Multi Fandom? (18+)

“Out.”

A hint of anger and irritation passed his eyes when he heard that. “I fucking know that, but out where?” He asked through his clenched teeth, stepping closer.

“I was out with my friends” you said with an exhausted sigh, “We went out for dinner.”

“With your friends?” he repeated, seething. “You left this house, without telling me, without taking any of my men with you, looking like a fucking whore, to go to dinner with your friends, and that too this late? Do you have any fucking idea what time it is.”

You felt his hands wrap around your wrist as he towered over you, looking down at you but you only avoided his gaze, looking to your side without any response. “I called you like 50 times, you would know if you cared to check your phone.”

You did know and that was the sole reason you had switched off your phone. “My phone died so I am really sorry I couldn't check it.”

You felt his warm breath against your face, as his hands wandered around your waist and hips, as he touched your hair. “And why did you dress so cheaply? Do I get you expensive stuff to decorate your closet?”

“It was a birthday and they had a theme so–”

“I don't give a fuck it was birthday or whatever” he cut you off, his voice gravelly. “If your friends want to celebrate, they can do it without you. And if you wanted to go out, you should have asked for permission like you always do.”

He knew who your friends were, similar wealthy background girls like you, politicians and businessmen daughters and he had no issues with them, most of the time atleast but if you were going to behave like this just to hang out and meet with them, he was definitely going to have problems with them and you would end up suffering instead.

“You don't leave without my say so. Do you understand me? And if not I will lock you in your room, then keep crying.” He said tilting his face to the side to meet yours at your eye level, only for you to turn to the other side again, nodding.

You hated looking at his eyes, they were really sharp, predatory and cold. In the beginning of your marriage when you used to it made you feel so uneasy and scared, slowly you learnt to avoid his gaze and directly looking at his face.

That way it was easier to deal with him, if not whatever you have learnt and kept yourself out together it would come crashing down in one go and you didn't want that happening.

“There are people out there always trying to put a bullet through my head, get me dead, get something they can use against me. Do you have any idea how easy it would be for someone to take you off the street?”

“You're supposed to be where I can see you–”

He stopped abruptly, turning around as the large front door of the estate opened, flooding in the light from the outside as the driver you had taken for yourself walked in, arms full of and laden with things with different colours, gift wrappings, shopping bags from high end boutiques and brands.

He stared at the bags and the gifts as the driver walked towards you two. Slowly, he turned his head back to you.

“What is this now? You went shopping too?”

“No,” you said, rubbing your arm feeling a wave of anxiousness as you took in a breath before speaking “They're from the birthday party.”

“Whose birthday party?” He asked, picking up a small rectangular shaped gift box from the pile from the driver's arms.

“Mine.”

Happy Birthday, my darling. My sweetest, prettiest baby girl in this whole world, dad loves you alot. — Dad.

He read it simultaneously, the card attached to it as that one word left your mouth and everything came crashing down to him as he felt like he was thrown in a cold lake on a harsh winter night.

Fuck.

He had forgotten.

He had forgotten your birthday.

“Today…. today was your birthday?” He asked as if still in disbelief as he looked at you with this weird look which you had never seen on his face and you didn't know if you wanted to deal with it right now. Why did it matter if it was your special day or not, for him it was like any other day.

“Yes” you said simply, turning back towards the stairs, your hand gripping the banister. “I am going to bed, I am really tired also I am sorry I should have told you beforehand.”

“Wait”

His hand shot out, catching your wrist. But he didn't pull you back with his usual rough force. His grip was loose, his fingers gentle on your skin.

“Wait a second’ he said again, his voice getting heavier.

You stopped, looking down at his hand on your wrist, then up at his face, not really knowing what to do and what to say, honestly it didn't hurt you that he didn't remember it, because you never had that kind of expectation from him.

"Baby," he whispered.

The word “baby” came out clumsy and sounded really weird to your ears. The word felt incredibly strange coming from his mouth.

He was not an affectionate guy or the one to use pet names as that, he usually called you woman or wife when he was angry, when he was pulling your clothes over your head in the dark after returning home late and straight up coming to fuck you.

Even when he used words like that, which was a rare occurrence, it was to mock you or try to get you into bed. Right now the way he spoke that word was completely different, it almost sounded affectionate and intimate, like he loved you, his voice had a hint of desperation, which was not like him at all.

“I am…I am–” he stammered trying to get the word sorry out of his mouth which was stuck in his throat, he felt like he should say it but it was not coming out.

He didn't even remember the last time he had said sorry to someone,that too sincerely but right now his heart and mind both shouted together for him to say out that word to you, he didn't know why, he didn't know why this heavy feeling had settled in his chest when he realised he missed such an important day of yours, was this guilt? Is this how it felt like?

Sorry was like a cuss word to him but still he couldn't help himself as those words left his mouth.

“I…” He swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours. “I forgot. I am ... fuck it. I am sorry.”

You stared at him, completely frozen as those words left his mouth, so strange and awkward.

I am sorry?

Had you heard him right?

He had never said those words to you. Not when he stayed out all night with other women, not when he yelled at you for things you didn't do, not when he forced you to stay home when you wanted to see your family. He never apologized for his actions, never.

So, how could you believe him even if he was standing on the bottom step of the stairs, looking up at you with wide, desperate eyes, telling you that he was sorry.

“I didn't mean to, I swear to God” he rambled, his voice growing faster, more frantic as he saw the lack of reaction on your face. He stepped up onto the stair, bringing himself closer to you as he kept rambling.

“It's fine you don't need to worry too much.” You whispered not knowing what else to say.

“No, it's not fine!” he said, his voice rising. He leaned closer, his forehead pressing against yours, his warm skin touching yours as the breath of you two mixed with each other, the similar way your feelings were tangling with his, messy and unsure.

“It's your birthday. I should have... I should have been there with you the whole day. I should have taken you out. What do you want? Tell me what you want, and I'll get it for you right now.”

“I don't want anything” you said, your eyes slipping shut as you touched his face reassuringly.

“Don't say that” he said as his voice sounded pleading, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones. His touch was so gentle it felt almost foreign.

“Anything you want. Anything, jewellery, bags, anything I mean it, you just name it. Or a trip? We can go to Paris to celebrate your birthday, or anywhere else, wherever you want.”

He was offering you everything he had, trying to buy his way out of the suffocating guilt that was weighing him down in his heart for some god forsaken reason, and because he was feeling like that for the first time he didn't know how to act and what to do or deal with this strange feeling.

But you didn't want anything he was offering to you.

Though you were not going to lie, the word divorce did flash in your mind for a second but even you knew that offer was not on the table.

an; this is a scheduled post!

© darkbirdie 2026

The days had blurred together in the rhythm of jujutsu sorcery, where curses never slept and neither did the weight on your shoulders. You and Satoru had been together for nearly two years now, a relationship forged in the fires of shared battles and quiet nights where his usual cocky facade melted away into something softer, something real. He was the strongest, but with you, he let himself be vulnerable in ways no one else saw. Lazy mornings tangled in your shared bed, his blindfold discarded on the nightstand, his white hair messy as he pulled you closer and whispered promises about a future where the world didn’t demand so much from either of you. You were both sorcerers, assigned to Tokyo Jujutsu High, and the bond felt unbreakable.

Until the mission came.

It was supposed to be a week-long assignment in a remote prefecture, tracking a particularly elusive special-grade curse that had been evading capture. Satoru had kissed you goodbye at the school’s gates, his usual grin in place but his six eyes lingering on you a beat longer than necessary. “Come back to me in one piece, yeah? I’ll have your favorite takeout waiting. And maybe a little something extra.” His voice had been light, teasing, but the way his fingers brushed your cheek carried the quiet worry he rarely voiced aloud.

You left with a smile, promising to text him updates. The mission dragged, filled with sleepless nights and close calls, but you pushed through, counting down the days until you could collapse into his arms again.

Meanwhile, back at the school, life moved on without you. A new teacher had arrived just days after your departure, a transfer from a smaller branch up north named Aiko. She was sharp-witted, with a no-nonsense attitude that masked a surprisingly dry sense of humor. Mid-twenties, dark hair tied back in a practical ponytail, and cursed energy that hummed with controlled precision. Principal Yaga had introduced her briefly in the staff room, explaining she would be handling some of the advanced training sessions for the second-years while also assisting with curse reconnaissance.

Satoru, ever the social butterfly when it suited him, had been the one to show her around. At first, it was purely professional. He demonstrated the school’s layout with his typical flair, infinity flickering idly around him as he levitated a few training dummies to show her the sparring grounds. “Don’t let the kids fool you,” he said with a chuckle, pushing his blindfold up just enough to wink. “They look innocent, but they’ll curse you into next week if you’re not careful.”

Aiko laughed, a genuine sound that cut through the afternoon haze. “Sounds like my old students. One of them tried to summon a low-grade curse just to get out of homework. Kids these days.”

They fell into easy conversation after that. Satoru found himself lingering in the staff lounge more than usual, trading stories about botched missions. She had a way of matching his energy without trying too hard. When he cracked a joke about how the higher-ups were basically ancient curses themselves, bureaucratic and soul-sucking, she fired back instantly. “At least curses dissolve when you hit them hard enough. Paperwork just multiplies.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and Satoru threw his head back in laughter, the sound echoing down the hall.

Over the next few days, the bond deepened unintentionally. Mornings started with shared coffee runs before classes. Satoru would complain about the endless reports he had to file, dramatically flopping onto a bench while Aiko sipped her drink and offered sarcastic advice. “Just infinity the whole stack away. Problem solved.” He grinned at that, appreciating how she didn’t tiptoe around his status as the strongest. Most people treated him like a walking legend or a weapon. She treated him like a colleague with an ego problem, and it was refreshing.

One evening, after a particularly grueling training session where Aiko had effortlessly dismantled a simulated curse barrier, they ended up walking the school perimeter together. The sun dipped low, painting the sky in oranges and pinks. Satoru stretched his arms overhead, his white hair catching the light. “You know, most new teachers last about a month before they burn out. You’ve got that fire though. What’s your secret?”

Aiko shrugged, kicking a pebble along the path. “Surviving worse up north. Blizzards, isolation, and curses that blend into the snow like ghosts. Makes this place feel like a vacation.” She paused, glancing at him sideways. “Plus, you’ve got a good vibe here. Makes the jokes land better.”

He laughed again, bumping her shoulder lightly with his. “Flattery will get you everywhere. But seriously, if you ever need tips on handling the Gojo special, I’m your guy.” Their steps synced without thought, conversation flowing from work to lighter topics. Favorite movies, hidden talents. Aiko admitted she had a soft spot for old horror flicks, the kind with practical effects and terrible acting. Satoru lit up. “No way. I binge those when I can’t sleep. The bloodier, the better.”

By day five, it felt natural. They weren’t seeking each other out deliberately, but the moments added up. A shared lunch where she teased him about his sweet tooth, sliding over an extra mochi she’d picked up. “Figured the strongest needed fuel for all that posturing.” He devoured it with exaggerated bliss, making her chuckle. Evenings blurred into casual hangouts, discussing strategy over takeout in the common areas. She challenged him on technique, demonstrating a unique binding vow she’d developed, and he countered with playful spars that left them both breathless and laughing.

It was friendship, pure and simple. Or so they told themselves. No lines crossed, just two sorcerers finding common ground in a world that demanded everything from them.

Then came the movie night.

It was the sixth night of your absence. Rain pattered against the windows of the house you shared with Satoru, a cozy space tucked away from the main campus. Aiko had mentioned in passing how her temporary quarters were stuffy, and Satoru, without much thought, offered his place. “It’s bigger, and I’ve got the good projector setup. We can watch that old slasher you mentioned. Beats staring at reports all night.”

She hesitated only a moment before agreeing. “As long as you don’t mind the company. And no work talk after the first hour.”

They settled in on the couch, lights dimmed, a bowl of popcorn between them. The movie played, filled with jump scares and cheesy dialogue. Satoru sprawled out, one arm draped casually over the back of the couch, while Aiko tucked her legs under her. Laughter came easy during the ridiculous plot twists. “This guy’s survival skills are worse than a first-year’s,” she quipped, elbowing him when the protagonist tripped over his own feet.

“Reminds me of you during that barrier drill yesterday,” he shot back, dodging her playful swat.

As the film progressed, the tone shifted. A intense sex scene unfolded on screen, raw and unfiltered, bodies entwined in dim lighting with heavy breathing and lingering touches. The air in the room thickened. Satoru shifted slightly, suddenly aware of the warmth beside him. Aiko’s breath hitched, her gaze flicking from the screen to him and back. Neither spoke at first, the tension coiling like cursed energy ready to snap.

It started with a glance. His six eyes, uncovered in the privacy of home, caught the flush on her cheeks. She turned toward him, voice low. “This scene… it’s always the part that gets awkward in company.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his usual bravado softened. The movie’s sounds filled the space, but their focus had narrowed. A hand brushed against hers reaching for popcorn. Fingers lingered. The friendship that had bloomed so quickly felt charged now, boundaries blurring in the quiet isolation. Satoru’s mind flickered briefly to you, but the mission, the distance, the exhaustion of the week without your steady presence, it all pressed in. Aiko leaned in first, tentative, and he met her halfway.

What followed was a haze of touches and whispered affirmations. Clothes shed in hurried motions, bodies pressing together on the couch before migrating to the bedroom. It was impulsive, driven by the building tension and the shared loneliness of their world. Skin against skin, breaths mingling, the kind of release that came from two people who understood the weight of sorcery without needing words. Satoru lost himself in the moment, the pleasure sharp and immediate, drowning out deeper thoughts. They collapsed afterward, limbs tangled, and sleep claimed him swiftly, his body heavy with satisfaction and unspoken fatigue. Aiko drifted off beside him, the room falling silent save for the distant rain.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and unforgiving.

You arrived home earlier than expected, the mission wrapping up with a decisive exorcism that left you drained but eager. Your bag slung over your shoulder, you pushed open the front door quietly, heart light at the thought of surprising Satoru. The house smelled faintly of popcorn and something else, something unfamiliar. Shoes kicked off, you padded toward the bedroom, a smile already forming on your lips.

The door creaked open.

There, in your bed, the bed you shared with him, lay Satoru. Naked, sheets twisted around his waist. And beside him, a woman you didn’t recognize, her dark hair splayed across the pillow, blanket pulled modestly over her chest. Her eyes fluttered open at the sound, widening in shock.

Your world tilted. The suitcase handle slipped from your grip, thudding against the floor. “Satoru,” you said, voice cracking like glass. Then louder, hysteria bubbling up. “Satoru! Wake up!”

He stirred, blinking groggily, his white hair a tousled mess. His six eyes focused, and the color drained from his face as reality slammed into him. You stood there, tears already spilling down your cheeks, staring at the naked form of your boyfriend entangled with another woman in the very sheets that still carried the scent of your last night together before the mission.

“Shit,” he breathed, bolting upright. Guilt crashed over him like a tidal wave, his chest tightening painfully. He scrambled for clothes, grabbing boxers and sweatpants from the floor, yanking them on with trembling hands. Aiko sat up slowly, clutching the blanket tighter, her expression morphing from confusion to horror as she took in your presence. She hadn’t known. The realization hit her as clearly as it shattered you.

You yelled again, voice raw. “What the hell is this? Explain! Satoru, how could you?” Tears streamed freely now, your body shaking as the scene burned into your mind. Your life, the trust, the love you thought was solid, crumbling in the soft morning light.

Satoru crossed the room in two strides, reaching for you even as he fumbled with his pants. “Baby, wait, please. It wasn’t… I didn’t mean for this. You were gone, and we were just hanging out, and it just happened. I fell asleep before I could even think. I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked, desperation lacing every word. Those brilliant eyes, usually so confident, now swam with regret. He could see it in your face, the heartbreak, the betrayal. How had he let this happen? The bonding, the jokes, the movie, it had all felt harmless until it wasn’t. And now, with you standing there in tears, he felt smaller than any curse could make him.

Aiko remained silent at first, staring in shock, blanket clutched like a shield. She hadn’t known he had a girlfriend. The house had seemed empty, his stories never mentioning a partner. The sex had been quick, born of tension, but seeing this, the raw pain on your face, it twisted something in her gut.

Satoru kept talking, words tumbling out as he hovered near you, not daring to touch but desperate to bridge the gap. “It was a mistake. A stupid, horrible mistake. We bonded over work stuff, jokes, you know how it is out here. The loneliness. But I love you. Only you. I wasn’t thinking straight. Please, don’t… we can fix this. I’ll do anything.” His hands gestured helplessly, guilt drowning him. He pictured the future without your trust, without your laugh in the mornings, and it terrified him more than any battle ever had.

You were in full hysterics now, chest heaving with sobs. “Fix this? You’re naked in our bed with her! I trusted you. I was out there fighting, thinking about coming home to you, and this?” The words dissolved into broken cries, your hands covering your face as the room spun.

Aiko finally moved, slipping out of bed with the blanket wrapped around her. She gathered her clothes quietly, the shock on her face giving way to resolve. Satoru glanced at her in confusion as she dressed. “What are you doing?”

She pulled on her shirt, voice steady but edged with disappointment. “I didn’t know you were taken. You never said anything, and I thought… I thought you were single. This was too fast anyway. We met a week ago, and we’re already here? That’s not right.” She shook her head, stepping into her pants. “I don’t want any part of this. What you did to her… I won’t be that person.” She grabbed her belongings, bag and phone, casting one last look at him. Pity mixed with judgment. Then she left, the front door clicking shut behind her, leaving silence broken only by your sobs.

Satoru stood frozen, the weight of it all crushing down. The house felt too big, too empty. He had ruined everything for a night that now tasted like ash. The friendship with Aiko, the unintended closeness, the movie that had escalated, the sleep that stole his chance to process it. All of it led here. He reached for you again, voice hoarse. “Please. Stay. Yell at me, hit me, anything. Just don’t leave.”

But you were already moving, grabbing a suitcase from the closet with shaking hands. Necessities shoved in: clothes, toiletries, a few photos that now felt like knives. Your tears didn’t stop as you packed, the sound of zippers and drawers echoing like finality. Satoru watched, helpless, his apologies falling on ears too full of pain to hear them. “I was weak. It meant nothing. You mean everything.”

You didn’t respond, just wheeled the suitcase toward the door. The last glance you gave him was one of shattered love, eyes red and swollen. Then you were gone, the door slamming with a force that rattled the frames.

Satoru sank onto the edge of the bed, head in his hands. The sheets still warm from the night before mocked him. The world pressed in, heavy and unforgiving. He had lost you, probably forever. The strongest sorcerer, undone not by a curse, but by his own fleeting weakness. Hours passed as he sat there, replaying every bonding moment, every laugh, every step that led to this ruin. The jokes in the lounge, the shared meals, the movie’s glow on Aiko’s face, the impulsive pull. All of it worthless now.

The closer he’s gotten to being finished, the more that desire for their acceptance, goodwill, and love has faded. Not so long ago, it was sharp like a knife in the gut; now it’s just a dull throb. In writing the letters, it’s like he’s letting out all of their poison, much like bloodletting from medieval times. It’s taken separation, a good long look at himself and his childhood, as well as seeing the way you are with Ender, to truly understand just how fucked up they were to him. 

Ender will never have to agonize about whether or not you love him because you shower him with affection and attention every day—from kisses to hugs, to surprising him with his favorite things, your eternal patience in answering his ceaseless questions, the way you pay such close attention to his likes and dislikes. Your love for Ender is palpable in everything you do. And if Satoru can feel it, he has no doubt his son can. Satoru has realized his parents have never given him that. Not once has he ever felt like they loved him, even when he was Ender’s age, especially at that age. He was nothing more than an inconvenience to be dealt with.

Ender will never have to worry if he’s enough for you, if you’ll be angry when he makes mistakes, if you’ll hurt him or belittle him. He’s witnessed Ender dump a whole plate of spaghetti on the floor by accident from just running a little too quickly. His parents would have beaten him across the shoulders with a bamboo rod, but you just laughed and said, “Oops. Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen. Let’s clean it up together.” He watched you teach your son responsibility without teaching him fear at the same time, especially in the way you carefully explained, as you were cleaning everything up together, how he should be extra careful with food because some people didn’t have any of it. Kindness. You treat Ender with kindness and respect that his parents never showed him. It both broke his heart and melted it.

In some ways, he’s still angry and bitter. Why couldn’t he get decent parents? But he keeps telling himself, it’s not his fault, just the luck of the draw, just like his therapist has been coaching him. It’s one of the exercises he’s doing. Rewiring his internal messaging is what Dr. Yaga calls it. 

He’s been staying at Suguru’s place, the guest bedroom a hazard zone of therapy books, notes, photographs of you and Ender, job search information, and a guide to getting citizenship in America. He hasn’t told you yet, but he’s planning on moving there to be closer to Ender. Well, and you, however, it might be a little too early to risk bringing that into the equation. After he breaks everything off with his parents, there’s not really a lot left for him here. Suguru has already told him that if he goes to America, they’re going together. Even Shoko has said that if she doesn’t get dean of medicine here, maybe a hospital in America would be willing to give her a shot. He wouldn’t be able to do this, to finally take action against his parents, live his life the way he wants without the support of his friends, and you. He hasn’t felt so much love and happiness in years. 

Interestingly, the flood of phone calls and texts has stopped. It’s a little eerie and makes him uneasy, not because he wants them to contact him, but rather because he doesn’t know why they stopped trying. Knowing them, it’s not because they gave up. His parents don’t just give up when they want something from him. Sometimes, they will actually change their approach. 

He gets his answer at the end of the week. He’s sitting on the floor of your apartment playing with Legos alongside Ender. They’ve been working on the Death Star together over the last week when his phone starts to ping in rapid succession with Telegram notifications. Leaning over, he picks it up off the floor, and his heart drops to his stomach. 

LOML: Hey, um, so your parents are at the museum. 

LOML: Your mom is going off on me in Japanese, so I don’t understand a word she’s saying, but she’s red in the face and shrieking her head off, so I’m pretty sure she’s cussing me out. 

LOML: Kaori is here too.

LOML: I know you probably didn’t, but I just have to ask, you didn’t say anything to them, right?

He immediately calls you over Telegram, doesn’t even bother texting. It only rings once before you answer, “Hi.”

Holy fuck, he can hear his mom screaming in the background through the phone. Unfortunately, you were correct; she is cussing you out. She’s also repeatedly screaming where is the boy and give me my grandson. Satoru feels like he’s going to be sick. He jumps to his feet, leading Ender to look up at him, little silvery brows drawing together in confusion. 

“Hi. No. I didn’t say shit. I haven’t talked to them in over a week,” Satoru blurts out all at once. His throat feels tight, and a headache is forming between his eyes. Of course, just as everything is starting to feel good again, his parents are there to ruin it. Well, he’s tired of that. He’s tired of his parents running his life and ruining everything that brings him any amount of happiness. 

You deserved so much better. He deserves better. And his parents deserve nothing from him anymore. He hasn’t felt spent years sacrificing himself to them bit by bit, but not anymore. That’s over now.

“I believe you,” you reply with a sigh, “Someone probably saw us together somewhere.” His heart pounds just a little bit at how you’re trusting him. “Alright, well, they’re making a big scene, and it’s kind of making me look bad.”

“I’ll come right away,” he replies, then looks down at Ender, “Fuck, what do you want me to do about little man?” He pauses, then somewhat reluctantly adds, “They already know about him.” He pauses, his throat working, but he forces himself to continue, “She’s screaming about ‘her grandson.’”

“Jesus fucking Christ, is that what she’s wailing about?” you reply, anger lacing your voice for the first time. 

Automatically, he reaches for guilt. He feels awful that his parents are harassing you, especially when you didn’t even want them to know Ender exists. The idea of his parents getting their hands on Ender terrifies him to his bones, but he can’t fight the urge to go to you, to do what he was too blinded and cowardly to do six, seven years ago and tell his parents to fuck up once and for all. “Yeah. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” you say quietly. Humming thoughtfully, it takes you a moment before you huff and mutter, “Bring him, I guess. There’s not much else to be done.” He can hear just how much you hate that idea.

“I can see if Suguru or Shoko can meet us there and take him?” Satoru suggests to see if you’d be more comfortable with that idea. He’s pacing around the living room, Ender’s blue eyes watching him carefully. He’s trying to be mindful of his words, but it’s difficult with the situation.

“Yes, do that,” you say, sounding relieved, “Please.”

Silence lapses between the two of you for a moment. He can hear his mother losing her shit in the background still, with the odd insult thrown in by Kaori. Wincing, he swallows down the hot, thick rage crawling up his throat. Then, he clears his throat and says, “I really mean it. I’m sorry. I didn’t want them to find out about him either.”

“I know,” you reply tightly, “Just get here quickly. I’m gonna see if I can at least get them to bring it down a notch.” Your tone is like you’re arming yourself for battle, which you are, in a way. 

He doubts you’ll be able to, but it’s so like you to try. In the early days of your marriage, you brushed off a lot of comments and actions (too many) to try and keep the peace. Even you tried to salvage their relationship because you knew just how badly he wanted his parents' love. But now, he looks down at his son, and he can’t remember why he put up with so much for so long because never in a million years could he even imagine treating Ender anything like his parents have treated him. 

Satoru nods, then remembers that you can’t see him. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon. Getting him ready, then we’ll leave right away. I’m really sorry.” He pauses, swallowing down his concern at his parents being anywhere near you. “Please, be careful. If you feel unsafe, call the authorities. Okay?”

“Okay. We’ll talk later. Bye,” you say back, then the phone call ends. He doesn’t even get the chance to say goodbye in return, but he knows you’re probably just focused on trying to get a handle on his parents. 

When the line goes dead against his ear, Satoru lowers the phone and immediately texts Suguru, then Shoko too, just to be safe. Code red. Parents know about little man, and they’re harassing mama at her job. Can either of you meet us there? Or both of you? Both would be good too. He looks down at Ender and says, raising an eyebrow, “Want to go see your mom?” It’s a casual question, like his whole world isn’t about to crash down on him. Even though he’s freaking out, he can’t show it and risk freaking his son out too. 

Ender immediately perks up, “Mommy? Yes, yes, yes!” Of course, at the mention of you, he completely forgets about the Lego they were building together. “I’ll get my shoes!” The kid scrambles away before he can even tell him not to run in the apartment like he’s heard you say a half dozen times since he started spending so much time here with you guys. 

While Ender is grabbing his shoes, Satoru orders the Uber. A few taps and 2,0000¥ later, there’s a driver on the way for them. Just as Ender comes running back, Satoru shoves his phone back into his pocket. He skids to a stop in front of Satoru, a small pair of blue Adidas with Velcro straps in hand, and he skids to a stop and looks up at him. “Help, please,” he says so politely. The way he can’t quite say please correctly is so endearing that for a moment all of Satoru’s stress and dirty melt away.

Without really thinking too much about it, he shoves Ender’s feet gently into each shoe, one at a time, and straps them nice and tight. It’s warm enough that the kid shouldn’t need a coat, so he just scoops the boy up and grabs the spare keys you left for him, jogging out the door. He only stops to lock the place up and wait for the elevator. Ender’s small arms are wrapped around his neck, clinging to him in a way that makes an overwhelming protective instinct crash through his system. 

“Satoru, are you Mommy’s new boyfriend?” Ender asks suddenly, his little fingers playing with the short fuzzy hairs at the nape of his neck. 

His whole body goes stiff, and he chokes out, “Now, why would you think that kid?” He feels like he might pass out. Why is he asking questions like that now, in the middle of a crisis? He doesn’t understand how you always have the right answer to all of Ender’s questions. You make everything look so effortless with him, and he feels like he has no idea what the fuck he’s doing.

Finally, there’s a ding and the doors slide open, and Satoru hopes Ender drops it there. He slips inside, holding the kid close to his chest, and the doors close again. Innocuous elevator music fills the silence, and the metal box glides down, down, down.

