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Your neighbour was at it again, the sound of the bedframe knocking against the wall making it seem like they might just crash into your apartment at any moment. Moans so loud it sounded like someone was getting exorcised instead of merely getting their rocks off.

You pulled your noise cancelling earbuds out of your bedside drawer, plugging them into your ears with a sigh. You could only hope this particular session would be over before you fell asleep so you could take them out to ensure you didn't miss your alarm in the morning. Finally getting to read without the sounds of fornication to disturb you.

You must have fallen asleep while reading, when you woke up in the morning it was twenty minutes past when your alarm had started ringing. Turning the alarm off you forced yourself out of your bed and through your morning routine to get ready for work. Skipping a breakfast with the intention of grabbing something during a quiet moment at the library.

The elevator seemed to have been fixed over the weekend, making you feel slightly better about your day as you waited for it to open at your floor. Hearing a door open down the hallway and refusing to turn back knowing all too well what you would see.

"I'll walk you out. Need to check the mail." You heard a masculine voice say making you sigh inwardly. The elevator doors opened just as the found of footsteps started down the hall and you stood as far against the side as you could, hoping to be able to claim ignorance if caught not holding the door open.

A large pale hand grabbed onto one side of the closing door just as it was about to shut, the porcelain greek god like bare upper body of your neighbour coming into view as the doors opened back up. Gojo Satoru stood tall and proud as his partner from the night before clapped and cheered for him as though he'd done something miraculous. A smirk twisting up those naturally pouty pink lips as he sauntered in.

You crowded yourself further into the wall, not wanting to bear witness to their top 1 percent joy this early in the morning. They could have been mistaken for filming a condom ad with the sexual tension the two were oozing and how good looking they were, the pretty girl giggling as Gojo cornered her against the wall.

The moment the elevator doors opened you went flying past the lovey dovey pair, not wanting to spend even a moment longer in the presence of such nauseating physical perfection. It was criminal to have to bear witness to when you hadn't even had a drop of caffeine yet.

You'd never spoken to your neighbour, to be fair you didn't speak to any of your neighbours except when the lady across had asked if you lived in the building. That too because she had grown suspicious seeing you loitering in the doorway as you tried to find your key. You had the magical ability to go unseen, blending into the background wherever you went and it suited you very well.

You weren't like your glamorous neighbour who had a new paramour every week. Each as ridiculously beautiful as the last. Some you never saw again and others you heard crying and screaming outside his door late into the night. That was how you'd learned his name, between all the curse words and wishes of ill will, they called him Gojo Satoru when threatening him.

It was quite possible you may have never spoken to one another if only you hadn't bumped right into him later that week. You'd been on your way back from a closing shift at work, having picked up some thai curry to treat yourself for getting through a long week. The moment the elevator doors opened you could hear the screaming and crying telling you your neighbour was going through another rather one-sided breakup.

You kept your head down, not even looking up as the expletives got more colourful or the threats more ruinous. You had almost made it to your door when suddenly something large slammed into you making your container of curry pop open and spill all over you.

You stared down in shock as the hot curry sank into your clothes, glancing up slowly to look into blindingly bright blue eyes. You grimaced, about to step past him when a large hand folded around your wrist, holding you in place.

"Darling I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were coming early." Gojo said and you frowned at him, wondering if he was mistaking you for someone else but you really did not look like any of his usual visitors.

"Uh I think-" You started but were cut off as Gojo yanked you forward past your door to his apartment where the girl was watching you both in bewilderment.

"Goodness look what I've done. I'm so sorry, let me get these clothes in the wash and run you a nice bath. Sorry Shelly I forgot to tell you but my darling girlfriend here has finally decided she's done exploring and so we're back together. I can't be seeing anyone else, we're going to be exclusive now." Your neighbour said, opening his door and pulling you into his apartment. Slamming the door shut the moment you both were through.

"My name's Kelly you asshole." The girl outside yelled, a bang sounding against the door as though she had kicked it making you flinch. The sound of angry stomping footsteps down the hall told you she had finally had enough and left.

"Thank you so much for helping me back there." Gojo said and you turned towards him to find his blue eyes already on you. So bright they were a bit unsettling.

"Um no problem." You said, not thinking it was very polite to point out that you had actually not helped out so much as been dragged around like a ragdoll.

"I'm so sorry about your clothes and your food darling, I can wash those for you if you want."

"Sorry, I do need to clarify, you don't know me." You said, hoping he wasn't actually mistaking you for someone he knew. Considering the many visitors you had seen coming in and out of his apartment it wasn't too unfair to wager he might have lost track of all the faces at some point.

"I know." He said with a blindingly bright smile.

"I can give you something to wear while I throw those in the laundry for you. Order you some food while you wait to make up for ruining your clothes and dinner." Gojo offered and you came to the sad realization that you had blended into the background so well that your neighbour of the past eight months had no idea you lived right next door.

"We're neighbours actually, I live in apartment 610. I'll just go change there." You said, awkwardly pointing towards the direction of your apartment.

"Are we really?" Gojo asked and you nodded.

"Wow you must have just moved in." He continued.

"Not quite, but you have a good night." You said, about to leave before he could drill in any further how very unmemorable you were.

"Can I buy you dinner? To make up for making you drop yours?" Gojo asked and you shook your head, already reaching for his door handle.

"Wait, let me at least pay you for the dry cleaning and food then. You really saved me from what probably would have been an hour minimum more of screaming and crying."

He didn't even wait for you to voice your protests before he ran into his room. Emerging after a moment with a $100 bill in his hand. He grabbed your wrist, putting the bill into your hand and walking you backwards out of his apartment through the door you had opened before you got a chance to tell him it was entirely too much.

"Let me know if you need any help getting around the area, I've been living here for 8 months so I know it quite well." Gojo said, beaming down at you.

"Will do." You muttered, merely nodding as he bid you a goodnight and shut the door in your face. Turning to look at the spilled curry and your shoulders slumping as you realized you would have to clean that. Though you had made $100 so it wasn't all bad. Take out the cost of ordering food delivery to make up for the curry you'd dropped and you still had enough to treat yourself a couple more times than planned for this month.

That day you learned that on top of being a bit arguably promiscuous, your neighbour was also a clueless member of the upper class that didn't know how much dry cleaning and thai takeaway cost. What he was doing in your apartment building was beyond you, but you could only hope you wouldn't run into him again.

Unfortunately that was not the last time you walked right into one of Gojo's breakups. The next time was at the elevator. You had been on your way back from some errands, waiting in the lobby for the elevator to take you and your heavy grocery filled bags up to the eleventh floor.

The doors had opened revealing a girl holding your neighbour by the collar of his shirt. On the tips of her toes to get as close to screaming in his face as she could with him being over a foot taller. His blue eyes landed on you over her head and seemed to light up instantly filling you with trepidation.

"Darling you're here. You should have called, why are you carrying all these heavy bags yourself?" Gojo asked, sidestepping the girl and smoothly swooping to take your bags from you as you stared at him in wide-eyed bewilderment.

"Who is that?" The girl asked, lovely delicate little features twisted into a sneer as she looked at you.

"My muse." Gojo answered dreamily, looking at you in such performative adoration that it gave you the chills.

"That's your muse?" The girl asked and you couldn't blame her. You weren't exactly the picture of a muse on your best day but today was errand day so you were really slumming it as you tried to get through your chores to enjoy your evening.

"Yes, this is my darling muse so I am unfortunately quite unavailable for a relationship as I will be devoting all my time to this beauty. I wish you all the best." Gojo said, wrapping his free arm around your waist and tugging you back onto the elevator. Making a big show of leaning down to nuzzle your head and it was all you could do not to grimace.

"You smell very good." He mumbled against your head as the elevator doors shut and you leaped away from him.

"Thank you, I shower." You responded, reaching out to grab your bags back from him as he huffed out a little laugh. Holding the bags out of reach making you glance up at him in annoyance.

Now you may not have been the typical image of a muse, but there was no denying you were cute. Big, pretty eyes narrowed at him. Swimming in your oversized sweater and letting out a huff of annoyance as you failed to retrieve your groceries. You had felt all soft against him too like you'd feel great to cuddle. Not to mention it was kind to let him use you for the second time to escape someone who got overly clingy.

"Have you eaten yet?" Gojo asked, he had initially been planning to eat with the girl who'd just left but then she'd started talking about how she was hoping to score the Givenchy ad and he had decided it was time to call it quits.

"No." You responded, looking confused as to why he would ask.

"Great, let me buy you dinner to show my gratitude for you saving me yet again."

"There's really no need. Both times I've just sort of stood there while you mislead some very pretty girls into believing you're taken, by me."

"You could have walked away but you didn't. I owe you, let me treat you to whatever you want. Or I can choose since you're new to the area." He said making you sigh.

"I've got leftovers, thanks though."

"Great, you can feed me." Gojo said, stalking off down the hall as the elevator doors opened leaving you staring after him in shock.

"It's not really enough for two since I wasn't expecting a guest." You said, hurrying after him.

"No worries, I eat like a bird." He responded, standing expectantly outside your door, still holding your grocery bags.

Gojo Satoru did not in fact eat like a bird, unless the bird in question was the dinosaur that birds were said to be descendants of. He ate most of the stew you had made yesterday and intended to freeze so you could get some more meals out of it. You'd even had to make more rice when he asked for another bowl after finishing his second helping.

You'd learned over your mostly one-sided conversation with him over dinner that he was a photographer. Quite a nit-picky one by the sounds of it since he claimed he only photographed people and things of interest to him. That had earned him a reputation in the industry as having a discerning eye for rising stars which was why a lot of models approached him.

Suddenly all the beautiful people constantly coming and going from his apartment made sense.

"I don't like being used though. I make it crystal clear from the start that I don't mix my personal life with my work but they always end up wanting me to either include them in my next work or wanting a referral. Some want a relationship but I don't really do those either." Gojo said, finding a bag of candy amongst the groceries you had yet to put away and pulling it out of the bag.

