satanic cyanide

gojo satoru has a habit of standing too close.

you notice it first when his arm brushes yours—barely there, accidental enough that you can’t call it out. then again when he leans down to talk, voice low, breath warm against your ear like he forgets personal space exists.

or maybe he doesn’t forget.

maybe he just doesn’t care.

“you’re quiet today,” he says.

you shrug. “just tired.”

he hums, unconvinced. you feel his gaze on you even when you look away. it’s heavy in a way that makes your chest feel tight.

“you don’t have to pretend with me,” he adds, softer.

that’s the thing about gojo. he says things like that—like he sees straight through you—and then acts surprised when it affects you.

you look up at him. he’s already looking at you.

too close.

way too close.

“you always say that,” you mumble.

“because it’s true.”

there’s a pause. the air shifts. you swear the world goes quiet when he looks at you like this—like you’re something fragile, something important.

his hand lifts, hesitates.

your heart is loud.

“can i?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you nod before you can think.

his fingers brush yours—slow, careful, like he’s giving you time to pull away. you don’t. instead, you lace your fingers with his.

gojo exhales. shaky. relieved.

“yeah,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “thought so.”

you don’t say anything. you don’t need to.

because the way he holds your hand—gentle, like he’s afraid of breaking something—says everything he never does out loud.

and when he leans in, forehead resting against yours, smiling like he’s already won something precious—

you know.

later, when the night has settled and the moment is slipping away, gojo squeezes your hand once—gentle, grounding.

“i’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.

it sounds like a promise.

you nod, watching him turn and disappear into the dark, your heart still warm where his hand was.

and for the first time, you realize—

maybe love doesn’t always arrive loudly.

maybe sometimes it stays.

steady.

patient.

waiting in the space between almost and always.

Thankyou for reading, this is my first time... HOPE YOU ALL LIKE IT!!🫶🏻