To his horror, Ender picks up the conversation where he left off. “Well, you play with me a lot. And Mommy likes to see you.” He says thoughtfully, “Are you going to be my new dad?”

Satoru’s throat closes up. He looks down at the child in his arms with an expression that’s half agony and half incredulousness. The questions keep getting worse and worse, and he has no clue how the fuck to answer them, especially while he’s trying to figure out what the fuck to do when he gets to the museum. “Kiddo, these questions are way above my pay grade,” he mutters as the doors slide open again. 

Every bone in his body wants to tell his son the truth. I’m your dad now. I’ve always been your dad. I love you. But he can’t. As much as he wants to, you explicitly told him not to. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not that fucking stupid. 

He sees the Uber pulling up to the curb as he enters the lobby through the big windows. It doesn’t take him long to get settled inside with Ender. Satoru lets out a breath of relief as the kid starts chattering on about the clouds and how they’re made with evaporation, moving on from the tricky topics he was pursuing earlier. Thank god. 

“Satoru? Do you like Mommy?” Ender asks where he’s nestled up against Satoru’s side. He kicks his legs, little feet bouncing. 

“Where is your mind at today, little man?” Satoru asks, looking down at him. Then, softer, he adds, “Of course I lo-like your mom.” Reaching down, his big hand ruffles his son’s silky white hair. 

Ender giggles and gives him a look that Satoru recognizes as pure mischief. “Then you should be my dad.”

Satoru nearly chokes on his own spit. The kid just keeps on throwing curveball after curveball. “Oh yeah? Why do you say that?” He practically squeaks out, and he’s so, so glad Suguru and Shoko aren’t here because he’d never hear the end of it. Tokyo flashes by outside, but he’s suddenly forgotten all his impatience and anxiety. Overhead, a knitted blanket of thick, gray clouds descends ominously over the city.

Those big blue eyes turn up to him, twin to his own, and Ender says quietly, “You can marry Mommy and be my dad, and I can have a family.” Every word that comes out of his mouth breaks Satoru’s heart because he could have had that, could have been this beautiful boy’s father for the past six years if he hadn’t been so fucking blind and absorbed in his desire to please his parents. God, he wants to tell Ender the truth so fucking badly, but it’s not his place. “My friends have families. And they all have dads. I wish I could borrow their dads sometimes.”

“Well, maybe you’ll get your very own dad someday,” Satoru says, all choked up. His eyes sting, and he fights to keep them from filling with tears. 

His face lights up, “It would be really nice to have a daddy and a mommy.” 

Then and there, Satoru understands that he’d give up his soul, his fortune, anything to have this kid call him dad even just once. He can’t help bending down and pressing a kiss to the crown of his son’s head. “Someday, kid. Maybe sooner than you think.”

The rest of the way to the museum, Ender chatters about their surroundings—“Look, Satoru, the tree is red,” or “Angry clouds. Will they cry later?” His son’s innocent enthusiasm helps keep him grounded, keeps him from throwing up in the back of this Uber at the idea of confronting his parents at last. He just has to keep silently repeating that if not for himself, he’s doing it for his son. 

When the Uber finally arrives at the museum, his heart sinks into his feet. There you are, looking every inch quietly dignified as you stand in front of the building. The elegant black dress you’re wearing is both professional and alluring, clinging to your curves while covering them modestly. Normally, it’d make his mouth water, but not right now because standing across from you are his parents and Kaori. He still can’t believe they had the nerve to show up at your photography showing to harass you. Actually, he can believe it, but he wishes they had come for him first instead of targeting you. 

Even from here, he can see his parents’ faces are flushed with rage. Satoru hurries out of the car, pulling Ender into his arms and jogging toward you. His eyes are locked on you, his only focus on getting you away from his parents. When he stops beside you, he hands Ender off and just says, “Go.” He doesn’t mean to sound as cold and angry as he does, but seeing you cornered by these three fills him with a rage like nothing he’s ever felt. 

Slowly, he turns to face his parents. For a moment, he just stares at them. When he speaks, his voice is so icy and detached that he almost doesn’t even feel like it belongs to him. “What the hell do you think you guys are doing?”

♡

(Your POV)

It’s been thirty minutes, and Satoru’s parents still haven’t laid off, but at least you got them out of the building. It’s still mortifying, especially because you have no clue what they’re saying, though you can’t imagine it’s anything good. People are staring, whispering amongst themselves as they pass by. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the Uber pull up and Satoru stepping out of it with your son in his arms. Relief floods your heart the second you lay eyes on Ender. Satoru passes him cleanly off to you before positioning himself firmly between you and his parents and Kaori. That one word, ‘Go,’ sends a chill down your spine. You know the coldness isn’t for you, but you still feel it anyway. Arms around Ender, you’re about to turn away, but something holds you back. You hesitate, looking back at Satoru, his shoulders tense. The wind tugs at his silky white hair, the storm brewing overhead starting to kick up a fuss down below. 

“That lady is mean, Mommy,” Ender whispers to you, his cheek pressed to yours. 

You tilt your head away enough to look at him and say, “Do you understand what she’s saying?” 

He looks a bit sheepish and replies, “Sometimes. She says you’re a bad word.”

“How do you know it’s a bad word?” You counter, looking down at him. “And how do you know she’s talking about me?” Just how much Japanese does he understand? Clearly more than he lets on. That’s such Satoru behavior that it almost makes you laugh, but not here, not now. 

“I just do, Mommy,” he says vaguely, and you just shake your head. It seems he’s going to be tight-lipped about that. If you find out Satoru is teaching your son curse words in Japanese, you might fucking strangle him. But then Ender says, “She says gaijin a lot. Sensei said it means outsider.”

You’re so busy thinking about that that you don’t notice Shoko or Suguru coming up behind you until Suguru’s rich, deep voice cuts in, “Well, long time no see, little miss American. Is this my nephew?” You spin around and break into a smile when you see them. 

They look the same as you remember. Suguru’s glossy raven hair is all pulled up with a claw clip, and Shoko stands at his side, her doe-ish brown eyes looking softly at your son. Both of them look like they rushed out of work to get here, which warms your heart. You trust the two of them, Shoko more, but both of them. Suguru reaches out and ruffles Ender’s silky white hair with a giant hand, which makes him giggle. 

“Ender, these are Mommy and Satoru’s friends. This is Auntie Shoko; she’s a doctor, and this is Uncle Suguru; he works at Satoru’s family’s company,” you explain briefly, gesturing to them in turn. Shoko gives him a little peace sign that he struggles a little bit to emulate at first, but then his thumb pushes down his ring and pinky fingers with more force, and he gets it straightened out. 

Lifting his hand triumphantly, he shows it to her with a beaming smile and says cheerfully, “I did it. Look!” The little proud laugh that comes out makes your heart all soft and melty.

“Will one of you take him back to my apartment and sit with him until I get back?” You ask, another glance thrown back at Satoru, who’s exchanging rapid-fire Japanese back and forth with his parents. For some reason, you can’t leave him here, but Ender can’t stay here. Who knows what else he might overhear?

Suguru and Shoko exchange glances, and then Suguru looks back at you, one dark brow arching up, “You want to stay?”

You nod. Despite everything, you do. These people came to your showing and made a scene; they had a hand in the destruction of your marriage, not to mention the way they’ve always treated Satoru. And now that they know Ender exists, you want to make sure they understand the message loud and clear: stay away from me and my son. 

“I can take him,” Shoko offers. “We can stop and get some food.” Looking at Ender, she adds, “You hungry, kid?”

Ender nods eagerly, and you look down at him again, your fingers brushing through his soft hair. “Baby, Auntie Shoko is gonna take you to go get some food and back home to play. Be a good boy for her and have your listening ears on, okay?”

“But Mommy, I wanna stay with you,” he whines, clinging to your shoulders, his arms tightening around you. “Please, Mommy.”

You let out a sigh, dragging your gaze towards Satoru before looking back at your son again. “Baby, I love you so much, but I need you to go with Auntie Shoko. Mommy doesn’t want you around that mean lady. Be a good boy for Mommy, okay?” You want him away from here as fast as possible, just in case they decide to leave Satoru and go after him directly.

He looks over at where Satoru is standing, like a wall between his parents and you guys. “Will Satoru come back?” He asks quietly, “They’re bullying him.” The genuine concern in his tone is so sweet and worried that it turns your heart to mush. 

“Yes, I’ll bring him with me when I come back later, sweetie. Okay?” I reply, running my fingers through his hair. You hope you can keep that promise.

He nods and finally lets you hand him over to Shoko, who looks at you and says, “I got him. You don’t have to worry. We’ll go get something yummy and then watch some cartoons.” She reaches down and tickles his belly, which sends him into a fit of squirming giggles. 

“Thank you, Shoko,” you say softly, “I’ll have Suguru text you the address.” You pass her your keys as well, so she’ll be able to get into the apartment. She takes them and slides them into her bag with a dull jingle. 

“Don’t even mention it,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. “Just means I get to spend some time with this cutie,” she adds, gently squeezing Ender’s cheek, which has Ender sticking his tongue out at her and giggling like a madman. “Say bye to your mom.”

“Bye, Mommy!” Ender calls, raising his hand to his mouth to kiss his hand. His little lips purse as he ‘blows’ the kiss in your direction. 

“Bye, sweetie. I love you! I’ll see you later,” you reply as you ‘catch’ his kisses and repeat the gesture back at him. He giggles and waves goodbye over Shoko’s shoulder. Teeth sinking into your lower lip, you wave to him until he and Shoko round a corner and disappear. 

Once they’re gone, you turn to Suguru and rattle off the address of the apartment to send to her. Then you square your shoulders and turn to face Satoru, who’s facing off with his parents and Kaori. Nerves twist in your stomach as you watch your ex-husband’s shoulders droop more and more. It seems like he’s barely able to get a word in edgewise between the three of them, just like it’s always been, even when it was just his parents. They lay into him without giving him any breathing room or space to defend himself. It’s as simple as they’re right and he’s wrong in their eyes.

“Come on, I’ll translate,” Suguru says after he tucks his phone back in his pocket, gesturing towards where Satoru is standing, looking more and more like a kicked dog with every second that goes by. You follow him until you’re close enough to clearly hear every word being hurled at Satoru, even if you can’t necessarily understand it. Suguru takes up a position at your side and begins murmuring the translation to you, “How could you still be seeing that woman? How could you have a son? I demand that you bring that boy here. She’s unfit to raise him. We’ll help you pull him from her clutches. Do you want him growing up in some piss-poor back alley in America? They abuse drugs in that country! Drugs, Satoru. Is that the life you want for your son?”

Every word pisses you off more and more. But then, Satoru snaps. Face red with rage, blue eyes downright icy, hands curled into fists so tight that his knuckles are blanching at his sides. When he speaks, his voice is colder and sharper than the winds of the Arctic: “Kuso kurae.” Even you know what that means: eat shit. Suguru translates it anyway. That shuts them up. Both his parents and Kaori look at him like he’s grown a second head, but you just smile. Even back when you first married, he never would have spoken to his parents like that. Not in that tone and definitely not with that kind of language.

Beside you, Suguru murmurs low and soft to translate the rest of Satoru’s words, “All these years and I’ve been fighting for nothing. All I wanted was for you two to be happy with me, to be satisfied, but I’ve finally realized that that’s never going to happen. All week, I’ve been working on letters to give you so I can finally say my piece, but you wouldn’t read them, would you? You wouldn’t even look at them, I bet, because what I have to say, what I want, none of it matters to you. What would make you guys happy? Will you finally be satisfied if I drop dead? I’ve been blind and lying to myself for too long, and I’m done.” He shakes his head, every grievance and disappointment etched into his features, “I’m just done.”

There’s no pause, no room for them to get a word in edgewise. This is a lifetime of pain, anger, and grievance all pouring out of him at once. Kaori tries to call his name, all soft and pathetic, “Satoru.”

He turns to face her, his expression twisted with rage and hatred, “You disgust me. What you did to me … you ruined me. You ruined my marriage. You ruined any chance at happiness I had.” As Suguru translates those words, your heart falls to pieces in your chest. He really believes that. You can tell by the agony in his eyes that he truly believes he’ll never have happiness again. All those times he’s told you he still loves you, punch you square in the chest so hard that you almost double over, but all you do is draw a deep, aching breath. 

Satoru isn’t done yet, though. He looks Kaori dead in the face, “I hate you. Every time I look at you, I feel sick to my stomach. I would sooner die alone than marry you.” He pauses, his jaw clenching. Suguru glances at you, but doesn’t stop translating. At least she has the good sense to look cowed and guilty. Satoru takes a breath and continues, “You took advantage of me. I never wanted you like that, and you knew it. I took you out to dinner and lunch, even though you were doing everything you could to seduce me, which was my screw-up. I never should have given you the fucking time of day.”

And then his gaze turns back to his parents, “All because I wanted to please you two.” He shakes his head, a wry smile on his face. There is no fear on his face, and strangely, the longer he speaks, the calmer he becomes, as if he’s becoming at peace with the way things are. “As long as I did something nice for Kaori, as long as I let her invade every aspect of my life, you guys treated me so well for the first time in my life. You were affectionate. You were proud of me. You were the parents that I had always wanted. That is, until my wife actually left me. That version of you guys disappeared before my eyes quickly after the only thing that I ever chose for myself walked away because of what you started.” The more Satoru speaks, the sadder Suguru looks, his English translation a half step behind Satoru’s words.

You can’t help but stare at him, your heart starting to race in your chest. This fucking dumbass. He never told you any of that; he never talked to you about what was going on. In hindsight, with the knowledge you have now, you can see everything for the clusterfuck it was. Satoru’s parents effectively conditioned him to want to be around Kaori, Kaori operating as a distraction, Satoru not wanting to burden you further with his screwed-up, vile parents and keeping everything to himself until everything spiraled out of control. And you never asked a single question. 

You didn’t question because maybe Satoru’s parents kind of got to you too. Maybe all that time of listening to them hiss about how Satoru would leave you one day for someone more suitable for him. Maybe the looks they gave you, like you were scum from the sewers, got to you. Maybe you didn’t question why your consistently devoted husband suddenly cheated on you out of the blue because deep down you had started to believe them. And maybe that’s why you started pulling away from Satoru to begin with. 

The first drops of rain from the impending storm start to splash down, hitting your arm, then your face. Great. Just great. 

Satoru’s father shouts something in Japanese, and Suguru is quick to translate. “Enough! Who do you think you are? We have given you everything! You will be nothing without the Gojo family’s backing. How did I end up with such an idiotic little shit for a son?” Your jaw falls open at the vitriol his father is hurling at him. In the six years you'd been apart, you’d forgotten how truly awful his parents could be. 

All the while, Satoru just stands there and takes it. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away, but those silvery brows of his draw together and the blue eyes beneath them say everything. So much anger. But then, his expression loosens, and he just lets out a laugh. It’s a genuine, down-to-his-gut, hunched-over, slapping-his-thigh laugh. It stuns his father into silence. It goes on for an inordinate amount of time, but finally he straightens and wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. Satoru’s tone sends a chill down your spine, and Suguru’s translation explains it. “You are one pathetic old man, Pops. Did that make you feel better? You feel bigger than me now?” He leans over, looming over his hunched, elderly father. “But you’re not bigger than me anymore, are you? So shut your damn mouth and be grateful I’m a better person than you.” 

For a moment, silence lapses. You swear you can hear Satoru breathing. The sky belches out an unhappy roll of thunder, and you shift from foot to foot. The impending storm has you feeling anxious for some reason. A few more raindrops splatter against your skin, and you take your eyes away from the scene before you to look up at the sky.

The next words that Suguru translates steal your breath away. “Effective immediately, I resign as CEO of Gojo Inc. Find somebody that you think is more qualified to run your shitty company since I’m clearly not in your eyes.” Satoru’s parents just gape at him as he goes on, “And save your breath. I don’t give a shit about the trust funds, or the accounts, or the cards. Take it. I don’t want your blood money.” He looks between all three of them. “Don’t contact me again. And stay the hell away from my family.” You swallow hard, tears welling in your eyes. 

When he turns around, Satoru stops dead when he sees you and Suguru standing there. There’s something resigned, but still so painfully sad that it kills you. He takes a step toward you, then another. In that moment, you feel like the young woman fresh out of college looking at the love of her life. Your heart thuds hard in your chest.

Before he can reach you, Satoru’s mother, who hasn’t said anything since Satoru got here, finally shrieks into action. “No! No! After all that work we put in! It will not end this way. Kaori is perfect for you. You can’t just leave after everything we did to—“ She cuts herself off, though, almost like she was about to say something she shouldn’t. 

You’re grateful for Suguru’s quick translations and can’t help but notice how good his English is. Better than Satoru’s anyway. 

Satoru turns his head just enough to freeze her in place with an icy look out of the corner of his eye. “Finish that sentence, mother.” 

She sputters indignantly for a moment before finally spitting out, chest heaving, “We finally got rid of that stupid American whore, and you’re running back to her. She’s probably spread her slut legs for a dozen men. You can’t go back to that disease-ridden filth. We worked too hard to put someone suitable at your—“

One moment, you’re standing next to Suguru; the next, your hand is connecting with his mother’s face. Hard, so hard your palm stings. A perfect red print of your hand blooms across her cheek. You don’t even remember moving; all you remember is seeing red. Satoru might be too good a man to hit his mother, but you’re not above it, especially with the vile shit she was spouting off. You glance at Satoru to see him sitting there with a full-on Cheshire grin; he looks about two seconds away from busting out into laughter again. 

“I’ll translate if you want to say something,” Suguru offers from behind you.

The rain is starting to come down heavier, soaking through your clothes rapidly. It’s a summer storm, warm and angry. It feels fitting for what you want to say to them. You take a breath and nod. “I have never seen such despicable, low-life parents in my entire life. You sit there on your high horses, but you can’t belittle me anymore. No amount of money or intelligence can make up for the ugliness in you two. Once I tried to earn your respect, but you don’t even respect your own son, so how could you respect someone he cares for? Over my dead body will you have anything to do with my son. No amount of dirty, underhanded tricks or threats will make me back down. He holds American citizenship, just like I do, and if you guys so much as breathe wrong in our direction, I’ll go straight to the embassy.” Suguru relays everything without missing a beat, and Satoru nods along. 

Turning to look at his mother, Satoru says with lethal softness, “Oh, and if I find out either of you had anything to do with Kaori’s actions that night? I’ll make it my life’s mission to burn Gojo Inc. to the ground. Tread carefully.” As Suguru finishes the translation, Satoru spins around and faces you. “Well, I’ve said what I wanted to say; let’s go now,” he says cheerfully, like he didn’t just rip his parents a new one in front of the Tokyo Photographic Art Museum.

“Satoru—“ you start, but he hushes you.

“Later. When we’re not being listened to,” he says with one last glance behind him. He puts an arm around you and tucks you against his side like he used to, though. And you let him. Fuck, you let him. 

♡

(Satoru’s POV)

The first thing Satoru wants to do after all of that is get drunk. He feels lighter than he has in ages, but exhausted. It took everything in him to say what needed to be said. It was hard, but it was so worth it. He’s grateful that Suguru translated everything for you because he meant every word. He’s done with his parents. It came down to you or them a long time ago without him realizing it, and he chose wrongly back then. No more of that. 

There’s no choice anymore. 

Eventually, he, you, and Suguru end up back at your apartment, but only after stopping for some takeout—fried chicken, on your request. He’s happy to acquiesce. Really, he’d give you anything you wanted, all you have to do is ask. All of you are soaked to the bone from the raging storm. Before you open the door, you pause and say, “We’ll tell him tomorrow. About you being his dad.”

Satoru’s heart starts to pound. “Really?” He can scarcely believe it, but happiness like he hasn’t felt in years floods him. Blinking at you, he murmurs, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” you reply, shaking your head. “He’s your son. And I shouldn’t have told him you were dead, even if I wasn’t going to let you be in his life.”

He chuckles and gives you such a warm smile that it earns him a soft expression from you. “I don’t know. I think it was pretty fitting. After all, I was dead to you,” he says playfully. That earns him a glare, but then both of you are laughing, and suddenly he’s twenty-one again, with you in his arms, tickling you and teasing you until your face was the same color as a tomato. 

When the three of you make it inside, Shoko and Ender are coloring together at the dining table. She looks up when you all enter, takes in the liquor bottles in Satoru’s hands, and arches up a dark brown brow. “That bad, huh?” She asks.

“Actually, all things considered, I think it went well,” Suguru replies, setting the buckets of fried chicken on the kitchen counter. 

Shoko looks at Satoru as he walks over to the table. He peers down at the drawings. Somehow, Ender’s is better than Shoko’s. At least the kid’s stick people look like stick people, while Shoko’s look sort of like deformed eldritch beings. Wow. And he thought he was bad at drawing. 

Craning her neck to look back at him, the terrible artist in question says, “You tell your parents to fuck off?”

Before Satoru gets a chance to answer, Suguru cuts in, “Hell yeah he did!”

“I’ll drink to that,” Shoko says with a grin, pumping her fist in the air. 

Satoru smiles and shakes his head, “You guys are the worst.” The words do nothing to hide the affection in his voice or the tears welling in his eyes. After a lifetime of his parents’ weight on his chest, he feels like he can finally breathe. “And I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”

“We know,” Shoko replies smugly, rising from her seat. “Now sit and color with the kid so I can get a drink.”

That night is one of the best he can remember. It feels like he has a real family for the first time. It’s filled with laughter, good-natured teasing, and drinking. His heart swells as he watches Ender roughhouse with Suguru, while you and Shoko chat in the kitchen, catching up after six years without seeing each other. Home. This feels like home. 

Eventually, you put Ender down for the night, although he insists that each of you read him a separate story. Of course, none of you can say no. Suguru is the last one, and he murmurs something about sitting with the kid until he falls asleep. Shoko leaves shortly after with, “I’m already on thin ice for taking off earlier. I have to be at the hospital early tomorrow.”

Then, Satoru is left alone with you. When you start to tidy up the mess, swaying gently from the alcohol, he jumps in to help. He works alongside you in silence for a while, not wanting to say anything that could disrupt the peace that exists between you at the moment. That doesn’t stop him from stealing glances at you every so often. Bottles are discarded, cups and plates ferried to the sink, leftovers put away, trash discarded. Once everything is more or less clean, you grab your drink, some fruity little thing in a bottle that he’s having the same of, and turn to him. 

The look in your pretty eyes makes him want to kiss you so badly. “Satoru, I’m really proud of you. I know that it must have been hard for you, but you really stepped up today. Not just for Ender, but for yourself,” you say softly. 

Letting out a sigh, he replies, “That’s the thing. Now that I understand, it wasn’t hard at all. I don’t know; when I was in it, it was like I couldn’t see clearly. But now, I can’t believe I put up with it for so long.” Although he feels really good about you being proud of him, he doesn’t really feel like he’s done something worth being proud of. It’s more like he was setting things right.

“Yeah,” you reply, “But still, I’m proud of you.”

He smiles and says teasingly, “Does that mean I get a reward?”

“Shut up,” you reply, but there’s that cute little blush that he always managed to bring out of you with a few words. He missed seeing your face like that, all flushed and cute. If he can still make you do that, maybe hope isn’t lost entirely for him. 

You turn away from him to walk down the hall to Ender’s room. He follows close behind and catches you peering inside where Suguru and Ender are passed out together, the kid curled up against his best friend’s chest. “He’s stealing my son,” Satoru whispers with mock indignation. 

You turn around, and the movement puts the two of you close together. He doesn’t anymore. Neither do you. Best of all, you don’t push him away. Softly, you shut the door, closing them inside to sleep. “I’m going to take a shower,” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes. Fuck. If things weren’t the way they were, he’d swear up and down you were asking him to join you. Ducking past him, you start down the hall towards the master bedroom. 

Except, in the doorway, you pause and look over your shoulder, “Well, are you coming?”

The drink in his hand nearly hits the floor. For a second, he just stares at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish in the water. He doesn’t have to be told twice. No, he scrambles after you like a dog who was just offered a thick, juicy steak. His heart is pounding so hard he swears it might jailbreak his ribcage, slamming hard against the bones keeping it trapped inside. 

He follows you into the master bedroom, shutting the door behind him. “Please tell me you’re not joking. That would be cruel, even if I deserve it,” he breathes, watching you slide off the t-shirt you changed into from your rain-soaked clothes earlier. The piece of fabric flutters to the floor. The sweats you threw on join the shirt a second later. And Satoru’s poor heart stalls out in his chest. 

You turn around, smile at him, and say, “I’m taking all my clothes off and getting in the shower. You can either sit out here and wait for me, or you can come with me.” Then, like you don’t already know exactly which option he’s going to pick, you add casually, “It’s up to you.” Then you disappear into the en-suite bathroom. 

Fucking hell, he’s already hard. You. Naked. Shower. His mind can only seem to form fragmented thoughts.

For a full minute, he just stares at the empty space you occupied, sending up a prayer of thanks to whichever god decided to throw him a bone. He hears the shower start, the gentle rush of it echoing out into the bedroom. Then the ceiling fan. But you leave the lights off. Slowly, head swimming, he sheds his clothes piece by piece. His shirt goes first, then his belt, his pants, and finally his boxers. His cock slaps up against his stomach, so hard that it fucking aches—from his balls to the little slit at the tip where he’s leaking pre. 

His footsteps are quiet as he enters the bathroom like a man about to make vows before god. Sliding the glass door open, he steps into the space behind you to be immediately hit with a cloud of steam. He can still see you by the light of the bedroom, but it’s dim, making this that much more intimate. You’re standing beneath the cascade of water, head tipping back, as it washes over your body.

He spends a good long while standing behind you, admiring the bare expanse of your back, the curve of your hips, and that fucking ass carved by the gods. He catalogues every change. From the stretch marks along your thighs and hips to every new freckle, he marks and memorizes each change, treasuring them all. Your soft voice breaks the quiet, “This doesn’t mean anything has changed yet, I’m still not ready to, well, that is—“ 

He surges forward, one hand sinking into your waist, the other wrapping around you to pull you up against him. So fucking soft. The action cuts your words off, but he murmurs against your neck, nuzzling into you until you arch it to give him better access.  God, you smell so good. Just like he remembers. “You don’t have to explain,” he whispers against your skin, “I understand. I’ll take whatever you give me.” He presses a gentle, tentative kiss into the crook of your shoulder. “And if you ever decide you want something more, I’ll be waiting.” Another kiss to the sensitive skin of your neck. “I’ll always be waiting for you,” he breathes against the shell of your ear, then presses a kiss to the spot just underneath your earlobe. Your breath hitches then, and he takes the opportunity to drag the tip of his nose down the column of your neck until you’re squirming.

“Satoru,” you breathe.

“Even if I’m just a stupid mistake you’re making, something you’ll regret in the morning, I’ll still be waiting for you.” The sentence comes out in pieces, between open-mouthed kisses over your skin. He needs you. Fuck, he needs you so badly. The taste of your skin in his mouth again feels sacred. 

Slowly, he turns you around to face him. Sinking to his knees, he lavishes your body with kisses, along with occasional nips and nibbles. He can feel the way you slowly melt into it, sinking into the heat of the moment, the shower, the energy that has always existed between you two. His hands slide up and down your body, grabbing handfuls of your thighs, your tits, your waist, anything he can touch. 

On his knees for you, the spray of the water hits his face, but he doesn’t care. He blinks up at you through the water and murmurs. His mouth hovers over your mound and takes a moment to just breathe in your sweet scent. The groan that comes up is pulled from his bones. His lashes flutter, and he leans in until his nose nudges your folds. “I’ve been dreaming of this,” he whispers. His tongue darts out, and he licks a stripe up your slit, parting your folds with his fingers to swirl his tongue around your clit. Fuck, he might come just from the taste of you. He circles and circles it, teasing you until you’re a whining mess, trying to jerk your hips to grind against his face for more. 