"Mind if I open this?" He asked and you shook your head. You had enough manners not to deny guests food in your house.

You watched him eat your candy thinking about what different lives you led. While you were just your average employed person trying to keep up with all the chores and dreaming about having savings, this man from a whole different world lived right next to you. A world in which beauty was so plentiful that it had to be accompanied by something else to make it interesting. Where he had no idea how much dry-cleaning cost and could invite himself over without the slightest fear of rejection.

"You come from a rich family don't you?" You asked unthinkingly, voice coloured with so much disdain and the question so unexpected when you had been mostly quiet that Gojo nearly choked on the candy he had just popped into his mouth. Barking out a loud laugh that startled you back into basic decency.

"Oh sorry, that wasn't very polite of me to ask. You don't have to answer that." You reassured but Gojo waved you off.

"Is it that obvious?" He asked with a grin and you gave a little nod, unable to lie so blatantly.

"My dad owns a popular clothing brand. He wanted me to take over the company and I just wanted to disappoint him, hence photography." Gojo said and you nodded as though that made any sense to you. Being handed down a successful brand but instead too caught up in rebellion to take the opportunity.

"I would have become a painter but I'm terrible at it. Photography comes a little easier to me." He said and you nodded, unsure how to respond to that.

"I can't remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal. You're a great cook." Gojo complimented, leaning back and placing a hand on his somehow still perfectly flat stomach. Sometimes you thought people like him defied the laws of nature. Simply too perfect for things like bloating or acne.

"Thanks." You muttered, trying your best at a smile despite the envious turn your thoughts had taken but it didn't seem like you quite succeeded when Gojo barked out another laugh, startling you.

"You really can't hide your emotions, can you?" He asked, grinning broadly at you. Blue eyes positively sparkling with mirth only making you feel more lackluster in comparison and desperate to get this otherworldly perfect creature out of your apartment.

"I've been told I'm not great at it." You responded.

"By who? A boyfriend?" He asked, the grin falling from his face into a little smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"No, my boss. She says I need to keep control of my expressions when I get difficult customers."

"That's strange, I didn't take you for someone who would be working with people."

"I didn't think I would be but I'm the most junior member of the library so I don't get to choose my station. If they want me at the front then I've gotta be there."

"You're a librarian?" He asked as though it was the best news he had ever heard and you could only nod in the face of such enthusiasm.

"So you like to read?"

"I do." You said and he nodded his head along in agreement.

"I used to like to read but don't much have the patience for it anymore. Bring a book for me sometime, anything you like. I want to get back into reading." He said and you nodded though you had no intention of ever giving Gojo a library book even if it wasn't under your account. You had a strong feeling that the library would never see that book again.

You failed to stifle a yawn and Gojo got to his feet, carrying his bowl over to the sink and rinsing it off before setting it inside.

"You seem tired, I'll head out."

You walked him out, dutifully following behind though it was your apartment. Gojo Satoru was just one of those people that could enter a space and make it seem like it belonged to them. He swung open the door but turned in the doorway making you stumble back a step since you had been expecting him to walk out.

"Your apartment is very well-furnished for someone who just moved in." He said and you had to suppress the urge to roll your eyes by pressing your lips together into a thin line, calling upon all your patience to end this impromptu dinner party.

"Next time you gotta let me buy you dinner to thank you for the meal and helping me out of a tight spot twice now."

You only nodded again, willing to assent to anything as long as it got him out of your apartment with all his sparkling splendor. Sure he would probably not recognize you by next week.

"Well nighty night neighbour." He said, sauntering over to his apartment and just pushing the door open. There was apparently no need to lock his door since clearly people like him were even above getting robbed, but that was your last straw. You shut your door and locked it immediately in case he decided to come back for any reason.

That night there were no noises and you slept peacefully. Hoping you would never have to be involved in a breakup that wasn't yours again.

However it seemed the universe was not aligned with that. The incident repeated itself over and over. Suddenly it was like a week couldn't go by without you walking in on one of his breakups. At the mailbox, at the emergency exit, in front of the elevator, then in front of the stairs when you decided to take those to avoid him.

Every time his blue eyes would light up when they laid on you. He'd tell the girl you were his girlfriend that had just decided to give him another chance taking him conveniently off the market. To his credit, though he let them yell and berate him as they wanted, but didn't take it sitting when any of them turned on you. Looming over them with the easy smile dropping from his face as he told them he thought it best they left.

Though that terrifying expression had never been levelled at you, it made you quite determined to never get on his bad side. Afterwards he would either offer to treat you to dinner, or as you soon learned would follow you to your apartment and eat your dinner if you refused. After the third time of watching him wolf down your food like he'd never been fed before, you stopped denying his offers to buy you a meal.

Each time he would talk non-stop and force you to talk too. Letting out those loud barks of laughter that you had come to associate with him even while in the midst of quiet restaurants. When people turned to look at the noise they'd seem to positively melt when they saw where the laugh had come from. Smiling along dopily as though it was incredibly sweet instead of disruptive just because of the way he looked.

Your sour expression would only serve to further amuse him. There was free food though, good food at that so you tolerated it. It was also only fair that you got compensated somehow for being used by him to get rid of the pretty models after him for one thing or another.

After a long week of work and a particularly bad Gojo breakup where the girl had burst into fits of tears and you had been forced to stand by while Gojo tried to console her and make her go away at the same time, you were quite looking forward to the weekend. So when a knock came at your door after you had changed into your pajamas, you were not eager to open it and instead sank lower onto your couch and held your breath so they would hopefully assume no one was home.

"I saw you come in, open up darling." You heard the now familiar voice say and you sighed, praying to any gods listening to move one of you before you rose to answer the door.

There stood Gojo Satoru in a pair of grey sweatpants and a black hoodie, holding two boxes of pizza and two pints of ice cream balanced overtop.

"Are you not even going to let her eat before you break up with her?" You asked, this was cruelty you couldn't simply stand by and allow to happen. If you were promised pizza and ice cream and instead someone broke up with you making you leave single and hungry you'd be devastated.

"Break up with who?" Gojo asked.

"The girl I'm guessing is either in your apartment or about to come over." You clarified.

"No silly, there's no girl. This is for us. I thought we'd watch a movie and eat pizza and ice cream. You're not working tomorrow right?" Gojo said, walking right past you into your apartment leaving you blinking at the empty space where he stood trying to process what was happening.

"Did you call her over to see us here?" You asked following him in and watching as he set the food down on your coffee table, plugging the ice cream into your freezer and getting out plates as though he were the one who lived here.

"Call who over? There's no girl as I told you. I just came over to hang out with my pal. You're not working tomorrow so I thought it would be okay if we stayed up late and watched movies." He said, in theory the words made sense but coming from your gorgeous, air-brushed in real life big-shot of a photographer neighbour they were practically gibberish.

"How do you know I'm not working tomorrow?" You asked, choosing to tackle the statement little by little as your third-grade teacher had taught you when faced with complex problems. She'd been talking about math word problems but you applied that wisdom liberally.

"You told me you work alternating Saturdays and you worked last Saturday which means you're not working this Saturday unless Jeanine hoodwinked you into covering her shift again. You swore last time though that would be the last time you switched with her so I'm choosing to have faith in you."

"So you're just here to eat pizza and watch movies?" You asked.

"And ice cream, don't forget about that." Gojo chimed, walking past you to take a seat on your couch and turning on the TV.

"Mind if I choose the movie? I've been wanting to watch this one. Everyone says it's terrible." Gojo said and you could only mumble out a yes.

"Come sit." He said, patting the spot next to him and you followed his orders. Fully expecting a gorgeous young woman to throw your door open any moment, storming in and calling you a home-wrecking good for nothing curse word. It took you robotically nibbling on 3 slices and only making faint humming noises as Gojo talked incessantly over the movie before it sank in that Gojo Satoru really had come over just to watch a movie with you.

Why he chose to hangout with you on a Friday night was beyond you but you weren't rude enough to ask him to leave and he had brought over pizza and excellent ice cream. Though you did have to slap his hand away more than once when he tried to sneak his spoon into yours to steal your cookie dough pieces.

When you were both done he shivered at the cold ice cream and demanded a blanket which once brought to him he rudely curled into all by himself and then plunked his head down into your lap. You froze looking down at him. He had on occasion put an arm around your shoulder or waist or held your hand as he fake-professed his undying love for you before the women he was breaking up with but he'd never touched you when you were both alone.

It wasn't really inappropriate but there was an odd intimacy to the act of resting your head on someone's lap that had taken you aback. You guessed he was just used to being overly familiar with people in his line of work.

Of course not only was he inconsiderate to hog your blanket and use your thighs as a head rest, but he also had the audacity to fall asleep on you as the sequel of the terrible movie he'd chosen played out on the screen with the remote out of your reach.

You sighed, wondering if you should just push him off but your good manners and fear of his wrath kept you from doing so. Once the movie was over and the credits began to play and you really needed to get to the remote you tried shifting his head but he only turned over to face you. Wrapping an arm around your waist and digging his face into your stomach. Effectively rendering you incapable of moving him or yourself.

You sighed, resolved to never answer the door again regardless of who was knocking as you sat through the third movie in this series that never should have been created.

You were almost asleep yourself, head lolling and each time you'd be on the brink of sleep you'd be woken by the motion of your head falling forwards. On one such occasion you jolted out of sleep just as a terrible sound echoed out of the TV making you jump and waking the member of the bourgeoise asleep on top of you.

He rose with a low groan, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and stretching out his arms making the muscles flex and revealing a pale strip on his toned, muscled torso making you wish you had pushed him off of you when you had the chance. Blue eyes opening slowly and a slow smile blooming on his lips as they laid on you.

"You're so comfortable." He muttered, positively latching onto you as though you were a stuffed animal.

You pushed at his rock-solid shoulder, trying to get him off of you but he sleepily bargained for five more minutes and rested his head over yours. Near smothering you in his overly large pecs making you grimace.

