mem

——————————————

Chuckle week had just ended a few days prior.

Schlatt being himself, got out of LA as fast as humanly possible to his little place in New York.

You on the other hand, had decided to stay a few more days for one of My Chemical Romance's black parade concerts.

"Wait F/N can you hand me my phone- oop thank- thank you!" You smiled at your friend before looking back at your camera

"What is this for?" Reading chat out loud.

You picked up a blending brush a dipped it into black eye shadow, bringing it up to your eyelid.

"I'm with a few of my irl friends and we're going to see My Chem." You smiled into the camera as you put the brush down and picked up an small angle brush, blending black eye shadow under my eye to enhance the eyeliner.

"Chat, I haven't done this kind of makeup since like 2021." You confessed as you looked at your full face of makeup that you had on along with your outfit.

You couldn't deny that you looked HOT. But it was also hot out so I guess it fit.

"Wait I need- oh!" You looked down at your phone to see a facetime call coming through.

"Guys say hi to Schlatt." You told stream.

You answered the call, turning the phone so the stream could see your phone screen.

"All I'm saying is.. y/n if you come to New York looking like that I'm fucking the shit outta you.” He says seriously with a straight face, looking dead straight into the camera.

“That’s not even a-" he hangs up abruptly, leaving your mouth wide open and your cheeks burning red.

You laughed in disbelief as your chat flew at high speeds. "I don't even know what to say."

"Guys I think I have to go back to New York." You smirked at the camera and then eneded stream.

——————————————

“Wait, wait, wait you’re telling me that-“ You were multiple shots in at this point of the ‘drink or truth’ stream you were having with Ted.

He was a few shots behind you but you kept getting asked questions about you relationship that you wanted to keep private.

“You thought I was dating F/N when we met??” You cackled and threw your head back.

“The first time I met you, you were drunk making out with them at a party.” He laughed back at you with a bottle in his hand.

Schlatt sat in his apartment, editing a vod with your stream pulled up as background noise.

“Ok I have a few questions.” Ted semi-slurred.

You grabbed a water and turned to look at chat as he spoke.

“If you could tell Charlie one thing right now what would it be?” Ted questioned as he grabbed a bag of chips and opened it, starting to munch on them.

“I would tell him…” you stopped for a moment to think, looking at chat.

You leaned onto your counter island, resting your chin on the palm of your hand.

“I’d tell him I love you buddy, keep up the good work on the videos.” You smiled into the camera before turning your head to look at Ted who wiped his hands off before pushing the bag away.

“Now.” He started as he looked down at you.

“If you could say one thing to Schlatt right now what would you say?” He questioned.

“I’d say bend it over, smack it from the back.” You spoke quickly, not leaving a single moment of silence between his question and your answer.

Schlatt immediately started laughing.

Reaching for his phone and quickly hitting your contact, he put his phone up to his ear.

“You can’t just say that.” Schlatt laughed loudly into the phone as soon as you answered.

“You should come over.” You laughed into the phone back.

———————————————

“You are literally not listening to me,” you snap, ripping the instruction manual out of his hand while pointing the tiny screwdriver at him like a weapon.

“The shelves go on after the side panels.”

“No, they don’t,” Schlatt argues back immediately, equally loud. “Why would they design it like that? That makes zero sense.”

“Because it’s IKEA!” You argued back, looking up at him as he stood up and you sat kneeling on the floor.

“That’s not an answer!” He responded, holding his hands out in front of him in frustration.

The stream can hear every second of it.

Your back is to the camera as you sat beside the half-built TV stand in your new apartment, one of Schlatt’s hoodies hanging off your shoulder while cardboard and packing foam absolutely destroy the living room around you.

“You stripped the screw,” you accuse and you crossed your arms, watching him.

“You handed me the wrong screwdriver!” He shouted back as he lightly threw the tool on the ground.

“There were TWO.”

“There shouldn’t be two!”

Chat is flying by so fast neither of you can read it anymore, both too busy bickering in the middle of your brand new apartment surrounded by unpacked boxes and loose screws.

“Move your hand-”

“No, you move your hand-”

ding

TTS cuts through the yelling.

“aaron883 donated ten dollars. Y/N’s ass looks great from this angle.”

You both fell silent. You freeze with your back still facing the camera.

Schlatt slowly turns toward his monitor like he just heard a gunshot.

“what?” he said calmly.

You whip around first. “EXCUSE ME?” you replied to the stream loudly.

“HELLO?” Schlatt barks at the screen. “What kind of freak shit is that?”

“I’m literally building furniture!” you yell at the camera, focusing all your frustration on chat as a joke.

“Like can we focus on the task at hand?” Schlatt adds aggressively. “We’re in a domestic dispute right now.”

Chat starts spamming LMAOOOOO.

“You people are ENABLERS,” you accuse, pointing at the camera.

Another dono immediately pops up. “worth every penny.”

“Oh my GOD,” Schlatt groans. “Mods, hit him with hammers.” he picked up the instruction manual and looked at it.

“No seriously, ban him for life,” you add. “Public execution.”

“You cannot be objectifying my girlfriend while she’s holding an allen wrench.” he added on as he looked down at you, you were looking towards chat.

“I’m covered in dust and emotional distress!”

Schlatt points dramatically toward you. “She hasn’t eaten in, like, four hours because of THIS TABLE.”

“THIS ISN’T EVEN A TABLE!”

“SEE?” he shouts at chat. “WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS.”

Another dono. “camera still pointed tho.”

You and Schlatt both look at the camera.

Then at each other.

Then back at the camera.

“Oh my fucking GOD-”

Schlatt lunges across the room to move it while he yells., “YOU PEOPLE HAVE LOST YOUR PRIVILEGES.”

You looked up at him and laughed as he cussed out stream.

————————————————

instagram: y/nuser has posted!

y/nuser:

📍Los Angeles / 🎵: freaks by surf curse

—> swipe!

❤️ 273.8k ♻️ 14k 💬 89.7k

y/nuser: i know this song gave you flashbacks to a simpler time, welcome to chuckle week

—

jschlatt: why am i here twice

-y/nuser: cause i wanted to lick my screen twice

—jschlatt: i got something else you can lick twice

———————————————

“Howdy neighbor!” You and Katie yelled into your microphones as you ran up to Schlatt.

His minecraft character looked at the both of you, he sighed loudly into his mic.

“How did you manage-“ He turned in game towards Katie.

“To get my girlfriend to be equally as annoying as you are.” He complained to the two girls in front of him.