“Satoru, fuck, quit teasing,” you bite out, glaring down at him. 

“Hah, so impatient,” he breathes, punctuating the sentence with another slow circle around your little nub with the tip of his tongue. Just as you open your mouth, he flicks his tongue across it, which has you letting out a whimper. “But I’m enjoying myself, beautiful. I’m right where I belong. Between these pretty thighs of yours.” Right as you’re about to open your mouth to scold him again, he seals his lips over your twitchy little clit and outright sucks on it. The way you bite down on your lip to choke back the moan goes straight to his cock. 

Slowly, he eases one leg up over his shoulder and buries his face between your thighs. He eats you like a starved man, slurping and sucking your clit, laving his tongue over it, licking up into your greedy little hole to really taste you. He fucking loves the way you grind up against his face, your hips jerking so pretty, using him for your pleasure. A sordid moan leaves his throat when your hands slide into his wet hair, yanking him closer, tugging his hair hard enough to hurt. 

He pulls back only once, only long enough to whisper, “That’s it, pretty girl. Use my face, take what you need.” Then he dives back in. He doesn’t slip anything inside you yet, though. He thought about using his fingers, but no. It has to be his cock to feel your velvety walls wrapped around for the first time in so long. 

The sounds of him feasting on you are filthy, but luckily, the fan and the running water are loud enough that they should drown most of it out. Though it’s clear you’re trying to keep quiet, you seem to be having a hard time with it. More and more little sounds fall from your lips, your face screwing up in pleasure when he starts alternating between sucking your clit and running the flat of his tongue over it again and again. 

“Fuck, Satoru, feels so good. So good,” you choke out for him, and the sound of his name on your tongue like this has a full-body shudder running through him. 

His cock twitches, hot and needy, the tip swollen and leaking. Dreams and memories blur together in this moment. He loses himself between your thighs, moaning as he devours your cunt like he’s on death row and this is his last meal. He refuses to let up until you’re shuddering over him, your thighs are shaking, your hole spasming and clenching around nothing. Your choked-off moans and whines are like music to his ears, his cock drooling at your sweet sounds. He licks up the slick oozing from your hole as it comes out, eyes closed to savor the taste. 

That’s not the end of it, though. Once he’s licked up all your sweetness, he goes right back to sucking your clit to force another orgasm from you, stringing them together, just like he used to. He thinks his record was five before you were begging him to stop and trying to squirm away. 

While you’re still reeling from your second orgasm, Satoru rises abruptly to his feet and scoops you up like you’re made of paper before pushing you up against the wall of the shower. Your legs wrap around him automatically, like your body remembers this, remembers him. He feels the shiver roll through you when he grinds his hard, thick cock against you. His tip rests at your entrance, nudging it, but not quite sinking in. “Tell me you want it, my pretty girl,” he grunts, barely able to restrain himself from just plunging into you. But he wants to hear you say it,

“Satoru,” you whine, “Don’t make me say it.”

“Come on, sweets. Say it for me. You’re being so good, came so pretty for me,” he murmurs, biting down on your shoulder, your tit, just hard enough to leave marks. “Tell me you want it and I’ll give it all to you, stuff you full. You want that?” He chuckles at the little nod you give.

“I want it,” you squeak out, your cheeks red not just from the heat. “Please, I want you inside me.”

Fuck, he can’t deny you when you ask like that. So polite, so sweet, his gorgeous girl. Slowly, inch by inch, he slides into you, stretching you out on his thick shaft, until his tip is nestled in your deepest trenches. His moan almost harmonizes with yours as he finally finds his way home. “You’re so fucking tight,” he grunts out. Your walls flutter around him, and he hisses through his teeth. “Fuck, fuck, don’t do that,” he whines, “Gonna make me fucking bust too early.” He’s barely keeping himself from spilling into you by the skin of his teeth.

“Satoru,” you let out, digging your nails into his shoulders. “Move. Need you to move.” Then you fucking squirm on his cock and he really does almost bust.

His cock twitches hard, and he outright fucking begs, “Sweetheart, please, just need—ah, fuuuuck—just need a minute. Gimme a minute.” He takes a deep breath, then another, using the time to pull his shit together. No way is he fucking coming after three strokes like a loser. The first experimental roll of his hips has you both gasping. 

He sets an easy, lazy rhythm. His hips rock, and he fucks up into your needy cunt with a lazy kind of passion and reverence. His hands are always moving, either to support you or just to touch you. Your walls wrapped around him are something like heaven. And if this is heaven, then you’re his god. It’s like no time has passed at all, the way his body instinctively knows yours. At your first real moan is when he kisses you, swallowing the sound on your behalf, his mouth sealing over yours. While his cock reclaims your tight, greedy hole, his tongue plunges into your mouth, sweeping into it and tasting you. Your hips roll back against him, meeting him movement for movement.

He’s so fucking greedy for you. 

When he breaks the kiss, both of you are gasping for breath. Those lazy rolls of his hips become sharper, faster until he’s bouncing you on his thick cock. Your head tips back against the wall, arching your throat, and he can’t help tilting his head to lick up it. “God, my cock missed your cunt,” he groans out, “Missed her so much, missed the way she squeezed him.” He thrusts hard up into you before you can say anything back and kisses you again to cover the answering cry torn from your lips. When he breaks it, he bites at your lip until you whimper. Pulling back, he whispers, “She missed me too. I can feel it. So fucking wet for me.”

“Satoru, ah, please. Fuck. I—Jesus—need you.” Your words have him slamming his hips up harder and deeper. He knows it’s a heat-of-the-moment, something you say in bed sort of thing, but it sends a thrill through him anyway. 

“Touch yourself for me, sweet girl,” he purrs, rocking his hips up harder into you. 

You do what he asks, your hand slotting between you to rub circles over your clit so he can focus on fucking you stupid. But watching your hand work, watching how you touch yourself, is a distracting sight. His cock presses deep inside you, stretching you to your limits, then he pulls out almost all the way and slams back in to grind his tip as far back as it will go. 

“Fuck, Satoru, keep—shit, just like—just like that.” Your lashes are fluttering, face twisting in ecstasy. He keeps slamming into, not letting up, even as your walls squeeze and pulse around him. His mouth covers yours to stifle the string of moans and curses falling from your lips, kissing you as deeply and thoroughly as he’s fucking you. Your slick drips out around him, and he can’t hold it any longer. Pleasure crashes through him, and his legs shake as he pushes his cock as deep in you as he possibly can. His body goes stiff, his vision whiting out for a moment. Cock throbbing and twitching, he paints your insides white with thick, sticky spills of his warm cum.

For a long time, he doesn’t pull out, doesn’t want to leave the warm, tight squeeze of you. His lips press gently against your forehead. “I will always, always love you, pretty girl,” he whispers, “Always.”

A/N: Well, this puts us at over the halfway mark for Aperture. Sorry this chap is long af. I like to imagine Shoko took Ender to McDonalds and was just chilling there with him eating nuggets while Suguru, Satoru, and reader were all dealing with drama central. Thank you to all my readers. Big hugs. Likes, reblogs, and comments are all v appreciated

Tag reqs HERE // ⋆.𐙚 ̊ m.masterlist ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Before you could protest, he rose, pulling you up with him as if you weighed nothing. In one smooth motion he swept you into his arms, carrying you back inside the main house. The servants bowed and vanished around corners. they had long grown used to their lord’s open affection.

...

the elders were already gathered. You moved to serve tea, old habit, but Satoru’s hand caught yours.

“Sit” he said simply, guiding you to the cushion beside his own.

The elders’ eyes widened when he asked them to pour thier own tea. One elder, an old man with a face like weathered stone, cleared his throat.

“You should not be idle, daughter” Elder Haruto intoned, sipping his tea while his gaze flicked disapprovingly to the way Satoru lounged nearby, one hand resting possessively on your knee. “The floors must be polished. The lord’s footwear cleaned and set properly. A wife’s hands are never still, child or no.”

“Her hands will rest when I say they rest.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “If the floors need polishing, the servants will handle it. As for my geta—” He glanced at the wooden sandals by the door, the ones you had never been allowed to touch, even before you were pregnant, “—I never let her near them. Why would I start now?”

“My lord… the lady is perfectly capable of light duties, tradi—”

“Tradition? now observing education for higher students is enough work for her.” Satoru cut in, voice pleasant yet edged with Infinity’s chill, “She worked herself to exhaustion at home before I wed her. I will not allow it now.” He glanced at you, eyes warm. “Besides… I like doing things for her.”

You stared at him again, long, unblinking.

The elder looked displeased, but said nothing more.

...

It happened on the third afternoon of his absence. The sky hung heavy with late spring clouds, and the air inside the main hall smelled of aged wood and incense. You were kneeling by the low table, arranging fresh white camellias and pine branches, when elder Haruto and two others entered without announcement.

“Daughter in law of the Gojo house” Haruto began, his voice like dry leaves scraping stone. His gaze flicked to your middle with clear disdain.

“Carrying the heir does not exempt you from your duties. It is a wife’s role to maintain the household’s dignity. Do not think your condition makes you special.”

Tradition bound you, as a non sorcerer brought into the clan through marriage, your place was one of service and quiet strength. Defiance against the elders could ripple through the entire household.

“But… my husband said—”

“His indulgence is temporary,” another elder cut in sharply. “The child is not yet born. Clean them, thoroughly.”

A servant boy hovered anxiously nearby, eyes wide with worry, but he dared not intervene.

...

The sliding shoji screens of the estate did not merely open, they rattled on their wooden tracks, vibrating with the sheer force of the cursed energy bleeding off Satoru as he stepped into the main pavilion.

The air in the compound always grew heavier when the clan head returned, but tonight, it felt suffocating. It tasted of ozone and impending lightning.

You were already asleep in the main room, exhausted from a day that had fractured your spirit far more than your body. Beneath the heavy, silk futon, your hand rested protectively over the slight swell of your belly, a few months along, still delicate, a fragile miracle you and Satoru had wept over in the privacy of your quarters.

Satoru shed his haori, his six eyes instantly cataloging the state of the house. He had been gone for three days on an emergency deployment in the north. Three days too long.

"Gojo sama."

A small, breathless voice broke the silence of the corridor. It was a servant boy whose family had served Satoru’s personal branch for generations. The boy was with some information.

Satoru paused.

"Tatsuya" he murmured, his voice deceptively low. "Why are you still up? And why does the courtyard smell like damp earth?"

Tatsuya swallowed hard, looking toward the closed doors of your bedroom before continuing. "While you were away... the council of elders called upon the lady."

Satoru’s posture didn't change, but the ambient temperature seemed to drop. "Did they?"

"They... they claimed she was becoming arrogant. They said a housewife of the Gojo clan must know her place, less she 'grow into her mind' and believe herself above the bloodline." Tatsuya’s voice hitched. "They dragged her to the northern wash-basin. They forced her to clean the clan’s formal geta and zori. With the well water."

The silence that followed was absolute. Not even the crickets in the garden dared to make a sound.

"They forced her?" Satoru repeated. The words were quiet, but they carried the weight of a collapsing star.

"She refused at first, reminding them of her condition," Tatsuya whispered, tears leaking onto the floorboards. "But Elder Ogi... he grabbed her arm. He forced her down to her knees on the stone path. She tripped. Her knee... her knee was scraped. She spent three hours in the cold, scrubbing their filth. She asked them to let her rest, but they told her she needed to be 'disciplined'."

Satoru didn't say another word, nor did he storm off. He simply vanished from the hallway, leaving behind a draft of freezing air.

In the dimly lit inner sanctuary of the estate, three of the clan’s oldest elders sat around a low table, sipping roasted green tea. They were discussing the upcoming seasonal rituals, completely self assured in their ancient, stagnant authority.

The heavy oak doors of the sanctuary didn't just open, they shattered inward, exploding into wooden splinters that embedded themselves into the priceless hanging scrolls on the walls.

The elders scrambled backward, but before they could even draw a breath to protest, Satoru was there.

He didn't use Limitless to crush them from afar. This required the brutal, visceral reality of his bare hands.

"What" he begins, voice deceptively soft, "in the name of all the ancestors, possessed you to order my pregnant wife to wash filth?"

"Satoru! What is the meaning of—"

Ogi, the eldest among them, didn't get to finish his sentence. Satoru lunged forward, his movement a blur of lethal grace. He grabbed Ogi’s right wrist and twisted.

A sickening, wet pop echoed through the room as the bones in Ogi's wrist shattered under Satoru's grip. The old man screamed, a high, reedy sound of pure agony, as Satoru slammed him face first onto the tatami mats.

"You touched her" Satoru whispered. The sound of his voice was worse than any shout. It was dead. Completely devoid of the playful sorcerer they thought they could manage.

Satoru brought his heavy, geta down directly onto Ogi’s outstretched hand, grinding his heel into the old man's knuckles. The sound of fracturing finger bones filled the room. Ogi choked on his own vomit, pinning himself to the floor under the immense, crushing weight of Satoru’s physical strength.

"Satoru! Step back! This is a violation of clan law! She is a woman! She must be disciplined to understand the weight of the Gojo name!" another elder shrieked, his hands shaking as he tried to form a cursed technique sign.

Satoru turned his head, his brilliant blue eyes glowing with a terrifying, unhinged light in the shadows. He had never been this angry in his entire life.

"Disciplined?" Satoru's voice rose, vibrating with a rage that made the very foundations of the estate groan. "You dynamic pieces of garbage. You dare talk about discipline to me? About my wife?"

He stepped off Ogi, leaving the old man weeping into the ruined tatami, and advanced on the second elder.

"I don't let her touch a single piece of anything when she is perfectly healthy" Satoru snarled, the raw emotion finally breaking through his terrifying calm.

"the servants wash my damn boots. I carry her across the courtyard when the gravel is too sharp. And you... you useless, disgusting, vile, rotting fossils... you dragged my pregnant woman out into the cold? To scrub your filth? Her knee bleeds because of your exclusive skill of not using a brain"

He grabbed the second elder by the front of his expensive silk kimono, lifting the grown man entirely off the ground with one hand.

"She is the future of this entire fucking world, and you risked her safety—you risked my child—because your fragile, pathetic egos were threatened by her existence?!" Satoru roared, his voice shaking the roof tiles.

"She will think she's the best of all? She is the best of all! She is mine! Which makes her untouchable to the likes of you!"

He threw the elder across the room, smashing him into a heavy wooden cabinet that collapsed under the impact.

"Satoru... the--the hierarchy... her place-" the third elder stammered, backing into the corner, clutching his prayer beads as if they could save him from a god.

“Her place?” The air crackled. “Her place is to be cherished. To be protected. I have torn apart special grade curses with less effort than it takes me to tolerate your outdated nonsense. You dare speak to my wife as if she is a common servant? As if the life she nurtures is insignificant?”

Satoru stood in the center of the ruined room, his breathing heavy, his chest heaving under his clothes. The sheer pressure of his cursed energy was cracking the plaster on the walls. He looked down at them with a disgust so profound it was sickening.

"Listen to me very carefully" Satoru said, his voice dropping back to a lethal, quiet hiss. "Tradition dies when it threatens what is mine."

 "I have never asked her to perform such tasks. Not once. Not before she carried my child, and certainly not now. Do you have any idea what pregnancy entails? The strain? The risk? My wife is not a servant. She is the heart of this clan. She carries the future."

His voice rises, never before this uncontrolled. "You forced her to kneel by a basin while I was away securing this clan's power? While she should be resting, being cared for? If any of you so much as suggest she lift a finger for menial labor again, I will personally ensure your retirement is... permanent. and I will remind you exactly why I am the clan head. Not because of bloodlines or dusty customs. Because I am the strongest. And I will not hesitate to make examples.”

He stepped closer, his shadow engulfing the final elder, deciding it was enough.

"Get out. All of you. Pack your robes, your tea sets, and your useless books, and fuck yourselves out of my estate before the sun rises. If I see a single one of your faces within the clan boundaries tomorrow morning, I won't just break your hands. I will erase your entire branches from the registry. Try me. See if the jujutsu authorities can stop me."

None of them doubted him. The strongest sorcerer in the world was standing before them, completely unhinged. They nodded frantically, Ogi clutching his ruined arm as they dragged themselves out of the room, terrified for their very lives, knowing the strongest's word was law, and his wrath absolute.

The slide of the shoji screen was a mere sigh in the quiet night, a soft friction of wood on wood. The moment Satoru crossed the threshold into the master bedroom, the terrifying, static heavy aura of his rage dissolved entirely, locked away behind the absolute precision of his control. He didn't want even a stray spark of his cursed energy to disrupt your sleep.

The room smelled of sweet tatami, dried lavender, and the faint, bitter tang of the medicinal salve Tatsuya had helped you apply.

Satoru shed his socks, his bare feet sinking into the woven mats as he approached the futon with agonizing care. He knelt beside you, the sheer size of his frame casting a protective shadow over your sleeping form. Without his blindfold, his six eyes tracked every rhythm of your breathing, noting the slight, tense line between your brows even in slumber.

You stirred, your senses waking up before your eyes did. The air in the room suddenly grew warmer, sweeter, thick with the distinct, dizzying scent of him.

"Satoru...?" you mumbled, your voice heavy and thick with sleep. You began to shift, your palms pressing into the futon to push yourself up, but a large, impossibly warm hand slid over your shoulder, gently anchoring you down.

"Shh... stay down, hime" he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against the quiet of the room. "Don't get up for me. Never get up for me."

He slid under the heavy silk duvet, but he didn't pull you into his arms just yet. Instead, he worked his way down to the foot of the futon. His touch was feather light as he peeled back the edge of the blanket, exposing your bare legs to the cool night air.

Your heart pinched, a sudden flush of anxiety warming your cheeks. You remembered the heavy, frozen stone of the northern wash basin, the harsh, disapproving glares of the elders, the way the coarse bristles of the brush had scraped against your skin. You had desperately wanted to hide it from him, to spare him the headache of clan politics when he already carried the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

But Satoru was already staring at your right knee. The neat, white bandage Tatsuya had carefully wrapped was stark against your skin.

A tiny, involuntary tremor ran through Satoru’s hands. The very fingers that had just shattered bones and ground old men's knuckles into dust were now trembling with a terrifying fragility as he slid his palms beneath your calf, lifting your leg just an inch to cradle it against his chest.

He leaned down, his silver hair spilling over your skin like silk. He didn't just look, he pressed his lips gently against the side of your knee, just beside the gauze, kissing the uninjured skin with a soft, lingering reverence. Then, his lips tracked a slow, agonizingly tender path up your thigh, his breath hot against your skin.

"I'm sorry" he murmured, his forehead resting against your thigh as his voice cracked, raw and bleeding with a guilt he couldn't hide. "I'm so sorry I left you alone. I'm so sorry I wasn't here, sweetness."

The sheer vulnerability in his tone made your throat tight. You reached down, your fingers weaving into the thick, ridiculously soft tufts of his white hair, gently tugging until he shifted upward. He crawled back up the length of your body, sliding his frame beneath the covers until he was flush against you.

"It's okay" you whispered, your thumb catching a stray tear that threatened to spill from the corner of his brilliant, crystalline eyes. "It's just a little scrape, Satoru. Truly. They... they just wanted me to learn the household duties. They said it was tradition for the women of the house. I just didn't want to cause trouble for you."

Satoru let out a ragged, shaky breath that stuttered against your collarbone. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his nose scenting your skin, inhaling you as if he were a starving man. His lips pressed a frantic, hot sequence of kisses along your jaw, up to your cheek, and finally against your lips, a soft, bruising, desperate kiss that tasted of a possessiveness so deep it bordered on worship.

His large hands slid down your back, molding your spine to his chest, before one palm found its permanent home, flat and warm against the slight, delicate swell of your belly. His fingers splayed wide over your abdomen, a protective shield of flesh and boundless power.

"You don't have duties to anyone but yourself" Satoru swore against your lips, his chest heaving as his heart thudded rapidly, a frantic, wild rhythm against your own ribs. He pulled you so close you could barely tell where your body ended and his began. "You are the lady of this house. My lady. You don't bow to anyone, you don't clean for anyone, and you don't break yourself for their rotting ideas of tradition."

He kissed the crown of your head, his hand on your stomach gently rubbing in tiny, soothing circles, his thumb caressing the soft fabric of your sleepwear.

"Let them talk. Let them rot" he whispered, his voice turning dark for a fraction of a second before softening as he pressed another kiss to your eyelid. "You just stay safe. Stay soft and warm right here. Let me handle the rest. Please, hime... just stay safe for me."

You smiled softly in the dark, your senses clouded by his immense, radiating warmth and the intoxicating rhythm of his breathing. You let your eyes close, completely melting into him, entirely unaware of the bloodied, broken elders currently packing their things in the dead of night, fleeing the estate in absolute terror.

You didn't need to know. As Satoru tightened his arms around you, pulling the duvet up to your chins and burying his face back into your hair, he held you like you were the only piece of reality that mattered in the universe.

“Well, maybe you’ll get your very own dad someday.” Satoru says, all choked up. His eyes sting and he fights to keep them from filling with tears. 

His face lights up, “It would be really nice to have a daddy and a mommy.” 

Then and there, Satoru understands that he’d give up his soul, his fortune, anything to have this kid call him dad even just once. He can’t help bending down and pressing a kiss to the crown of his son’s head. “Someday kid. Maybe sooner than you think.”

The rest of the way to the museum Ender chatters about their surroundings—“look Satoru, the tree is red,” or “Angry clouds. Will they cry later?” His son’s innocent enthusiasm helps keep him grounded, keeps him from throwing up in the back of this Uber at the idea of confronting his parents at last. He just has to keep silently repeating that if not for himself, he’s doing it for his son. 

When the Uber finally arrives at the museum, his heart sinks into his feet. There you are, looking every inch quietly dignified as you stand in front of the building. The elegant black dress you’re wearing is both professional and alluring, clinging to your curves while covering them modestly. Normally, it’d make his mouth water, but not right now because standing across from you are his parents and Kaori. He still can’t believe they had the nerve to show up at your photography showing to harass you. Actually, he wishes they had come for him first instead of targeting you. 

Even from here, he can see his parent’s faces are flushed with rage. Satoru hurries out of the car, pulling Ender into his arms and jogging toward you. His eyes are locked on you, his only focus on getting you away from his parents. When he stops beside you, he hands Ender off and just says, “Go.” He doesn’t mean to sound as cold and angry as he does, but seeing you cornered by these three fills him with a rage like nothing he’s ever felt. 

Slowly, he turns to face his parents. For a moment, he just stares at that them. When he speaks, his voice is so icy and detached that he almost doesn’t even feel like it belongs to him. “What the hell do you think you guys are doing?”

A/N: Well, the good news is that my power is back up. The bad news is that my power was down because of a big storm. So, I didn’t get to write much yesterday.

Tag reqs HERE // ⋆.𐙚 ̊m.masterlist 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

Her entire role on the show was Dr. Zayne’s love interest - a pretty young doctor from a small town hospital, coming to learn all she can before going back to her small town. Typical romance with only the faintest hint of drama. You tried your best not to be jealous, but you also started leaving the hospital early when it was her turn to film. To his credit, your boyfriend did what he was supposed to do and nothing more.

You were lying on the couch when he arrived home, much later than he was supposed to. “Oh, sweetheart, I figured you'd be asleep by now. It's awfully late,” he says, completely innocently, not aware of the fact that you had begun spiralling. 

You sit up, looking at him, inspecting him for anything that wasn't supposed to be, any hint of another woman. “I was waiting for you, I had made dinner…” You try to keep your voice steady and not let the worry out. If he noticed the undercurrent in the tone, he didn’t let on.

He walks over to you, kissing the top of your head. “My apologies, sweetheart. Filming wrapped up, and then I had an emergency surgery to attend to. Next time, I'll have Greyson or Yvonne let you know so you're not waiting. Now come on, you need sleep so you can fight wanderers and keep our city safe.” He takes your hand, pulling you to your feet.

That was when the smell hit you. It was faint, but it was there - perfume and not the perfume you use. You tried to rationalize it, but it was faint, which means it couldn't be fresh; it must have been from filming. But…there was that lingering doubt, something dark clawing at you. What if he was with her and the surgery was just a cover?

You nod, giving him a quick peck, barely touching his lips before you walk off towards the bedroom, closing the door behind you, leaving Zayne standing there, confused by the shift in your behaviour. He chalks it up to you being tired from work and goes to grab some of the dinner you made him, looking over his lines for tomorrow.

You pretend to be asleep when he comes to bed, freshly showered and smelling like him again. For a minute, you forgot about the clawing feeling deep in your soul; you wanted to roll over, resting your head on his chest and sleeping in his arms as you’ve done nightly, but then you remembered and decided to stay facing the window, your back to him. Not that he notices, he climbs into bed, kissing your cheek before falling into a comfortable sleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

You had planned on asking Zayne in the morning about the perfume, but a mission stole that opportunity from you. At 2 am, your hunter watch went off, and you begrudgingly haul your ass out of bed and make your way to the association, leaving Zayne a brief note, not wanting him to be anxious when you’re not around in the morning.

Called off on a mission, I’ll see you when I’m home. I’m safe, don’t worry. Have fun filming.

Short and to the point, enough to inform and put his worries at ease.

You spent the following week playing over every scenario in your head during moments of rest - the good, the bad, and the ugly, but there was one scenario that stayed in the forefront of your mind during your waking hours, one you desperately didn’t want to believe, but you were slowly losing that fight. Was he cheating?

While the rest of your team sleeps, you’re up, staring at the moon in some city you’ve never heard of, wondering if Zayne was looking at the same moon or if his attention was with another woman. The guilt would eat you alive, gnawing at your heart and negatively impacting your performance. You were getting sloppy, your movements uncoordinated, and you were taking hits that never should have landed. Your team starts to notice.

“What is going on with you?” One asks one night, pulling you away from the group. “You’ve been distracted, and you’re risking the rest of us. Get your head focused.”

You nod, shifting your weight. You wanted to confess, you wanted to explain what’s been going on, you wanted to get it all off your chest, but a simple apology and a small explanation were all you could muster. You assured them you were just exhausted and you’ll be better after a night's rest. They leave, leaving you standing alone, a million thoughts swimming in your mind. 

What was he doing now? Was he lying in your bed, his hands exploring the perfect curves of her body while kissing her, dumb? Or was he at a restaurant with her, publicly loving her, something he still won’t do for you? You pull your phone from your pocket, seeing the message you tried to send him earlier in the week, still trying to send. You had no service, even if you did, it's not like he would have sent you anything anyway, he's too busy with a pretty young actress with a perfect body and perfect hair. 

What you didn’t know, however, was that your loyal, attentive boyfriend was texting you daily for the weeks you were gone. Good morning texts, pictures of the foods he’s eaten that he thought you’d enjoy, updates on his day and all the I love yous he could. He knew you wouldn’t get them, but as soon as you entered cell service, your phone would be flooded with messages. He had no idea the battle you were fighting with yourself.

But he was about to learn.

You didn’t mean for the mission to go south so fast; you were so caught up in your mind, visions of Zayne with that actress making out, making love in your bed, laughing about how clueless you were, you didn’t see the strike until it was too late to dodge. You took the full blow of a wanderer's attack straight to the chest. The world was dark before you even hit the ground.

“Akso Hospital, do you copy? We have a cardiac trauma en route. Hunter attacked by a wanderer”

“You don’t think…” Yvonne asks, looking at Greyson. They both heard the call come through from the paramedics. 

Greysonn rubs his face, nervous about this call and how Zayne is going to react if it really is you on that helicopter.  “I’ll meet them at the helipad. When I know for sure if it is her, you get Dr. Zayne. He’s already worried about her. I don’t want to stress him out prematurely, in case it’s not her.” Yvonne nods, answering the call as Greyson runs off to the roof, running past the filming set.