"Off now." You demanded and he pulled back with a pout, expression turning sheepish as you got unsteadily to your feet and glared at him when your legs felt like they had pins and needles going down them.

"You sleep like the dead." You muttered, smacking your fists into your legs to rid them of the odd feeling.

"I usually have a lot of trouble sleeping. I can't remember the last time I had a nap." He said and you scoffed making him looking at you with an innocent puzzled expression which combined with his sleep rumpled hair and clothes made you feel a bit like a sardonic old hag.

"You really expect me to believe you don't sleep well when you're constantly that fresh-faced and don't even have to seem under-eyes?"

"Good genetics I guess." He responded making your lip curl in hatred. You could sleep ten hours a night and still have bags from the sleep deficit you had accumulated while getting your undergrad. He breathed out a soft laugh, apparently a little less brash and loud when he had just woken up.

"You should go home and go to sleep, it's late." You said.

"Can't I sleepover?" He asked, widening his eyes in a surprisingly effective puppy-dog look for a man that was well over 6 feet and built with pure muscle.

"You live next door, your room is almost just as close as mine is. Why on earth would you sleepover?"

"Then you sleepover." He said, laughing when he caught the grossed out look on your face as you were all too aware of the things that happened on the surfaces of his apartment.

"I change my sheets regularly." He said.

"No one needs to sleepover, we live next door to each other. Movie night is over, back to your apartment with you." You said, motioning him out the way you imagined sheep were herded though you had little idea of how that was done and clearly you were not good at it considering the 6 foot sheep before you was decidedly un-herded.

"But I slept so well with you." He complained.

You merely motioned to the door again and he sighed, getting up to his feet. He was nearly all the way out when he suddenly turned back.

"Wait, what if I promise to buy you breakfast?" He asked.

"I cannot be persuaded with food to let you sleepover." You said, watching his shoulders slump and he turned back to head out. Giving you the puppy eyes until the moment you shut the door on him in the hopes he would be let back in.

Unfortunately that too became a regular occurrence. On Friday or Saturday, depending on whether you were working that Saturday or not, he'd bring over some form of takeout, two pints of ice cream and want to watch some horrible movie. He'd talk over the entire thing while you both ate, try to steal from your pint of ice cream and then eventually fall asleep with at least one limb on you in some way.

The breakups became more infrequent as did the noises until they stopped altogether. Soon he was showing up on other weekdays too with takeout or hurrying after you into the elevator in the morning just to tell you to cook for two in the evening since he'd be joining you.

You didn't understand why someone like him was spending so much time with you. Annoying as he was due to his impossible physical perfection, lack of understanding of how to be economical due to his being born into the upper-class, and the audacity he showed just constantly inviting himself in, he grew on you. He was admittedly fun to be around.

Things would have continued like that for god knows how long had it not been for the book club the library had forced you to lead. It was to attract more patrons to the library and since none of the other librarians wanted to lead a club taking place on Friday evenings, you were forced into it.

The group that turned up for the first one was the most mismatched group of people you had ever seen. An elderly woman who often told stories of her grandkids that lived in another country where her son had moved his family for a job. Two very giggly teenage girls who seemed as though they were laughing at everyone at first but eventually you realized were just giggling to cover up their own nerves. A middle aged man who seemed like he just did not wish to go home to his family. An accountant that was trying to branch out her reading materials from non-fiction finance related books. And lastly a young man that was new to the country and trying to learn the language through books and tv shows.

The club met weekly and though the first couple meetings were very rough with you struggling to lead and steer the conversation, eventually you all settled into a rhythm. The elderly woman related every topic to her son's family somehow, the teenage girls giggled at all delicate topics, the middle aged man rarely spoke but listened avidly and the accountant was highly opinionated on fictional characters and events. The foreign young man tried his best to contribute to the conversation and you all helped him along while he looked for his words.

Soon you even began looking forward to book club. Gojo wasn't a fan of it, it meant you were always busy on Fridays. He looked forward to unwinding with you after a long work week where no one could really inspire him. His thoughts on your bright eyes, transparent expressions and begrudging honest comments even as he worked with the most beautiful people and obscenely expensive items.

To hear you rave about these other people bothered him in a way he hadn't thought possible. He had never been the jealous type. Not eager to get into a relationship, he didn't mind when the people he slept with dated or fucked others. For some reason though with you even the thought of others getting to look into those pretty eyes or hear those sarcastic little quips you made had his stomach turning and skin crawling.

He hated how emotionally invested you seemed to be in each and every one of them. So sad for the old lady who missed her grandkids, sympathetic towards the teen girls struggling to become comfortable in their own skin. Understanding for the man who seemed to have built a life based on societal expectations that he wasn't built for and in awe of the accountant's unexpected passion. Inspired by the foreign young man's courage to uproot his whole life and move to a new place.

So many emotions he hadn't been able to inspire in you yet you made him feel things he hadn't even thought possible. Hadn't known how much he longed for the comfort and stability you represented. The calm of your easy, ordinary life. How much joy could be found in just regular activities like sharing a meal or watching a movie. The fire of jealousy that could threaten to burn through all of his being and spread to the world around him when you turned your gaze elsewhere.

"Have you told them about me?" He asked suddenly, cutting you off mid-sentence as you talked about how excited you were for them all to read the next book.

"Tell them about you? Why would I tell them about my neighbour?" You asked, confused where that question had come from. Not understanding why the bright blue of Gojo's eyes seemed to turn to steel. All warmth and light draining from them until they reminded you of the chilling endless depths of the ocean.

"I'm not just your neighbour, am I?" Gojo asked, plastering a grin back on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"No, loathe as I am to admit it, I guess we are friends." You said, hoping the teasing would diffuse the sudden tension you felt in the room.

"Friends." He repeated as though testing out the word.

"Doesn't quite seem like enough." He mused after a moment.

Your brows furrowed and you used the palms you had resting down next to your folded legs to shuffle away from him slightly. His eyes flickering down to the movement making you pause. Of course you were just being silly, you had to be misinterpreting where this was heading. People like Gojo didn't think of people like you romantically. He could have models and celebrities. He couldn't possibly be into you in that way.

"Okay what would you call me then?" You asked, hoping fervently this was all one of his stupid jokes and he would say something rude and start laughing.

"Mine. I'd call you mine." Gojo responded, blue eyes taking in the frown on your face and realizing how ignorant you were to what was between the both of you. Sweet, innocent you that didn't even realize how special what the both of you had was. Gojo would have to show you.

"I don't know if things are different in the rich people world but for us regular people you can't own anyone and saying someone is yours usually implies you're in a relationship."

You didn't wait for his response, reaching for your glass, about to use getting a refill as an excuse to walk away but he latched onto your outstretched wrist. Your breath getting caught in a gasp as he pulled you into him.

"I know what it means darling. You belong to me, just as I belong to you. There's no one I've ever felt so comfortable with, no one whose felt like home before. I know you feel it too, no one has ever made you feel this way, have they?" He asked, hand coming up to cup your cheek. Stilling as you flinched away from the touch.

"I think you're mistaking friendship for something else Gojo." You started, words tumbling out as you struggled to make sense of the situation.

"You're rich and famous so people around you are probably constantly putting up a facade and you're not used to regular friendship. You're just confused." You said, sounding like you were trying to convince yourself more than him.

His hand trailed to the back of your head, angling your face up and lips crashing down on yours before you could understand what was happening. Your froze, your brain unable to compute how a friendly movie night had gone from discussing your work week to this.

His soft lips moved gently against yours, trying to coax you into kissing him back. Tongue darting out to lick over your unresponsive lips and a groan escaping him as he finally got a taste of the mouth he'd been fantasizing of for so long. The sound knocking you out of your shocked state and you pushed against his chest. The unexpected move forcing him to break apart but he instantly leaned down again making you call his name sharply.

Blue eyes flicked up from your lips to meet your gaze. Straightening up at the confusion and outrage he saw. No one had ever reacted to him like that before. Normally others came onto him and yet here you were seemingly very offended by him kissing you.

"You can't just kiss someone out of nowhere." You muttered, wiping at your mouth with your sleeve.

"I'll give you a warning next time, I'm going to kiss you again." He said, swooping back towards your lips but you cupped your hand over his mouth. Pretty eyes widening in surprise and your shoulders tensed up as though bracing yourself against an attack.

He frowned for a moment before his entire body melted as he realized what was going on, it was lack of experience. Shy, innocent you probably weren't used to physical affection the way he was. You'd never mentioned an ex, this was all new for you. He had to take it slow to avoid scaring you off. He pressed a kiss to the hand over your mouth, laughing breathily as you pulled away instantly.

"You can't kiss me." You warned, taking in a slow deep breath. Your shoulders slumping as you let it out and you swallowed nervously as though about to share some terrible news. A product of nerves he was sure, to someone inexperienced even a confession could be a frightening thing.

"I'm sorry Gojo, I don't really see you that way. I thought we were friends but if I've misled you in some way then I apologize. I don't really sleep around." You said.

"Oh darling is that what you think this is? I don't just want to sleep with you, I love you. I want to be with you always." Gojo said making your stomach fall.

"I don't understand." You mumbled. He had never given you any indication that he had romantic feelings for you. As far as you knew he wasn't capable of romantic feelings. All he did was sleep around and then kick them to the curb if they got clingy.

"Are you saying all of this to get me to sleep with you?" You asked and he shook his head immediately.

"How many times do I have to say it darling? I'm not just looking to sleep with you. Though I won't lie, I do want to but it's not just that. I want to be in a relationship with you." He clarified and try as you might even you couldn't interpret that to be anything but what he had said.

"Oh." You mumbled.

"Oh." He repeated with a laugh, cupping your face in his hands and leaning in as though about to kiss you again but you held your hand up between you again. Pulling back out of his hold making his smile drop a bit.

"Too fast?" He asked and you shook your head unthinkingly before nodding it, trying to find the right words so you wouldn't come across as cruel. You hadn't been lying, Gojo had become a friend to you. One whose feelings you didn't want to hurt.