You giggled into your mic and spun in a circle.

“I think i’m just being myself J, is that an issue with you?” You spoke with a serious tone, turning to look at him.

He quickly started stumbling and sputtering out words. “I don’t- what made you- I mean-“

You turned your character an walked into Schlatts two story New York style inspired house.

Schlatt should’ve known the stream was doomed the second Quackity invited Y/N and Katie to “come look at his house.”

“It’s actually insane,” Quackity says over vc, trying not to laugh already. “Like architecturally offensive.”

“My house is FINE,” Schlatt argues him immediately.

Y/N walks through the water and stops in front of the house. There’s a long silence.

“…why is everything brick.” You asked as you turned to look at him.

“What do you MEAN why is everything brick?” He asked, annoyed that you had something to say about his house.

“The floor is red. The walls are brick. The ceiling is red. This looks like a emo kids AirBnB.” You had said out loud without thinking. Katie and Quackity immediately bust out laughing.

Schlatt groans. “You people don’t understand minimalist design.”

Quackity snorts. “Minimalist? Dude, there’s literally one chair.”

“It’s efficient!” He quickly argued back,

While he’s distracted arguing, you quietly start replacing random blocks in the wall with pink wool.

Katie joins in immediately.

By the time Schlatt notices, there’s a giant uneven pink heart built into the side of his house facing spawn.

“Oh my GOD.” He screams out at be two girls.

“It’s cute!” You announce defensively.

“It looks diseased!”

Quackity is absolutely no help, adding lanterns and flower pots around it. “Wait wait, this is actually bringing the build together.”

“YOU are banned from my property.” He turned around to look at you.

“Babe,” You say sweetly, “you said you wanted the house to have more personality.”

“I did not mean cyberbullying.”

Katie’s giggling so hard she accidentally lets a creeper explode part of the front yard.

The vc goes silent.

Then Quackity loses it first, full wheezing laughter as Schlatt just stares at the crater in exhausted disbelief.

You, already crying laughing, goes, “Honestly? Improvement.”

———————————————

instagram: y/nuser has posted!

y/nuser:

📍 NYC / 🎵 NUEVAYoL by bad bunny

—> swipe!

❤️ 478.86k ♻️99.6k 💬193.78k

y/nuser: favorite place with favorite people

—

tednivison: that was some good wine

jschlatt: top 3 comfiest beds i’ve slept in

-y/nuser: we could get a new one and break it in…

Blurry, neon-lit, unmistakably Seoul. Rain slicking the streets, reflections stretching like melted light. The soft snoring and slight twitching from the man next to you.

You sighed in content as you put your phone down and laid down in bed, an arm finding its way to you immediately and pulling you closer.

—

Within minutes of the teaser dropping, the internet combusts.

@popculturefeed Y/N just dropped a teaser?? HELLO??? WHAT IS THIS ERA???

@kpopdecoded this feels… personal. like too personal.

@midnightanalysis what do we think this song is about??? lover girl era???? baddie era???

—

You don’t say much about it. You never do, you love to watch your fans try to come up with their own theories… but you did love to tease them.

Just one post on twitter:

@-ynxo:

seoul feels different at night xx

Fans immediately started running with the fact that you put ‘xx’. Typing in all caps in replies how it’s ‘lover girl era’ and also trying to figure out who the song could possibly be about.

—

“Are you excited?” G asks as he sits on the floor, cross legged in between your legs as you play absentmindedly with his hair, looking at the TV.

“Hmm?” You hummed, getting pulled back to reality from zoning out.

“Of course I am…” you trail off, lightly pulling at his hair so his neck bends backwards so you could see his face even though he was looking at you upside down.

“It’s a beautiful song, they’re going to love.” He teases you, smiling as he speaks to you.

—

Three days later, the full song releases and suddenly, everything clicks into place in the best way possible because it’s not just a song.

It’s a confession to your fans that you have found someone after keeping it private for so sooo long.

Soft and intimate, your voice wrapped around lyrics that feel like they were never meant to be heard by anyone except one person.

Late nights. Hidden meetings. A love that exists in quiet spaces a person that was tied to Seoul.

A person you can’t name.

—

@lyricbreaks wait doesn’t she have a rumor that she has a relationship with bigbangs daesung?????

@urbanpopgirl this is not casual dating this is SECRET RELATIONSHIP ENERGY

@detectivecarat WHO IS IN SEOUL THAT SHE’S WRITING LIKE THIS

—

Speculation spreads like wildfire.

Daesung.

Everyone had suspected you two were together after multiple posts about each other. Holidays, birthdays, random weekends during random months.

@-ynxo 7 months ago

tagged: d_lable_official 433,298 people liked this post

@-ynxo: movie night ˚⟡˖ ࣪ comments have been turned off

—

YNXOUPDATES HAS JUST TWEETED!

ynxoupdates: wait what if the song is about gdragon??? theyve been hanging out more than daesung!!

—

@-ynxo 4 days ago 🎵 flowers by aespa / 📍 seoul -> nyc

tagged: xxxibgdrgn xxxibgdrgn and 957,323 people liked this post

@-ynxo: on the go 𓂃۶ৎ fan6: wait what about daesung??? fan238: G DRAAAAGONNNN fan38: wait theyre kinda cute

—

The internet spectated left and right about idols lives 24/7. As if they were their best friends and needed them to listen to every single word they say and every action they want them to do.

But in reality they don't know anything.

Because at the exact same time this video went up online...

Across the city, in a studio that smells faintly like mint and expensive cologne...

G-Dragon is sitting back in his chair, phone in hand, listening to your voice like it might ruin him.

Again.

And again.

And again.

He doesn’t speak and he doesn’t move. Just lets the final line play out, soft and intimate.

“…tell me what to do, Mr. General.....”

He falls silent as his head rolls back and he lets out a sigh, looking up at the ceiling of the studio. He lets out a humourless laugh and keeps a giant grin on his face.

“…You’re insane,” he murmurs to no one.

—

“Hyung?”

Ji-Yong doesn’t answer, looking at the buttons in front of him, hand fidgeting with his phone as the other holds his head up with his elbow on his knee.

“Are you even listening-”

“Play it again.” G replies to the other guy in the room, leaning back against the chair.

The producer blinks. “Again? You’ve heard it like five-”

“I need to make sure it's perfect.” There’s something in his voice this time that makes the room go quiet.

"Play it again." He adds on, looking at the producer. The track restarts.

And G-Dragon closes his eyes, jaw tightening just slightly.

Because no one else in this room understands what they’re hearing.

