⇀‸↼

he blinks, then coughs, a huge grin spreading across his face. he hopes you don’t notice how pink his ears are. “i was payin’ attention, i swear! you look good– stunning, really.”

your lips, so soft and kissable-looking, curve up into a smile. “you just blanked out on me. if you don’t like the dress, you can just say that, y’know...” there’s a teasing lilt in your voice, and his ears burn just a bit hotter.

satoru quickly shakes his head, and he places his hands on your shoulders. your skin is warm, like it’s been kissed personally by the sun. “no, no! i love it. it suits you, and it’s your wedding, so it’s up to you.”

envy, a rare but absolutely repulsive feeling, curls up in his gut and ties it into knots. right. this is your wedding. you and nanami.

not him.

he steps back and filters you out of his infinity. he should remember his place.

you twist side to side, the expensive fabric swishing and dragging against the polished floors. “i know, but... you’re my best friend, and i really want this to be perfect. ken-ken–” (he knows you and nanami are well-beyond first-name basis by now, but the nickname catches him off-guard.) “–would likely think any dress i choose looks nice, but you’re a pretty harsh critic! remember when i went on a date for the first time and i had on that hideous dress with the bad zipper?”

“yeah.” he snorts, and some of the envy ebbs away, replaced by a warm fuzziness. his fingers were trembling trying to zip up the back of that dress, just for the thing to be broken. “you looked fucking ridiculous.”

“see? that’s my point right there!”

“you make me sound so mean.” satoru huffs, slapping a hand dramatically to his chest. “i’m a great guy! a perfect one!”

perfect for you.

you scoff, lifting the dress up a bit so you can easily walk over to your purse and find your phone. “mhm, sure. i’ll believe that when i attend your wedding next time.”

satoru slumps down on the loveseat, crossing one long leg over the other. “don’t need a wedding to prove i’m irresistible,” he grumbles.

out of the corner of his eye, he watches your fingers fly across the screen, and that small, adorable smile on your face tells him exactly who you’re texting.

and envy comes right back, bubbling up and settling in his throat, hot and acidic.

he’s right here. this is supposed to be about you and satoru. kento can wait. you see him when you go home, don’t you? in a few weeks, you’re going to spend the rest of your life with that man — can’t you make time for just your best friend?

“you telling nanami about the dress?” if you weren’t so absorbed in your phone, you might have noticed the strain in satoru’s voice.

you nod. “yeah, i wanna take a picture for him,” you say, going over to him. instinctively, you shift closer to him, already holding your phone up to take a photo, but you can feel his infinity pulsing against your side.

huh.

your brows knit together. “your infinity is on.”

“it’s always on.” he shrugs, as if him having his infinity up around his purpose in life is absolutely normal.

your hand moves to swat at his arm, only for it to press against the border of atoms. awkwardly, your hand falls limp into your lap. “yeah, but usually i don’t feel it.” a pause. “is everything okay? are you sick? if you wanna leave, we can, dress shopping can wait.”

the genuine concern in your tone strikes satoru right in the heart, and he swears it stops beating for a moment. he’s being an asshole, you didn’t do anything wrong. why is he pushing you away? how does he stop?

“... sorry.” he wraps an arm around your shoulders, yanking you in closer. your shoulder rests against his bicep, and the sides of both your thighs touch.

the gentle, refreshing smell of your perfume wafts into his nose. his eyes dart to the crook of your neck, where he knows it’ll be strongest.

“pose!” you nudge him, and he looks at the camera, an easy smile curving his lips. satoru’s glad for his glasses again — nanami won’t be able to see the lust in his eyes.

man idk ill lock in on this later

one-hundred forty-one. satoru picks another skull up, places it between both of his hands, and crushes it into dust. one-hundred forty-two.

he’s sorry, by the way. you’ll never know it, but he is.

the wedding was supposed to be last month. it’s been two weeks, four days, seven hours, thirty-six minutes, and twelve seconds. thirteen, since he’s been sealed in this box.

he isn’t going to sit here and mope about that... imposter getting one over on him. he’s done that enough, and he’s absolutely sure you’d make fun of him.

satoru was best-man. he was supposed to be by nanami’s side and congratulate both of you. itadori, megumi, kugisaki... they were supposed to be there, too. kugisaki as the flower girl, megumi as the ring-bearer, and itadori to play cheerleader.

it was supposed to be great.

but he didn’t go. couldn’t make the flight, because of course curse users decided to stir shit up the night he planned to leave.

that’s another reason for him to hate them. they’re always ruining the things he loves, taking and taking and taking–

one-hundred forty-three.

he’s running out of skulls to crush, and he’s already worked out for the day. it’s weird in here – after all the sweating he’s done, oddly enough, he doesn’t stink.

satoru sighs, laying flat on his back, bright eyes staring up into the void. do you hate him? you should.

he’s not a good person. he wanted– wants you, even after you and nanami started dating. even after the engagement. and, now, even after marriage. who yearns for something they can’t have? that’s pathetic!

but... forgive him, please.

forgive him for not attending your wedding, for not confessing sooner, for not sweeping you off your feet first, for not keeping his eyes and hands to himself.

satoru gojo loves you. always and forevermore. and he’s sorry.