"Gojo I've never really seen you that way and I'm not looking for a relationship so please don't take this the wrong way but I can't return your feelings. I'm so sorry." You said softly, watching as his smile dropped away entirely. Something unreadable in those eyes when you mustered up the courage to look into them, dropping your gaze again immediately.

"I get it, that's okay. We can be friends if that's all you can give for now. Once you're ready we can try for more." He said and though that hadn't really been what you meant you really didn't have the heart to shoot him down again.

"Sh-should I get out the ice cream now?" You asked, eager to change the topic and pretend that whole conversation had never happened.

"Sure." He answered, lips tipping up into a smile though his eyes still had that indecipherable look to them that filled you with the odd urge to get away.

The rest of the night was filled with an odd tension that had your chest filling with relief when Gojo finally bid you goodnight, as guilty as that made you feel. You worried that things between the two of you would never be the same and prepared yourself for the awkwardness that was sure to follow.

It was as though all he needed was to sleep off that conversation. From the next day everything returned back to normal between the both of you as though the confession and kiss had never happened. Though you sometimes felt like you'd see a flash of something akin to hunger in his eyes when he looked at you but he'd blink and it would be gone making you think you were only imagining things.

You couldn't help the way you got a little self conscious now when he rested his head on your lap or strung his arm over your waist while laying sprawled on your couch during a movie night. Before you hadn't thought much of it but refused to say anything because that would mean bringing up that whole conversation you wanted to leave buried in the past. It was just Gojo being Gojo you tried to convince yourself.

As you would soon learn you shouldn't have allowed him continued access to you after learning of his true feelings. Had you known then you would have been firmer in your rejection, leaving no false hope that would ultimately be your ruin.

The book club and its members became an engrained part of your routine. Adding more people to your isolated little world. Meetings that you looked forward to weekly as you became even more familiar with each of the members and you all opened up to one another. Sharing things about your lives and even sometimes planning to grab a bite after the book club meeting. You'd take a late lunch those days and glad to see the community initiative a success, your boss let you.

When the young man started turning up at the library outside of book club to borrow books, you were all too willing to recommend similar books to his favourites from the meetings. Finding some upon his request that would help him improve his language skills as well. He'd come up to you periodically to ask the pronunciation or meaning of words he didn't know which in the age of the internet others might have considered a hint but not you.

It caught you off guard when he asked you out to coffee, alone without the rest of the book club as he'd clarified. There was something about him that you had always found charming and so you agreed.

He asked you to meet at some fancy little coffee shop just a couple streets down from the library you'd never been to before. Looking so pleased when you showed up that you couldn't help but return his smile. Setting your first date nerves at ease by talking about the club's book of the week and then sounding genuinely interested as he asked you questions about your life, boring as it was.

When you heard your name called you turned around with a smile still on your lips from the lingering laughter at an off-handed comment your date had made at your boss' expense but it fell immediately as your eyes connected with a blue pair alight with fury. Flinching back as he stormed over to you, eyes flickering from you to where your date had rested his hand on top of yours. You pulled yours back like you had been burned. Glancing over at the gorgeous young woman who stood next to him, clearly another model who was busy scrolling on her phone and didn't pay the three of you any mind.

"What are you doing here darling?" Gojo asked and you looked at your date quickly who was looking very confusedly between Gojo and you.

"How do you two know each other?" Your date asked.

"He's my neighbour." You clarified quickly, knowing he had probably misunderstood the term of endearment Gojo liked to throw around with you.

"I think we're much more than that, aren't we darling?" Gojo asked, eyes daring you to contradict him.

"W-we're also friends." You explained.

"Now back to my question, what are you crazy kids doing here?"

"We are on - uh how do you say" Your date started, struggling to find the word and for the first time you made no attempt to help him.

"Date!" He exclaimed suddenly and you felt like your stomach had fallen out as you risked a glance up at Gojo to see the polite smile had fallen and he looked positively livid. Blue eyes blazing with outrage turned to you accusingly, jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful and veins beneath his flawless pale skin standing out prominently.

"How lovely, ready to date now are you?" Gojo asked and you shook your head instantly.

"I hate to be rude but you'll have to excuse us. Our apartment building is on fire so my neighbour here and I have to go." Gojo said, stooping down and snatching your wrist. Pulling you up to your feet and dropping the strap of your bag onto your shoulder. Completely ignoring the confused outbursts of both your date and the model that had accompanied him as he dragged you out of the cafe.

"I'm so sorry, I'll see you on Friday." You called out to your date not wanting to make a scene here. Getting yanked forward again and nearly tripping but managing to straighten and catch yourself.

Gojo herded you past the door, leading you to his sleek back car parked right outside the cafe and pushing you down into it the moment he got the door open.

"Gojo you had no right-" You started but were cut off as he swooped down so you were both face to face.

"Don't you say even a single fucking word right now or I may just go back in there and break every finger on that fucker's hand for touching what's mine."

"What?" You asked taken aback by the sudden aggression.

"I don't think I ever mentioned this but I really fucking hate being lied to and I've got a bit of a temper problem so it's in your best interest to let me drive off or your date is going to be the one suffering my wrath."

You shut your mouth instantly, something about his expression telling you that he wasn't bluffing and you didn't want your poor date to be hurt because of you. He finally slammed the door shut making you jump and rounded to the other side, getting in and reaching for you. You couldn't help the way you flinched back making him let out a slow exhale through his nose as he grabbed your seatbelt and clicked it into the buckle.

"I may have a temper but I'd never hurt you." He said solemnly, turning his gaze forward as he pulled out into the street, narrowly avoiding crashing into a car in that lane but you didn't dare say a word. The car filled with a suffocating tension for the short drive to your building.

The moment he parked you got out, walking ahead and hearing him follow you closely. Incredibly grateful for a young mother who got into the same elevator as the both of you with her two children so you weren't alone. Making up your mind then that you didn't want to discuss any of this with him right now.

His anger and threat had frightened you and you were in no rush to be alone with him while he was like this, it was probably best to let him cool off first. He was way out of left field for what he had done but you didn't think you'd be able to tell him that right now.

When you got off on your floor you walked to your apartment. Subtly finding your key in your bag, you turned to face him.

"Gojo I think you should take some time to cool off, we'll talk about this later." You said, turning back to unlock your door but before you could even put your key into the lock you were being turned back and lifted.

He held you up over his shoulder like you were a sack of potatoes as he passed your door to his own. Completely ignoring your cries for him to put you down as he unlocked his door and slammed it shut with a kick as he walked in. Depositing you down onto an armchair and instantly caging you in by placing a hand on either side.

"Now why don't you start by telling me why you were on a date with that fucker when you told me you weren't ready for a relationship."

"I really don't think I owe you anything after the way you've acted." You said, tugging down your clothing so it was all in place after being tossed about like an object.

"I held back, I didn't even say anything to that bastard for you. I went back to being your friend because you said you weren't ready for more and now I catch you out on a date with some asshole. It's my fault for trying to be so patient and understanding. I should have made it clear that you belong to me from the start to avoid all this confusion."

"I don't belong to anyone. I was trying to turn you down kindly, it's not my fault you misunderstood. No means no regardless of the reasoning someone provides. I don't see you that way and frankly after this I don't even see you as a friend." You stated firmly, breathing a little accelerated from how angry you were at the audacity he had shown. Forcefully taking you from your date and manhandling you, telling you that you belonged to him.

"See darling, now that's where you're mistaken." He said, lips twisting into a cruel smile, lifting his hand to trail his fingers gently along your bottom lip. Catching your jaw in his grasp as you angrily tried to turn your head away from his touch and leaning in until his nose nearly touched yours. Breath wafting over your lips as he greedily inhaled the air you exhaled.

"You are mine. If I ever see another man laying a hand on what is mine I will break every bone in his hand as you watch. It's a good thing you don't see me as a friend anymore, since you're ready to date I should be much more than that."

"You're nothing to me." You snarled, pushing at his touch but he caught your hand in his.

"Is this the hand he touched?" Gojo asked, wrapping his own around your hand as though trying to erase the evidence of anyone else's touch from your skin.

Your hand trembled in his, only now noticing how much freakishly larger his was compared to your own. The threats of breaking hands all too fresh for you to be comfortable with him holding yours.

"Where else has that fucker touched you?" Gojo asked.

"Get off of me before I scream." You threatened, voice wavering slightly even as you tried to keep it steady.

"Darling I think you know it's not uncommon for anyone to hear screams coming from this apartment, and other than you no one's ever been bothered by it so go ahead, scream for me." He said making you gulp.

"HELP." You screamed out, his hand coming up to trail across your lips again as he shushed you.

"See? No one's coming. Most of these apartments are soundproofed except that one wall adjoining our two apartments which they seem to have missed. No one can hear you." He said and for the first time you felt truly afraid of him. Realizing that you were trapped in his apartment with him while he was so much faster and larger than you.

"Tell me darling, did you let him kiss you?" He asked, brushing his thumb back and forth over your bottom lip forcing your lips to part.

"Gojo get off of me, you're taking this too far." You warned.

"I will if you answer my question."

"No." You mumbled honestly and he breathed out a sigh of relief, true to his word backing up and getting up on his feet but still standing over you.

"Good, you can't go letting other guys touch you when you're mine. I'll let what happened today go as a misunderstanding because I hadn't spelled things out for you and you can be so oblivious, but if I ever catch him or any other guy lurking near you again, I will kill them."

You stared up at him with wide eyes, feeling truly afraid of the man you'd considered a friend for the first time in your life. Heart pounding in your chest as your eyes darted over his shoulder to the door that seemed all too far away with his giant figure looming over you.

"Tell me you understand darling." He instructed and you gave a quick nod of your head.

The rage melted away from his face and all tenseness seemed to drain out of his body. He leaned down, pecking your lips quickly. Smiling as he pulled away.

"Should I make us something or should we order in?" He asked.

"I'm not hungry, I should go." You said, pushing up from the armchair but pinned in place when he narrowed those otherworldly blue eyes down at you.