But he does, he understands every line, every pause, every word, every melody.

It was a song you had helped him draft almost a year ago, never being able to finish it. He decided to finish it alone and change somethings to make it about you.

—

GDRAGONUPDATES HAS JUST TWEETED! gdragonupdates: HELLO HE JUST DROPPED A SONG WITHOUT ANNNOUNCING IT!!!!!! STREAM IBELONGIIU OUT NOW!!!

89 replies 238 reposts 3779 likes

—

A new G-Dragon song? Without it being announced first? The internet doesn’t just react.

It erupts.

—

@bigbangupdates GDRAGON COMEBACK?? AND THIS SOUNDS LIKE A LOVE SONG??

@theorythread hold on. HOLD ON. the timing??? right after y/n???

@popdetectives no because if these songs are connected i’m going to lose my mind

—

When IBELONGIIU drops, it doesn’t just confirm suspicions. It makes everything worse.

Because where Seoul City is soft and longing and melodic... IBELONGIIU sounds more possessive, more upbeat, completely devoted to this other person people don't know about.

This song sounds like certainty.

Like he’s talking to someone he knows belongs with him, even if the world doesn’t.

—

@analysisqueen THESE ARE NOT TWO SEPARATE STORIES

@delusionalmaybe what if… WHAT IF… THEY’RE ABOUT EACH OTHER

—

The theory hits the timeline like a shockwave.

At first, people laugh it off.

“No way.” “That’s insane.” “They’ve never even—”

But then fans started comparing lyrics, pictures, hair colors, timelines, etc. Finding that their timelines are ODDLY similar...

Merch drops, pets, hair colors, tours, nails colors... every little thing..

Except there's one problem that's stopping people from completely thinking that these songs are for each other... them catching that you're both secretly together...

G-Dragon is still being photographed leaving restaurants with someone else. Laughing. Smiling. Playing the role perfectly.

And you? You’re halfway across the world on a press tour, rumored to be “getting close” to some international celebrity.

You know.. after being rumored to be "getting close" with Daesung... and every other male you're friends with.

—

You reach over for your phone as it pings.

> gee🐉

i’m outside let me in!!!!

You quickly smile, standing up and practically running to your front door. Whipping the door open to see your boyfriend standing there with a bag of snacks and drinks.

“We’ve both been so busy lately.” He lets himself in, sliding off his shoes before continuing to walk into your apartment.

“I thought we could sit a debrief about something.” He added, hanging up his coat and going to sit in your couch.

You shut the door softly before turning around and joining him on the couch.

“What do you want to talk about?” you asked, grabbing the remote and turning on a show you both had been watching in your free time together.

“I know this might sound crazy but I need you to hear me out….” He trails off, reaching over to take your hand in his.

You look over at him with a slight shocked/nervous expression.

“Haha… what is it…” you asked him, turning your full body to see him.

another pause.

“.....you mean the way people look at someone they’re in love with?”

“WHAT? no. no. he doesn’t- he definitely doesn’t-" you quickly stutter out.

—

“i don’t know, man,” schlatt says, pacing slightly, one hand running through his hair. “she just." he sighs. "she laughs at everything i say. like everything... even the stuff that’s not funny.”

“have you considered,” his friend says slowly, “that she likes you?” he wiggles his eyebrows at him, smirking, drink in hand.

“no, no, no,” schlatt shakes his head immediately. “she’s just nice. she’s like that with everyone.”

“she is not like that with everyone.” ted quickly argues back, scoffing as he takes a sip from his cup.

“you don’t know that.”

“i literally watched her ignore three other people talking just to listen to you explain something stupid about microphones.” he pointed at him, putting his cup down and grabbing his phone to text someone.

schlatt hesitates.

“it wasn’t stupid.” he grumbles.

—

it gets worse. you start overanalyzing everything.

the way his hand brushes yours when you pass something? accidental.

the way he texts you first almost every day? habit.

the way he remembers tiny details about you... your favorite snacks, the exact way you take your coffee, the fact you once mentioned liking a random movie and he watched it just to talk about it with you....

coincidence. all coincidence. because if it’s not?

that means there’s something to lose.

—

schlatt does the same thing.

you lean into him slightly during a video? you’re just comfortable. you steal his hoodie and never give it back? you’re just cold. you look at him like he hung the stars?

…...okay, that one makes him short circuit a little. making him forget what he was about to show you on his phone or what he was about to say.

but still. you don’t like him like that. you can’t. everyone else is losing their minds.

—

“just tell her,” someone groans as schlatt brings you up in conversation to try to relate to someone who was talking about how they always get their girlfriend coffee every sunday.

schlatt always brings you food when he comes over to yours.

“no,” schlatt says immediately, straight face as he takes a sip from his red solo cup.

“WHY.” they yell back in desperation.

“because if i’m wrong, it’s weird.”

“you are not wrong.”

“you don’t know that.”

“she literally asked if you liked anyone and got weirdly quiet when you said no.” the person laughs at him.

schlatt freezes. “…she did?”

—

“just tell him,” your friend insists.

“absolutely not.”

“WHY.”

“because if he doesn’t feel the same, i will actually never recover.”

“you will recover.”

“i will move to a different state.”

“dramatic.”

“realistic.”

—

it all builds.

the tension, the almosts, the lingering touches, the way conversations dip into something softer and then immediately get pulled back before either of you can say too much.

it’s exhausting.

for everyone.

—

so, naturally, someone snaps. it happens during something stupid. you’re all hanging out, nothing serious, just noise and laughter and overlapping conversations.

you’re sitting next to schlatt, of course you are, and your knee is pressed against his.

neither of you move away. no one misses it.

eventually, someone just goes-

“oh my god, are you two ever going to admit you’re in love or are we doing this forever?”

everyone stops moving to look towards the booming voice, and then following their eye sight trail to you and schlatt.

dead. silence. your brain stops working, schlatt’s does too.

“i’m sorry- what?” you manage, slightly choking on your drink, putting a hand on your chest as you coughed a little.

“you heard me,” they say, completely unfazed. “this whole thing? the pining? the longing stares? it’s getting old.”

“there are no longing stares-” you start.

“there are so many longing stares,” someone cuts in. you turn to schlatt, horrified. he’s already looking at you.

and oh.

oh.

this is one of those looks. the ones you’ve been pretending not to notice. your heart stutters.

“…you don’t-” you start, voice smaller now, “you don’t actually-”

he exhales, like he’s been holding it in for months.

