps his arms around himself, as if to soothe. he takes a long breath. megumi’s eyes widen and you realize that he’s scared.

you rush to explain, “no! no, we didn’t fight.” he doesn’t seem to believe you; gojo walks over to you both, taking a seat next to him. 

“we’re just tired, megumi,” he tells him, a hand rubbing circles into his back. you feel terrible. 

‘this is all your fault,’ the woman whispers. 

it’s silent again as gojo shuffles around, getting ready to leave for his model UN meeting. he stands at the doorway, looking at you for a moment. you can’t read him, he doesn’t explain. gojo waves goodbye and leaves.

you watch megumi read for a few minutes more, the aftertaste of the previous conversation still lingering on your tongue. he must feel your stare, looking up from his book.

“you’re my favorite person ever,” he admits, he sounds completely serious. you’re taken aback by his honesty, your heart melting as a smile tugs on the corners of your mouth. you reach forward, opening your arms out for a hug. megumi quickly wraps his arms around you.

his hands cling to the fabric of your shirt, “if you did fight with gojo, please forgive him. don’t leave.”

‘look what you’ve done,’ the woman says, the weight of her words make you feel like you’re drowning. 

“i won’t leave you,” you reply, ignoring the woman and her hurt. megumi looks back at you, holding out his pinky for you. you wrap your own around his much smaller one, “pinky promise.”

you let him rest his head against your chest, your steady heartbeat lulling him to sleep. the woman reminds you how undeserving you are of what you have. you know the woman is right. 

when gojo gets home, he asks if you’d like to stay for dinner. every single part of you wants to say yes, and it’s at the tip of your tongue, the answer is habitual. but this time, you turn him down. you can’t stay longer—you can’t be around him. you slip out the front door before you can see the twinkle in his eyes diminish until it’s gone. 

you get home, lay on the carpeted floor of your bedroom, and call shoko. she tells you to confess or die. you tell her you’d rather die.

‘it would be for the best,’ the woman snickers. 

.・゜-: ✧ :-

there’s a growing tension between you and gojo as of late, clearly the result of what happened at the new year’s party. you keep on acting as though you don’t remember the way he loved you, but it gets harder to do so the more you see him.

you can’t avoid him, you’d be breaking your promise to megumi.

everything left unsaid lingers in the distance you keep with him, and it unsheathes it’s claws, digging into you and tearing you apart. your relationship with gojo is strained. it hurts because he’s your best friend.

the woman reminds you that there’s no one to blame but yourself.

she hasn’t left you alone since the night of the party, tied to you like some kind of curse. she appears in the mirror when you criticize yourself, egging you on to say worse things. she stands by your side when you make a mistake, degrading you until you feel like nothing.

she’s having the time of her life. you just can’t get rid of her. she’s right about you.

this time, as you stand waiting for megumi, his school is decorated in a plethora of pinks, reds, and whites. valentine’s day is swiftly approaching and it fills you with a kind of bitterness you keep hidden. 

cupid’s arrows might have missed you this year, but there’s always the next.

part of you realizes that it’s your own fault, waiting for gojo to step up and say something. when that failed you, you waited for your feelings to disappear. perhaps, you should have taken some initiative, forced those feelings out of you until every last remaining bit is ripped from your heart.

your loneliness is your own doing. the woman laughs in agreement, your pain is nothing but a joke to her. her laughter, however, is hollow and doesn't meet her eyes.

megumi runs up to you as he often does, pulling you from your thoughts. the woman hides away to watch. he hands you a little heart shaped box and a card. 

“happy valentine’s day,” megumi grumbles, walking off ahead of you to get to the car. you smile down at the chocolates and the handmade card. something tender and sweet fills up your chest—you feel lighthearted. 

‘do you deserve this?’ the woman snarls, reaching out to knock your gifts out of your hands. you hold them away from her poisonous touch.

megumi holds onto your index finger as you lead him up the stairwell, up to gojo’s apartment. you’re surprised to find him inside instead of at class, like he should be. he grins at you and megumi as you both walk inside, his eyes dropping to the card and chocolates in your hand.

you watch as he stands up, stretching his arms up. his shirt rides up around his waist, you turn away faster than light.

“you got her something for valentine’s but nothing for your old man?” he asks, grabbing megumi so that he can plant a kiss on the boy’s chubby cheek.

“you suck and she doesn’t.”