"You're not trying to run away, are you? I really do want to believe you meant what you said about being mine but if you leave like this I'll have no choice but to assume it was just to get away."

"No I-I just have some stuff to do around the house." You said.

"Well surely you can spare some time to eat lunch."

"I already ate." You said, regretting the words the moment they were out of your mouth when you saw his jaw clench and nostrils flare.

"Yeah? How long exactly was this date of yours?" He asked, leaning down and resting his hand on the arm of your chair again.

"I had a sandwich before I went out." You said quickly.

It was the truth, the coffee date was at lunch time so you'd had a quick bite beforehand. Truthfully though it was half a sandwich leftover from your lunch the day before but Gojo didn't need to know that. After all that had happened your appetite was gone anyway.

"Oh you do make good sandwiches." He said with a little laugh of relief and you wondered how you had spent all that time with him and not noticed that he was absolutely insane.

"S-sorry I didn't think we would be meeting today or I would have made you one too." You said, eager to pretend everything was normal if that increased your chances at getting out of here.

"Always so sweet." He muttered, leaning down and pressing another kiss to your lips.

"What a lucky guy I am." He said softly, trailing the back of his hand reverently along your jaw. Noticing the way your breath hitched and allowing himself to believe it was just you being shy.

"Fuck I'm sorry, I know you're new to this and I need to take it slow but you are so fucking tempting. I could just eat you up." He said, hands squeezing at your waist making you let out an unwilling squeal.

"Gojo I really do-"You started but were cutoff by him.

"It's Satoru to you darling, we're dating now. You should call me by my first name." He said and you stared at him blankly a moment before giving a short nod.

"Right, well I should go." You tried again.

"Not until I hear you say my name."

"Satoru I need to go." You said, cutting yourself short when he groaned and dropped his head down onto your shoulder.

"My name sounds so good coming from you. Call me Toru." He demanded, lifting his head to see the affronted look on your face at him going back on his word so easily.

"Come on, just say it once and then I promise you can go."

"Toru." You said hesitantly and he dropped his head down so you couldn't see his face.

"Fuck." He muttered quietly and it was all the warning you got before he was pouncing on you. One hand wrapping around the back of your neck and other on your waist as he pulled you up into him. Lips crashing down onto yours and taking your gasp of surprise as an opportunity to drive his tongue into your mouth. Kissing you fiercely with his hands grabbing and groping at any soft flesh within reach as he pulled you in closer.

Your hands flailed a moment before you got your wits together and started pushing at his broad shoulders, protests muffled by his mouth. He pulled back only giving you enough time to drag in a much needed breath before he was on you again. The new angle allowing him to kiss you much deeper, a deep moan rumbling up from his chest at the taste and feel of you under him. Crowding you up on that armchair until you had nowhere to go by resting his knee down on the seat between your legs.

"Gojo!" You screamed when he pulled back just a fraction again.

Slamming your hands against his chest and he paused, staring down at you as both of you panted. Your lips glistening with your combined saliva from the messy kiss you had just shared.

He didn't think he had ever wanted anything more than he wanted you in that moment. He physically ached for you, painfully hard cock that was throbbing in need pressing up against the zip of his pants. Hands yearning to feel all your soft, pliant flesh beneath his palms and mouth salivating to taste every inch of you.

"You said you would take it slow, you promised to let me leave." You said while still panting for air. For a moment there you had really felt like he was going to devour you.

No one had ever kissed you like that before. His passion was all consuming and frightening. You never wanted to experience something like that again.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He said, hands flexing against the head of the armchair as he fought to regain control and force himself away from you. It took every ounce of will power he possessed and the mental reminder that you deserved for things to be taken slow with you. To be courted and wooed before he would finally get to have you. A little patience and then he would have you for life because he was never letting you go.

The moment he eased back you flew up to your feet. Grabbing your bag and holding it protectively against your chest as though that would really act as some sort of deterrent if he came onto you again. Your wrist was caught as you moved past him and you glanced back with big frightened eyes making his grasp soften.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" He asked and you forced yourself to nod. Anything to be let out of that apartment in that moment.

"Okay." He said and you gave a little tug at your wrist when he didn't let you go.

"God, I don't want to let you go but I did promise. Go now before I lose the willpower to let you leave this apartment." He said and you pulled your wrist forcefully out of his loose hold, scampering for the door.

Breaking his heart a little when you didn't even look back once as you slammed the door shut behind you but what did those little things matter when you were finally his. No last parting looks were necessary since you were going to be together forever now. It was only a matter of time before he would bring up living together and then he'd never have to let you go back to your apartment.

The moment you got back to your apartment you locked the door. Doing up the chain lock too though despite it you still felt hunted. You had this unshakable feeling that he was going to come after you and you needed to put as much obstacles in his path as you could. Like he would snatch you up even while you were behind the locked door of your apartment. The man you had considered a friend now just a monster out to get you.

The tears came then as you sank down against your door. A lump forming in your throat and eyes burning as you swiped the back of your hand over your mouth. Trying to erase his touch.

You weren't under any delusions that there was some easy way out of this. No one in their right mind would believe someone like Gojo Satoru had forced himself on you, dragged you to his apartment unwillingly and kept you there until you agreed to be his partner. There was no proof to go to the police with.

It wasn't necessarily that you wanted him punished, it was more that you wanted nothing to do with him. Cowardly as it was, all you wanted was to never have to see him again, to be free of him. The monster you had unknowingly invited in.

You rested your head in your hands as you let the tears escape. Biting into your sleeve to muffle your sobs so he wouldn't hear through that dreaded adjoining wall and come to investigate.

When your chest started to feel just the tiniest bit lighter, you wiped your tears and rose to your feet. There was no use in sitting there crying. You'd never be rid of him if you didn't do something. You had to move away. Luckily, you were only renting the apartment so all you would lose was the security deposit for not giving enough notice.

You were so desperate you wouldn't even be picky. First apartment you found within your budget you'd sign the agreement. It shouldn't take longer than a week or two and then you'd never have to see him again. Never have those unnerving blue eyes on you or feel those giant hands that pinned you so easily.

Sleep evaded you and instead you used the time to look into apartments. There was a branch of your library located on the other side of the city, but that felt too obvious. You would have to quit and survive for a bit on your meager savings until you found another job.

You'd call in sick for your next shift and go see those apartments, get a storage room to start slowly moving out your stuff without Gojo noticing. Despite how drastic it was, all of that was simple enough but the idea of having to put up an act in front of Gojo for the meantime was what scared you. If you wanted your plan to work, you would have to keep him from suspecting you.

Those two weeks passed with extreme difficulty. It felt like all your hair would fall out from the stress of it all. Moving your entire life in a matter of weeks was not easy but pretending you were willing to be with Gojo was the hardest part. Forcing yourself not to flinch when he reached for you, to not look away from the obsession you now saw gleaming in the depths of his eyes. To nod and listen and respond at appropriate intervals even when your mind was miles away.

It was a lucky thing that he was suddenly so busy with work. Unable to spend nearly as much time as he would have liked with you. If you were forced to be around him constantly then surely you would have given yourself away.

Gojo had never been happier. It was like he had merely been surviving before you came into his life and showed him what true contentedness and meaning were. Filled his life with purpose and joy. He didn't need to find momentary entertainment in beautiful faces or disappointing his dad anymore. Now that he had you, he would never want for anything else again.

He was reminded every time he saw you head for work though that he wasn't the only one who noticed how lovely and incredible you were. The thought of that bastard speaking to you again filled him with unbridled rage but he knew you loved your job at the library so he couldn't ask you to quit. Getting the man's study permit cancelled was easy enough though when he used his dad's contacts.

Hearing he was active in their circles again had his dad reaching out. This time he allowed the man to talk him into coming to work for him with one little condition that his father was all too willing to oblige if it meant the return of his heir. Everything Gojo did was for you and to be with you, you'd come to realize it soon enough.

Working for his dad and learning the ropes of taking over the business was busy work and it left him little time to spend with you. He used any chance he got to be with his beloved. Getting to hold you and talk to you, look into those pretty eyes and kiss those sweet lips was pure bliss. Even if resisting the temptation to do more was akin to torture, he'd wait for his darling.

He couldn't even have anticipated how sneaky you would be. How you could lie to his face for weeks. Disappear without a word as though you hadn't promised you were his. Leave him knocking on the door of an empty apartment like a fool.

He'd broken down the door when he tried calling you and your number was unavailable. Heart sinking when the wood gave to his strength and the apartment that had come to feel more like home than any place he'd ever lived in was just reduced to bare walls with no trace of you left.

He'd ignored the stricken looks of the other people who lived on your floor as he raced for the elevator. The world just a blur as he ran like a madman through the streets towards your library. Only to be told by a confused looking librarian that you didn't work there anymore.

The middle-aged woman's eyes widening as he began to laugh in the middle of the silent library. Laughing so hard he doubled over and nearly choked. Wiping tears from manic blue eyes as he straightened with a smile that was anything but amused before driving a fist straight through the front desk.

The woman ran to the back then and the kids recording him nervously lowered their phones. Those videos would be forcefully deleted by men people like his father kept around just for damage control. The library generously reimbursed to hand over the camera feed from that afternoon and the librarian warned to keep her mouth shut unless she wanted to be fired.

Gojo couldn't believe you would betray him like that. All he had ever done was love and adore you. All he had asked for in return for that blind adoration and devotion was for you to be his. He would lay the world at your feet as long as you simply returned home to him every night.

He hadn't even pressured you to love him, knowing you were oblivious and new to all of this so it would take you time to figure out your feelings. It would all be so much sweeter if you arrived at that conclusion yourself and confessed to him of your own volition. But you had taken all that trust and patience and thrown it in his face.

He felt like he couldn't breathe. Like the very air had turned to poison without you. He needed you back. It didn't matter that you had betrayed him, turned your back on him. Life wasn't just meaningless without you, it was unbearable.

He would make you realize you loved him, make you loyal to him and tie you irreversibly to himself as his very being was tied to you. He just needed to find you.