“i do.” he confesses quietly. everything goes quiet again. “i do,” he repeats, softer this time. “i just didn’t think you did.”

your brain short-circuits completely. “are you kidding?” you blurt. “i’ve been in love with you for, like, forever.” you laugh in disbelief.

now it’s his turn to freeze.

“what?”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT.” you say loudly.

“you- you like me?” schlatt says in disbelief, pointing a finger to himself.

“YES???”

“why didn’t you say anything??” he asks again, quickly spouting out his words.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY ANYTHING??” you said loud back still in shock but slightly laughing.

“BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU DIDN’T LIKE ME—”

“ARE YOU INSANE—”

someone in the background: “this is painful.” another voice said “i told you.”

—

it dissolves into laughter eventually. nervous at first, then softer, then something that wa familiar to you guys despite not knowing anything before. schlatt looks at you again. but it’s different now.

“so,” he says, a little awkward, a little hopeful, “we’ve both just been idiots?”

“massive idiots,” you confirm. he huffs out a laugh.

“i’m probably going to miss your game too if that makes you feel any better.” he added on.

you turned around to look at him with a glare and he scoffed, standing up.

“but i’ll be waiting for you after, and then when we’re both division champs… i could think of a few things we can do….” he smirks above you as he reaches around to go and touch your chest before you smacked away his hand.

“how are you always in the mood?” you scolded as he turned back to your bed and flopped down on it, letting out a loud sigh

“it’s hard not to be when you’re so hot.” he argued back as you shut your laptop and stood up.

“walk me to practice?” you asked as he immediately stood up and grabbed your volleyball bag and water bottle, throwing it over his shoulder.

“yes ma’am.” he smirked as he opened the door.

————

It was 8:48 PM, lights in the stadium were blinding.

The audience was cheering with every shot, every slightest movement from the team. It was tied with 3 minutes left of the game.

A whistle blew as a referee called timeout for Jujutsu Univeristy, everyone on the field ran over to the bench, quick to grab some water.

Satoru shook his head as Suguru handed him a water bottle, he looked over to the gym that wasn’t that far away, not being able to see the scoreboard but being able to hear the faint cheers from the audience watching that game.

I hope she’s doing well.

Is she doing well?

What if they’re losing????

“you’ll be over there soon enough.” his best friend and teammate, Suguru said as he put a gloved hand on Satorus shoulder, shaking it lightly.

“i’m running over there as soon as this game is over.” Satoru said as he looked over at his friend.

“Yeah okay Mr. ‘always finds a reason to celebrate’.” Suguru laughed until a whistle blew.

“i’m not joking.” he replied seriously, punching Sugurus shoulder.

Satoru quickly jumped a bit and shook out his limbs before walking back onto the field.

They won, in overtime of course.

17-16.

The audience in the stadium quickly erupted into cheers as the scoreboard went off.

Everyone in the field started running to each other to celebrate.

Not Satoru.

Satoru quickly took his helmet off and dropped it on the ground, giving his hands a hard shake as the gloves dropped off, dropping his lacrosse stick as he made a b-line for the stadium exit.

“Where are you going?” Suguru called out after him as he ran to catch up.

“I have to go watch my girl.” Satoru shouted back as he stated running to the gym.

—————

“Back! Back! Back!” you quickly repeated to your setter as you lined up behind her, ready to hit.

The ball was quickly set backwards as you ran up and jumped, smacking the ballad hard and fast as possible that the back middle on the other team didn’t even have time to move.

The gym erupted in cheers as loud as ever.

The score read Jujutsu Uni 23 - 22 other.

“We got this okay? Our serve, make sure to land it in spot 3, she’s weak.” I spoke hushed to my on court team as we all backed into our spots.

In the gym doorway stood Satoru and Suguru, unbeknownst to Y/N who was focused on the game.

“Up!” Y/n said loudly as the other team went down to spike the ball.

You quickly turned and dove to get the ball as it was about to hit the ground.

“Y/N!!” your setter yelled as she put the ball high enough in the air to let you get into position.

Time suddenly slowed down as you lead with your left foot to jump up, swinging your arms back, bending your knees to jump.

You jumped quite possibly the highest you had ever jumped before, slamming your hand down onto the ball as it rolled in slow motion over the net, falling just in front of the middle blocker.

Your team cheered loudly as you came back down but something went wrong.

Your ankle rolls to the side as your feet hit the ground, time suddenly sped back up to you as you let out a semi sharp gasp as you fell to the ground.

The gym went silent as the referee blew the whistle.

The other team falling from ready position to stand up straight and let out their own gasps.

“Fuck!” You screamed as you laid back on the ground.

Satoru sucked in a breath as he watched you go down, not quite understanding what happened as he couldn’t see you that well but as the other team cleared the court he saw you laying on the ground with your left leg out straight and your right one bent with you foot on the ground.

Your left was over your eyes as your chest raised rapidly in what he could only assume was from you crying.

“Satoru-“ Suguru said as he grabbed Satorus arm to stop him from running over to you.

“You can’t go over there.” he added on as Satoru returned to his best friends side.

After a few minutes you were standing on one leg with one of those plastic ice packs medically taped to your ankle, leg slightly bent off the ground as you put your arms around your Coach and Assistant Coach.

The gym erupted into sympathetic cheers as your sub went to go in.

“Hey!” You yelled to your sub who was standing in the servers spot. She looked over at you and you quickly held up a number 4 for where she should server.

She quickly nodded and sent the ball over the net. The volley went on for a good 30 seconds before your team won the game.

Confetti and balloons in your teams colors fell from the ceiling. You cheered from the bench, standing up on your good leg as you team came over and group hugged.

You heard one cheer louder than the rest though.

Satoru.

Your Satoru.

You quickly pulled away and scanned the crowd to see him practically jumping up and down next to Suguru who was recording with a stupid smile on his face.

———————

“We both won, isn’t that crazy?” you spoke quickly in between heated kisses with Satoru.

Ice sat on your ankle as Satoru tried his best not to hit your foot but it was increasingly hard to.

“What’s even more crazy is how calm you are right now…” he trailed off as he left open mouth kisses down your jaw and onto your neck.

“Usually you’re telling me to get off of you by now.” He joked as he lifted his head up to look you in the eye. You grabbed the hat he was wearing, twisted it forward and pushed the brim over his eyes so he couldn’t see you.

“Yeah you ruined it.” You said as he started whining.

—————

Y/N.USER POSTED ON INSTAGRAM!

VIEW POST?