Filming was running smoothly, the romance was romancing, and everyone on set was buzzing - the leading actress was about to make her move and confess her feelings for him. Right as she mentioned the love she feels for him, Zayne could see Greyson booking it down the hall. Something was wrong - Greyson very rarely runs when there’s no emergency, and he didn’t hear any alarms or anything going off. The whole scene was ruined.

“Dr. Zayne.” The direct calls after the yelling cut. “What happened? The scene was perfect, the chemistry was there,” He asks, walking over to them. 

“Forgive me, I just saw my assistant running down the hallway, allow me a few minutes to check everything is alright. I am hoping it’s a false alarm.” Zayne says, checking his pager without waiting for a response. He is still the chief of cardiac surgery, after all.

“With all due respect, Dr. Zayne. We are on a time crunch. Once we finish this scene, you can check. Now, places everyone! We’re going to roll it from the top.” 

Reluctantly, Zayne dials back in, returning to his place as the scene starts again. Vanessa begins her heartfelt confession again, laced with comments from their time spent together outside of filming. Right as the two were meant to share their first kiss, Yvonne bursts through the door, the film set security hot on her heels. “Dr. Zayne. We need you, now.”

“CUT!” The director yells again, clearly growing frustrated by the constant interference. “What now? Aren’t there other surgeons here that can handle whatever this is?” He asks, his tone full of annoyance, staring daggers at her.

Yvonne stands defiant, refusing to budge. “Dr. Zayne is the chief of surgery. Your filming does not take precedence over actual patients. Not only that, but the patient requires him and him alone. Only he knows the full extent of her heart condition.” That was all Zayne needed to hear. He pulled off his costume and ran for the door, Yvonne following closely behind, a satisfied smile on her lips. 

Greyson meets the pair just outside the operating room, his eyes were apologetic. “Dr. Zayne, it was my call not to inform you when we got the call. She’s being moved to recovery as we speak. I did not want to worry you before we knew for sure it was her. You were also busy filming.”

“What were her injuries? Is her heart okay?” Zayne asks, shoving his hands in his pockets. His evol has been unstable since you’ve been away, and now he’s losing control. You told him you were safe; this is the exact opposite of safe. “I don’t care about filming. What I care about is my partner and my patients.”

“Blunt force trauma to the chest, broken ribs, punctured lung with abdominal bleeding, and a pretty serious concussion. Her heart, as far as I can tell, was uninjured, just strained. We got the bleeding to stop and did what we could on the broken ribs. It’s going to be a long road to recovery, but she should make it through this.” 

Zayne nods. “Which room is she in? Did anyone come with her?” 

“Recovery room one. One of her coworkers came with her; she’s waiting in the waiting room if you wish to go speak with her first.” 

“No,” Zayne shakes his head. “I need to see her with my own eyes. I trust you did everything you could, but I need to be able to see her to know for sure if she’s okay.” He walks off towards the recovery room, his hands still firmly placed in his pockets, fists clenched, doing everything in his power to calm himself.

When he walks into the room and sees you waking up, he can finally breathe again - you were awake. “Hello, sweetheart.” He says, softly, walking up beside your bed, tenderly brushing the hair from your face. “How are you feeling? Any pain anywhere?”

You look at him, your brain still hazy, but it's unmistakably him, though he looks almost older. More tired than before you left, as if the past few weeks have not been kind to him. “What are you doing here?” You question, your voice hoarse and strained from the hours of intubation. “Why aren’t you with her?”

Zayne pulls out a chair to sit beside you. “What are you asking, sweetheart? Of course, I’d be here with you; there’s nowhere more important to me than being with you.” He runs his fingers over your arm gently, confused by your questions. “What happened while you were away?” 

His genuine softness and confusion make your heart hurt. He really was a great actor; you do your best to pull your arm away from his touch. “You know what I mean. Go see your new girlfriend. I’m sure she’s missing your company; you don’t want to keep her waiting for whatever date you guys had planned. Just make sure you change the sheets on the bed.” You look away, not wanting to see his face, see the anger at being caught, or the guilt of cheating. Your heart couldn’t handle that.

Zayne carefully tilts your chin to look at him, his face showing a sadness you have never seen before. “My love, there is no one else. You’re the only one I ever want to be with. If I did something to make you question my loyalty, please tell me so I can fix this. I can’t lose you, darling. I love you more than I have the words for. My very soul yearns for you and only you. Talk to me, please. Help me understand where I went wrong so I can fix it.”

Seeing him, hearing him beg to know what's going on in your mind, you finally break. Tears stream down your cheeks as you tell him everything, all the fears, the near constant worries that you weren’t enough for him. Everything you were feeling ever since Vanessa entered the show came out in one jumbled, emotional word salad. You kept apologizing for even thinking that, for assuming he would be anything less than loyal. 

“Darling…” he begins, his voice soft and pained, before Vanessa walks into your room, interrupting the moment.

“Zayne darling, the director wants you back. We need to finish the kiss scene before we finish filming today.” She smiles, looking forectly at him, completely ignoring your presence. Her heels click on the tile floor, the sound causing your head to pound. 

You wipe your eyes before pulling your face from Zayne’s hand. “Go. Your little friend needs you.” You fully expected Zayne to stand up and follow her out, to go about his day like nothing happened, like you didn’t just confess all your fears to him. 

Zayne stands up to face her. “I’m not going. If the director has a problem with that, he can talk with me personally. I have been neglecting my partner in favour of this show, and that’s not fair to her. She is my number 1 priority. She needs me here, and I plan on staying. The script writers can write me out if they so desire.”

Maybe he noticed that you returned from the hospital happier than usual. Your softened voice grated on his nerves, and your dreamy gaze only sharpened his. Honed his tongue to the way it left more and more wounds.

As if you weren't berating yourself for even thinking about another man. As if you didn't force your gaze to tear apart from Gojo at first. To keep your mouth shut. To gather your bearings and lock your heart with the key thrown away to the ocean depths. To shut Nitta's and Miwa's whispers with sharp glances. To stand your ground as the endless blue threatened to swallow you whole.

Either way, you were torn between your actual feelings and things you were supposed to feel.

That day wasn't particularly sunshine and rainbows: from a kid with an asthma attack to very vigilant parents, insisting on vaccine shots conspiracy. Your smile turned more strained with every word, and your left eye almost twitched at "how much are you paid per shot?"

And that was only the morning.

"Kao, stop squirming! What will the doctor think of you?"

The boy, a 5-year-old Kao-kun, who was supposed to have his hearing examined, fell on deaf ears to his mother's pleading words (not literally, as you hoped, standing with an otoscope beside the kid).

"I am so sorry, Doc, I don't know what's gotten into him," Kao-kun's mother, Nakata-san, offered you an apologetic, forced smile, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy towards her.

"It's completely fine, Nakata-san. Kids don't usually like these sorts of things," smiling warmly back at the lady, you briefly patted her arm in support. Nakata-san only pressed her lips into a thin line and opened her purse to fish a handkerchief to dab on her forehead.

The sudden April heatwave enveloped Japan in its suffocating embrace. Heat clung to skin in rivulets of sweat, and people fought for every sliver of shade, not to mention the usual humidity — the feeling of your blouse sticking to your back set your overstimulated brain on fire even more, but you didn't have the right to complain.

Poor Nakata-san, meanwhile, murmured in despair and sighed, shaking her head, "He's usually such a nice, smart boy. We started to teach him Hiragana a couple of weeks ago, just like in that handout you gave us, Doc. Oh, I have it, wait a minute, —"

The woman started to browse through her endless purse again, but you interrupted her softly, glancing briefly at the clock. Ten minutes were left before the next appointment, and Kao-kun seemed way more interested in the poster of the giant green cactus Sabo-san, a chair named Kosshi and…Inai Inai Baa.

The corners of your mouth twitched with a bright grin.

Of course.

"Hey, Kao-kun," drawling playfully, you waved at the poster. "Do you like Inai Inai Baa?"

The boy's voice rose to a high-pitched tone as he nodded enthusiastically, "Yes!"

You clapped happily, hoping to match Kao-kun and beamed at the kid, "You want to play Peekaboo?"

The boy practically jumped out of his seat, and Nakata-san hurried to shush him, only for you to gently stop her with a knowing look. She stopped in her tracks, blinking a couple of times; as the realisation dawned on her, the woman sent you a conspiring wink.

"Kao-kun, I am gonna look for Inai Inai Baa in your ears," as you finally had the kid's attention, he looked up and hung on your every word, "Will you help me — "

You barely finished the sentence as the boy shouted happily, his toothy grin on full display:

"Yes, yes, yes!"

The sight dispersed the gloomy clouds in your mind like the brightest sunray.

Kao-kun helped you to spot the dog, Wanwan, every time he barked into the boy's ear, and you discreetly wiped your forehead as you finished the examination and put the data into the kid's medical record.

"Doc, you're the best!" Nakata-san pressed her palm to her chest, thanking you sincerely. Kao-kun eyed the bowl of lollipops on your table as his mother kept talking about the school they were about to choose. Stiffling a warm chuckle, you nodded at the bowl.

"Help yourself, Kao-kun, don't be shy."

The boy beamed and hurriedly thanked you, urged by his mother on the way out of your office. He was already too fascinated with the sweet and colourful cartoon sticker inside, but dutifully listened to his mom. You waved back with a laugh.

"Take care!"

When you finally had two minutes for yourself, you fished a small handy fan. As it always happened in the most inconvenient times, the climate control in your office decided it certainly had enough and retired after a long period of duty. The facility manager grumbled that the equipment hadn't been modernised in a long time, glaring at you as if you were the sole reason for that decision. You highly suspected your beloved fiancé (to be precise, his family) of being in charge of it. Yet, somehow, the one on the receiving blade of occasional pointed glances and hushed whispers was usually you. No wonder: Naoya had a knack for charming everyone under his spell.

And you were just…you. Your presence, so tethered to his, didn't help the situation either. Mostly, that didn't bother you: little patients adored you, while parents paid their respects — after all, that mattered the most.

One of the nurses kindly informed you that the next appointment had been cancelled. That rare occasion had you raise your brows in a mild surprise, which later turned into a fleeting moment of joy: since it was the last appointment before the day hospital's checks, you could go there earlier and later hurry to the little cafe near the hospital. The cold kiwi lemonade had been quietly haunting your mind since the moment you stepped into your office.

"How are you feeling today, Rika-chan?"

"Better now!"

The little girl with two pigtails stilled as you checked her throat and discreetly let out a sigh of relief as you turned to her mother with good news.

"I think Rika-chan is going to be discharged soon," muttering under your breath as you flipped the papers, you couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of happy Okami-san. "Cephalexin 20 mg…yeah, that's right. I'll see you tomorrow at the final examination, Rika-chan!"

The girl eagerly nodded, hugging her Kuromi plushie, and your chuckle morphed into a warm laugh.

Walking out of room 626, you hurried to the last patient of the day. Knocking softly at the door, you couldn't help the low roaring of your pulse in your head. Your grip on the chart tightened, and with a deep breath, you stepped inside.

Gojo was engrossed in his phone, thumbs flying over the screen, and cast occasional glances at Megumi, who was quietly drawing in the corner. The black crayon wandered over the paper; judging by Megumi's brows, knitted in concentration, and the peeked out tongue, he was more than focused. Your gift, a little plushie dog, alongside a giant toad, guarded Megumi's peace like loyal knights.

Another warm sunray crept through the clouds.

Too absorbed in his own little world, the kid didn't notice you. Contrary to his uncle, whose ears immediately perked up at the sound of the doors creaking. A bright grin spread on Gojo's handsome face at the sight of your slightly hesitant form — you had to blink a couple of times just to reassure yourself that you weren't dreaming — before he sent you a conspiratorial wink with his finger on his mouth and pointed at the boy.

Pressing your lips into a thin line so as not to burst with laughter, you closed the door as quietly as you could. What was a paediatrician without a little whimsy?

"Hey, Megumi-chan," Gojo drawled in an overly obnoxious manner, earning Megumi's unimpressed look. Gojo's grin turned even brighter. "What are you drawing out there?"

Megumi's grip on the crayon tightened, and he mumbled back, finally sneaking a glance at you, "I am not finished yet."

Gojo wasn't quite satisfied with his nephew's answer and leaned over to peek at the table, only for Megumi to snatch the drawing from his uncle's nosy gaze.

"Come on, Gumibear —"

The boy's ears went pink at the humiliation that Gojo was bestowing upon him with a mere nickname, and the glare he sent his uncle was nothing but murderous. "I told you not to call me that!"

"Careful, Megs, your anger level is wa-a-ay above your daily norm, ouch!"

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, but a few chuckles left your lips nonetheless.

Gojo slumped back in his chair with a theatrical groan, resting his palm on his forehead like a damsel in distress; his biceps flexed with each movement in a white t-shirt.

Well, it was really hot.

You allowed yourself a second of gawking before eventually stepping to Megumi's side.

"Can I have a look, Megumi-kun?"

Megumi's eyes briefly flicked between you and the drawing he clutched close to his chest before he shrugged, "I still have to finish it."

Peeking at Gojo, you saw the amusement dancing in his bright blue gaze. So, it was a yes.

"Had a rough day?"

Your hands on the pulse oximeter stilled for a moment. Megumi's eyelashes fluttered with a tiny fractured breath. Gojo's casual words sent your heart stammeting against your ribs like a trapped bird; however, you forced yourself to focus and didn't tear your gaze away until you saw the result.

"Saturation is still not good."

Gojo, who hovered over you, knitted his brows in concern and opened his mouth to ask you something when Megumi's exhausted voice tugged on your heartstrings.

"You put a mask on me, right?"

The movement of your throat was sharp as you swallowed and exchanged glances with Gojo. He pressed his lips in a thin line and gave you a silent nod, urging you to continue.

"It's nothing bad, Megumi-kun." Your hand, warm and pleasant, rested on the boy's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. A deep frown crossed over his features as Megumi murmured in a barely audible voice.

"You are always saying that."

After another worried glance shared with Gojo, you kneeled before the boy's bed and put your mask down, so he could see you better.

"I promise you it won't hurt you. Besides, your uncle and I will be with you all the time." Even turned away from Gojo, you could feel the light grin already tugging on the corner of his mouth. The boy's eyes flicked between you and Gojo, and after seconds of inner debating, his posture relaxed just a tad, and he grumbled.

"I suppose it's okay then."

Your chest suspiciously tightened as you watched Megumi's small fingers twitch in Gojo's hold. His shades were gone, offering you an unobstructed look at the blue of his eyes, simmering with concern, framed by the snow of his lashes.

Casting your gaze back down at the boy, you concentrated on the task.

"He's slowly getting better," a soft, reassuring murmur left your lips as your gaze lingered on Megumi, who dozed off, exhausted after all the procedures. Then it landed on Gojo, driven by some unknown force. His hand hovered over the boy's shoulders — strangely unsure for a man like him — and finally drifted down to tuck Megumi's blanket in clumsily.

"I hope so."

His hesitant whisper stirred something deeply buried. Before the ever-present tentativeness could consume you, your hand settled on Gojo's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The contact made your fingers twitch with an unexpected urge to dig them deeper into the muscled skin. The heat immediately coloured your cheeks; a fleeting thought of yanking your hand away crossed your mind, but it was too late and impolite.

Gojo stilled beneath your touch and slowly turned around. The blue of his eyes held you captive in their waves, but his small, gentle smile gave you a much-needed breath of fresh air.

Only to take it back with a casual brush of the long fingers, subtly grazing your hand. A fragile, aching in its delicateness, flower bloomed quietly between you.

Soon, Gojo's ringtone dispelled the strange air. You discreetly shook your head in a skimpy attempt to get rid of the image of the man beside you, now talking quietly to someone on the phone. His lips widened into a smile so bright and unadulterated, it transformed his face into something…angelic.

Naoya's disdainful scowl from the morning emersed in your exhausted mind, no matter how hard you tried to drown it.

Gojo shot you a sidelong glance — seemingly relentless to decipher a look of somberness on your face — on your way to the elevator.

He couldn't quite put a finger on the sudden feeling the bags under your eyes evoked in him.

Your fingers came to fiddle with your chain as you worried your bottom lip. Then your hand limply fell at the absence.

Yeah. Right.

Gojo's eyes followed your gesture, but you seemed so hollowed out, as the life had been suddenly sucked out of you, that he didn't think of anything better than to blurt out, "Wanna have a coffee?"

Eyes widening, you stilled completely. That man, Gojo, who looked like a secret the morning tentatively shared, a kiss of the rosy sunset on your skin, and a whisper of a mystical night, had asked you out?

Or were you imagining things? Was he just bored? Polite?

At first, a usual thought of waving a man who somehow had his mind hazy enough to look at you immediately crossed your mind. A hot wave of panic flooded you like a strong ocean. The need to flee somewhere, just not to stay under Gojo's piercing blue gaze, ordered a retreat already. You almost opened your mouth to offer a moot excuse, with Naoya's presence looming over you even miles away, and…

Abruptly closed it.

The sparkle of rebellious flame surged high and slowly devoured the gnawing hesitance.

Your silence gave Gojo quite an unambiguous sign. His smile wavered for a moment, taking a bitter edge, and he stepped back, raising his arms in surrender.

"Oh, I am sorry, you might think I want to hit on you or whatever, but it's just so hot —"

You cut him off with a shrug too quick and a grin too sharp. "Sure. Why not?"

Surprised, Gojo blinked before tilting his head as the boyish grin slowly made its way back on his handsome face.

"Lead the way, Doc."

For a moment, you weighed all the options on the inner scales: the hospital cafeteria was immediately off the limits — even the walls had ears there, as well as a popular cafe just around the corner. The possibility of someone grassing you up to Naoya rose tenfold.

Yet, you had something on mind.

"Meet me in ten minutes near the entrance."

A content hum and a theatrical salute were your answers.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Mentally thanking yourself for filling out daycare forms in advance, and the raging flu that knocked Yaga out, which saved you from the lunch meetings, you set the world record for changing out of the scrubs and hurried to the elevator.

The hospital still buzzed with worried patients and exhausted doctorsю You craned your neck to see a familiar spark of frosty hair outside, and your pulse roared in your head at the sight of the tall man, leaning on the wall with a casual air of confidence.

Smoothing down your sundress — for some unknown reason — you hurried out.

"Hi!"

Gojo was looking somewhere past the crowd, a melancholic smile playing on his lips, and your words made him abruptly turn to you with a messy white fringe falling over his forehead. His smile dipped into something warm as he took you in.

"You're not in scrubs, it's the first!" An airy chuckle left Gojo as you led the way to the small cafe, nestled between towers of the enormous business centre, and a flower shop. To your surprise, Gojo immediately fell into step with you; Naoya never bothered to wait for you. You had always been expected to catch up to him, no matter what. "Nice dress."

Warm spring air caressed you both with delicate touches. The pink sundress you wore — Naoya raised his brow in the morning and mused whether you were dressed for work or a playground — licked the soft skin of your thighs with every step. Gojo sincerely tried not to gawk at the legs of his nephew's doctor (wait, was it a breach of ethics? He sincerely hoped no), but it became increasingly difficult.

Luckily, you stopped near the small, cosy coffee shop just before his feigned nonchalance would've morphed into something more scorching.

"Here we are!"

The scents of cinnamon and peppermint immediately hit his senses, mixed with the drumming sounds of an espresso machine and the faint hum of the climate control. The sudden temperature difference caused you to blow a lone strand of hair that escaped your ponytail off your face, and a whiff of your fresh perfume (albeit with a strong sense of antiseptic clinging to you like a second skin — once a doctor, always a doctor) sent his pulse drumming quietly.

Just when Gojo wondered if you felt at least something too, your shoulder lightly brushed against his. He didn't know what to do, because even the touch like that was enough for something to stir in his chest. So he just stilled, and let his gaze unabashedly drift over the delicate line of your neck as you studied something through the display.

Perfect.

"Recommendations are accepted," clearing his throat, Gojo waved at the arrays of pastries and rubbed the back of his neck. "Damn. Might as well order everything."

The look of pure confusion and something suspiciously similar to awe on his face earned a quiet laugh from you.

"Uhm, I usually like those chocolate-filled croissants," you murmured, hesitantly pointing at the pastry that looked like it had just descended from the famous French boulangeries. "Sometimes I take a tiramisu or a panacotta. Their strawberry-filled mochis are absolutely to die for!"

Beside you, Gojo went completely rigid. You felt the usual fear that you might've fucked something up — nothing new, but something inside you wished Gojo would be kind enough to let it slide — but then he turned around.

"I love mochis!" He breathed out not even with enthusiasm — a playful reverence coloured his tone. His eyes sparkled even brighter.

You briefly discussed other desserts displayed, and you complimented the ones shaped like fruits ("Actually, very close to Cédric Grolet's!"), before you attempted to grab your wallet from the purse and… met a disappointed nothingness. You sulked a bit and stepped back in the line before the barista would glare daggers at you, giving Gojo an apologetic shrug.

"I forgot my wallet, so this time I am just gonna —" You glanced around the cafe. "Wander around, I guess."

Gojo blinked and shook his head with an airy chuckle, pulling his wallet out, "You're so funny."

Your smile briefly faltered. Nevertheless, you forced it to stay plastered.

"I know, yeah."

A light frown flickered across Gojo's face, but before he could even form a question, the barista, a young, lively girl, greeted him with a joyous chirp.

"Good afternoon, what can I get you today?"

Flashing a charming grin, Gojo slightly leaned over and pointed at the pastry with a low purr, "Hello. I would like to have a caramel latte and that whole set of fruit desserts. A box of strawberry mochi and two — no, wait, three chocolate croissants for takeaway."

"Noted," the girl nodded as the light pink tinged her cheeks at the sight of Gojo. Well, no wonder. "Anything else?"

"Make the latte really sweet. And whatever this lady wants, of course." With that, Gojo finally leaned back and waved at the pastries as if he had baked them all by himself, "My treat, Doc."

Completely stunned, you just huffed an unsure laugh, "No, Gojo, it's okay, I am just —"

"Please," Gojo's voice lost all the cockiness just for a second, offering you a peek of the man beneath the facade. "Do me a favour. You showed me this place, after all."

A strange kind of fog clogged your mind as you watched Gojo casually take out his black card. You murmured something about a kiwi lemonade.

He ended up buying another yearly supply of sweets for you as well.

Gojo flipped his wallet, and a photo tucked inside — him hugging a couple of kids — immediately caught your attention. Judging by a grumpy scowl on one of the children's faces, you successfully deduced the boy to be Megumi. And the girl with a shy grin, showing a peace sign, should've been his sister, Tsumiki.

A flicker of warmth sparkled in your chest as your lips twitched in a smile.

Shifting your gaze just a tad, you noticed Gojo's business card peeking out from the photo. Your best attempt at squinting at it wasn't successful, but the sight of his surname in a bold business font awoke something in your mind.

You certainly heard it. Maybe Naoya once happened to drop it during dinner? Or some hushed pieces of gossip finally reached you at the numerous Zenins' gatherings?

The image of Naoya stubbornly kept surfacing in your mind, no matter how hard you tried to bury it under the pretence of nonchalance towards a certain white-haired man. The mere thought of your future husband finding out about your little detour sent a fresh wave of fear through you.

God. What the hell were you doing?!

Swallowing, you briefly mused about fleeing, but the force that seemed to be stronger than the gravity itself — attraction, blending with recklessness — chained you to the chair right in front of Gojo.

Damn him. You felt like a butterfly pinned to a board by the sharpness of his gaze.

"What's bothering you?"

Forcefully blinking yourself back into reality, you sent Gojo a confused, apologetic smile, "Nothing much."

"Come on, Doc," he prompted, resting his chin on the palm. Almost half of the caramel latte in front of him was gone, as well as a peach-shaped dessert. Yours still rested untouched on the plate. "You've been hypnotising that poor peach for a solid five minutes."

You nervously twirled a straw between your fingers. Shit. You didn't even notice it. And with Gojo staring at you, his brow lazily arched, you decided to opt for a half-truth.

"Your surname. Where could I hear it?"

Gojo's grin withered a little before taking a strained edge. Just a fleeting second for everyone else, but if sharing a roof with Naoya had taught you anything, it was attunement to other people's senses. So, you just waved your hands in surrender.

"I didn't mean to intrude, sorry. Forget it."

The sincerity of your gaze softened the sudden harshness of Gojo's features and the rigidness in his shoulders. You indeed were just… curious.

He shook his head with a light chuckle, "No worries. My family is quite well-known. Limitless, maybe you heard it?"

Eyed widening, you almost spluttered the poor kiwi lemonade.

"Limitless? You mean that big company in advanced robotics and technology?"

Well, that surely explained why he spent so much time with Megumi at the hospital. Nepo babies weren't used to working a lot, judging by Naoya.

Gojo gave you a lazy nod and took a bite of another pastry, looking somewhere past you at the bustling Tokyo streets, and dropped off-handedly.

"Yeah. But I am not a big fan of boring meetings, reports and presentations."

Something in his tone suggested that it wasn't a single reason.

You just prompted gently, "What are you doing then?"

Gojo's smile turned relaxed.

"I am a restaurant owner."

Stunned, you paused with a spoon halfway through, "What? That's so cool!"

Laughing warmly, he confirmed again, "Yep. Three in Tokyo, one in Kyoto, and…," he leaned over with a suspicious look and whispered loudly, sending you a wink, "planning to open in Yokohama as well. But that's a secret just for you."

A light chuckle left you as your face heated up from the sudden proximity. You quickly cast your gaze down on the plate, cutting through a delicious treat.

"So, where are they? Maybe we, sorry, I —," you corrected yourself immediately, earning a slow, curious tilt of Gojo's head, "visited them?"

He only dropped one name, but the mere mention of that restaurant had you staring at him in shock, eyes sparkling with excitement. A dollop of soft cream was smudged over your chin, but in your contagious joy, you never really noticed. The blue of Gojo's gaze softened into a warm breeze, embracing you in a tender gale.

"Really? Is that one in Ginza, a rooftop bar? God, I've been dying to visit it! That grilled red squid with herbs? Damn," gesturing animatedly, you quickly explained at Gojo's curious glance, "I had a bit at a family gathering. And let me tell you," now it was your turn to lean in with a conspirational whisper, "it was the best thing in that evening."

Despite Gojo's attempts to compose himself, his grin widened even more as he asked, "So, why haven't you visited it yet? I mean, you look pretty happy talking about it."

Your own smile slowly faded at Gojo's ask, and the unsure curl of your shoulder that followed immediately didn't go unnoticed.

Naoya's dismissive words sparkled brightly in your mind again, and you waved them as best as you could. Hugging the empty cup with your lemonade, you attempted to joke weakly, "Didn't have enough time. You know, hospital, shifts, meetings."

Gojo's lazy drumming slowed a little before coming to a complete halt. A warm feeling cracked in his chest at the memory of you attending Megumi.

"Ah, of course. Sorry for that. You are the busiest that I will ever be."

You weren't used to it. To someone listening to you with a genuine expression. To someone casually complimenting you. To someone including you in a conversation. As if you were worthy of someone's attention.

And that someone being Gojo caused a warm sun to rise in your hollowed soul.

So you resorted to the only thing familiar to you.

"Ah, it's nothing. I am just a paediatrician," offering a usual downplayed explanation, you didn't even notice the muscle in Gojo's jaw jump. Why were you doing it? "I mean, there are surgeons and — "

"You are joking, right? You are literally a doctor."

Gojo's incredulous tone caught you off guard. Shoulders dropping, your smile curled into a nervous, unsure scowl, while he went on.

"You're doing such a great job. I mean, all of that stuff, checking saturation, temperature, carrying all these charts, and, on top of that, working with kids! This is so cool."

A weird, scorching feeling coloured your cheeks. What was actually the last time you heard someone talking about you like that? All sincere, kind, and…warm?

The lump in your throat started to feel suspicious, and you took a shuddering breath in an attempt to accept Gojo's words with no usual overthinking, "I guess so. Kids are really cool."