It wasn't hard but every moment without you felt like an agonizing eternity. He didn't eat, didn't sleep until he had figured out where you had gone. It took only a matter of days but in the span of those few days Gojo became unrecognizable. As though the madness within couldn't be contained any longer and had begun to show itself.

For men like him, it wasn't difficult to track someone down. He scoured the city while private investigators he had hired followed the trail left behind by your digital footprint.

He watched in his car, heart swelling with relief and air feeling like it entered his lungs for the first time in days as he watched you unlock the bookstore where you'd gotten a job. The large glass windows allowing him to see all the smiles you carelessly bestowed on all those who came in the shop but had snatched from him. Fingernails tearing into the skin of his palms until they were bloody as he clenched his fists to keep himself grounded and not barge into the store in broad daylight and carry you off.

He waited all day until you flipped that open sign to closed and locked the door. Moving around inside as you put the bookstore back into order for the next day before grabbing your coat and bag. Night had fallen by then and as you moved to the door he saw his chance.

You twisted the key until you heard the mechanism of the lock twist into place. A faint whisper of your name making you turn thinking it was the owner coming to check in on the store. The sight that awaited you however was all your nightmares for the past couple weeks come to life.

Blue eyes ablaze with mania and lips forming your name were all you saw before you felt a prick at the side of your neck and everything went out of focus. Large hands greedily clutching your slumping body and the nauseous feeling of the ground being swiped out from under you the last thing you felt before it all went dark.

The sound of crashing waves was the first thing you became aware of. The smell of the ocean in the air as your eyes opened blearily to a completely unfamiliar room. Your brain jolted itself to full consciousness as the unfamiliarity of your surroundings registered. The next thing you noticed was the cold weight of something around your ankle.

You glanced down and your heart skipped a beat as you saw the shackle gleaming in the light let in by the large windows clasped above your foot. The long chain connected to it rattled as you darted up and tried tugging at the metal even as your head throbbed and vision swam making you see double of everything.

"Are you finally awake darling?” The voice you had hoped you’d never hear again called from the door.

You glanced up to see his silhouette in the shadows just beyond the doorway to the room you were in. Gleaming blue eyes fixed on you through the darkness.

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest and you wanted so badly for this all to be a nightmare but were frozen, unable to so much as pinch yourself to figure out if this horrific sight was a reality. He stepped forward into the light let in by the giant windows, steps steadily decreasing the distance between you both but even as the urge to flee set alight your nerves you remained immobile.

The feeling of his large warm fingers beneath your chin as he tilted your head up finally knocked you out of your trance. You jerked away from him violently, scampering across the large bed but your ankle was caught and you were tugged back towards him. His hand curling around your leg as definitively as the shackle that bound you there just below it.

“Now where do you think you’re going?” He asked.

Other hand grabbing onto the back of your neck and forcing your head back to make you look at him. Caught firmly in his grasp. Those pretty eyes on him as he had longed for them to be and they'd never lay on another again.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you waited for him to fill the terse silence interrupted only by the crashing of the waves outside. His eyes darting around every inch of your face like he wanted to commit it all to memory.

Only he knew how he had survived those days without you, not knowing where you were or even if he would ever see you again. But now he had ensured that would never happen again.

“G-Gojo where are we?” You asked when he refused to speak first, too preoccupied looking his fill of you.

“We’re home darling.” He answered simply, brushing your hair out of your face. Fingers leaving trails of heat across your skin.

“C-can you please get this off me? It hurts.” You said glancing down at the metal cuff.

“I doubt it hurts. I made sure it was a little loose so it wouldn’t press into your skin. Look, I can even get my fingers in.” He said, tucking his fingers into the narrow gap between the unforgiving metal and your soft skin, making it tighten and you let out a hiss as it dug in painfully.

“Oh did that hurt?” He asked, carefully pulling out his fingers and you nodded. Gasping when he suddenly grabbed you by the shoulders and hauled you in close so you were face to face.

“Can you imagine how much it hurt me when I realized what you had done?” He asked, voice raising despite telling himself he was going to keep his cool. You flinched back but his firm hold on you didn’t let you get far.

“Can you imagine how I felt when I woke one morning to see your apartment was empty and you were gone?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you prayed fervently, despite knowing now it wasn’t, that this would all be a dream. You’d wake up any minute now to your new apartment with the boxes still piled high in the corner waiting to be unpacked. Reach for the water you kept on your bedside drawer before realizing in this apartment the drawer was on the other side of the bed.

“Can you imagine the pain of knowing the only one you’ve ever loved, the one you put above all else lied to you and betrayed you? Pretended to be yours when they’d been scheming to leave you all along?”

The fury in his eyes dimmed slightly as they filled with tears, his grip slackening on your shoulders letting you slump back down on the bed.

"I-I was scared Gojo." You said.

"Scared of what?" He bit out, swiping angrily at the tears in his eyes with the back of his hand making the pale skin redden. For a moment your fear was forgotten and all you could see was your friend in pain but those blue eyes flashed when he saw the tender look in your eyes and the moment was gone before it even fully registered.

"Of you, of this." You admitted, your own eyes stinging with unshed tears as all the fight seemed to drain out of you realizing the hopelessness of your situation. All that planning and pretending and look where you had still ended up. People like you just couldn't go up against people like him.

"Scared of someone who loves you more than anything in the world?" He asked incredulously, catching your wrists in his grasp as you tried to drop your face into your hands.

"This isn't love, it's madness Gojo. Love isn't forceful or violent like this." You sobbed, fighting to pull your wrists out of his hold so you wouldn't have to look at him again. He gathered your wrists in one of his hands, forcing your arms behind your back so you couldn't push him away.

"How can you say that? How can you say I don't love you?" He asked.

"Let go of me." You spat, trying with all your might to get out of his hold but your strength was no match for his.

"I'll show you how much I love you. I'll make you realize you love me too, I know you do." He cupped your face within his hand so you couldn't look away from him. Ignoring your renewed struggling and cries as you were forced to look into those eyes and the madness that glinted within them.

Satoru felt a surge of nausea. His knuckles turned a ghostly white as he gripped the spine of his textbook, the hard edges digging into his palms. "Toru, this is cruel," he said, his voice vibrating with a rare spark of heat. "Even for you. She’s a person, not an assignment you can just delegate because you didn't do the required reading."

Toru’s eyes went flat, the way they did right before he won an argument. He stepped forward, invading Satoru’s personal space, the metaphorical distance between them feeling larger than ever despite their identical height.

"You owe me one, remember? Unless you want me to just text her 'we’re done' and block her number. At least this way, she hears it from a face she knows." Without waiting for an answer, he snatched his signature leather jacket from the bed and tossed it. The heavy, scent-soaked material hit Toru’s chest like a physical blow. "Don't mess it up, brother."

At 2:00 PM, the light filtered through the high, frosted windows in beams, hitting the white surface with a blinding glare of the ice rink.

Satoru’s eyes were screaming. The contacts Toru had forced him to wear were dry and scratchy, a constant reminder that he was currently living a lie. Without his glasses, the world was a smudge. He stumbled slightly on the concrete stairs, his boots clattering too loudly in the hollow space.

Then, the world seemed to sharpen. He saw you.

You were a blur of motion, a shadow spinning in the dead center of the rink. Your headphones were on, sealing you away in a world of rhythm that only you could hear. You moved with a terrifying, disciplined precision, launching into a double axel. For a heartbeat, you were suspended in the air, graceful, lethal before your blade cut back into the ice with a sound like a diamond scratching glass.

You carved a wide, elegant arc across the ice, surging toward the barrier. You stopped inches from the wood, the spray of ice crystals hitting the toes of his shoes like tiny diamonds. You pulled your headphones down, letting them rest around your neck.

Your gaze was a cold, sharp sweep. It made Satoru feel like a specimen under a microscope. He tried to adjust the leather jacket, tried to channel Toru’s arrogant stance, the way his brother leaned against walls as if he owned the building.

"What are you doing here, Satoru?"

The name hit him like a physical strike. His heart did a frantic, uneven dance against his ribs. He hadn't even opened his mouth. He was wearing the jacket, the jewelry, the cologne, he was a perfect physical replica of the man you were dating.

"I... urm..." he stammered, the cocky persona evaporating instantly. "How did you...?"

"Toru doesn't come here," you said, your voice indifferent but sharp as a razor blade. "He finds the cold unflattering. And he certainly doesn't look at me with guilt in his eyes." You leaned against the railing, your eyes narrowing as you took in his trembling hands. "If your brother is too much of a coward to say it himself, then consider the message delivered. Tell him we’re broken up. From this second."

You’d known Toru since freshman year. You knew every inch of his ego. And you knew, within three seconds of seeing this man walk through the door, that the soul behind those blue eyes was much, much softer.

Satoru’s shoulders slumped. The lie was dead before it even started. "I'm sorry," he whispered, looking at his shoes. "I really didn't want to do this. He... he just wouldn't listen."

"Save it," you snapped, turning to skate away. "You weren't going to apologize if I hadn't known."

"No, that’s not true," he called out, his voice cracking with a rare flash of spirit. "I’m still sorry. I hate this. I didn't want to hurt you."

He watched you skate away. Toru had always called you judgemental , but Satoru saw something else, a girl who was fiercely protective of her own time and dignity.

A week later, the world felt as gray as the campus concrete. The meeting with the Dean had been short and devastating. “Academic excellence is a requirement for this scholarship,” she had said. Between the heartbreak and the grueling hours at the rink, your focus had fractured. If you didn’t fix your Physics grade, you wouldn't just lose your spot on the team, you’d lose your future.

That desperation led you to the back of the lecture hall. You waited until the room emptied, leaving only one person behind.

Satoru was methodically packing his bag, sliding his notebooks into his bag with precision. He looked like himself again. The cologne-soaked ghost of Toru was gone, replaced by the boy with the thick, black-rimmed glasses and the soft, oversized hoodie. He looked approachable.