YES NO

tagged (in order): utahimee, satorugojo, kentonanami & barahai, satorugojo, sukunaryoo, shooko, getosuguru

y/n.user: as there’s 3 weeks left in the semester i would like to wind down by saying thank you everyone for playing a huge part in my life xx

until next year!!

You were not fine.

Your first serve? Out by centimeters.

Your second set? Multiple mistimed blocks.

Your third set? Hesitation to dive for the ball.

And captains don’t hesitate.

You could feel it…. the team trying not to look at you. The coach calling a timeout and not saying your name but meaning it anyway.

You lost in straight sets and it wasn’t even close.

In the locker room, you kept your voice steady. Told them you’d review film, told them you were proud. You got went quiet as one by one all the players left the locker room, some giving encouraging words while others kept to themselves.

You sighed and out you head in your hands and rubbed your eyes to try and get your head straight, huffing as your phone buzzed next to you.

Satoru: hope it’s going well captain 💙

Satoru: send me a pic when you win

You didn’t reply.

The frat house was glowing when you pulled up. Bass shaking the windows. Lines down the sidewalk. Someone yelling Satoru’s name like he was running for office. Led lights flashing rainbow colors as you stepped into the house.

You almost turned around. You hated walking into his world when you felt like this… messy, defeated, not put together.

But you needed him.

Inside, it was chaos. Red cups. Glitter. Someone hanging from the staircase railing.

“CAPTAIN!” one of his frat brothers yelled when he saw you. “You won, right?”

You forced a tight smile and gave him a fist bump. “Is Satoru here?”

“Upstairs somewhere, probably being famous.” He snorted as he took a big swig of his beer can and ran down the stairs.

Of course he was.

You pushed through the crowd, ignoring the way the music felt too loud in your chest. Halfway up the stairs, you heard him before you saw him.

Laughing.

Easy. Confident. The center of it all.

And something in you cracked, your chest got heavy and your mind fogged up. You suddenly felt stupid for coming.

He looked perfect. His seeves rolled, hair messy in that effortless way, arm slung over one of his friends’ shoulders while he shouted something over the music.

This was his night. You didn’t belong in it. You turned to leave.

“Hey.” His voice changed instantly. Not loud. Not frat-president booming.

Just your name.

You hadn’t even realized he’d seen you. He was down the stairs in seconds, crowd parting without him even trying. Up close, he took one look at your face and his grin dropped.

“You lost.” He muttered out as he stood in front of you. It wasn’t teasing, he was gentle. You nodded once as you looked down and crossed your arms over yourself as if trying to make yourself smaller.

“I played bad.” You replied as you looked up at him through your eyelashes.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t look annoyed. Didn’t glance back at the party. He just took your bag off your shoulder and handed it to someone behind him without even checking who.

“Keep this safe,” he said, already focused on you.

“Satoru, it’s fine. You don’t have to-“ He grabbed your hand. Music thumping behind him. People chanting his name again somewhere downstairs.

“Did you come here because you needed me?” He asked over the music as he looked in your eyes, searching your face.

Your throat tightened.

“…yeah.”

That was all it took. He turned to one of the guys near the stairs. “You’re in charge for a bit.”

“What? Satoru, the sponsors-“ The other guy started sputtering

“Handle it.” was all Satoru said as he turned away, he was pulling you through the hallway, into his room, shutting the door until the music dulled to a distant throb.

The sudden quiet made your chest ache. You sat on the edge of his bed.

“I didn’t want you to miss your party,” you said quietly. “It’s important.” you laid backwards and looked up at the ceiling that was decorated is tacky band and sport posters.

He crouched in front of you, hands on your knees.

“You’re more important.”

You huffed weakly. “You say that now.” You propped yourself up on your elbows as you looked at him.

“I said it before.” He chuckled softly as he stood up and sat next to you.

You looked away. “I choked.”

“You had a bad game.” He corrected.

“I’m the captain. I can’t afford bad games.” You huffed out as you sat straight up and tilted your body slightly towards him, grabbing his hand and playing with it subconsciously as if trying to distract yourself.

He leaned back slightly, studying you. “You know what I see when I look at you?”

You didn’t answer.

“I see the scariest, most disciplined person on this campus. The girl who makes entire teams nervous just by walking in.” His thumb on his other hand brushed your knee. “And right now I see someone who’s being cruel to herself.”

Your eyes stung. You sniffled trying to keep your tears in as you looked out the window to your left.

“I didn’t even text you,” you whispered. “I didn’t want to ruin your night.”

He blinked. “You could never ruin my night.” he chuckled lightly as he patted your leg, pulling his hand away.

“You were smiling,” you said. “You looked happy.”

“I was hosting,” he corrected softly. “That’s different.”

Silence hung between you. Downstairs, someone started chanting his name again. He glanced at the door for half a second then back at you.

“I don’t care about that,” he said simply as he got up and locked the door, walking back over to you.

“You worked so hard on this.” You reminded him as you kept your eyes on him in the dimly lit room.

“And you worked hard all season.” He stated matter of fact tone as he jumped back onto his bed.

You swallowed. “You should go back.”

He tilted his head. “Do you want me to?” You shook your head immediately. His smile was small and soft.

“Then I’m staying.” he grinned.

He stood, pulled you up gently, and wrapped his arms around you without caring that you were still sweaty from the game.

You melted into him. “I’m sorry,” you murmured into his chest.

“For what?” He asked, pulling back slightly to look down at you.

“For showing up like this.” you huffed as you put your forehead on his chest.

“Show up like what?” he asked after a moment of trying to figure it out.

“Like a mess.”

He smiled faintly. “You think I only want you when you win?”

You didn’t answer, but your sniffle was an answer enough to him. He brushed a thumb under your eye.

“I throw parties on a whim,” he said quietly. “They happen again. They’re replaceable.” His forehead touched yours.

“You aren’t.” He said quietly as he leaned down to quickly kiss you. He pulled away and saw your small smile as your eyes were glassy and your cheeks were tear stained. He leaned down and peppered kissed all over your face until you started giggling and trying to push him away from you.

The music swelled downstairs. Someone knocked once, then thought better of it.

You exhaled after a few moments, trying to catch your breath as you both laid in each others arms on his bed.

“I played awful.” you stated.

“Okay,” he said. “Then next game you won’t.”

“That’s it?” you asked him, laughing slightly

“That’s it.” he replied and he rubbed your arm up and down try to comfort you.

“Besides,” he added, voice dropping into that familiar cocky tone, “now I get you all to myself on my own party night.”