Popping a spoonful of panna cotta in his mouth, Gojo hummed in acknowledgement.

"You're cooler. Do you like working with kids?"

For the second time, you were sharing a conversation, your smile widened, tone dipping into an affectionate tenderness, "Of course! I like seeing them smile as they finally get better. I love helping them to navigate through the world, especially knowing I can do that and make a difference! I want to make the start of their life easy and smooth. The rest of it may be shitty, but the childhood…"

Quiet steel crept into your voice, honing your tone.

"…the childhood is sacred."

Your eyes suddenly bore remembrance to black holes — swallowing Gojo in vast expanses of them. He stared, unblinking, and recalled that version of you on the lone evening. Smoking, laughing. Teasing.

Where was the line between that version of you and the shy doctor sitting in front of him, shrinking, lessening herself to fit some image Gojo hadn't deciphered yet? Who were you?

The truth might've hid amongst smiles, sincere, and too stretched to be genuine; glances, soft, and too pointed to offer truth; gestures, secretive, and too deep-seated to bear some meaning.

Gojo recalled your laugh as you talked about the damned grilled red squid. Maybe that version of you, that crept in the cracks of all the conversations you shared, was the real one?

He didn't know yet. But hell, he was determined to solve the mystery that his nephew's doctor was. With those sweet smiles. That sharp tongue. And that contagious laugh.

"Gojo? Are you listening?"

Okay. Perhaps he went into recalling a little bit too much.

He let his gaze wander over your features freely. "Yeah. You mentioned that kids usually don't like their ears checked. But honestly, what kid likes hospitals?"

Your shoulders shook with mirth as you shot him a quick, shy grin. Gojo felt his lips curling into a warm smile as well.

"Do you like working at that hospital?"

Twirling a straw, you stilled at his question. Then a deliberately calm shrug came as you glanced through the window.

"I like working with kids."

"That's not what I asked." Despite the warmth in his tone, you managed to notice an unusual heaviness lurking behind it. Nothing in Gojo, from the curious tilt of his head to the calmness in his blue gaze, revealed his true intentions.

Still. An assessing gleam that flashed in Gojo's eyes told you much more than he probably thought.

His fingers drummed against the table with barely concealed impatience. You mirrored his tilt and drawled hesitantly, "Could've been better, honestly. The department's director is constantly on our ears about financing and modernising the equipment. But, you know. Paediatrics isn't on the priority list."

Gojo hummed — a low, throaty sound that had you casting your gaze immediately down on your plate — and leaned in. His brows furrowed in frustration.

"Really?"

You mumbled something unintelligible as your shoulders curled inwards.

"But that doesn't make any sense," a murmur full of disbelief left him soon, addressing no one in particular, but rather musing aloud. "You're doing such an important thing, taking care of kids. I saw you running around like a Duracel rabbit, and this constant chaos. Yet you're doing such a great job! Especially with Megs. He likes you, you know? And he doesn't like doctors."

You leaned a bit with your chin cradled in your palm, looking out of the windows: some lady hurried to the cafe, barely catching up to her doggie, an adorable Pomeranian. The doorbell soon announced their entrance, followed by a cheerful bark.

"No wonder. He has a long story with them. I am afraid he just has to like me because I am a lady with masks and all that stuff."

"I am serious, Doc. Believe me," a small laugh followed his grin — you would've been damned if you didn't spot bitterness buried in it.

"I know when Megs feels…," Gojo pondered for a moment, looking for the right word. "Acceptable towards someone."

Now it was your turn to smile.

"He's not an easy kid," you murmured to Gojo after some time as you both watched the lady attending to her adorable, lively puppy. Gojo's grin widened for a second before settling back with heaviness too unfitting for the mask he usually wore.

"You can say so. They both went through…a lot."

You could only press your lips in sympathy. No matter how many tragedies you witnessed, each of them had left scars on you. Especially when you found out the reason Gojo adopted Megumi and Tsumiki.

Gojo didn't like to talk about it, but you gathered enough from the bits of conversations, information from Megumi's chart and heavy pauses between the words. Didn't press: one time, you saw Gojo examining the handout on how to help a kid process the grief, and noticed Gojo's gaze hardening into an iceberg.

So, you kept all assumptions safely catalogued in your head.

A heavy silence settled between you, interrupted only by excited yips of the Pomeranian, distant melodies of some indie song coming from the speakers, and the whirring of the cash register.

Hand drifting mindlessly to scratch an old scar, your fingers twitched with an indescribable urge to soothe Gojo's wounds as well. In the end, he lost his sister, too. And as shocked as he might've been, he had two distraught kids to bring up.

Did he have a chance to mourn her at all? Or just poured himself into the life that suddenly felt too enormous to fit into?

Judging by the distant waves of his gaze and the melancholy flickering over his face, too beautiful for all the sorrows, he didn't.

As much as you wanted to console him, to tell him that you hid scars like that as well, you couldn't bring yourself to do this. The lock on your heart was still impenetrable.

A bitter realisation, melting into a sour resentment that you didn't remember the last time you felt like that towards your fiancé, had your chest constricted with the weight of ache.

Instead, you tried not to dwell on it. Lifting your hand, your slightly trembling fingers grazed Gojo's hand across the table. A thick whisper followed.

"I am sorry."

Gojo's head immediately snapped up at the sound of your soft words. His eyes met yours in a moment of shared grief and quiet understanding — something he hadn't allowed himself to feel for a long time.

A silent yearning to be seen hid in the desperate twitch of his fingers as they squeezed your palm in response.

He quickly masked that momentary weakness behind a frantic clearing of throat and a casual, too casual ask.

"You lost your chain?"

Frowning a bit, you shifted your gaze to the dip of your cleavage; a sudden, shaking breath followed as you gently pulled your hand back to touch the bare skin.

Naoya's words, full of malice and icy wrath, flashed behind your closed eyelids just as if he had been throwing them at you now. He was seething with ire that morning.

You just sat there: a silent witness to irritation consuming Naoya more and more. Mentally went through every place you visited, every corner rounded, and every room attended. Still, it had no sense at all.

The ring was gone.

"Yeah."

"It must've been important."

You gritted your teeth until the muscles in your jaws twitched. Slowly, you lifted your gaze and couldn't believe the next words that left your lips, "It's okay. Something that was meant to be mine would make its way back, right?"

Gojo's eyes widened a bit at the sudden declaration. A boyish grin curled on his lips as he just shrugged in response, "I guess so."

Just in time. An alarm on your phone not so kindly informed you that your lunch was over. Oh, how you wished that it could last a small eternity longer.

Did Gojo feel that as well?

Watching his tall figure retreat to a shop nearby, you thought about the warm sea that spilt in his irises, when you reminded him that you would meet again tomorrow.

And then, as the sudden gust of wind threw your hair back into your face, you realised when you heard Gojo's surname. The sound of it had become a frequent guest of all the Zenins' outraged discussions.

But…

What did that mean to you?

ੈ✩‧₊˚

"Darling?"

Your voice sounded hesitant in the car on the way to your parents' house.

Tearing his gaze from the streets of the Denenchofu neighbourhood, adorned with lush greenery, and the rows of houses, draped in elegance and serenity, Naoya quirked his brow at you in a silent question.

With a hasty breath, you twiddled with your bag. The damn binder kept evading you like on a cue. A quiet curse left your lips as you felt Naoya's patience wearing thinner and thinner with each flimsy attempt of yours. You heard the irritated click of his tongue just as you fished the folder. Handed it to your fiancé and watched boredom on his face morphing into vague surprise and… mild interest.

"What is it?"

"It's my — uhm, you know, it's something I am doodling while not busy and —"

Nayoa interrupted you with a sharp glance, "Quit babbling."

"Right. Sorry," forcing an apologetic grin, you folded your hands on your lap. "It's my sort of portfolio. Best of my works. I just — would like to know your opinion about that."

"And why do you want me to do this?"

"One of my patients' parents is an art dealer. He noticed some pictures in my office, and we exchanged a couple of words." Naoya's eyes narrowed at your revelation; you quickly corrected yourself, "That's it, I swear!"

"Quicker," he cut you off with a wave as if you were stealing minutes of his precious time.

Your gaze briefly flicked between your hands and the binder in his hands.

There it was. Something shaping as an opportunity to share with the rest of the world what your soul ached for and your eyes saw.

With a sharp exhale, you concluded, "Anyway, his gallery is searching for some new artists for the opening of a new exhibition. I thought — I thought I might give it a try." Your voice cracked at the last words.

A low, almost indifferent hum was all you got in response.

Breath bated, you intently watched Naoya slowly opening the folder and going through the pictures with deliberate scrupulousness. Head tilted, his gaze wandered over each line and stroke. You examined every minuscule twitch in his expression just to notice the fleeting movement of his eyebrows. Something resembling bewilderment flicked across his face.

A flash of excitement faintly sparkled within you.

Only for Naoya's bewilderment contorting into disbelief, masked by cold indifference.

"You drew it?"

A glance at his face didn't stir anything suspicious in you, so you slowly nodded, lips curling into a nervous smile.

His gaze darted to your makeshift portfolio once again. And then a smirk — a quick twitch of his lips — followed. As cruel as his love for you was.

"Don't you have something more important to do than simply wasting your time?"

The splendour of excitement faded within you into a dim flare. Your smile wavered as you breathed out, "I don't under— understand."

Your distress only fed Nayoa's ego even more. He carelessly tossed the portfolio back on your lap and drawled in mock sympathy, leaning closer.

"Aw, my poor dove. You are not born yesterday, aren't you? Still so innocent and full of naive dreams. You should've known better already."

Your grip on the poor binder tightened. The wrinkled, beaming face of your little patient caught your attention; but despite the usual reluctant acceptance of his words, you felt another match put to a growing flame inside.

Raising your chin a little, you noticed with a grim satisfaction that Naoya was slightly taken aback.

"Should know better what exactly?"

His smirk sharpened into a ruthless blade.

"That the world doesn't care about the wishes of innocent little doves like you, my darling." For all your desperate attempts to stand your ground, your heart sank to your stomach. Disappointment and your own failure buzzed in your tired mind, bearing Naoya's taunting voice.

"You think that guy really wanted these drawings of yours? Oh, darling, please. He probably was just polite. After all, you are the one who can write a slightly wrong prescription for his kid out of spite and —"

Cheeks flaring at the entendre in his voice, you blinked in shock, "What? I would never in my life do that!"

Naoya peacefully hold his hands out.

"Just saying, dove. I only want the best for you." Naoya's hand came to pinch your chin as he let his gaze roam over your face. Then a fake concern flashed on his face — you lifted a heavy gaze on your fiancé. "Saving you from an inevitable disappointment. No need to worry that pretty little head of yours about anything."

And then his tone deceived you into pretending sweetness, "You said you were bored?"

You answered it with an unblinking stare, which Naoya interpreted in his own way. As usual.

"Maybe it's high time for you to step into the wedding preparations. All I hear is endless chirping about napkins and lilies and the size of your obi sash. Why don't you join it? And while musing, maybe at least try to look for your engagement ring."

With that derisive scowl, your future husband leaned over to order something for your driver. And like that, the conversation ended.

Just like your pitiful attempts to become something that you weren't. A sandcastle that you carefully built crumbled in your hands, putting all your dillusions to an end.

Naive, little dove.

That was who you were, right?

Ache travelled down your cheeks in briny tears. They hit the pieces of your heart in lines and sketches, smudging them with sadness.

As the car finally stopped in front of a big house, screaming about quiet luxury, you quickly wiped all the signs of your life quietly falling apart. And when you stepped out of the car with your hand resting leisurely in the crook of Naoya's elbow, your smile only painted the image of a happy fiancée and a nice daughter.

The portfolio in the depths of your bag told another story.

For all the heavy air and weight of disappointment following your every step like an ominous shadow, you still preferred home walls to the bars of the Zenins' cage.

At least, you were in your territory.

Naoya had never been particularly interested in stepping into that place — perhaps he regarded it as settling to your level — but much to your surprise, he always accompanied you.

Deep down, you were well aware of the true reason; it was neither his affection nor understanding. Oh, no. Quite the opposite.

Your home greeted you with polite indifference.

If it had a face, you were sure it would wear the same expressionless look you often witnessed on your parents. A deep-buried bitterness surged inside at the sight of framed photos, depicting your family. The main guest was always their most beloved child — their business, its numerous triumphs and accomplishments. Its presence had always gnawed on you at the dinner table and hovered over, akin to a skilful executioner, with the axe of their expectations behind the back.

It was a competition you could never win.

As wounding as that realisation was, you swallowed it and every sharp remark to come.

After all, those crumbs were better than facing the silence.

Your mother joyously trilled something to Naoya, who listened to her with a mild interest. You were well aware that was the closest to politeness he was able to muster. As a lot of men tended to be, your future husband had never been keen on participating in "women's useless prattle".

But not as your father studied him with a scrutiny too unfitting for someone so blazenly indifferent.

At least, that was what you believed him to be.

Because lately, every time you stole a glance at your father as he talked to Naoya, you couldn't help but notice a mocking sparkle in his eyes. As if Naoya entertained him by the mere fact of his existence. You silently wondered if he was able to sense it, because your fiancé's attempts to earn his future father-in-law's approval were met with a quick grin and a curt nod more and more.

Of course, it wounded Naoya's pride and ego. Everyone had to be enamoured with your fiancé; a few tailored compliments and seemingly soft glances were usually enough. Naoya never bothered himself trying too much, though, just because he initially treated people like someone to use and discard later.

The only exception was you at the start of your relationships. He woven himself into your life with late-night strolls, dinners at the expensive restaurants, attentive gestures, and charming smiles. Until he made sure you were on the hook of his affection and in a constant state of craving more. Playing with you, testing the limits of your obedience and his own vanity, gave him a cruel sense of satisfaction.

Either way, some flattery and asking for business advice didn't fascinate your father into actually accepting Naoya. Sometimes your fiancé's disappointment and anger burst into spiteful remarks directed at you, although they quickly morphed into distant rambles as he understood how pathetic he might've looked. Trying to earn respect from the man who was supposed to give it to him on a silver platter.

If there was one thing you were certain about Naoya, that was his absolute despise to being looked down on.

You didn't know what game your father was playing — it might be just another mind game or whatever it was called in terms of business — but you enjoyed it inwardly nonetheless.

The clink of silvery cutlery followed soon after the usual exchanges among the whispers of pristine tablecloth and rivers of elite alcohol. Nayoa's shoulder brushed against yours every time he reached for whiskey. The gradual rise of his pitch matched the growing annoyance within you. You politely waved the maid every time she walked to your side with a glass.

"Ah, darling," your mother's cheeks were already painted red from numerous portions of Roku gin. Otherwise, she wouldn't be as kind as now. "Why don't you try this Roku gin? Torii-sama sent us the premium Sakura Bloom Edition, might as well try one!"

Your mother paused to pop a cherry in her mouth. Then her eyes comically widened as she shared a few curious glances with your aunties, earning tipsy giggles. Naoya's jaw tightened. "Your fiancé might not like your drinking! Silly me."

Your plastered smile twitched for a moment before you let a fake saccharine chuckle and nodded wordlessly. You knew better after the last gathering in the Zenins' estate.

Unknown to you, not only did Naoya watch you like a master, seeing his doll take the stage for the first time, but so did your father. His calm expression wavered for a moment before a usual mask slotted back into place.

"Darling." All the voices quietened as your father spoke up. Your grip on the fork tightened as you braced yourself and slowly dragged your eyes to meet his gaze, spine involuntarily straightening under its weight.

"Father?"

"Tell us about your…work," the last word left your father rather hesitantly as he absent-mindedly twirled a lavish whiskey glass between his fingers. Saying that surprised you would be an understatement: your work, the path you chose, instead of becoming another cog in their enormous corporate machine, had long been a touchy subject in your family. Your becoming a doctor was acceptable. But a paediatrician? It evoked a couple of arguments, but that was the most you could have ever received. From that moment, your profession hid between the pauses in conversations and was swept under the rug like a useless mention.

The voices around the table came to a complete halt, and even the lone clink of your cousin's spoon against the plate sounded shocked.

Trying to ignore the bewildered glances and especially the pointed glare of your fiancé at the lack of attention to his superb persona, you smiled corteously, "Thank you for asking, father. Everything is going nicely, and the kids are as healthy as they can be. Well, you know them. You don't keep an eye on them, and the next thing you do is blow on their scraped knees."

The table remained ominously silent after your attempted little joke. You cleared your throat and carried on, feeling Naoya piercing daggers into you.

"And, uhm, our department's well-financed, surprisingly! I suppose it's Naoya's achievement. He's on the board of the shareholders, if someone doesn't know," you hastily added. The paediatrics department was buzzing with a new juicy piece of gossip, exchanging knowing looks and conspirational whispers. Just like that, your fiancé once again bathed in the glory and adoration.

Meanwhile, you weren't even completely sure he actually showed up to those meetings.

Naoya straightened a little in his seat, sending a sleazy smirk to one of your distant relatives. Her cheeks went red immediately as she cast her gaze down on the plate.

"Yeah, dove is right." Naoya's speech had long already been slurred from the alcohol, straining his breath. Your jaw twitched with effort not to grimace as it fanned over your cheek. "No wonder they had such a big problem with money. I mean, they are looking after kids. Not even real doctors, if you catch my drift."

You were so shocked and astounded that you couldn't utter a single word.

"What?" Naoya shrugged indifferently as his gaze swept across the table to notice that some people were stunned as well. He quirked a brow at you. "You said it yourself, honey. That you felt so stupid talking to surgeons sometimes."

The humiliation snaked immediately in your chest and sank its teeth into your heart, until you bled quietly on the pristine white in front of you. The silver of the fine clutter caught light, showing you a reflection of smirking Naoya, even more distorted. Your grip on it tightened, but you still played your role, sending your father a jarred grin.

However, he looked past you. His brows knitted together in confusion and something suspiciously looking like seething anger. Shivers ran down your spine as your father finally muttered.

"And who do you consider a real doctor, Naoya?"

Naoya's smirk slowly wavered before vanishing completely; his cheeks went from painfully pale to slightly pink in a span of seconds, and for a death cup like him, it equated to a crimson bloom.

Clearing his throat, your future husband threw pointed glances at you.

You remained indifferent to his silent pleas.

The sight of your fiancé, trying to make his way out of a frying pan, brought a strange kind of contentment. You hid your smirk behind the glass.

He parted his lips to answer, only to be interrupted by the maid. She bowed in an apology, saying someone was calling you,

"That must be some parent. Excuse me," you quickly stood up and hurried to another room. Ah. You wished you could see Naoya humiliating himself in front of your family a bit longer. However, you still managed to mouth "thank you" to your father, who answered you with a quick nod.

Parents' calling you all the time wasn't anything sort of an usual, but seeing Gojo appearing on your screen sent your heart stammering against your ribs. Was something wrong with Megumi? Did he feel bad again? You were just about to discharge him and —

Before the wave of overthinking consumed you, you accepted the call, thumb hesitating over the button for a few seconds longer than needed.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Doc. I am so sorry to interrupt you, really. You must be busy," Gojo chuckled nervously. You noticed with a frown that his low voice had lost its usual smoothness: he sounded genuinely… worried. You had to cut off his words before they would turn into rambling.

"Don't worry. What happened? Is Megumi alright?"

"Megs is fine, it's —," a loud bark interrupted your conversation, earning a distressed groan from Gojo. "Shiro, for the love of God! Stop that!"

The dog's barks — as you presumed, Shiro's — grew even louder, and in a couple of seconds, playful yips followed as well.

"Kuro, no, I can't play with you right now!"

As much as you would've enjoyed that chaos in every other situation, your voice took on an urgent edge, calling for Gojo's attention back.

"Gojo, I need you to focus. What's wrong?"

The sounds of the crisis on the other side of the call quietened a little, and you could finally feel Gojo's voice, coming in a nervous breath, "It's Tsumiki."

"Okay. Is she nauseous? Has a temperature? Diarrhoea? Pale, blotchy skin?"

"She threw up a couple of times. We've been at the new place near their school, and then went to an amusement park. Yeah, wrong move, I know. No diarrhoea, no. A little bit pale, though." Gojo huffed nervously. You briefly imagined him carding fingers through his hair — you picked that habit of his during Megumi's admission.

Shaking your head, you interrupted Gojo again.

"What did she eat? Did you give her some meds?"

"She had a poke bowl with tuna. Pepsi. Sugar-free, if that's important. Cotton candy. I think it's cotton candy. It should be cotton candy, 'cause we all had those damn poke bowls. Honestly, it was too sweet, even for me."

Gojo's voice turned too distant all of a sudden. You figured he was checking on Tsumiki, given the worried edge in his tone. "We went home, and I gave her Pedialyte."

"Oh, that's great. You did right, actually. She should drink a lot and have plenty of rest."

"Dunno, Doc. She's not looking very good, and I —" A deep, sharp exhale that followed twisted something in your heart.

Swallowing nervously, you tightened your grip on the phone. "I'll check on her. Just send your address. I'll be there as soon as possible."

Gojo kept silent for some time, until you heard his quiet, strangely hesitant voice. "You sure? I don't want to interrupt whatever you might have, it's a Friday evening, after all. I can call an ambulance every time."

Already putting on your light coat, you gently murmured, "No, it's okay. Don't worry about it."

"I'll send my assistant after you."

You were already familiar with Gojo's assistant, a driver, and a planner — Ijichi. The poor guy looked perpetually stressed; you genuinely didn't want to cause him even more trouble.

"I'll get a taxi."

"But —"

"By the time he gets to me, I could've already been at yours."

Gojo reluctantly agreed, not capable of fighting your logic, and dropped his address. Your brows raised in a slight surprise.

With a quiet hum, you finally called a taxi, already grimacing at Naoya's possible reaction, as you hastily texted him an apology. His face, contorted in fury, especially after a confrontation with your father, sent shivers down your spine. A thought of backing down briefly crossed your mind, but you quickly shook it away. Not only because you were always keen on keeping your promises and the poor girl involved, but…

Watching the streets of Seijo pass you in quiet green parks, tennis courts, university campuses and elite buildings, you finally admitted to yourself.

That you longed to see Gojo.

His house met you with a daunting gateway and a robotic voice, calmly telling you to proceed further. A quick, examining look around the beautiful, well-tended yard made you wonder how many people worked there, but the sight of water guns scattered over the grass, as well as the picnic blanket on the grass, gave you a much better understanding of the family living there.

After hesitating a couple of seconds, you knocked.

You fully expected Gojo to greet you right that second. Instead, you heard a couple of barks, some intelligible mumbling, and the sound of something being knocked over, until the door finally opened, revealing Gojo and a white Labrador puppy, enthusiastically chewing on the man's trouser leg.

Hardly had you opened your mouth, when another puppy — that time a black one, albeit also a Labrador — jumped on you with a joyous yip. The puppy wiggled its tail with such speed that you sincerely worried about the poor doggie launching itself into space.

A joyful chuckle left you as you petted the puppy, cooing at him, "Hello to you, too!"

Gojo finally managed to get the white one off his leg and craddled it against his chest with a loud sigh. A couple of white strands were plastered to his forehead, and he quickly wiped it with his forearm.

"Hello, Doc. Kuro, come here. Don't jump on ladies like that," he mock scolded the black one, Kuro, and flashed you a tired grin. Kuro trotted back to Gojo. "We're gonna talk about it later, I swear. With you as well, right, little guy?" Gojo murmured to the white puppy, scratching him behind the ears and nodded towards you. "Meet Shiro!"

You beamed back in response and quickly looked around. "Where's Tsumiki?"

Gojo's expression changed in an instant, a frown crossing over his handsome face. "She's upstairs. You can use the bathroom there. Wait a minute, okay?"

Nodding nervously, you found your seat near the cream sofa. A white, fluffy carpet easily swallowed the sound of your footsteps. You sank into the comfort of the armchair nearby and let your gaze drift over the dog toys on the carpet, neatly folded colouring pages on the coffee table, a half-opened pack of coloured crayons, some book about dog breeds, and… wait, was it a pastry book? Nonetheless, Cédric Grolet's? Squinting, you only got convinced more about it: the sight of familiar lemons immediately caught your eye.

Nothing strange. He was a restaurant owner, after all. Broadening a worldview was useful for everyone.

Unless…

He picked it up after you mentioned it at the cafe.

Weird warmth blossomed in your chest, spreading through your veins like sunshine, mellow and bright.

Until a sudden thought of Naoya burnt you.

"Megs, why don't you have the puppies and play with them at the yard? I'll go check on Tsumiki." Gojo's loud voice startled you out of your hazy mind. Blinking, you returned to reality and watched the grumpy kid dragging his feet to Gojo. "Oh, and say hi to Doctor-sensei. She'll look at her too."

His words had Megumi stop mid-rubbing his eyes and stare at you with mild disbelief. Waving at him, you forced a smile. You couldn't let yourself dwell on your future husband and bathe in your misery in front of a kid.

"Hi, Megumi-kun! You feeling better?"

The boy blinked as well and shrugged in response. "I guess."

As driven by the force of gravity, your eyes immediately drifted to Gojo to find him already staring at you with a curious expression. Warmth curled on his lips, but his eyes remained sharp and focused. Your cheeks heated up.

Stuffy. It was stuffy.

One of the puppies barked.

Megumi briefly glanced at the dog, and for the first time, you saw a sincere smile spreading on his face. Then, he dragged his eyes back to you with a pensive, hesitant expression and asked quietly.

"Will Tsumiki be alright?"

Your chest tightened with emotions as you kneeled before the kid. He watched you carefully, but didn't speak up.

"She is alright, from what your uncle told me. Don't worry. He takes care of her." Letting yourself look at Gojo again, you noticed something indescribable flicker over his features before he smiled back, albeit strained. A weird feeling stirred within as you added, "Both of you, actually."

Something twitched behind the stone mask that Megumi's face was. A light pink coloured his cheeks, and he dropped his gaze.

"Alrighty, Megs," Gojo held the door open, and Kuro already jumped happily outside, followed by Shiro, wiggling his tail. "But not too long! You gotta be in bed till ten, and we are going to brush teeth together this time. You're not going to fool me anymore, little punk."

Megumi rolled his eyes, but the sparkle of mischief in them was a dead giveaway. "More like you are not going to fool me like the last time you ditched the irrigator —"

Gojo swiftly cut Megumi off, "Buddy, don't expose all our bonding moments, okay?"

You watched the puppies immediately clinging to Megumi with cheerful yips as he stepped out — and looked at Gojo. Nothing in him, save only for the tension in his broad shoulders, revealed the quiet storm brewing inside.

Swallowing, you hurried to catch up to him.

"Tsumi-chan, how are you now?" Gojo's voice dropped to the gentle warmth you had yet to hear. He quietly closed the doors behind you both and walked to the girl. A little grin tugged at the corner of your lips at the sight of the barrage of meds on the bedside table.

"I feel better now, really. Thank you, Satoru-san. You don't have to worry about me so much."

"Oh, I absolutely do," huffing loudly, Gojo walked over and cleared his throat, telling Tsumiki your name. "Doctor-sensei treats Megumi."

Tsumiki murmured something to greet you, but her last words caught you off guard.

"Nice to meet you, sensei! Satoru-san told us about you."

Eyes widened, you shifted your gaze to Gojo, who was already checking Tsumiki's bunnies. "Really? Did he?"

"Oh, yeah! I know you're really good," she chuckled warmly, but then added hastily, "I don't think there's any need to check on me, I am completely fine!"

But after this, she grimaced quickly and gave up under Gojo's hardened gaze.

Tsumiki got a certain paleness to her skin as you examined her, but nothing unusual for the food poisoning, as you indeed figured it out.

"I think it was cotton candy," the girl murmured, sinking back into the bed. A quiet sigh left her lips. "It's a shame. I liked it."

"Oh, yeah," Gojo grumbled indistinctly from his place. "I'll never let you eat that stuff again, I swear."