You stepped into his line of sight, blocking the light. "If you were really serious about making it up to me," you said, your voice steadier than you actually felt, "consider this the way. I need a tutor. Specifically for Physics."

Satoru froze, a strap of his bag halfway over his shoulder. He blinked, his eyes appearing huge and startled behind his lenses. For a moment, he just stared at you, his brain seemingly catching up to the fact that you were actually speaking to him.

A soft, betraying pink crawled up his neck and settled in his cheeks. "Tutor you?" he managed to ask, his voice an octave higher than usual.

"I'm at risk of losing my scholarship," you added, leaving no room for him to argue or offer pity. "7:00 PM. The West Wing of the library. Come if you want to." You didn't wait for an "okay." You turned and walked out, feeling his stunned gaze lingering on your back like a physical warmth.

The library was a tomb of hushed whispers. You were tucked into a corner booth, hunched over a textbook, a steaming vanilla mocha sat by your elbow, but it had long since gone cold.

"That's not quite right."

The voice was soft, appearing right by your ear. You hadn't even heard him sit down. Satoru leaned over, he pointed a long, steady finger at your notes.

"Check your constants here," he murmured, his face so close you could see every speck in his blue eyes. "It’s h-bar, not h. If you don't use the reduced Planck constant, your uncertainty principle calculation is going to be off by a factor of 2pi."

You stared at the scribbled numbers, the symbols blurring together. The frustration of last week bubbled up. "I don't understand," you admitted, your voice cracking just a fraction. "None of this makes sense anymore."

And for the next hour, the world narrowed down to the scratching of lead on paper. Satoru was a natural teacher. He didn't get annoyed when you asked for clarification. He noticed the way you tapped your pen against your chin when you were stuck, a small, rhythmic tic.

The library's ventilation kicked on, blowing a draft of icy air across the table. You shivered, pulling your arms tight against your chest.

Suddenly, a weight settled over your shoulders. It was warm and heavy. You looked up to see Satoru standing there in just his graphic t-shirt, having draped his hoodie over you.

"The ventilation here is terrible," he whispered, his ears turning a vivid, brilliant red as he quickly sat back down and avoided your gaze. "And you can't focus if your core temperature is dropping. It’s basic thermodynamics. Energy diverted to maintaining heat is energy taken away from cognitive function."

You looked at the sleeve of the sweater, then at him. You didn't say thank you but you pulled the hoodie tighter, burying your nose in the collar for a fleeting second.

"Listen, I’m still so sorry about earlier," Satoru said, his pen hovering over a diagram. "Toru... he didn't tell me the truth. He described you as someone who... well, someone who wouldn't leave him alone. I was wrong to judge you based on his ego."

You felt a sharp, familiar sting in your chest. You set your mocha down, the plastic lid clicking. "I asked him questions about his day because I thought that’s what people in a relationship did. I didn't realize that caring was the same thing as an interrogation. What's wrong with wanting a boyfriend to show up to his own anniversary dinner?"

Satoru’s pen stopped mid-graph, his voice thick with disbelief.. "He missed your anniversary?"

You looked Satoru in the eye, wanting him to see the hurt Toru had caused. "I sat at that Italian restaurant for two hours on our anniversary while he was at a frat mixer three blocks away. He didn't even text. When I found him, he told me I was being demanding."

"I don't think you're high-maintenance at all. I think Toru just doesn't know how to look at the things that actually matter."

In the weeks that followed, the loud, chaotic frequency of Toru was replaced by the steady, low-humming presence of Satoru. Twice a week, he would wait for you at the rink. He’d be holding a styrofoam cup, the cardboard sleeve damp from the steam.

"Vanilla mocha," he’d say. "Extra shot. You looked like you were losing the war with gravity this morning."

You’d wrap your frozen fingers around the warmth, wondering how Toru hadn't known your favorite drink after three years, yet Satoru had memorized it in a few days.

One night, the library was closed for maintenance, so you were studying in your dorm. The room was a mess of sticky notes and open laptops.

You came out of the bathroom, drying your hands, but froze at the threshold of the room. Satoru was sitting on your bed, his phone pressed to his ear. The volume was up so high that the voice on the other end felt like a physical intrusion in your private space.

“YO! Did you see the video I sent?" Toru’s voice was unmistakable and slurred.. "I'm at this house party. Man, I met these two girls who think I'm a literal sculpture. Anyways, how’s the skater? Did she cry? Please tell me she didn't get snot on my leather jacket. That thing cost more than her skates." The laugh that came made your skin crawl.

Satoru’s head snapped up. His eyes met yours, and in that moment, he looked like he was watching a car crash in slow motion. The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale.

“Uhh... yes, Professor. Yes, I’ll send that lab report soon,” Satoru stammered, his voice trembling as he frantically fumbled for the end call button. His lie was pathetic, a flimsy shield against whatever just happened. 

The silence that followed was suffocating. It was heavy and smelled of the betrayal you thought you had moved past. You didn't scream or react in any way.. You just walked over to the bed, your movements robotic.

“You’re a terrible performer, Satoru,” you said softly. “Both times now. So maybe stop trying to cover for him and just stick to physics.”

Satoru sat rigid in his spot, his phone still gripped tightly in his hand. He looked like he wanted to disappear into the walls. 

You picked up your highlighter, the yellow ink staining the page as you began to work again.

The cafe was a sanctuary of amber light and the comforting smell of coffee. Between them, two vanilla mochas sat like peace offerings, the foam dusted with cinnamon. The steam rose in identical, lazy curls, swirling together in the center of the small table, connecting their separate worlds.

Satoru’s eyes flickered from the drink to her face. For the first time in a while, a soft, genuine tug pulled at the corner of his mouth, a real smile that reached his eyes, crinkling the skin behind his glasses.

“Maybe I ought to give this a try, too,” he murmured, his voice dipping into a warmer register that made the hair on her arms stand up. He took a tentative sip, the sweetness a stark contrast to the bitter black coffee he usually drank to keep himself awake. “I usually stick to the basics, function over form, but clearly, you have superior taste. It’s... actually quite good.”

Satoru traced the rim of his paper cup with his thumb, his expression shifting from guarded composure to something animated and raw as he started talking about his love for gaming.

“It’s not just about the buttons or the graphics,” he said, his voice dropping into that quiet, intense tone people use when they’re sharing a secret they’ve kept locked away. “In a strategy game, the universe is governed by logic. There are rules. If you work hard enough, if you learn the mechanics and account for the variables, you can protect everyone. You can actually win.” He looked down at the table, his fingers stilled. “When I’m deep in a build, I feel like I finally have a grip on the world. It’s a closed system. It’s... satisfactory.”

He looked up suddenly, a self-conscious flush hitting his cheeks as he realized how much he’d revealed. “I probably sound like a total nerd. It’s just a lot of sitting still and overthinking.”

She didn't laugh. Instead, she leaned forward, her hands tracing invisible patterns on the scarred wooden table as if she were marking the ice with her blades. “No, Toru. I get it. It’s about control, isn't it? The world is loud and messy, but your world has a rhythm.” She looked at him, her eyes bright with a sudden, shared understanding. “For me, it’s the exact opposite of sitting still, but the feeling? The feeling is exactly the same.”

“I was seven the first time my mum brought me to the rink,” she said, her voice softening as she drifted into the memory. “I remember stepping through the heavy  doors. The air was so cold it felt like breathing in tiny glass needles. It hurt, but in a way that made me feel awake.”

She closed her eyes for a second, and Toru found himself holding his breath, watching the way the cafe light caught the bridge of her nose.

“But then you push off,” she continued, her hands moving gracefully over the table. “There’s this specific sound, a crisp hiss of steel cutting through ice. In those minutes, the gravity changes. You don't feel like you’re in this world anymore. You’re just... gliding. Freely. No one can reach you there.”

“The expectations, the noise, it all just fades into the background,” she whispered, her smile turning wistful. “When I’m mid-rotation, the world loses its edge. It becomes a blur of colors, and the only thing that’s real is the bite of the skate and the rhythm of my own lungs. It’s the only place I’m actually me, instead of the girl everyone expects me to be.”

Satoru watched her, his own drink forgotten and cooling. He’d seen her in crowded lecture halls, and he’d seen her standing beside his brother like a trophy, but he realized with a jolt of clarity that he had never actually seen her until this second. 

“A blur of colors,” he repeated softly, nodding as if he were memorizing the phrase. “I think I’d like to see that sometime. 

For the first time, the air felt lighter. He listened to her with an intensity that made her feel like the only person in the room, his gaze never wavering, his blue eyes finally steady.

Three weeks later, the afternoon sun cut through the campus windows. Satoru rounded the corner to meet her after her afternoon seminar, but his pace faltered.

There, leaning against the lockers, was a guy from the soccer team. He was a carbon copy of Toru’s brand of charisma, the athletic slouch, the expensive team jacket, and a smirk that suggested he owned the very air people were trying to breathe. He was blocking her path, his shadow sprawling over her like an eclipse.

Satoru’s chest tightened, a physical constriction that made it hard to swallow. He searched her face for discomfort, but she was wearing a small, polite smile.

The sensation that hit him was involuntary. It was a sharp, jagged heat that soured into a hollow ache in the pit of his stomach. Was this jealousy? The thought was terrifying. He had no claim to her. But as he watched the soccer player lean closer, invading her space, Toru felt like he was watching a rare manuscript being handled by someone who couldn't even read.

For a split second, Satoru considered retreating. He could go to the library, hide behind a stack of books, and nurse his bruised ego in the silence he was used to. He wasn't a fighter. He wasn't the guy who won the girl.

Then, she looked up.

Her eyes bypassed the athlete’s smirk entirely and locked onto his. “Satoru!” she called out. Her voice bright and unmistakably relieved.

The hollow ache in Satoru’s chest vanished instantly, replaced by a surge of light. He watched, mesmerized, as she deftly sidestepped the athlete, leaving the guy mid-sentence as she hurried toward him. The soccer player’s brow furrowed, his expression shifting from smug to genuinely baffled as he watched the girl choose the quiet guy with the glasses over him.