————-

You glance back to her and offer her a small smile. “I shall try not to embarrass us.”

She exhales softly, not quite a laugh. “You never have.” The carriage slows. You feel it in your chest before it fully stops.

London. Again.

The townhouse is smaller than the estate you once knew, but it is respectable. Servants bustle about, trunks are carried inside, curtains are drawn back to let in pale afternoon light. Your mother moves through the entryway with determination.

You stand in the center of it all, feeling strangely suspended, you turn around in a circle and watch everyone work.

“It smells different,” you murmur.

“It smells like opportunity,” she replies.

You raise a brow. “It smells like dust.” That earns you a real smile.

Later that evening, as seamstresses fuss over fabric and pins glint dangerously close to your skin, your mother circles you like a general preparing for battle.

“Stand straighter.”

“I am standing straight.”

“You are slouching in spirit.”

You sigh as you look at her in the mirror. “Is that visible?”

“To mothers? Always.”

The gown being fitted is ivory silk, modest but elegant, the neckline careful, the waist flattering without impropriety.

“You will make your curtsy slowly,” your mother instructs. “Not timid. Not proud.”

“What is the proper amount of confidence?”

“Just enough that they know you value yourself,” she says, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “But not enough to frighten them.”

You swallow. “And if I frighten them anyway?”

She steps closer, smoothing a stray curl from your temple.

“Then they are not worthy of you.” For a moment, you forget the room. The season. The expectations. It is just the two of you.

“You don’t have to do this,” she says quietly. “If you truly do not wish to.”

You hold her gaze. “Yes, I do.” Not because you crave admiration. Not because you dream of titles.

But because security matters. Stability matters. After losing your father, you learned how fragile comfort can be. And you will not leave your mother unprotected.

——————-

The morning of your debut dawns clear and mercilessly bright. Breakfast is barely touched. Your mother pours tea with steady hands that do not quite hide her nerves.

“You will receive invitations,” she says. “You must accept some. Not all.”

“And how shall I know which is which?” You ask as you pick up the tea cup and plate, taking a sip.

“You will learn.”

You hesitate. “And if no one asks?”

Her eyes soften immediately. “They will.” You try to laugh. It comes out thinner than intended.

“I feel as though I am being placed on display.” You placed the cup back down as soft as possible.

“You are,” she says plainly. Then gentler: “But you are not an object. You are a choice.”

A knock at the door interrupts you both. The first calling card of the season. You stare at it as though it might bite. Your mother takes it, reads the name, and nods once.

“It begins,” she says. Your heart beats louder than the city outside.

You smooth your skirts.

You square your shoulders.

You step forward.

That evening, as London prepares to welcome its newest debutante, whispers begin to move through drawing rooms and across polished floors.

A young lady has returned to the ton after years away, armed with grace, quiet beauty, and only her mother at her side.

This author anticipates a most interesting season indeed.

The palace gleams like something untouchable.

Carriages line the drive in an elegant procession, wheels crunching softly over gravel as daughters of good families step out one by one… gowns pristine, smiles rehearsed, futures trembling in gloved hands.

You step down carefully, your mother’s hand firm at your elbow.

“Breathe,” she murmurs.

“I am breathing.”

“You are vibrating.”

You exhale slowly, and she squeezes your arm once before releasing you.

Inside, everything is gold and mirrored light. Silk brushes silk. Jewels glint beneath chandeliers that seem to hold the sun captive.

Your name is called.

You move forward as instructed, each step measured, chin lifted just enough. The gown your mother chose falls perfectly, ivory catching candlelight like something holy. You curtsy low, smooth and controlled, exactly as practiced in the drawing room a hundred times before.

Not timid. Not proud.

Balanced.

When you rise, you feel it, the collective assessment.

As you pass back through the line, whispers begin their quiet migration.

“She is striking.”

“So composed.”

“Only her mother, I hear.”

“Still… wuite the entrance.”

Your mother meets you at the edge of the hall, eyes shining with restrained relief.

“You did beautifully,” she says softly.

“Did I look frightened?” You asked quickly with a worried look on your face.

“You looked unattainable.” she smiled softly at you, rubbing the outside of your arms.

You swallow. That had not been the goal.

Thus enters our newest debutante… graceful, poised, and already the subject of considerable admiration.

This author suspects London will not remain indifferent for long.

Invitations begin arriving before the week has ended. Calling cards stack neatly atop the entry table. Names you recognize. Names you do not. Titles that make your mother arch her brows in quiet approval.

By the time the first ball of the season looms near, your dance card is nearly full.

And across the city…

Satoru Gojo knows none of this, as he sits in the Gentlemen’s Club.

The club smells of cigar smoke and expensive brandy. Laughter echoes against dark-paneled walls, low and indulgent. Men sit in tailored jackets and loosened cravats, discussing horses, politics, and women with equal detachment.

Satoru lounges back in a leather chair, one ankle resting over his knee, glass turning lazily in his hand. He looks effortless, relaxed in a way that invites attention but never attachment.

“You are avoiding Lady Ashbourne again,” one of his companions remarks.

“I am sparing her disappointment,” Satoru replies smoothly.

“Cruel.”

“Efficient.”

The table laughs.

He has perfected this version of himself.. the charming, low-commitment duke. Interested but never invested. Present but never claimed.

A player, some call him. He prefers disciplined.

Another round is poured.

“So,” another gentleman says casually, tapping ash from his cigar, “have you seen her yet?”

Satoru barely glances up. “Seen who?”

“The girl everyone is talking about.” the gentleman continued as if it was common knowledge

“That narrows it very little.” Satoru grumbled out as he watched his shoes

A grin spreads across the man’s face. “The debutante. Returned from the countryside. Only her mother as chaperone.”

Satoru’s fingers still slightly around his glass. He does not look up.

“And?”

“Presented last week. Caused quite the stir.”

“London startles easily.”

“She is not easily dismissed,” another adds. “Beautiful. Quiet. Dangerous, in that subtle way.”

“Name?” Satoru asks, tone neutral.

It is spoken.

Your name.

For a moment, no one notices the way the room seems to sharpen around him. He sets his glass down slowly and sits up.

“She has many suitors already,” someone continues. “Most eligible men are circling.”

“Smart of her mother to bring her back now,” another adds. “Excellent timing.” Satoru leans back again, posture unchanged.

“She will learn quickly,” he says lightly, “that admiration fades.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” his friend replies. “Not this time.” There is something in the certainty that unsettles him.

“Apparently,” the man continues, smirking slightly, “she used to go to school her as a child, I think she was in my class.”