The girl's eyes widened as she shared a startled look with you. "But you ate five portions all by yourself! It's not fair!"

Gojo shot her a quick look, though a teasing grin danced on his lips.

"It's not the same. I am an adult, and you are just a teeny tiny girl," he joked lightly, watching a white bunny devouring an applewood stick. "You're such a fatty, fella, I swear."

"Snow is not a fatty!" Tsumiki already jumped in to protect her precious pet. "Just…furry."

"Tsumi-chan, calm down a little. You'd better relax and have a rest," you murmured, while writing down recommendations for Gojo. "Your bunny's name is Snow?"

She nodded carefully, following your words, and twiddled with her fingers.

"Yes. Snow and Ball. The owners wanted to give Snow away, because, you know," she whispered and sniffled quietly. "He was not like other bunnies."

"Albino," Gojo interjected immediately. Almost absent-mindedly: his eyes were focused on the large constellation map on the wall, but you were sure he was listening more than attentively.

"So we took Snow in, and Satoru-san later brought us Ball! He lived on a Bunny Island, but now he's with us."

Your smile wavered, sinking into fragile softness as your hand squeezed Tsumiki's. Then your gaze found Gojo again, who was trying to use Tsumiki's telescope. The sight was quite funny, given Gojo's height and the telescope's design for kids.

Not looking away, you whispered, "Satoru-san is good to you."

"He is," the girl beamed at you, but then grew shy again. Clearing her throat, she asked whether you had some pets.

The bitterness instantly rose in your chest, flooding all the warmth.

Naoya didn't understand the concept of pets and anything that could steal your attention away.

That was your first big fight.

You were just a year together.

With gaze cast down, you shrugged, not aware that Gojo was watching you all the time. "Uhm, no, unfortunately, no. With my work…not quite possible."

"Oh. It's a shame," she sighed again. "But if you want to, you can come and play with my bunnies. And I am sure Megumi won't be against you playing with Kuro and Shiro. Right, Satoru-san?"

"Yeah." He answered without missing a beat. Your heart did a treacherous flip, slamming against your ribcage, and you breathed out with a weak grin.

"Thank you, Tsumi-chan. Get better soon, okay?"

"Make sure she's well-rested. I think she should feel better before Monday. A lot of drinks," you nodded at the paper in Gojo's hand. "Watch the vomit too, and basically just keep an eye on her. If there's a sudden tummy ache, call an ambulance. And call me just in case."

"Sure will do," Gojo murmured tiredly, carefully folding your note and tucking it into his notebook. A sharp pang of something you weren't ready to name yet shot through your heart. Quietly watching Gojo's brows furrow in thought as he turned the pages of his planner — probably filled with dozens of meetings, visits and even dates — you muttered your goodbyes with a full intention to slip quietly out of that lovely home.

Only to be stopped by a warm hand on your elbow.

"Where are you going to? It's late. Ijichi will drive you home."

Your phone was already buzzing with dozens of irritated texts from Naoya, and the thought of him seeing you leave another man's car made your insides churn.

Waving, you huffed a chuckle, "Ah, it's nothing, I'll take a taxi, and it's late!"

"He will be there in five minutes." Gojo casually shrugged your words off, already on its way to hold a door for you. "Come on, I'll walk you out."

The gusts of wind under the veil of tranquil twilight didn't bite you as usual; perhaps, it was Gojo's warmth shielding you from its coldness. Standing right beside him as you waited outside, you couldn't help but reminisce that evening with the British lighter.

An airy chuckle cut through the serenity between you. Gojo tore his gaze away from the star-spilt sky above, and his gentle murmur caressed the expanse of your skin. Even though he was standing a foot apart.

"What are you thinking about?"

Your smile deepened, but you shook your head in response. "Nothing much."

"Hey. Don't go shy on me, Doctor-sensei."

Despite the coldness of the evening, your cheeks flared up. "Telling about me to your kids?"

A soft smile spread on his face as he chuckled.

"Couldn't help. You're really a nice doctor."

"Well, thank you then."

He basked in a response you gave him — a widened gaze, a pink tint to your cheeks, and a little smile — until you went silent again.

Gojo tilted his head in a silent question — the harsh wind threw his white bangs all over his forehead. He didn't make any effort to brush them away; instead, he kept looking at you as if you were the only star gracing the heavens above. Beautiful. Observing.

Mysterious.

"I don't have the lighter on me now."

Startled, you abruptly burned and blinked, your huff dissolving into a light laugh. "And I don't have any cigs."

Gojo's smile deepened almost imperceptibly. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his warmth enveloping you tighter in its embrace. Nervously, you tucked the lone hair strand behind your ear. Glanced at the sky above, glimmering indifferently.

"Tsumiki likes stars, doesn't she? A whole map and a telescope in her room?" You murmured absent-mindedly, eyes lazily wandering from one celestial body to another.

Naoya didn't like stargazing.

"Ah, yes. A little scientist. She dreams about space and visiting some planets." At the mention of his niece, Gojo's gaze turned melancholic, albeit full of tenderness. "She's a nice girl. Kind and gentle."

At the sudden pensiveness, colouring his voice, you turned around. The wind threw your hair into your face, but you chose not to see anything but Gojo. Your voice came surprisingly steady.

"And you are a nice uncle. When I said to Megumi that you took good care of them, I didn't joke."

Your words clearly stunned Gojo; his eyes widened, and the dark blue of them shone so brightly under the lamplight that you let yourself drown in them all over again.

"You think so, Doc?"

Despite the lightness in his tone, you picked up the strained edge, the hesitance, and something weirdly resembling hope.

His hand twitched a little as you stepped closer and let your fingers tentatively brush against his. Gojo went still, and your quiet yet sure words nearly undid him.

"I know, Gojo."

His chest expanded with a sharp exhale. There was no way he could contain the overwhelming fullness in his chest that came with your presence. And as the honk of Ijichi's car erupted through the silence, he finally managed to find his words again.

"Thank you for coming. I… really appreciate that."

You just shook your head with a warm smile you wore so often. A strange gleam flashed in your gaze.

"No worries. I am glad to help."

For some reason, he couldn't tear his gaze away, and just watched the lonebeam caressing your features in a way he longed to.

The black car finally stopped in front of you. Gojo stepped to open the door for you and murmured.

"Good night. See you soon, right?"

"Right. Bye, Gojo."

And seeing the car slowly disappearing into the dark, Gojo let out a breath, carding his fingers through the hair as the realisation that had been hovering over him like a sword of Damocles finally hit him.

He was so fucked.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

The clock in your office almost struck two, marking your possible fifteen minutes for a break, but you were focused on a baby on the examination table. Softly pressing on the belly, you checked for any enlarged organs, only to give the parents an assuring nod.

"No signs of a hernia as well."

Your light tickles earned soft gurgles from the kid, and you couldn't help but lean down and coo, "Aw, you're such a little talker tonight, aren't you? Looking so happy out here."

The baby babbled something again, flailing their pudgy arms, and gave you a little grin. Your hands softly brushed over the kid's legs to move them over.

"No problems with hip joints! Your baby is completely healthy." A relaxed smile made its way on your face as well, seeing the little girl's parents breathe out in relief.

"Doctor-sensei, we were thinking about introducing Kiki-chan to solid foods," Kiki-chan's mother squirmed in her seat, while her father attempted to put a pacifier in her mouth. The baby protested with a huff.

Humming under your breath, you went through the baby's medical record. "Honestly, it's better you wait a little. I will give you proper recommendations when the time comes. It's usually around 6 months. Meanwhile, remember to have the vitamin D supplement I was talking about."

"Ah, yes. I wanted to ask if 400 IU daily is alright?" Ito-san's voice sounded a bit strained, as Kiki-chan curiously attempted to tug on her mom's hair.

"Totally fine."

Shortly after answering a couple of questions more and reminding the parents to call you in case something suspicious arises, you bid your goodbyes to the family.

Exhausted, you massaged your temples and decided to take a quick nap before a meeting, only to be interrupted by the knock. No urgency, though. No hesitation.

Frowning, you called out to come in, already straightening in your seat. Might've been another emergency, since you didn't have anything more scheduled before the endless Yaga's droning.

The door opened, revealing the emergency himself. The emergency bore a smile, able to disperse any signs of an impending grimness; his hair flashed bright white under the light, and the blue of his gaze pulled you into its ripples just like the day that emergency walked into your life.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, pulse roared in your temples with deafening force, as you stared back at Gojo. Megumi had been charged some time ago, but the lie would've tasted sour if you said Gojo didn't cross your mind. Maybe something happened to Tsumiki?

Sometimes, when the evenings pinned you down with their weight of loneliness, as you stared at Naoya's back blanky, the memories flushed in your mind. You kept every smile, every glance, every bruf of fingers and every word close to your heart, akin to the precious gems.

Then, as Naoya's lips would press a claim on your skin and his fingertips would burn another into your soul, you pulled them out with the utmost care.

Somehow managing to compose yourself, you forced a grin that Gojo would find a pleasant one, at least, "Hi! What are you doing here? Oh, have a seat, would you?"

Gojo's grin deepened, and he sank into the chair in front of you.

"Long time no see, Doc. No-no, everything is okay with kids, don't worry," he hastily added, seeing concern immediately taking over your face.

"Oh." You blinked in surprise. Cleared your throat. Tried not to look as nosy as you felt. Twiddled with a kitten figurine on your table. Finally breathed out.

"Not to be rude or anything, but…what are you doing here then?"

His white brows knitted together as he managed to huff a chuckle. It slowly died under your inquiring gaze.

"You don't know?"

Briefly closing your eyes at the sense of migraine slowly crawling back to make your life even more miserable, you murmured, "Know what?"

The bright grin on Gojo's face wavered, but his voice came out surprisingly soft. As if he were trying to soothe you by the mere tone alone.

"I am on the board of shareholders now. I thought you might've known by now. But it's even better! I am telling you myself."

Brows flying to your hairline in surprise, you breathed out a quiet, shocked chuckle. The gentle sun — as bright as Gojo's radiant grin — warmed your soul in hesitant rays of fondness.

"Really? That's so great! I didn't even hear —"

Naoya didn't bother to mention it to you.

Your smile slowly vanished as the clouds of despair slowly fogged that very sun.

Gojo, who had already helped himself to a candy, suddenly looked up. "Didn't even hear…?"

If you were a lot more braver, you wouldn't let hesitance shake you to the very core. Expose you for who you truly were.

A dove. A naive, frightened dove.

The knife of Naoya's disdainful whisper slowly twisted between your ribs once again, leaving the droplets of something that used to be your affection spilling in crimson paths of sorrow and ache.

"Doc? You good?"

You would've told Gojo everything.

Instead, you gave him a jarred grin.

"Doesn't matter. So, what's the thing for you here?"

His gaze narrowed suspiciously, but he decided not to press further.

"I thought it was a good opportunity. Non-profit management, something like that. You took good care of Megumi, and I was already thinking about," his gaze swept across your room, pausing at the sweets, the examination table, the posters on the walls and the box with toys. The very same you fished Megumi's plushie from. "Contributing to society, all that jazz."

Something in his deliberately light tone told you that you weren't the one to have secrets. With a curious hum, you leaned over, tapping on your chin in mock thoughtfulness.

"Weren't you the one saying that you didn't like meetings and everything?"

Gojo paused, his eyes briefly flicking to your face to gauge your reaction; he saw none, besides an intrigue, dancing in your gaze.

Oh. That was how you wanted to play, huh?

He slowly mirrored your grin, lazily tilting his head. "I am okay if that's for the good."

"It's for the good, then?"

His smile widened, giving you a good look at his dimples.

Giving Gojo the last suspicious glance, you leaned back.

He cleared his throat.

"So, if you have something to say or ask for... you can tell me. Within reasonable limits, of course."

"I'll keep it in mind."

Your pager beeped loudly again, putting your conversation to a halt. With a heavy sigh, you hid it and rose from your seat.

"Did something happen?" Gojo inquired with the same curious, albeit soft gaze that had been silently caressing you the entire conversation.

Stifling a sigh and your urge to ditch the whole thing, you admitted begrudgingly, "No, not at all. Just the department's meeting."

"Oh," he hummed incredulously, but his gaze was still firmly set on you. You decided to get through your notes just not to feel its weight. It never failed to send shivers down your spine.

"You've already met Yaga-san, the department's director, I suppose?"

An attempt to briefly switch the topic and the nervous tone didn't go unnoticed by Gojo.

As well as the slightest twitch of your fingers, when you meticulously tucked all the notes into one neat pile.

"Yeah. He's...an interesting guy. I would say more like a businessman type. Talks about the financing and the sponsor's attraction."

Gojo's words earned an airy chuckle from you.

"Oh, he can talk about it day and night, I swear."

"That he can," he agreed, shaking his head with a small laugh. "Still, I think he cares about all of you. The finances topic is surely one of the hottest on the board meeting."

"That's why I am not really sure why you decided to join it — ah, shit!"

One clumsy turn and a misguided step — god, sometimes Naoya was right: you really felt like having two left feet — and the carefully arranged notes went scattered on your floor like birds trying to escape.

"Damn, I am so clumsy." Kneeling immediately, you murmured under your breath and stilled, feeling Gojo's finger brush gingerly against yours as he handed you one of the vaccination reports. The time completely paused around you: the thick, heavy substance enveloping both of you.

The world closed in on the blue in his eyes. Spilt heavens, simmering waves of an ocean, June sky, when the world's radiance blinded with its brightness, merged into the tint that dulled every other colour for you. Took you to another world, even just for a fleeting moment.

"Oh, look at that. Is that...wait, is that yours?"

Your head immediately snapped towards Gojo, and you saw him holding that small, pathetic makeshift portfolio — the one you probably pulled out just to throw away, but the thought slipped away from your tired mind just like usual.

The heat of humiliation, mixed with embarrassment, exploded within you in a painful red. Helplessly blinking, you forced a pathetic chuckle.

"Oh, that? No, it's — "

And then why did you carry that binder around, huh? Think, think, think!

Your mind desperately scrambled for a plausible explanation, but after some debating, you surrendered to his gaze.

"Yes. These are mine. It's nothing special, though. Some lazy, stupid doodles."

Gojo frowned instantly at the belittlement curling in your voice like a berated animal. He slowly rose to his height and murmured in bewilderment.

"You're joking, right?"

You blinked. Blinked again. Didn't think of anything better than to stare at Gojo as you had seen him for the first time. Stare at him carefully going through the binder. Stare at the light wrinkle between his brows, knitted in concentration. Stare at his lips until they parted and uttered the words that knocked all the air from your lungs.

"These are wonderful!"

The pager beeped again to remind you about the upcoming meeting, but all your being shrinked to the little folder in Gojo's hands.

Naoya's words about wasting your time immediately flared up, and you straightened as well to make a grab for the photos.

"It's nothing special. Really. Just a bunch of stuff."

Gojo dragged his shocked gaze from the portfolio back to you and let you have the damn binder. You would throw it away the first thing after the meeting.

To which, in fact, you should've hurried long ago.

"I have to go."

Gojo watched your figure moving around with the newly acquired urgency. As if you had been trying to shake any remnants of the intimacy that had just unfolded around you.

His eyes searched your face with a quiet, almost aching attention, until he finally muttered.

"Did I say something wrong?"

No.

No.

Don't say that.

Don't do that to me.

A cruel beast crawled up your veins to clutch your insides in a freezing grip, while fear and regret trapped your lone heartbeat.

Gojo didn't say anything, instead letting his eyes talk, but you were too occupied with your own thoughts to hear him.

Eventually, he stepped back with a quiet sigh, and the thinly veiled frustration in his voice caused your heart to sink.

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to go overboard in any way. I'll leave you alone."

The sight of Gojo's broad shoulders slumped in the slightest bitterness cracked something in your chest.

The pager went off again with a loud beep.

"I really have to go."

Gojo only gave you a curt nod, and all the time you were closing your office, you felt the weight of his gaze pinning you down.

A hundred words rested just on the tip of your tongue. Instead, you settled on a quiet, hesitant apology, gently grazing his elbow.

"I am sorry. It's not this. You haven't done anything wrong."

He turned almost immediately at your words, but as much as he wanted to ask more — so, so much more than you were ready to offer — he stilled. And prompted gently.

"Then what is it?"

You sucked in a sharp exhale, just to —

"Dove? There you are!"

For the reason to appear himself.

The look of pure panic on your face the second the voice reached you made Gojo frown. Then your frightened gaze flicked to him.

The crowd around you parted slightly, revealing a man. Gojo caught a couple of fond gazes shared between the nurses, but that couldn't bother him less.

The immediate self-conscious curve of your shoulders, paired with the stiffness of your moves, when the guy pulled you closer without any words, concerned Gojo way more.

"Dove. What did I say about answering my calls? I don't want to look around for you all over the hospital. I am way too busy for this."

The arrogant, disdainful voice of that prick immediately grated on Gojo's nerves. The tone was not suitable even for berating a pet, let alone talking to a human being. Someone supposedly beloved.

Gojo's jaw tightened. He was about to step in when you swiftly interjected with a grin too wide to be sincere. Your hand on the man's arm didn't promise any good.

The guy turned to Gojo's side and stilled for a moment, quirking a brow.

"Darling," your tone sounded so weird, Gojo barely recognised it — something like the plea to an executioner to give you the last glimpses of freedom. "This is Gojo Satoru. He's on the board of the shareholders as well."

The prick slowly tilted his head, dragging his gaze over Gojo in silent yet sharp examination. Then a weird gleam flushed in his eyes as they slightly widened in recognition.

That scowl and barely masked derision on his face had stirred something distant in Gojo's memory, but the whole image remained blurry. Until you introduced him as well, piercing all the pieces.

"This is Zenin Naoya. My..."

Naoya didn't appreciate your pause and flashed an arrogant smirk.

"Her fiancé."

Zenin.

Right. Of course.

The surname that was such a frequent guest at all the gatherings Gojo used to attend. He felt an immediate wave of repulsion towards that prick, but managed to mask it with a slightly narrowed gaze, simply out of respect for you.

Gojo heard a lot about the Zenins back then, when his piece carried some value in his parents' game. Even now, some rumours still managed to reach him, despite all the efforts.

If any of them were true about the young Zenin heir…

Fiancé.

Gods. He put all the details — your empty stares, self-deprecating jokes, occasional flinches, even the earlier reaction to his compliment to your drawing — with terrifying clarity.

Puzzles finally slotted into the frame that your fiancé forced you into. Everything made sense now.

Quickly closing his eyes to compose himself, Gojo immediately opened them, forced by the hesitance in your tone.

"You should've met at the board's meeting, I suppose," your gaze flickered nervously between Gojo and Naoya in an attempt to quickly assess the surroundings. The air was growing thicker with each passing second: the whispers around rose in frequency, while Gojo's gaze narrowed even more deadly, and Naoya's smirk turned maliciously sharper.

The muscle in Gojo's jaw tightened.

"It's always a great opportunity to meet another member of the respected clan," Naoya tilted his head just a tad, but the harsh look in his eyes didn't melt even for a second. "Even though he somehow busied my little dove so much, she forgot to check her phone, huh?"

The scene he would certainly cause you later flashed before your eyes. You managed to offer some apologetic murmur before Naoya cut you off with a single word.

"Quiet."

Wordlessly, you dropped your gaze. One word shaped you into a person so meek that you barely resembled the woman Gojo slowly came to know.

His blood boiled at the sight, but the look he gave Naoya was enough to freeze hell.

"Can't say the same, Zenin."

Naoya stilled. His smirk slowly wavered, but then a low, amused chuckle left him, followed by the words dipped in poison.

"Oh? I suppose other respected clans didn't care about teaching their heirs proper manners, did they, Satoru-kun?"

The crowd around went completely silent, as if someone stole their voices. Even the sounds of pagers and rhythmic taps on the keyboard quietened. A few glares landed on you, and you could already hear your colleagues clicking their tongues in annoyance.

Again, never directed at Naoya.

Nothing changed in Gojo's face as he simply raised his chin and drawled with an infuriating smirk, "Have you learnt any before talking to your future wife, huh?"

Your head snapped immediately at the sound of his voice. Your lips parted to force some excuse.

You had none.

As well as Naoya.

His cheeks paled in an instant, but the tips of his ears blushed pink. No wonder — another humiliation from a man, let alone a man, defending you.

That act of disgrace Naoya couldn't bear.

Seething inside, he surprisingly gently tugged you closer and whispered, "We'll talk about it later, sweetheart."

As Gojo watched your figures retreat, he caught the wide-eyed gaze you sent him over your shoulder, full of so much remorse, that it twisted something violently in his chest.

@alygator77 @man1cslut @p3talswayingindesun @xunquish-blog @mitchskiii @anothergojostan @cridtiins @gyarujo @aurievalley @alebrasil0101 @nanahach1 @renfangirls247 @secretsofchance @kranktruther @megumuro @angierb05 @wgucigu @erenyeagerflatass @dazaisdogsblog @sauraaaa @tbzzluvr @ayookeikooo @kanekisheart @fisusaurus @yoonmindds @anujah9 @ikeirrr @little-precious-baby

a/n: ik this part is not very big on events, still i like it :) comments and reblogs are appreciated, let me know your thoughts!

The concern in Nakai-san's eyes only deepened, and the prospect of digging into your gigantic lunchbox and drinking the hot latte from the coffee machine in the doctors' lounge (it had the best coffee in the entire hospital, and you were gonna die on that hill!) vanished like a mist in the morning April day.

You bit back a groan, but the squirming baby in her mother's arms came to the rescue.

"Mommy, wanna go ho-o-me."

"Shh, dear, Mommy is speaking, wait a little and — "

Oh no. The little girl didn't get a hint. She blinked a couple of times before her squishy face crumpled with a truly disheartening expression. Your insides went cold: you were well aware of what was going to happen next.

3, 2, 1…

A cry that you would describe as nothing but a disastrous wail filled your office, bouncing off the walls and hitting your ears until you wanted to smack your head against the desk. You always wondered how a person that tiny could cry so loudly that it rivalled the jet engines of a plane?

Before going completely deaf at that point, you hastily reached for a bright red lollipop in the bowl, reserved for little patients.

"Hey-hey, Mao-chan, no more crying, okay?" The girl's weeping slowly morphed into soft sobs as she quieted down, eyeing the lollipop. Her little arms slowly reached for the candy, and you handed it to her with no hesitation in the long-awaited silence, smiling warmly.

"Yes, Nakai-san, I am waiting for you for the shots. And yes, I already filled out the forms, no need to worry about anything." You assured the worried lady as best as you could before she would come up with another question you certainly had answered by now — you swore, gears in her mind were working non-stop. Not like you didn't understand her. She was just a mother, after all.

"Have a nice day and get well soon, Mao-chan!" Chirping gleefully, you finally released a breath. Eyes squeezed shut, and forehead pressed against the door, you tried to gather your bearings. The headache unabashedly pounded at your temples with a renewed force, causing you to grimace in pain. The desk rattled as you harshly tugged the top drawer, only to see the empty blister pack.

Oh, fuck. Of course, you ran out of naratriptan, and the only anti-migraine pills available were some ibuprofen in the depths of your bag.

Cursing yourself mentally for forgetfulness, you managed to quickly fish the pills, hoping they might bring some relief, since you certainly weren't in the mood to ask or look for another medicine, downing them in one gulp. The world slowly regained clarity, giving you a chance to breathe freely.

The clock on the wall showed 2:40 p.m.: if you hurried, you could still manage to grab lunch, and given the next break wasn't quite soon…You really should get moving.

Of course, that was never bound to happen.

An urgent, loud knock pulled you back to reality.

Goodbye, lunch.

"Come in!" you called out, already pulling the mask back and hurried to open the door. One of your younger residents, Nobara, apologetically glanced at you. She seemed slightly out of breath, and you knitted your brows together in concern.

"Nobara?"

"Sorry, Doc, but we have an emergency here." A flipboard in her hands grabbed your attention, and you took it, already scanning the text. A sharp pain in your right temple, as if you were stabbed, almost made a cry slip out of your mouth, but you only squeezed your eyes shut. There was no time for that.

"Fushiguro Megumi, five-year-old, dry cough, congested nose, high fever. Difficulty breathing. Possible RSV, suspicion of pneumonia. Was hospitalised at 6 months with RSV as well."

"Where's a patient?"

"Oh, yes," Nobara hastily stepped aside and craned her neck to look for someone in the crowd.

"Here she is! Don't worry, your kid is in very good hands."

Your head snapped up at the sound of steps approaching, ready to meet another worried mom, only for all words to leave your mind as if they had never even been there in the first place.

Nothing. Blank space.

You were staring at a man. No. The man. Probably the most gorgeous man you were blessed to witness.

His height was the first thing that caught your eye. He was tall, like really tall — effortlessly standing out in the sea of patients. The white of his hair captured the fluorescent light in the corridor, more resembling the bright snow under the sparkling moonlight than the actual hair colour, but it was his eyes that immediately stole your breath and any coherent thought away.

You weren't even sure there was a proper word to describe the shade of them; the dark waves of a stormy ocean and the brightness of a clear sky collided together, brewing into a violent storm that threatened to send your heart into a gallop. Something between the endless blue fractals whispered into the depths of your soul.

God, look away. Look away, look away, look away!

A nagging voice wormed its way into the creaks of your tired mind, suspiciously sounding like your beloved fiancé. "You shouldn't gawk at other men like this, dove. What if it angered me? You don't want to see me all worked up, do you?"

Your gaze cast downwards and landed on the kid in the man's arms — ah, that should be Fushiguro Megumi. The boy's cheeks were of a particularly pale, sickly colour, and the dullness in his eyes gave away illness.

A wave of guilt washed over you; what a great job, Doc, not only staring at another man, while being chained with future matrimony, but also prolonging the little boy's sufferings.

"Of course, come in!"

You forcefully tore your gaze away and cleared your throat, letting the man with the kid step into your office. Nobara slipped inside as well, and you let her start the examination. The words died at the tip of your tongue — you didn't trust yourself to speak up. Instead, you focused on meticulously typing the symptoms in Fushiguro Megumi's electronic record, your eyes already darting between the previous illnesses and the medical history of the kid. Nobara's pager eventually beeped, and you wordlessly let her go.

Stiffling a sigh, you put the stethoscope away from the slightly trembling child. "I am sorry to say it, but the hospitalisation of Megumi-kun is required at that point."

"Is everything this serious?" The man's voice cut throught the tension in the office like waves piercing the cliffs.

You sat at the desk — a measly attempt to put a barrier between your ardent interest and common sense — and clasped your hands together.

"Megumi-kun has a respiratory syncytial virus. While it causes mild symptoms in most people, it can be rather severe for children. I suspect this RSV to be type A, but further monitoring is needed. We can't afford the risk of pneumonia, especially given your son's medical history," a few clicks on the screen to confirm your words, "bronchiolitis from the mistreated RSV as well, at six months. I am afraid it is needed, Fushiguro-san."

The man dragged his hand down his face and lightly pinched the bridge of his nose before softly squeezing the boy's shoulders.

"I see. Well, we can't go against the doctor's orders, can we, Gumi?"

A small sparkle of hope that gleamed in the child's eyes dulled in an instant at the prospect of staying in the hospital. He subconsciously shifted closer to his father, a small arm reaching for support. That sight never failed to tug on the strings of your heart, and you hastily looked around to see what could bring Megumi-kun a glimpse of comfort. Your gaze eventually landed on the small plushie of a dog, safely tucked in a box at the corner, and after a moment of inner debate, you handed the toy to the kid.

"I know staying in the hospital is not like walking on a rainbow. Smell is not good, and food might be, well, you know, too hospital," you chuckled softly, but schooled your expression immediately as the boy's face remained unreadable. The man's lips, however, curled into a quick grin, urging you to continue. "But I promise it won't be so long, so just your nose won't be as runny and your throat won't be so sore. Deal?"