“you are so cruel.”

your relationship with gojo remains rocky, but times like these still make you yearn for that domestic life. sometime in the future, you hope you get to have this. 

gojo lets megumi disappear into his room, watching you sink into the couch. he follows suit, sitting down next to you. he leaves too much space between you, like there’s an invisible wall keeping him out. 

“valentine’s day is coming up,” he says, though you don’t know what for. you want to say that you know, that it doesn’t matter to you unless you’re spending the day with him. 

“yeah, but why would i care?” you reply, laughing though the sound comes out bitter and hurt. he grins at you, tilting his head. 

“who knows? maybe you have a secret admirer.”

you stay quiet for a moment, thinking about what he had said. secret admirer or not, you’re confident it wouldn’t be the person you want. gojo has better things to do, probably has someone to see. what would he want with you?

why would he even look your way? you’re his best friend—that’s where you have remained for 14 years and it’s where you’ll remain for as long as you know him.

the woman sits to your left, reaching out her hand to smooth down your hair. her gesture appears comforting but anxiety swirls deep within you at her touch.

‘don’t let him know how you feel,’ she whispers in warning.

“so? i don’t care. i don’t like anyone right now, a secret admirer would mean nothing to me.”

“oh.”

you face him then, taking in the soft frown he wears. his jaw is clenched, brows furrowed. the blue of his eyes, your favorite blue, lacks it’s usual sparkle. his shoulders hunched over; gojo looks like a wounded animal. he looks tired. 

as soon as he notices your stare, he straightens up and gives you a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. he stays quiet for the rest of the night and you can’t help but feel it’s your fault. you remind yourself he’s tired, but the woman tells you that he must have remembered the events from the party. 

you leave his house sooner than you would have liked. gojo says goodbye with a hug, his arms squeezing your tight, pressing you to his chest until you can hear his heart beating. 

.・゜-: ✧ :-

you feel like valentine’s day crept up on you too quickly, like you had blinked and suddenly the world is celebrating their lovers. 

it’s sunny and warm, the usual chill of february replaced with a gentle breeze that feels soft against your cheek and in your hair. like it’s mother nature’s gentle caress letting you know that you’ll be fine today.

the woman stays quiet. 

you walk along the sidewalk in front of your apartment building. you had woken up today expecting something at you front door, perhaps from a secret admirer like gojo had suggested. nothing came.

it left a bitter taste in your mouth, your chest tightening, but you got over it as fast as it came. you refuse to fester in hurt, even if the woman fans the flames of your pain.

blinking up at the sun, you watch the old couple across the street walk arm in arm. the old man had gotten his wife a bouquet of her favorite flowers (you know they’re her favorite because she told you so). she’s wearing a new heart pendant around her neck. their hands remain intertwined as they head down. 

you silently plead for your chance at love. 

today, megumi’s spending the day at nanami’s house, along with a few of the kids he tutors. you’ve been absolved of your babysitting responsibilities. you miss the little boy, though.

you’re only a few minutes into your walk when you phone buzzes with a text from gojo.

gojo 🤑: ur not busy today right?????? lets go for a drive bbg 😉

you:  i wish i never met you.

you hardly mean it. rather, you’re incredibly relieved that he’s back to his usual self, using horrible emojis to spice up his texts. you hate to admit it but you missed him. 

maybe you were pathetic for spending valentine’s day with your crush, a man who remains just out of your reach. you don’t dwell on it as you climb into gojo’s car, even when the woman bares her teeth at you.

gojo plays sickeningly romantic music as he drives, making fun of you for spending valentine’s day with him instead of a boyfriend. you’re quick to remind him that he’s in the same position. he falls silent but you notice that the shine in his sky blue eyes are back. you hope, this time, that it’s here to stay. 

he parks a few feet away from a playground, the structures old and somewhat rusty. you realize that it’s the playground where you both first met each other. 

gojo runs over to your side, opening the door for you. he walks next to you, his shoulder brushing yours, your fingers aching to be held by him. you let him pull you to the spot where his mother took a picture of both of you 14 years ago. 

it’s certainly strange being back here.

you hear him take a deep breath. gojo’s facing forward, seemingly entranced by the swing-set in front of him. you don’t take notice of his shaky hands. 

“you were the prettiest girl i had ever seen,” he says finally, breathing deeply once again. “actually– i thought you were the prettiest girl in the whole world.”