A few amused glances flick toward Satoru.

He shrugs.

“Children play many games,” he says. “They do not often survive into adulthood.”

The table hums in agreement. But he does not reach for his glass again.

It seems the Duke had finally heard what London already knows.

The question remains… will he remain unmoved?

Conversation resumes, but Satoru hears little of it.

Returned. Presented. Many suitors.

He imagines you in silk beneath chandeliers, curtsying with practiced grace. He imagines other men watching you the way the club describes.

He tells himself it does not matter.

He tells himself ten years is enough to bury anything foolish.

“Will you attend the opening ball?” one of his friends asks, breaking into his thoughts.

He had declined the invitation weeks ago.

He adjusts his cuff lazily.

“I suppose,” he says, voice smooth once more, “I could endure one evening.”

The men grin knowingly.

But when Satoru rises to leave earlier than usual that night, the amusement does not follow him.

Outside, the London air is cool.

And for the first time in years, the Duke feels something dangerously close to anticipation.

The first ball of the season does not disappoint. It overwhelms.

The ballroom has been transformed into something almost mythical… sweeping garlands of ivy woven through gilded railings, chandeliers dimmed to a warm golden haze. Candles flicker in colored glass, casting jewel-toned shadows across polished marble floors. Music spills from the orchestra balcony in rich, romantic swells.

And tonight, no one is entirely themselves.

Feathers. Lace. Gold filigree. Velvet masks obscuring cheekbones and secrets alike.

Your mother adjusts your gloves before you descend the staircase. “Remember,” she murmurs, “a masquerade allows mystery.”

“I thought society frowned upon mystery.” You frowned slightly as she fixed the box in the back of your hair.

“Society thrives on it.” She pats your shoulders.

Your mask is delicate. Pale ivory with silver detailing, subtle enough not to overpower your features. It frames your eyes rather than hiding them.

You do not search for anyone in particular when you enter the ballroom. You tell yourself you wouldn’t know him if he were here.

Ten years changes a boy into someone else entirely.

Still.

Your pulse stutters at every tall silhouette in dark formalwear. You busy yourself with observation instead.

The floral arrangements suspended from the ceiling. The mirrored walls reflecting masked strangers into infinity. The laughter that feels less restrained tonight, as if anonymity loosens the spine.

You drift toward the far side of the room, where the crowd thins near a column wrapped in ivy. A cascade of white roses spills down from above, petals soft against candlelight.

You tilt your head up, smiling faintly to yourself.

“It almost feels like a fairytale,” you murmur under your breath.

You do not know someone is watching you.

Satoru sees you the moment he enters. He tells himself it is coincidence. He tells himself he was merely surveying the crowd.

But no.

It is immediate. A shift in the air.

You stand apart from the swirl of masked ambition, not posing, not performing. Simply looking upward with that same quiet wonder you used to have when frost collected on winter grass.

Your smile is small. Your eyes reflect the shining ways in the chandelier on the ceiling along with the many flickering candles around the room. The childlike happiness radiates off of you like water off the pavement after a hot rainy summer day.

And something in his chest tightens in a way that feels embarrassingly young.

You have changed.

Of course you have.

Your posture is refined now, your gown cut elegantly to your figure, the fabric catching the light like poured silk. Your hair due up rather than how it would always hand loose as children.

The years have sharpened your beauty into something deliberate.

But the way you stand alone… content, observant, slightly removed-

That is the same girl who once sat beneath an old tree and pretended not to cry.

He knows it instantly. Even with the mask. Even after a decade.

He would know you in a crowded room with the lights extinguished.

A friend brushes past him.

“You are unusually still tonight,” the man remarks.

Satoru does not answer.

Because across the ballroom, you laugh softly at something no one else hears.

And it unravels him.

You sense someone’s gaze. It prickles at the back of your neck. Slowly, you lower your eyes from the roses and scan the room.

Masks blur together. Gold. Black. Crimson.

And then you notice him.

Tall. Composed. Dressed in dark formalwear with a black mask edged in subtle silver. It conceals the upper half of his face, but does nothing to diminish presence.

He is not speaking. Not laughing. Simply watching.

You cannot see his eyes clearly from this distance. But you feel them. For a moment, neither of you move.

Then he inclines his head, the slightest acknowledgment.

Your pulse stumbles. You do not recognize him. You would remember a man like that.

Wouldn’t you?

Still, something about the way he stands, shoulders relaxed but alert, like someone accustomed to command, feels strangely familiar.

He begins to cross the room

People part without realizing they are doing so. And your breath betrays you. You remind yourself this is precisely what a masquerade encourages.

He stops a polite distance away.

Up close, the details sharpen.. the cut of his jaw, the controlled set of his mouth, the faintest hint of amusement at its corner.

His voice, when he speaks, is smooth and unfamiliar.

“Forgive me,” he says, offering a slight bow. “But it would be a tragedy to allow the most captivating woman in the room to remain unaccompanied.”

Your heart trips.

You tilt your head, studying him carefully.

“Captivating?” you reply lightly. “You must not see very well through your mask.”

“If that were true,” he says quietly, “I would not have recognized you from across the room.”

Your breath catches.

Recognized? You search his face again, but the mask reveals nothing.

“And who,” you ask carefully, “do you believe me to be?”

His gaze softens, just slightly.

“A girl who once hated the cold,” he says. “But never left the frost.”

Your pulse roars in your ears. It is too specific.

Too deliberate.But no.

It cannot be.

He extends his gloved hand.

“May I have this dance?” he asks. Yu stare at his hand for a fraction too long.

Something in your chest trembles between suspicion and hope. And yet you place your hand in his.

“Only if you promise,” you murmur, “not to disappear at midnight.”

For the briefest second, something flashes across his face. Regret. Then it’s gone.

He exhales, a shaky thing he probably didn’t mean for you to hear, and finally steps further inside. The door clicks shut behind him, sealing the moment in.

Silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just heavy.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts suddenly, too fast, like if he doesn’t get it out now he’ll lose the nerve. “For ignoring you. After the meeting. After Gojo talked to me.”

Your chest tightens, but you stay quiet, letting him speak.

“I thought I was helping,” Megumi continues, eyes fixed on the floor. “I thought if I pulled back, if I acted like nothing was wrong, it’d make things easier for you. Less rumors. Less pressure.”

He swallows.

“But all I did was hurt you.”

That finally pulls your gaze to his face. He looks tired. Not just physically…. emotionally. Like the weeks apart weighed on him just as much as they did on you.