The boy blinked a couple of times at your kneeling form and hesitantly reached for the plushie. The dog nestled in his arms as it had always belonged there.

"Alrighty," you pushed yourself to stand up and put on a usual grin in an attempt to sound enthusiastic at the sight of the most handsome man that office (or your hospital) had seen. "I need you to sign some forms before, Fushiguro-san, and then we can proceed with Megumi-kun's admission."

"Yes, Doc. But it's Gojo, actually. Gojo Satoru."

"Huh?" Your gaze flicked between the flipboard and the boy's electronic medical record. Brows knitted in confusion, you shook your head after a few clicks. "My apologies, Gojo-san. The system might be outdated, since it shows "Fushiguro" as a surname. I'll have it fixed as soon as possible."

The man, Gojo, huffed an airy chuckle that sent goosebumps down your spine and waved his hand. "No need for that. Megumi's my nephew."

"Oh. Uhm. I see. Thank you for clearing it, Gojo-san."

You waited until Gojo signed the papers in bold, sprawling handwriting — you sincerely tried not to stare at the way his hand flexed with each gesture — and he finally stood up, offering to pick up Megumi again. You neatly folded the papers, despite the erratic pulse, and couldn't help but smile at the sight of a grumpy boy insisting on walking on his own. He grabbed the man's hand with reluctance and mumbled quietly, hiding his gaze.

"Bye, Doc."

An amused grin tugged at the corner of your lips, though the mask covered it, so you sent Megumi a quick wink.

"See you soon, Megumi-kun!"

Gojo, who watched that scene with barely concealed mirth, mouthed to you with a bright smile before finally leaving your office.

"Someone's got shy of the Doctor."

Your cheeks flared up in a pinkish tinge, and you covered your mouth with the folder.

The door closed, leaving you on your own with the swarm of thoughts. The corners of your lips twitched before curling downwards, and you dragged a hand down your face, taking off your mask in exhaustion. Drifting down, your thumb grazed the emerald of your engagement ring, which you wore on a chain while at work.

You took a deep breath to gather your bearings.

You still had patients to attend.

˙⋆✮

The hum of the coffee machine filled the doctor's lounge with beeping and the pleasant aroma; obviously, you were focused on the latter. Unpatiently tapping on the floor, you waited in the queue and threw glances at your lunch, which, as you suspected, had gone cold lo-o-ng ago. The fact that you only had 10 minutes left before the meeting didn't help at all.

"What's taking them so long, huh?" Standing on tiptoes, you craned your neck to peer through the commotion, only to notice with a quiet groan that the whole chaos was caused by the pediatric department nurse, Akari, chirping with her colleague Miwa; normally, you would listen to them talking — there was no better way to learn all the gossip that the hospital buzzed with like a beehive — but judging by another loud grumbling from your stomache, your organism wasn't the biggest fan of that idea.

As soon as you were about to yell "FIRE HAZARD!" (desperate times called for desperate measures), something caught Miwa's gaze, and she tugged Akari to the side, with a smile too wide, cheeks too flushed and a gaze too sparkly; you didn't even pay attention to the subtle glances they kept throwing at you, too busy with securing a place at the coffee machine.

Nothing, nothing, brought you more happiness and joy like the freshly made latte: your mouth watered at the thought of finally drinking the coffee and digging into the lunch after the 12-hour shift, when the quiet voice pulled you back to reality.

"Nice to see you, dove."

You turned so abruptly that the coffee from the cup almost spilt on your fiancé's jacket. The man quickly dropped his gaze before curling his lips in slight disgust.

"If you are going to drink coffee, then at least not from that disastrous machine."

Naoya took your cup and mindlessly put it somewhere on the table before you could even voice a protest. His hand rested on the small of your back — touch burning even through the coat — and pulled you closer. You briefly closed your eyes as his lips grazed your cheek, and the warm breath ghosted against it; you caught a faint smell of alcohol and forced a smile that looked more like a grimace to a knowing eye.

"Ah, darling, what are you doing here? I thought you were going to be busy all night today with your partners?" Your voice, that excessively saccharine tone, sounded like a chalkboard being scraped, but your fiancé's smile turned even sharper. You knew Naoya's nature.

"We finished earlier," he murmured with an indifferent shrug. His hand lazily played with one of the locks that managed to escape the ponytail, twirling the strand between the fingers before sharply tugging on it. "Dove, you need to look more presentable. What did I say about it?"

The protest died at the tip of your tongue, and you fought the snarky remark that almost spilt out of your lips, as Naoya examined you with his head tilted — a hunter watching his prey. Your cheeks already hurt from smiling.

"I remember, Naoya. Sorry about it."

His fingers came to pinch your chin, turning your face, so he could glance better at you. The surprising gentleness with which he tucked the lone strand behind your ear caught you off guard, but the cold, detached voice quickly brought you back to Earth.

"Fix it before dinner. I'll pick you up after your meeting. To celebrate the deal, just the two of us."

And just like that. Not asking. Just stating the obvious, as if you were one of the entries on his schedule to be ticked off.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek. God, all you wanted after that long ass shift was to run a bath and curl up under the blanket, rewatching "Friends" for the nth time, since your fiancé kindly informed you he was going to be busy. Honestly, you could've already tasted the greasy Big Mac on your tongue when all your plans went down the drain. The way Naoya's gaze narrowed as he waited for your response didn't give you much of a hope, so you just nodded, a smile too tight.

"Missing the celebration is mauvais ton, darling," a nasty nagging voice at the back of your mind, suspiciously sounding like your mother's, never failed to lose power over you: you straightened involuntarily and pushed your shoulders back, trying to ignore the very obvious strain in your neck.

"Of course, honey."

The corner of Naoya's mouth curled up with satisfaction as he leaned down to press a kiss on your cheek. Swallowing, you suppressed the urge to wipe it immediately.

"See you at 6."

When his figure finally disappeared from your sight, a tight knot in your chest finally seemed to loosen. You reached for the coffee that had long turned lukewarm, and downed it in one single gulp before hearing a string of stifled giggles and sighs. Hardly had you realised what was going on, when Akari appeared right by your side, a dreamy look on her face, and drawled, pointedly glancing at Miwa.

"Ah, Zenin-sama is so gallant and handsome! Checking up on you at work! Isn't it romantic, Miwa?"

Confusion flickered across your face as you slowly remembered that everyone in that hospital was practically enamoured with your future husband. "Zenin-sama asked me how my day was!" or "Zenin-sama complimented my make-up, do you think I should wear my eyeliner thicker?" and streams of fluttery you had to endure, which seemed to be truly endless due to his constant presence at the hospital. His family was a part of the board of shareholders. Or whatever it was.

His family. Soon to be your family too, right?

You never had it against the nurses or anyone at that point: Naoya, unfortunately, knew how to be charming and honed that skill long ago.

Blinking away confusion from your gaze, you attempted to laugh heartily and waved your hand. "That he is. I really don't deserve him."

Miwa only nudged your side slightly. "You're so lucky, Doc."

Your smile now resembled more of a scowl. "Thank you, Miwa."

As soon as Akari opened her mouth to sweet-talk Naoya even more, the God descended his mercy on you in the disguise of a beeping pager. You had never fished it out of your pockets as quickly as now.

"Whoopsie, gotta go, ladies!"

Nakai-san was clearly onto something while telling you about the flu in the Miyagi Prefecture, because a possible upcoming wave in Tokyo was one of the topics discussed at the meeting. Luckily, little Mao-chan only had a cold.

Meetings weren't your favourite part of the workday, that was for sure, but not the worst either. At least, you could pretend to fall asleep behind the broad back of Nanami, who, albeit all the grumbling, always shifted his chair to hide you. In turn, you shared a sourdough bread with him whenever you had a chance to bake it. You were lucky to have at least someone who didn't talk about Naoya all the time and was polite enough to hear your occasional rumblings, despite Naoya's words about you not being interesting. They glimmered in your mind like a warning sign all the time.

You lazily doodled in your notepad, stifling a yawn as the head of the department, Yaga, launched into his endless rambling about attracting new sponsors. You mentally checked out for your own sake.

Your pencil quickly darted over the page, aimlessly drawing something, until you noticed the casual sketches started to resemble one profile. Sharp jawline. Tufts of hair falling over the forehead. If only you could colour it white, somehow…

Wait.

What? No, who were you drawing?

You straightened in your seat so fast the poor notebook nearly fell from your lap, causing Nanami to turn around with a questioning look. You sent him a quick smile and quickly dropped your gaze back to the page.

Well, you weren't a modern-day da Vinci, but the resemblance was kind of uncanny. Certainly not that Bridgerton actor, whose face was everywhere in your timeline, and surely not your fiancé.

Tapping your pencil without any thought, you couldn't help but think about that man. Was it his height that immediately caught your attention? Lazy, confident grin tugging at his lips? Concern, hardening his gaze, when it came to his nephew? That goddamn blue gaze?

You didn't know, but everything about Gojo commanded your attention.

You didn't know why you were thinking about one of your patients' relatives when you were supposed to meet Naoya in a couple of hours.

The thought left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

You closed the notebook with a quiet thud.

˙⋆✮

The sharp gust of wind tossed your hair in your face, causing you to curse under your breath. Glad, just what you wanted under fixing it for 10 minutes. Magnificent. Cold slowly crept up your figure, and you pulled your coat tighter, desperately wishing for a steaming cup of tea under the blanket. But, alas…

Tapping at your pockets for the phone to call your fiancé, you breathed out in frustration, "Where's the damn phone, I swear, I —"

You froze at your place as your hand reached for a small rectangular piece in the inner pocket. Certainly not the phone.

"I thought I threw all of them, huh…"

You knitted your brows in confusion, but nothing could hide a frantic little flip your heart did as your fingers lovingly traced the familiar "Lucky Strike."

Cherry-flavoured. Your favourite. Damn it!

A red logo brought back the unwanted memories with Naoya battling your so-called addiction. Or maybe not so-called. Residency had you working your fingers to the bone. Honestly, you didn't even remember much from that time, besides the never-ending exhaustion in your bones, four hours of sleep in two days (if the luck was on your side), as well as tons of caffeine. Not to mention Naoya's nagging. God forbid a girl had something to blow off steam.

Could've been something worse.

You thumped your feet to get a little warmer, finally calling Naoya after finding your phone in the depths of the bag. The third call, rolled directly to voicemail, had you angrily kicking a random stone, and the sight of your almost numb fingers almost made you rush back to the hospital. You nervously flicked the cigarette pack until your patience finally snapped.

After carefully looking around for a possible sight of Naoya's sleek Porsche and making sure no one was in sight, you snuck a glance at the smoking corner and slipped inside. Opening the pack, you almost huffed a disbelieving chuckle. One thing left. Nothing was harmful in indulging in your little rebellion act, wasn't it?

In the end, you had certainly smelled a faint scent of whiskey coming from Naoya earlier. You hated drunk people and made it abundantly clear to him.

"Well, isn't it a sign from heaven?" you mumbled under your breath, tucking the lone cig, which might've felt like an oasis for a traveller in the desert, between your lips. Mouth almost watering at the taste, you frantically searched for a lighter, only to groan in frustration. Of course. Of-fucking-course.

Your arms helplessly fell back to your sides as you tilted your head back to look at the darkening sky and sighed.

"God, why me? I am not your strongest soldier."

"Need a hand?"

The deep, smooth voice returned you to reality. You quickly turned around, pulling the cigarette out to hide it. Well, just in case.

Your heart stilled at the familiar sight of Gojo before picking up speed. What was he doing there? Did you daydream enough to imagine him or what?

His blue gaze lazily darted over your figure and landed on the poor cig tucked in your hand as he nodded towards it with an infuriating grin.

"Aren't you supposed to be the beacons of health or whatever?"

You gave him a quick, tired shrug and sighed inwardly. You were shivering, exhausted after the shift, probably stood up by your future husband, so embarrassing yourself in front of one of your patients' parents (with that sharp jawline and that ridiculously tall figure) was just a cherry on top.

Closing your eyes for a brief moment to compose yourself, you murmured a quick apology, "Sorry. I am not usually like that. Smoking, I mean."

Not alone and miserable.

His grin softened into something that sent shivers down your spine.

Might've been the wind.

"Relax, I am joking," Gojo stepped closer and tilted his head to further examine you. You tugged the coat tighter. "What, you often get lectured about it by some goody two-shoes?"

Your huff was so loud it might've reached the hospital backyard you used to hide. "You can't even imagine."

"Wasn't gonna. Anyway," Gojo tapped at the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled an old metallic lighter with a British flag on it. The corners of your lips twitched with a smile.

"Union Jack? Really? God save the King, send him — eh, sorry, don't remember much."

Gojo just rolled his eyes and pretended to put the only thing that might give much-needed joy and warmth away. "And here I thought you wanted to smoke. My apologies, Doc."

You absent-mindedly reached to grab his sleeve, but Gojo only lifted his hand higher. Damn his height.

"Give me the damn lighter."

"Say the magic word, Doc," he seemingly enjoyed taunting you.

An annoyingly smug grin that broke on his face not only sent your heart into a freefall but also urged you to wipe it off. You pressed your lips into a thin line. You were above this. Certainly. Calm, collected, and cool —

You stomped your feet together at another tug of wind and murmured begrudgingly.

"Please, give me the damn lighter."

"Ah, here you go. Wasn't that hard, was it?"

Sending Gojo a grimace with the damn cig hanging between your lips, you leaned closer. He didn't move; your gaze briefly flicked to his, and you arched your brow impatiently.

Gojo blinked a couple of times, his long eyelashes kissing his cheeks. He parted his lips, probably to say something, but only a lone, sharp exhale left his mouth. A vapour of cold air briefly dissolved in the space between you. The weather didn't show any signs of mercy, whipping harshly at your hair, and you didn't see the way Gojo's dropped to your lips for one brief moment.

Grumbling under your breath, you finally managed to harness the wind, "I swear I am gonna cut it off one day."

Gojo's breathy chuckle tickled your ear as he lit the cigarette up, but you were too focused on getting your nicotine fix or whatever. And certainly not the way his raspy murmur sent your heart thumping against your ribcage.

You shouldn't feel that way towards him. You shouldn't feel that way towards anyone: you were engaged, for Christ's sake!

Your ring was still hidden beneath your blouse, on a chain. Your phone was still dead silent. Your fiancé's car was still not even in sight.

Trembling fingers curling around the cig, you took the first drag. Deep and long, until it filled your lungs with the long-forgotten euphoria, and you slowly exhaled the smoke into the air.

Gojo wrinkled his nose for a brief moment. "Cherry?"

Blinking through the haze, you slowly dragged your gaze to land on his face and nodded.

"My favourite."

Maybe it was a game of light, your fuzzy mind or the magical moment of sharing a cigarette with a stranger (at least, technically), but the night and the smoke, curling between you, gave him some kind of grunge air. That leather jacket, mercilessly ruffled white hair, and the Union Jack on the lighter didn't make the situation better.

A dopey, slow grin broke on your face as you chuckled under your breath. Gojo immediately turned to your side, brushing away a few strands of his forehead, revealing the pale skin.

"You were saying?"

Shaking your head in response, you bounced on your heels. Childish, as Naoya would say.

You rocked back harder, smiling from ear to ear.

The nicotine mixed with adrenaline and the taste of rebellion blended into something dangerously light-hearted, and you finally decided to ask Gojo what the hell he was doing there at almost eight o'clock in the evening.

He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

"We've forgotten something special for Megumi. Well, technically, I." Gojo's grimace made you chuckle and cough immediately after. Not a force of habit.

The way he heaved the last words, although in a tone undeniably light, made your brows furrow.

Flicking the ashes quietly, you decided not to press further. "I see." Then, you suddenly remembered about the so-called etiquette and offered Gojo to make a puff.

The man let out an amused snort and stepped back with his hands lifted in mock surrender as if you suggested robbing a bank. "Oh, no. Thank you, of course, but I don't smoke."

Your brows knitted in confusion. "Why do you have a lighter on you, then?"

"What, to flirt with girls like me this way, huh?" Your tired mind kindly offered you that incredible jab, but some part of you didn't want to hear Gojo admitting that, so you just took another long drag, probably the last one, given you could've almost seen the butt of the cig.

Ehh. You would remember those wonderful minutes forever.

"That's for my friend. She smokes like a chimney, so I am always prepared. Just in case."

"A friend, huh?" Despite your feigned nonchalance, something you didn't even want to name sheepishly peeked through the cracks, masked as an indifferent glance.

"Yep," popping a "p" in the word, Gojo studied you with his head tilted, casually taking in the way the poor cig hung between your lips, bright eyes, almost shimmering in the light of the lamp, pinkish hue on the apples of your cheeks, and your hair fanning over your face that you stubbornly kept moving out of the way.

Unconsciously, his lips curled into a smile softer than for the doctor, who would treat his nephew soon. Or an insanely pretty woman in the dark of the night with the dire need of a lighter.

You mirrored his move, stepping closer, until Gojo's gaze suddenly widened, and he nodded at the hospital behind you. You followed the direction of it, because, well, what else were you supposed to do?

"Actually, you might know her! She worked here. Ieiri, Shoko Ieri." When he didn't notice even an ounce of recognition in your eyes, he tried to describe the mysterious woman. "Short dark hair, big brown eyes, permanent eye bags."

"Oh, yeah," your dry sarcasm only earned Gojo's flat gaze. "Very distinctive feature for a doctor."

Shoulders dropping, he tried to call to your memory for the last time, drawling hesitantly, "A couple of years ago? A surgeon resident? Oh! She also had this lighter!"

His last words had finally stirred some remnants of memories within your tired mind, because yes, you indeed shared a few cigarettes with a girl who had cracked a lot of jokes about her British lighter. She was very easy to talk to: didn't ask unnecessary questions but often offered her shoulder to vent in a cramped space. But as a lot of things in adulthood were, she became a vague figure in your memories, having finished her residency. Some bitterness settled in your chest as you recalled the shared moments between the smoke in the hidden hospital yard.

"Yeah. I remember now. How's she now?" You gave Gojo a quick, thin smile around the edges. His eyes narrowed as he observed the way it didn't reach your eyes, and he just shrugged in response.

"She's good! Well, as good as an overworked surgeon can be."

You bit back a chuckle, but your grin turned undeniably warmer. "Say hello to Ieiri from me. If she remembers me, of course."

"Sure will do."

Silence settled between you, interrupted only by occasional honks from the cars nearby and busy people hurrying to the nearby bus or subway stations to get home. Cook dinner, watch an episode from their favourite show, feed a cat. An ordinary life. Yet, somehow, still unreachable for you.

At least, they were looking forward to it.

You squished the cigarette butt in the nearby ashtray with more force than necessary. Gojo didn't comment on it; instead, he stepped closer and murmured in a quieter tone.

"Are you waiting for someone? If not, I can drive you home. It's getting darker and colder, you know. Not the best place to spend your evening."

For some long, unnecessarily long moment, you wished there was actually no one you were waiting for. Because, among all other things, Gojo was right.

He might've interpreted your silence in another way, because his tone turned slightly apologetic, and he offered you a quick grin. "No advances. Don't worry."

You bit your lip not to have some stupid, almost daring "What if I wanted it to be?" slip, instead settling on a half-truth.

"Ah, no, that's completely okay! I am waiting for my friend! She's just recently got her license, so, you know," you chirped gleefully, maybe too gleefully, because Gojo slightly arched his eyebrow, "still navigating through the streets. Extra careful."

Your rambling still had Gojo staring suspiciously; however, he didn't have another choice but to believe you. Curtly nodding, he stepped outside the smoking booth and offered you a wave.

"Okay then. See you tomorrow, Doc."

"Yeah. Bye."

Seeing his tall figure retreating, long legs striding easily, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, something gnawed at the back of your throat with an unexplainable urge to see him again.

Your chest expanded with a shaky exhale before you gave in to the urge.

"Hey, Gojo!"

He stilled for a moment and turned almost immediately.

"Yeah?"

Swallowing nervously, you remembered the way Gojo's smile looked tighter once he spoke about Megumi.

"Don't worry about Megumi-kun. I'll make sure he will be alright! We are not slacking off there," you nodded towards the hospital with a light grin.

Gojo blinked in response — he couldn't say that your words didn't catch him off guard, but a warm feeling that bloomed in his chest was undeniable.

"I know you're the best, Doc."

Now it was your turn to wave back. You followed Gojo's figure as he walked into the hospital and finally made your way out of the booth. Just in time: you unblocked your phone to call for Uber, when Naoya's name appeared on your screen, and the ringtone cut through the peaceful silence. Your grip on the phone tightened.

Taking a few deep breaths, you finally pressed the green button, bracing yourself for inevitable grumbling from Naoya — he hated it when you answered him after three beeps.

"Yes, darling?"

"I've called you two times already," Naoya's voice sounded pretty flat, but you knew him long enough to pick up the undercurrents of rising irritation. "Why aren't you answering?"

Immediately, you cast your gaze down, as if his mere tone were enough to loom like a shadow over you. Scrambling to find a suitable explanation, you just heaved out a small "sorry."

He only huffed something unintelligible in response before speaking matter-of-factly, his tone laced with cold indifference.

"Don't ever do that again."

"I won't. Promise."

"I know you won't. You are a nice little dove, after all." The indifference in Naoya's voice gave in to the slight irony. You kept silent, unsure whether it was the right time to quip in, so he just ended the call. "I am gonna be at your hospital in 5 minutes."

Exhaling slowly, as if the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders, you put the phone back in your coat and rummaged through the inner pockets to find some sweets — one of the things that came with being a paediatrician was the endless supply of sweets in all your clothes — so you could mask the scent of cigarettes.

You almost popped a peppery mint candy in before…throwing it in your bag. A sudden, stubborn thought that might cause you a massive problem later — but at that fleeting moment, you didn't want to care.

The headlights of the familiar Porsche cast sharp beams on the road exactly five minutes later — talk about punctuality, huh? — and you stepped closer, shoulders pushed back in a routine stance, plastering a smile that your future husband would hopefully buy as loving and charming.

Naoya stopped bothering to open a door for you long ago; instead, he slightly pushed it ajar. Slipping in, you wondered if Gojo held the door open for you, would you take on his offer?

The same suffocating smell of cardamom mixed with a heavy scent of leather washed over you immediately as Naoya leaned over to press a kiss on your cheek. You briefly scrunched your nose in dislike, thinking whether it was a universal thing for men to have a horrible taste for perfumes.

Was Gojo one of them as well?

You bit your lip. Why on Earth were you thinking about another man, sitting in your fiancé's car, who seemingly grew more annoyed with each second as you ignored him?

"Dove, do you hear me at all?"

"Huh?"

Naoya had long started the car, and the engine came to life with a gentle purr, ready to hit the road. Your lack of attention had him pressing his lips in a thin line.

"I don't like it when you're dismissive like that."

You kept your gaze on the road ahead, not sure whether you were allowed to answer. But as the nauseous scent of amber and moss hit your nostrils again, you had no choice but to begrudgingly turn to Naoya.

"What's got into you today, huh?" His brown eyes sharply pierced into you, scanning all over, until he caught a whiff of a cigarette. A bitter cherry that used to linger on your form as a perfume.

Naoya's gaze dangerously narrowed as his hand cupped your cheek. No love. No gentleness. Rather, a subtle possessiveness. Or not even subtle.

"Have you smoked again, sweetheart?" Though his voice dropped to a whisper, you didn't let yourself be fooled — Naoya was seething inside. Your silence grated on his nerves, and he sharply tugged you forward till his breath filled your lungs.

Your heart beat like a caged bird inside your ribs. The insecurities in the back of your head reared their heads to talk you out of disobeying Naoya, but the momentary sense of rebellion from a thing that he was so adamant on prohibiting — like you were a lap dog or anything — had you stubbornly raise your chin. Or maybe it was some sort of adrenaline kicking in.

"No. I was just standing in the smoking corner, talking to a colleague."

Naoya tilted his head slowly, studying your face as if even the most minuscule expressions could give you away. Your blood roared in your ears so loud that it muted the voices of the insecurities. Breath bated, you forced yourself to keep your gaze steady until he finally offered you a curt nod and leaned back in his seat with a dismissive huff.

Discreetly massaging your chin from his grip, you immediately cast your gaze down to hide the relief flooding it.

"I hope you're telling the truth, dove. Otherwise, I would be greatly upset."

"Of course, darling. Why wouldn't I?" The lie tasted heavy on your lips, curled up in a forced smile — the one you had long mastered. Still slightly shaking, you clasped your hands on your lap.

"I hope it wasn't one of those nurses. Miwa, or whatever her name is," his lips quickly curved in a sharp scowl. You were well aware that beneath a handsome facade, Naoya hid acid bitterness.

"I knew something was wrong with her, and of course, it had to be something like it." The car finally rolled on the road, and you rested your head on the window, watching lazily the streets passing in a blur. "Doesn't she know men don't like kissing ashtrays? Nothing new, huh. Women's logic. "

That raised the flood of irritation in you, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek so as not to burst with anger. Though you briefly considered telling that no, it was a man, you internally winced at an inevitable round of investigation and the bursts of jealousy, and decided to leave it as it was.

You threw him a glance, trying to keep the annoyance at bay. "I am a woman too, Naoya."

"Oh, of that I am well-aware". Your eyes briefly met in the rearview mirror, the boredom and barely concealed disdain lurking behind his gaze, before your future husband attempted to joke. "You never fail to remind me of that."

Whatever that was supposed to mean. You decided not to dignify it with a response.

"But it would be better if you didn't talk much to her. You never know what ideas might be in a pretty head like hers. God forbid, if she's one of these feminists," he spat the last word as if it alone had personally offended him — and, probably, it had, at some point. You sincerely hoped he wouldn't delve into the same old "What rights do these women want, huh? Aren't we already living in a matriarchy? I am saying that men are oppressed now", but he settled on telling you about his day, so you were spared that evening.

You hummed in the right places as Naoya proceeded to talk your ear off. Eventually, seeing that his mood had gradually improved, you forced a weak smile.

"Darling, I have been waiting for you longer than you asked. Not like I mind!" You hastily added, seeing a deep frown crossing his face. He slowly turned to you, and the sharpness of his gaze cut you like a blade. "But the last time it happened, you said you would let me know and —"

"Where is your ring?"

You blinked, distracted. "Huh?"

Naoya closed his eyes for a moment — probably counting to ten, not to unleash at you for your stupidity — and as he opened them, the anger brewing stripped you of any words and any confidence. That goddamn cigarette now felt stupid and so childish.

How could you ever think you had some power yourself?

"Your ring. Where is it?" He clicked his tongue in irritation as you sluggishly unbuttoned your coat and reached for the chain under the blouse just to show it.

"You know I put it there, so I wouldn't lose it. You know how forgetful I am," you offered a deprecating joke, hoping for Naoya's relentment. He kept silent for so long that your pulse roared in your head.

Finally, he decided to spare you. The next gritted words felt more like indulgence.

"Put it back."

"But I —"

"Now."

Like a cold stream, that drowned any ounce of protest you had. The clasp kept stubbornly evading your clumsy fingers, but in the end, you managed to do what he said.

"That's better," Naoya gave you a short nod. You weren't sure you were allowed to talk, so you just stared at him with a blank look, despite the growing heat in your veins.

"But we have to do something with your forgetfulness. I strictly told you that I would pick you up at 8 p.m. Maybe it's your work. Aw, my poor dove," he sighed in exaggeration and tilted his head in mock sympathy, "It's just before the wedding. Working at the hospital is not suitable for Madame Zenin."

Your work — Naoya's stumbling block — had been a silent guest at all your dinners, whose presence loomed over you like an unsettling shadow; a bitter aftertaste after family meetings, where pretentiously dressed vultures chirped their concerns; a thought, persistent as an annoying fly, that kept creeping between the cracks of your relationship. And a quiet witness to all the times you bled after Naoya's heartless words took you apart with the precision of a devious surgeon — he had truly sharpened the blade of his conceit and vanity to cut into the vulnerability of yours.