“what are you talking about?” you ask with a soft laugh, utterly confused as to what he’s up to. gojo doesn’t respond, he just keeps going.

“i ran into you on purpose, if i’m being honest. i thought we could become friends and then i’d get to be around you all the time.” 

gojo reaches out his hand, hesitating as he thinks. the woman stays quiet when he takes your hand in his own. “but then you basically told me to fuck off–”

“i did not! i said go away or something.”

“thats basically what kids say when they want to say ‘fuck off’!”

he laughs, the sound warming your heart. soft tendrils of sun peek through the canopy of the tree you stand under, making him glow and shine. he appears almost ethereal. 

“i was glad we got to be friends,” he mutters, his grip around your fingers getting tighter. “but nowadays, i kind of wish we weren’t.” your heart stills and the woman opens her mouth for the first time today, conjuring up her ugly words.

“you’re still the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen,” gojo admits, his hand growing clammy but you barely notice it. “you’ll stay that way for the rest of my life—even when we’re old and wrinkly.”

“how sweet,” you grin, but it’s a front to hide the way he tugs at your heart, gentle hands keeping you in his grasp; it’s where you’ll stay for as long as he’ll have you. however, you still find yourself to be guarded, hesitant about gojo and his words.

the woman tells you it’s not what you think it is. her past misfortunes flood your mind, her sadness is contagious.

gojo finally faces you, taking both your hands in his. his eyes watch you carefully and you wonder if he can see through them, see the woman waiting inside, hurt and scared. 

“i know you said you don’t have feelings for anyone,” he starts, looking to the side. you can feel his heart beating at his fingertips. “and i’m probably the last person you want to hear this from, but i owe it to you.

“i love you,” he sighs and it feels like taking a breath of relief. gojo searches your eyes, vivid cerulean brighter than the sun itself. you reach forward, hands on either side of his face. you tremble and you shake—you can’t believe this is real.

he seems to understand, instinctively letting his hands rest against your hips. 

“love you too,” you say, unadulterated joy lighting up your chest and your eyes. your smile is blinding, cheeks hiding your eyes. gojo steps closer while he pulls you against his chest. his heart is racing, but it could be your own that you’re feeling. you’re not quite sure where he ends and you begin. 

he cups your cheek, his touch soft and light. “can i kiss you now? i haven’t stopped thinking about it since the party.”

you tense at the mention of the party, but you nod your head and shove that night out of your mind. you can shelve that conversation for later. 

gojo leans forward with your nod, pulling you towards him. your lips meet, gently at first, like you’re both unsure of how to go about it. he’s hesitant without alcohol to grant him courage, but as you wrap your arms around his neck, he grows bolder.

gojo pours every last bit of his desire for you, his yearning for you, past his lips. you can feel him grin, and it pulls a smile from you too. 

you have him exactly where you want him.

when you return home, hand in hand, megumi perks up at the sight of you both. geto sits next to him, assigned to pick him up from nanami’s place after gojo decided to meet up with you.

geto raises an eyebrow at your hand held tightly in gojo’s, your head resting against his shoulder. “what did i miss?”

“nothing at all,” you reply, holding out an arm for megumi as he runs into your embrace.

the woman simply smiles.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

gojo watches you sleep, chest rising and falling steadily, your soft breaths being the only sound in the room. he sits and he admires and he’s struck with the overwhelming urge to pull you into his arms. gojo wishes he could tell you everything he feels for you, but his emotions are often illegible jumbles of yearning, want, desire, and love—he just can’t put it into words.

he knows you’re it for him. he hopes you feel the same.

gojo leans over and grabs the plastic water bottle left on his nightstand, the plastic crinkling. he winces, hoping it’s not loud enough to wake you. you remain sleeping and he smiles, fishing the small ring of plastic from the top of the bottle. 

it’s big, the real one will be tailored to your size, he thinks as he takes your hand. his touch is gentle as he slides the plastic ring onto your ring finger, watching it hang loosely.

“this’ll do for now,” he decides. the real one will be much prettier, but not grand. a shiny band with a few rhinestones– no, your birthstone. maybe his too but he feels that might be too tacky.

gojo lays back down, curling around you until his head is hidden in the crook of your neck. he hopes you’ll like it. he hopes you’ll say yes. 

he’s always loved you. for him, it’s always been you.