“You disappearing didn’t make it easier,” you admit softly. “It just made me feel…alone.”

“I know,” he says. His voice cracks, barely. “And I hate that I did that to you.”

Another beat of silence. Then you pat the couch beside you.

“Sit,” you say.

He hesitates, then does, careful like the moment might break if he moves wrong. The space between you is small but charged, warmth bleeding through without either of you touching.

“I missed you,” you say quietly.

Megumi lets out a breath that sounds like relief. “Yeah. Me too.”

Your fingers brush his accidentally. Neither of you pull away.

The lamp hums. The city breathes.

Eventually, Megumi glances toward the keyboard tucked against the wall. “Have you been writing?”

You nod. “Trying to. Everything feels… loud lately.”

He hums thoughtfully. “The internet doesn’t know when to shut up.”

You snort despite yourself. “Tell me about it.”

Something shifts. You grab your laptop, pulling it onto the coffee table, and Megumi scoots closer without even realizing he’s doing it.

“What if,” you say slowly, eyes flicking to him, “we wrote something that’s not an explanation. Not an apology. Just… things I wish I could say to them right now…@

Megumi considers it. Then nods. “A clap back.”

“A subtle one,” you grin.

The melody comes first simple, addictive. Fingers tapping on the table. A beat that feels like scrolling at 2 a.m. when you should be sleeping.

You start mumbling lyrics, half-formed thoughts about screens and rumors and people thinking they know you because they saw a clip once.

Megumi leans over your shoulder, quietly adding lines. About being misunderstood. About confidence that looks like arrogance online. About not needing approval.

“You should call it Internet Girl,” he says offhandedly.

Your eyes widen. “Wait yeah. That’s actually perfect.”

Hours pass without you noticing. Knees brushing. Shoulders touching. Laughing softly when a lyric is too on-the-nose, rewriting it until it feels right.

At some point, Megumi rests his head lightly against yours.

“This feels… normal,” he murmurs.

“It does,” you agree.

When the song is finally done, you lean back against the couch, exhausted but content. The tension that once filled the room is gone, replaced with something warm and safe.

Megumi turns to you, serious again but softer this time.

“I won’t shut you out again,” he says. “Even if it’s messy. Even if people talk.”

You meet his gaze. “We’ll deal with it together.”

He nods, then, tentative but hopeful, laces his fingers with yours.

Outside, the city keeps talking.

Inside, you don’t care.

Your fingers stay tangled with his, neither of you saying anything, like words would ruin the fragile calm you finally found again.

Megumi’s thumb traces a small, absent-minded circle over your knuckle.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs.

“So are you,” you reply, just as quietly.

The lamp flickers faintly, casting gold over his face. You hadn’t realized how close you were until now knees touching, shoulders pressed together, the space between your breaths shrinking with every second.

Megumi looks at you then. Really looks at you.

Not guarded. Not distant. Just… him, Megumi.

“I wanted to kiss you earlier,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t think I deserved to.”

Your heart stutters.

“You don’t get to decide that alone,” you say softly.

His breath catches. “Can I-“

You nod before he even finishes.

He leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you want to. You don’t.

When his lips finally meet yours, it’s gentle, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he presses too hard. The kiss tastes like tea and something familiar, something you’ve missed so badly it almost hurts.

Your hand slips into his hoodie, fingers curling into the fabric at his waist.

That’s all it takes.

The kiss deepens, not rushed, not desperate.. just warm and sure. Megumi exhales against your lips, like he’s been holding his breath for weeks and only now feels safe enough to let it go.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“I missed this,” he says.

“I missed you,” you correct.

A tiny smile tugs at his lips before he kisses you again, softer this time, sweeter. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye like he’s memorizing you all over again.

When you finally part, you’re both smiling, a little breathless.

The song you wrote sits unfinished on the screen, the world still loud and messy outside your apartment but right now, in the dim light, wrapped in warmth and quiet and each other nothing else matters.

BLACKFLASH doesn’t tease Internet Girl the way they usually do.

No cryptic countdowns. No concept photos. No lore-heavy captions.

They just drop it.

Friday night. Midnight. A single tweet:

BLACKFLASH “Internet Girl” out now.

The internet loses its mind within minutes.

Clips flood timelines, screenshots of lyrics highlighted in neon, slowed-down edits of your verse layered over fancams, Megumi’s subtle harmonies dissected like evidence in a court case.

“this is NOT subtle at all omg” “they ate the internet ALIVE” “the way this feels like a response to EVERYTHING???” “who hurt them because THANK YOU”

People catch on fast.

They quote lines about strangers thinking they know you, about confidence mistaken for attitude, about loving yourself loudly while the world watches quietly—and suddenly everyone has a theory.

Think pieces pop up within hours.

BLACKFLASH’s ‘Internet Girl’ Is a Masterclass in Reclaiming Narrative

Megumi trends without even meaning to.

So do you.

Speculation runs wild… about inspiration, about timing, about chemistry. Old clips get dug up. Side glances on stage. A laugh shared too easily. A hand that lingered half a second too long during a behind-the-scenes video.

But there’s no confirmation.

No denial either.

Backstage after the first live performance of Internet Girl, the girls are buzzing.

“That chorus is INSANE live,” one of them says, still riding the adrenaline.

“And the crowd??” another laughs. “They knew every word already.”

You’re checking your phone when Megumi slips up beside you, close enough that his arm brushes yours.

No one notices. They’re used to you being near each other.

Gojo does, though.

He watches over his sunglasses, grin sharp and knowing. Later, when the room clears out a bit, he claps a hand on Megumi’s shoulder.

“Proud of you,” he says lightly. “Both of you.”

Megumi stiffens for half a second, then relaxes. “Thanks.”

Gojo’s voice drops, teasing but sincere. “Good song. Great clap back.”

You catch Megumi’s eye across the room.

He smiles. Just a little.

That night, back at your apartment, the lights are dim again, familiar now. Safe.

Megumi’s jacket is draped over the back of your chair. Your phone buzzes nonstop on the table, notifications stacked higher than you want to look at.

You don’t.

Instead, you curl into his side on the couch, legs tangled, head resting against his shoulder.

“They’re going crazy,” you murmur.

He hums. “Let them.”

His arm tightens around you, grounding.

“They don’t know,” you add.

“No,” he agrees. “They don’t.”

And somehow, that makes it better.

The world gets the song. The message.

But you get the private moments the shared smiles, the late-night writing sessions, the way Megumi presses a kiss to your temple when no one’s looking.