Perhaps moulding you into an obedient wife, a docile spouse, and a future devoted mother, someone who wordlessly walked three steps behind him and kept her head bowed — perfect you, erase any flaw that made you you — was Naoya's twisted way of showing his love to you.

If there was any of it left.

Your eyelashes fluttered as you closed your eyes, too exhausted; Naoya's voice carried on as if nothing had happened. As if your presence were a suitable background to the triumph of his day.

"I booked a table in my favourite restaurant. Ah, can't wait to have their lobsters. Oh, maybe we could try otoru tuna today? Or hirame? What do you think, honey? It is a special occasion, after all. Not every day I close deals like these."

You didn't even bother to remind Naoya — not like he actually listened to you — that you didn't even like fish. That all you wanted after that long day was to get somewhere, just not home.

"Sure, honey."

˙⋆✮

Your pager seemed relentless the next day, beeping every five minutes, if not more often. Hardly had you made your way to check on the patients in the day hospital when a sudden message almost startled you.

"Callback NOW re: head CT for Inumaki, Toge, x3452."

Your heart almost jumped out of your chest, and you hastily handed the clipboard with the patient's data to Nobara, who followed your retreating figure with eyes slightly widened.

"What's that, Doc?"

"Brain haemorrhage or even aneurysm, going to the PICU," briefly giving Nobara a glance over your shoulder, you tapped on the elevator button, mind already racing with all possible outcomes. The scan was clean just yesterday!

You barely managed to squeeze into the elevator, which reminded you of a can packed with sardines, albeit the sardines were doctors and nurses — no wonder, it was always that way in the early mornings, and you sincerely hoped no one would attempt to small-talk with you.

The universe seemed to have something against you, since on the next floor, the elevator beeped as its doors opened, revealing the head of the surgery department, Gakuganji-san, as old as time itself. Rumour had it that he witnessed the building of that hospital himself. Some days, you tended to believe that was true.

You wormed your way back into the crowd and closed your eyes in an attempt to merge with the wall: for some reason, Gakuganji seemed fond of you. Maybe you resembled his granddaughter, who knew. Usually, you indulged in the old man's antics, but today wasn't that day. That damn page kept wailing at the back of your mind. Worry crept under your skin like a pervasive itch; mindlessly, your hand flew to scratch your arm. An old habit.

"Ah, my lovely girl." The crowd quickly parted before Gakuganji, and the squeaky voice beside you eventually pulled you back to reality. Despite your growing anxiety, you managed to offer a polite smile.

"Gakuganji-san! It's nice to see you all healthy and striving. You're gonna outlive all of us at that point!"

The old man slowly shook his head as some screechy sounds that you suspected to be laughter left his mouth.

"You're all sleeping and seeing it, huh? Not today, though. Someone has to put these young rascals of residents in their place! The sheer audacity." Ah, good ol' "it used to be better" talk. Couldn't say you missed it.

Giving Gakuganji-san curt nods, you hummed between the pauses of his rambling. Your pager went off again, and finally, after what felt like an eternity, the elevator beeped at your floor.

"It was nice to see you, Gakuganji-san!" you managed to mutter through the noise of the crowd, only to see that the old man had already found a new victim. Huffing under your breath, you successfully made your way out.

Expectedly, the pediatric intensive care unit buzzed with noise. The sterile scent of an antiseptic clung to your skin like a perfume, the concern of worried parents lingered in the air, and the doctors' barking orders filled the corridor as you beelined to the reception desk. Slightly out of breath, you pulled the mask off your face; your voice came in an urgent command.

"Yorozu, I've got your page. What's wrong with Inumaki's scan?"

Yorozu slowly dragged her tired gaze from the papers she was filling in and loudly popped a bubblegum to lazily drawl.

"What page?"

You clicked your tongue in irritation and fished your pager to show it in her face. "That one."

Her eyes scanned the screen, dare you say, at the snail's pace, before her shoulders dropped in a lazy shrug.

"Ah, this. We have a duplicate order for this head CT. You have to discontinue a new order, so we won't mix them. You know the rules."

Briefly closing your eyes, you attempted to recall the breathing exercises to calm down. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in —

Ah, fuck it.

"Yorozu." The anger in your voice caught the nurse's attention as you gritted your teeth and tapped your finger on her files in accusation. She blinked at you, mastering the most innocent expression possible. "You should fucking learn the proper pager etiquette. I am not gonna run like an idiot every time you pull a shit like that. Am I clear?"

Yorozu's eyes widened at your irritation, and she quickly nodded, not as sluggish as before. You probably were in for another lecture from Yaga about formal communication in the hospital setting, because Yorozu clearly had some grudge against you.

"And stop chewing the gum, for God's sake. This is a hospital and not a club." You turned on your heels and couldn't help but throw that off-handed comment. Rude? Maybe.

She threw you the last offended gaze before smacking the gum in the trash bin and mumbled under her breath, "What a bitch."

Fuck her twice.

"I think I might have a brain bleed now," a murmur left you as you hurried back to the elevator, mentally running throught the list of things to do: discontinue the duplicate order for the scan, check the saturation of a kid that was admitted just in the morning, and confirm the amoxicillin dose —

SLAM!

The impact of your bump into one's chest — a sturdy one, you might say — forced you to step back.

"Oh, I am sorry, I didn't see you— Gojo?"

"Hello to you too, Doc." His hands immediately flew to stabilise you; the warmth from them seemed to seep even through your uniform. Your heart skipped a beat as you lifted your head to see Gojo peering down at you, his shades perched on the bridge of his nose. "You okay?"

Blinking to gather your bearings, you eventually stepped away with a quick smile. He towered over you with an effortless grace and seemed to occupy all the space around you with his impossible height. The simple black slacks made his legs even longer, and the white dress shirt did nothing to hide the broadness of his shoulders. Your eyes involuntarily drifted to the smooth expanse of his skin with the roadmap of veins, as the shirt's sleeves were rolled up. They slowly climbed higher past the toned arm to the set of the collarbones, peeking out of the sinfully unbuttoned collar. Even a glimpse of them felt shamelessly sinful in the confines of the corridor.

Then your gazes finally met again — unobscured now, as Gojo's glasses rested on top of his fluffy white hair — and the apologetic mirth in them caught you even more off guard.

Clearing your throat, you rolled your shoulders to gain some confidence.

"Ah, yeah. I am good. Sorry for bumping into you. What are you doing here?"

"It's okay. You, doctors, are always busy." Gojo gave you a casual shrug, and a lazy grin tugged at the corner of his lips. You dropped your gaze, not to gawk, only to see Megumi holding Gojo's hand. The boy's fingers twitched in the begrudging hold, and his face was laced with boredom, but the moment your eyes met, a light pink dusted his cheeks.

"Hello, Doctor."

"Hello, Megumi-kun," you smiled at the boy and leaned a bit so as not to loom menacingly over the kid. You figured he wasn't the one who would like it. "How do you feel tonight?"

Megumi blinked and shot a quick, unreadable glance up at his uncle, whose grin grew even wider. Damn. The kid was a tough nut to crack. Gojo lightly nudged his nephew to answer.

"Aw, Megumi, don't be shy."

A light frown flickered on the boy's face as he shrugged. "Better now."

"I see. That's good then! Mind telling me what you are doing here?"

Megumi's communication window seemed to close up as he dropped his gaze to examine the floor, and Gojo sighed, his broad shoulders rising in a shrug.

"Don't mind it. He's still under the weather. We were going to his room, but then Megumi said he wanted those dinosaur-shaped crackers and — "

"I didn't say that!" Megumi immediately interfered, and Gojo frowned down at him.

"But you totally did! You ate two packs yesterday after the hospital. One that was Tsumiki's, by the way." At your questionable look, Gojo explained quickly, "That's his older sister. My niece."

Megumi gave him a flat look (that looked pretty impressive for a five-year-old) and briefly glanced up at you before mumbling, "Whatever."

The corners of your mouth twitched with a warm smile.

"Great!" A strange kind of nervousness engulfed you every time Gojo's bright, sharp gaze landed on you, and twisted your tone into a high-pitched cadence that grated on your nerves like a piece of chalk on the board. You wondered if Gojo had noticed as well, or if it was just your hypervigilance. "I'll walk you then!"

Gojo's eyes narrowed with unease for a moment as he examined you, before a polite calm rolled back into their blue. He gestured towards the elevator with exaggerated grandeur and a boyish grin on his face. "As you say, ma'am."

You huffed a chuckle. Megumi rolled his eyes, but obediently dragged his little feet to the elevator as well. Pressing a button, you noticed that Gojo kept sneaking glances at the boy, and sent you a knowing wink as your eyes met, before playfully drawling, "Unless someone really wants these crunchy yummy dinosaur-shaped crackers that are waiting for us in that precious vending machine —"

Megumi's face went from bored to hesitant in a matter of seconds, and he finally grumbled reluctantly, "Okay."

And then — as he briefly looked up at you — a quiet, "They are really good."

Your pager persistently chirped again, urging you to hurry up to your floor, but you really couldn't tear your gaze away from Gojo, who teasefully bantered with his nephew near the damn vending machine. Something about his relaxed posture, that confident stride, the lazy grin, and, most importantly, the concern in his gaze, that dangerously started melting into thinly veiled tenderness, called — no, demanded your attention.

When he finally stood beside you — effortlessly filling all the cramped space in the elevator — you remembered the deep laugh that cut through your loneliness yesterday. The flick of the lighter that lit your darkness up. The eyes, as blue as the crystal clear sea, that welcomed you in its waves.

And then the acidness of your future husband's remarks, adding another drop of venom in your poisoned mind. The scent of his perfume that churned your insides into something bitter, something stinging. The weight of his palm on the small of your back that lingered like a print you couldn't get rid of. Probably never would.

Luckily, the previous pages could be answered straight away, and you quickly typed the answers to the radiology department and the day hospital, until Gojo's smooth voice distracted you.

"Did you get home safe yesterday?"

Your thumbs hovered over the last message — discharging orders for the little patient — as you blinked in surprise and glanced up at Gojo.

"Huh?"

"It was pretty dark yesterday," he stole a T-Rex-shaped cracker from Megumi's pack, earning the boy's scowl, and popped it in his mouth without any care. "Did your friend pick you up?"

Parting your lips, you felt completely dumbfounded. What friend was Gojo talking about? You had been waiting for Naoya that entire evening, and —

Oh. Oh.

Offering a forced grin — too strained around the edges — you quickly nodded, "Ah. Yeah. Of course. She…she was busy, and — you know," a nervous shrug, "I was late but safe. Thanks for asking!"

The weight of your lies settled at your chest as heavy as your engagement ring under the uniform. Your hand mindlessly climbed upward and gingerly brushed against your neck and the golden chain. The ring, the chain — was there any difference to keep you in place?

Gojo didn't dare disrupt the atmosphere in the elevator, but your absent-minded fidgeting caught his eye, as well as the sudden hollowness in your gaze. Where did that girl with a sharp tongue and a bright gaze disappear? His brows furrowed for a moment: was it because you were at work now? Was it him mentioning yesterday that shook you up so much? Your friend?

His hand, which leisurely rested on Megumi's shoulders, tightened imperceptibly. Despite the growing worry, he attempted to soothe the atmosphere.

"You changed your blouse? Pink really suits you."

If you were shocked by his attention earlier, now you were truly stunned. The heat flared up your cheeks, but your brain already scrambled for a usual downplayed explanation.

"Uh, it's nothing! Laundry day."

"Still," his grin was as persistent as the weight in his voice. "You look nice."

Astounded, you stared up at him until the beep of the elevator finally announced the end of the ride, jerking you both out of that strange conversation. Megumi kept chewing.

At your department, things went pretty smoothly, despite Miwa's staring at Gojo with hearts in her eyes.

You couldn't blame her, honestly; you were pretty sure that he would appear as a new potential heartthrob in the hospital's gossipy chronicles. Lucky you. From your future husband to the man who sent your pulse racing.

You couldn't help but wonder about the last conversation with Gojo, his words and a casual compliment.

"He was just being polite," you kept reminding yourself while filling papers for Megumi, though a desperate wish for them to be true, hidden in the deepest corner of your heart, betrayed your actual thoughts.

Your gaze lingered on the neatly typed "Gojo Satoru" in the line dedicated to a parent of a patient (a guardian, in that case) for more seconds than needed, but you couldn't help yourself.

The emerald of your ring caught the light as you took it out to remind you that you were engaged, for God's sake. The thought of other men shouldn't even cross your mind, let alone smiling at their jokes and basking in their compliments.

You were a bad person.

Maybe Naoya was right. Maybe his love was the only way to carve treacherous thoughts out of you.

˙⋆✮

You glanced at your reflection, and the woman with the loneliness carved into her like a mask stared back. The woman carefully brushed along the ornate emeralds in the golden frame — Naoya's apology for a missed anniversary, wrapped in earrings.

Then the reflection's hand swept over his reluctant excuse for another disgrace, that time veiled in the golden chain around your neck. And the last — the symbol of his undying love for you — stayed put on your ring finger. Another gold. Another emerald in the same cut. Another burden for you to carry. The colour of his hair. The colour of his clan. Branding, marking you as another item in a collection.

The woman in the mirror blinked at you, her eyes carefully examining your form. The exhaustion in her eyes changed into a barely concealed mirth as her gaze travelled down to your little act of rebellion — an anklet.

A silver anklet.

Who were you turning into? Firstly, a lone Lucky Strike cig. Then this. What next?

You didn't even spare a glance as the door quietly creaked, letting Naoya inside. The Persian carpet easily swallowed the sounds of his steps; you flinched a bit as he announced himself behind you with a heavy thud. Your hands travelled down the silk of the expensive dress, smoothing the fabric, and your eyes met Naoya's in the mirror with a slight dare, carefully masked as expectation.

"Are you really going to wear this, dove?"

The third strike.

"Yes," his eyes swept across the line of your shoulders as they raised in a slow shrug. You carefully turned a little, slowly dragging your gaze up to Naoya's face. "Is something wrong?"

Tilting his head slightly, he assessed you again.

"What, why?" The fake concern in his voice was too much even for Naoya. "Unless you want to catch the attention of everyone at the dinner."

"In what way?" Your voice inevitably cracked at the last syllable, no matter how hard you tried to stand your ground.

Naoya's hand brushed across the silk of your short sleeve and drifted downwards to rest on the curve of your hip.

The cruelty that hooked into the corner of his mouth had told you everything before his lips even parted. "Up to you." A light kiss on your nape followed his words.

You closed your eyes in defeat before opening them again and letting the assessing gaze travel over the reflection in the mirror, nitpicking every detail. Was it the dress? Was it the hairstyle? Was it the makeup? The jewellery? The arms that peeked out of the sleeves?

Or was it just…you?

Your confidence was thrown to the ground, buried beneath the silk of Naoya's pretend concern.

The woman in the mirror was tugging on the hem of the dress, her fingers trembling and her hold wavering. The insecurities in her eyes dimmed the sparkle of bravery.

Naoya slowly stepped back, lazily walked to the chair, and carelessly threw his legs over the piano — the loud sound of keys coming to life in a disorganised mess startled you — pouring a glass of whiskey to watch you in front of the mirror. As if he were dressing a doll.

"Should I change?" your voice came quietly. Hesitantly. The gold on your frame seemed strained by the ugliness you bore; the hideosity you hid muddied the emeralds.

"As you wish, dove."

Dove. The usual petname didn't mend any damage Naoya had already caused; instead, you felt as if the sharp blade of his words cut your wings.

You hastily shook the dress off your trembling frame. Naoya's satisfied gaze was your only reward.

The rest of the dinner went as miserably as dressing up.

Naoya escorted you to the Zenin Estate with the same courtesy that might've been saved for a chopping block.

Firstly, the excited sparkle of being welcomed in your boyfriend's house shimmered brightly within you. Then, it ignited into a radiant desire to earn at least something besides sharp glances and fake disdainful smiles. Lastly, the resentment doused the bitter flames.

The soot of boredom clogged your throat ever since.

Roaming the opulent floors of the hall with your fiancé's hand on your waistline like a stamp, you felt no more like a souvenir on his arm. A doll whose dress was carefully picked, hair curled and a smile plastered alongside an unblinking gaze. Only to be put back on the shelf.

Again. Again. And again.

You had long lost count of the fake, well-rehearsed "That's so great's" and "We're so happy for you's" that slipped out of your mouth between the expectant glances of guests. However, the moment your smile turned a tad tighter, and the tilt of your head resembled more of a mockery than an interest, Naoya's fingers dug harder in the small of your back. Your spine would straighten just after that.

The doll whose joints had been pulled on.

"Aren't you having a little bit too much fun out there, hm?"

Naoya's voice found you in one of the corners near the balcony, just where the bright light of the flashy chandelier didn't reach. A sudden thought that the amber gemstones were fake — you remembered Naoya's grumbling about a scammer — made you snort in a flute of champagne.

Naoya's eyes dangerously narrowed. He looked around to make sure the guests were too busy pretending to enjoy each other's company and sharply tugged you by the elbow.

"I think you might have enough, little dove." His tensed whisper dripped with venom, while the print of his fingers carved into your skin with no care at all. "You don't want to embarrass us, do you?"

Your fingers twitched around the delicate stem of the glass. Something sharp and painful curled up in your chest, urging you to retreat into your shell like a turtle, but the alcohol in your blood gave you an unexpected boldness.

"Us? Or just you?"

His muddy eyes widened with shock at your disobedience and then narrowed with something resembling humiliation. The strange feeling — though entirely pleasant — coursed through your veins and exploded in your hazy mind like a small firework at his reaction.

"Don't forget yourself, honey," Naoya's whiskey breath fanned over your ear as his hand climbed down to the dip of your waist. The weight of it felt so heavy it might've stripped you of any breath. "Or I will have to remind you, then."

Your smile faltered slightly before completely vanishing into the void that your soul was.

"And clearly you've had enough of it," Naoya swiftly took your flute and curled his lips in disdain after taking a sip. "Gods, what a dog's piss. No wonder you, women, act so pissy after it."

The drunk, ugly laugh left his lips. You fought the urge to roll your eyes and ask him how he knew its taste, but you swallowed all your words.

"Gojo didn't look like a man who would joke about it," a sudden thought — totally unwelcome and totally intrusive — rooted you to your spot.

He probably would offer polite nods and interesting glances. His hand would set your being ablaze even through the dress, and his fingers would bring you a myriad of sparkles as they brushed along your arm as he would take your glass away with a charming grin.

Goosebumps erupted on your skin at the mere image, and a harsh breath left you.

It was a champagne. Of course it was! That or you just watched too much of the "Bridgertons."

Albeit you weren't a pretty lady, and Gojo wasn't a viscount to save you.

"Naoya-san, I am so glad to meet you here!" A high-pitched, too sweet in its tone voice, roughly jerked you back to reality. A tight smile made its way back on your face as your hand slotted back into the crook of your fiancé's elbow.

The old lady with an obnoxious feather boa — it took all your politeness and the remnants of your sober mind not to let your eyebrows raise — chirped joyously to Naoya. You noticed with satisfaction that he was stunned as well — that might've been the only thing you got to share that night.

After a little while, the lady finally decided to turn to you, and the sharp assessing look immediately crossed her face as she eyed you down.

That time you couldn't help yourself and gave her a slight arch of your brow. Did you spit in her soup or what? Stole a respectable, influential man just under her daughter's nose?

If she only knew. All that glittered was not gold.

"And you, my darling, — ''

Were you?

" — Naoya-san mentioned you still work," she said, and the last word sounded shocked and even slightly offended — as if the mere possibility of a woman and the future Madame Zenin actually doing something had startled her. "What are you doing?"

Before Naoya's hand would dig a warning into your skin, you heard yourself answering, "Oh, I am a doctor. Working with kids."

"A doctor?" the lady repeated incredulously with her grey thin eyebrows soaring up to her hairline. The lady's gaze involuntarily flickered to Naoya, gauging his reaction, and as she got none, her eyelashes fluttered. "Isn't it a bit tiresome for a pretty thing like you, my darling?"

You could visibly feel the waves of Naoya's irritation rolling around the sea of people, and waived your hand with a loud laugh, "Oh no, no at all! I find it pretty fun, actually."

Naoya's fingers twitched on your skin, and you cut yourself off with a sharp exhale.

"Naoya lets me work before the wedding." Your grin turned sharper. "He's really the sweetest!"

Lifting your head to look at his face, you noticed the muscle in his jaw jump in barely concealed irritation. The heat of panic surged through you at the alarming speed and settled heavily in your chest. You tried to reassess every interaction, every glance and twitch of your lips. What did you do wrong?

You swallowed with effort. Maybe you had pushed it too far that time.

When the lady left, you watched Naoya's face for any clue that might've given away his true feelings.

He gave you none besides the last dismissive glance and the cruel nod, "We're leaving."

"I don't —," his gaze immediately silenced you. "Yes, darling."

Heels hastily clicking on the marble, your grip on the purse tightening, the fabric of the dress slightly bunching in your hand, you hurried to catch your future husband up.

He didn't spare you so much of a glance on the way home. Sitting in the backseat, sipping on another glass of whiskey and keeping his eyes on the blur of motions behind the windows.

You kept your hands on your lap and tried to blend into the seats as much as possible, not to provoke Naoya further. But the anxiety that had been quietly bubbling within you all the evening finally surged through the lid, churning your insides into a twisted knot and clawing at the back of your throat. The suspicious lump started forming in it, and you swallowed with effort, blinking away your tears.

Naoya hated when you cried.

"Will you tell me what I have done wrong?"

Your quiet voice cut through the silence of the car, nauseating to the point that it became unbearable. The panic that rattled your body was on the other tip of the scales, and your choice was obvious.

Naoya slowly turned his gaze, unblinking. Narrowed his eyes as if assessing whether you were ready for the mercy of his revelation.

"Please," your voice dipped into a desperate whisper. "Just tell me."

After what felt like an eternity, Naoya finally released a dismissive huff, "You humiliated me."

You sat completely still. Licked your lips and breathed out hastily.

"I didn't mean to, really, it was just silly women's talk, you know that!"

His tone dropped to something dangerous, laced with intent to inject his anger into you even more.

"Doesn't matter. That old hag can't hold her tongue for her life, and then would blab around, so now everyone will know the future Zenin-sama can't even keep in check his future wife," the disdain in his voice smacked your face with a hot wave of humiliation, "not talking about business."

"Naoya, I am really sorry. I didn't think, I — " You watched the grim taking over his face and judging by the twitch of his eye, he was close to snapping, so you quickly scrambled for an answer. "I can send her a card! Or, or — invite her to the dinner and tell her she didn't understand it right!"

The moment your words left your mouth, you instantly regretted them.

Naoya put the whiskey glass with such a force that it had you flinching and looking at the driver to gauge his reaction. Luckily, the partition did its thing.

Anxiety coursed through your veins, akin to blood and settled in your bones with an unshakable cold, as Naoya tugged on your dress to yank you sharply forward.

"Don't you fucking dare," he gritted through his teeth. "Do you hear me? Haven't I done enough for you? Letting you —," pressing his lips into a thin line, Naoya spat another venom, "slacking around that shitty hospital of yours. The least you could do was to be grateful for it. But no."

He leaned back and angrily hooked the thumb in to loosen the bow tie — which was usually your job — and it fell another victim to his growing irritation.

The hot waves of humiliation commanded you to keep your head bowed. You bit on the inside of your cheek not to let tears and any protest spill; instead, you took a deep breath and looked up with a smile so strained it felt like the last pleading to an executioner.

"I just didn't think. I guess it was champagne. I am so sorry, Naoya."

Your begging look might've softened something in his brown gaze — or that was a game of light — but the hand that slowly reached to cup your face was surprisingly gentle. Just like a deer under the flashlights, you stilled and released a soft breath.

"Ah, my pretty dove. Have I scared you?"

The smile on your face faltered but then stretched into something similar to a mask as you forced it.

His gaze, glossed with the alcohol, wandered over your face. Deliberately observant. And after a few seconds, Naoya's lips finally grazed your forehead.

You weren't completely sure whether the storm between you had settled, but you were more than lucky to grasp for any zephyr of calm.

Lying under the lavish canopy of your bed, you let your mind wander.

Was it always like that with Naoya?

When was the exact moment his tender kisses began to feel more like silent claimings? When did his loving arms become dismissive brushes? When did the affection in his gaze give way to disdain? When his fingers, which used to silently trace your skin, curled around your wrists like chains? When did the tender words turn into poisoned arrows he shot at you?

When did sharing your life with him start to mean denying your own? And when his love slowly shaped you into someone you failed to recognise more and more with every passing day?

What would happen when the waves of his suffocating love would erase every evidence of you?

Would they swallow you whole or crash into cliffs?

The next morning met you with an enormous bouquet of roses, resting just near your bed. Alongside was the card that simply read, "That distressed look doesn't suit you, dove. The flowers might cheer you up."

The giant beast that had your heart in its claws reluctantly released its grip, allowing you a short breath. You pressed the card to your chest; the fact that you didn't even like roses didn't bother you as long as you had Naoya's affection back.

@alygator77 @man1cslut @p3talswayingindesun @xunquish-blog

@mitchskiii @anothergojostan @cridtiins @gyarujo

a/n: hello lovelies!! i am so excited and anxious to start my first mini-series! this work is not gonna be the lightest and i do not expect a lot, but i would gladly hear your thoughts!!

It had been oblivious to you that Satoru had been cheating on you.

He'd come home intoxicated and reeked the smell of alcohol. Oftentimes , he'd puke all over your living room carpet.

"Toru , are you feeling okay m'love?" you'd ask in such a caring way. That soft sweet voice of yours — enough to make even the toughest of rocks break.

To which , he's reply with a simple — "Ugh, I'm good. Can you stop being so whiny for fuck's sake? Gosh , you're driving me nuts." The raw pain and filth in his voice sounded disgusting to anyone who heard.

Yet — you still remained patient , talking so sweetly to him. Unaware that he was cheating on you. Pouring all your love and affection on him —only to be betrayed by a girl he met in a party.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

You had been over the moon over the couple of days. The reason for that was you and Satoru's 10 month anniversary. You'd been planning for it months in advance.

Hell — you'd even booked the fanciest restaurant in Tokyo. It was all planned perfectly in your head but bringing it to real life was the turning point in your relationship.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

The day of the anniversary.

You woke up at the crack of dawn — planning out your whole day perfectly. You were so eager — wasting all your precious time on such a scumbag like him.

The clock struck 2:00pm.

You hurriedly arrived at Satoru's office — planning to be the good obedient girlfriend you are and pick him up yourself today.

Your pair of heels clicked the glossy floor tiles — strutting your way inside Satoru's office room.

Creek. The door opened.

Euphoria was replaced with horror. Your face went pale. Your blood ran cold. no. no. This couldn't be happening.

You saw Satoru bending his female assistant over his table and fucking her from behind.

Filthy moans echoed the room.

Suddenly , Satoru turned his head towards you with the 'babe-i-can-explain' expression. He pushed her aside and headed towards you.

"Babe , please. I can explain-" he pleaded. You cut him off before he could.

"Enough , I am done with you. I spent 10 months wasting my love on someone who doesn't even care for me." you argued.

You stormed off while Satoru chased after you , asking you to 'give him a chance.'

You felt stupid — stupid for believing his words. for believing he loved you. for believing you were the only one. for everything.

He lied to you in front of your face . making you believe "she is just an assistant , nothing more".

And now , you were done. done forever.

You slammed your apartment door — rushing to your bedroom. Then tears fell down your face. You were sobbing.

You were so mentally and emotionally drained that you couldn't even get out of your bed. Only that night did you realise — things weren't what they seemed to be.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

(A/N - TYSMMM YA'LL FOR READING TS. LOVE YA <3 this is my first ever fic and i'm lwk kinda woried ts may flop... anyways thanks for sticking till the end :3)