Satoru didn’t know what came over him. Maybe it was the lingering heat of jealousy, or maybe it was the way she looked at him like he was a lighthouse. When she reached him, he stepped into her space boldly and pulled her into a short, firm hug.

He could feel the coldness of the hallway air on her jacket and the faint scent of vanilla mocha that always seemed to linger around her.

“Hey,” he said, his voice steadier and deeper than he felt. “Ready to go?”

“Uhh, hi,” she chirped, a soft, beautiful flush creeping up her neck. She stepped back, looking a little dazed, before turning to lead the way toward the library.

Satoru glanced back over his shoulder. The soccer player was still standing there, jaw clenched, looking like a man who had just realized he’d lost a game he didn't even know he was playing. Satoru felt a dizzying, giddy sense of triumph as he turned back to her and matched her stride.

The kitchen of Satoru’s shared apartment with Toru was a battlefield of flour, steam, and Shoko’s cigarette smoke drifting in from the open window. Suguru Geto, ever since he found out Satoru was tutoring you, decided you all needed to have a bonding day and that a homemade meal was the only cure for stress. He was currently leaning against the fridge, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched Satoru meticulously dice carrots into perfectly equal cubes.

"You're prepping dinner, Satoru, not performing surgery," Suguru teased, his voice full of mischief.

"Precision matters, Suguru." Satoru muttered, though his ears were pink.

Because the kitchen was designed for two people and currently held four, the counter space was limited. You found yourself squeezed into the corner with Satoru, your shoulder pressed firmly against his. There was only one large cutting board left, forcing you both to share the wooden surface. Every time you reached for a potato, your hand brushed against his. The contact was brief, a flicker of skin against skin, but it sent a jolt through you that had nothing to do with the heat of the stove. Satoru shifted his weight, making more room for you, his presence a steady hum at your side.

From her perch on the counter, Shoko  took a long drag of her cigarette, careful to blow the smoke outside and squinted at the two of you through her tired eyes. She traded a knowing, silent look with Suguru. The kind of look that said 'Look at these two idiots.'

"So," Shoko started, her voice lazy. "Is the genius here actually teaching you anything? Or is he just reciting the laws of motion until you fall asleep?"

"He's a great teacher," you said, not looking up from your work, though you could feel the heat rising in your face. "He makes the complicated stuff feel... simple."

Satoru’s knife stopped moving. He stared intensely at a carrot, his face darkening into a deep, unmistakable crimson.

"Oh, he's definitely dedicated," Suguru chimed in, his eyes glinting with a predatory kind of amusement. "I don't think I've ever heard Satoru talk about 'maximum penetration depth' with quite so much... passion. It’s all he’s been focused on for weeks."

Satoru cleared his throat loudly, the sound a bit strangled. He knew exactly what Suguru was implying. 

The heavy ceramic pot on the stove suddenly hissed, the broth bubbling up and threatening to spill over the sides. In a flash of shared instinct, both you and Satoru reached for the lid.

Your hands met squarely over the steam-slicked handle. His palm was large and warm, completely covering yours. The world seemed to stall. The sound of Suguru’s laughter and the clink of Shoko’s lighter faded into white noise. You didn't pull away and neither did he. You stood there in the steam, connected by a pot of soup and a feeling that was becoming too big to ignore.

Satoru’s gaze flickered down to your joined hands, his chest rising and falling in a ragged breath.

"I've got it," he whispered, his voice vibrating in the small space between you.

As you finally pulled back, your heart hammering against your ribs, you caught Shoko smirking into her drink. Suguru had started humming a low, annoying tune. The kitchen felt smaller than it had ten minutes ago, the air thick with a new weight that neither of you knew how to put back into the box.

The sky had turned dark by the time you finished your last lecture. The moment you and Toru stepped through the heavy doors of the department building, the clouds finally broke. 

"The new cafe is five blocks away," you said, watching the water bounce off the pavement. "We'll be soaked before we hit the corner."

Satoru looked at the rain, then back at you, his expression unreadable behind the glare of his glasses. "Maybe... you could stay at my dorm," you suggested, "Just until the rain gets lighter. We can study there."

The walk to your dorm was short, but the air between you felt charged, as if the lightning outside had followed you indoors.

The dorm room was small, making his presence feel twice as large. You were sitting side-by-side at your desk, the drumming of the rain against the window providing the only soundtrack. Satoru leaned over to point out a complex line of text in the textbook and his hand brushed against yours.

Usually, he would pull away instantly. But today, he stayed. His skin was warm, and you could feel the slight tremor in his fingers. The room felt suddenly stiflingly hot, the tension from the kitchen with Suguru and Shoko still hanging over you.

As he began to explain a diagram, you leaned in closer, close enough to catch the scent of clean laundry. He could clearly smell your perfume and the closeness  seemed to short-circuit his brain. His voice faltered, then stopped altogether. The silence that followed was heavy, vibrating with everything neither of you was saying. Slowly, Satoru set his pen down on the open book.

"Are you going to finish the explanation?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the storm outside.

Satoru turned his head. His blue eyes were dark, focused entirely on your mouth. "I can’t... I can't right now: he admitted, his voice rough.

He reached out, his hand trembling as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered, tracing the line of your jaw making your breath hitch. When you finally leaned in, the kiss started off slow, a tentative exploration of lips, testing the waters to see if the other would pull away.

But when you pressed closer, the spark ignited. The kiss grew deeper, hungrier. Satoru pulled back just long enough to rip his glasses off his face, tossing them blindly onto the desk, before crashing back into you with a desperate kind of intensity.

Satoru’s hands, which were usually so steady, were shaking as they found your waist. In one sharp, decisive motion, he pulled you off your chair and onto his lap.

The air left your lungs as you straddled him, your knees hooking on either side of his chair. The sudden weight of you seemed to break whatever remained of his composure. His head was thrown back, the sharp line of his throat exposed as he let out a jagged, broken moan that you never thought you’d hear from the quiet Satoru.

His eyes were blown wide, his pupils dilated until they almost entirely swallowed his irises, leaving only a thin ring of blue. He looked shattered, almost as if his logical brain couldn't compute how the dry friction of denim on denim could ignite a reaction this good.

Satoru’s breath hitched, a jagged sound in the quiet of the room. He began to heave upward against you, his movements desperate and uncoordinated. Every time his hips met yours, the rough, heavy fabric of your jeans created a searing, electric heat that made your toes curl. You needed that pressure, you needed the grounding weight of him as the world began to blur at the edges.

You were shaking in his arms, your fingers digging into the muscle of his biceps as your forehead pressed against his. The only sounds in the room were the frantic, uneven gasps for air.

Driven by a sudden need, you gripped his shoulders tight and leaned in to crush your mouth against his again. This time, there was no hesitation. The kiss was messy, desperate and loud, filled with the small whimpers and guttural groans that neither of you could hold back anymore.

"I can't—" Satoru gasped, the words breaking off into a sharp, pained hiss as you shifted your weight against him again.

He buried his face in the sensitive crook of your neck, his hot breath ghosting over your skin before his teeth grazed you. His hands, large locked onto your hips, his knuckles white as he pulled you flush against him making your back arch, forcing a faster, more frantic pace.

“S-Satoru…” you gasped, your voice breaking as a wave of heat finally crashed over you. Your body shuddered violently, your strength failing as you slumped against his chest.

Not a second later, a low, broken groan ripped from deep in his throat. His grip on your hips tightened until it was almost bruising, pinning you to him as he finally came apart. He let his forehead fall heavily against yours, both of you trapped in a haze of adrenaline, the air between you thick with the sound of your shared, burning breaths.

notes: divider credits: @sisterlucifergraphics Pic from pinterest!

You still remember your first glance of his forest green eyes, when he had pinned you down with a blade to the throat, believing you were an outsider to his territory. If the apprehending voice of Damian's grandfather had been a second later, he wouldn't have had a fiancée and you wouldn't have lived to see your seventh birthday.

His gaze when he had looked down at you all those years ago clings like an aching, never healing wound. Disappointment. He must've expected someone greater, who rivalled him in his physical prowess and intelligence. Instead, he had you pinned to the ground, shame colouring your features that silently screamed burden.

The worst part was that it was the complete opposite for you— because you admired him greatly. It didn't matter which version of him. Damian Al Ghul, who sharpened himself into a living weapon—a cold-blooded ruler, before he became the Bat's new protege. Damian Wayne, who somehow eased his way into less begrudging smiles, who fails to notice his pets' fur still clinging to the cuffs of his sleeves, who makes ill-timed jokes from his catalogue stolen from his older siblings.

That rare warmth he found here in Gotham hasn't and never will be extended to you. Still, you refuse to remain a burden, not to him.

You play your part as a useful shield in the one arena Damian still struggles to conquer—the social world. Despite his striking looks and quick wit, Damian's always held a shared disinterest in the politics of social snakes who mingled solely for their own selfish gains.

Maybe it was a guilty pleasure. For one single night, Damian was your betrothed, and you were his. Even if his fake smiles were plastered on too tight, or the brush of his fingers over yours set the scene of young lovers much too convincingly, you could let your mind rest and rely on his presence just this once.

His hand extends, placed at the small of your back as he leads you through the room to somewhere less crowded. Unconsciously, he occasionally rubs his thumb in comforting circles, sending goosebumps down your skin. It's easy to smile and exchange repetitive niceties while Damian's gaze remains locked ahead of his path. The polite act engraved into your bones, functions as your greatest defence for the both of you, slithering your way through.

You had already memorised the layout of the room before even entering it, and you know he knows that. So, Damian's decision to keep his skin in contact with yours, guiding you, must be purely performative. Skin-ship to lure the wolves into falling for the bait, as you eye many envious onlookers distancing themselves from Damian at the unseemly sight of his arm wrapped around your frame.

"Have you chosen a city for your further education?" Damian murmurs into your ear.

You have. Though you could never predict his line of thinking that could’ve possessed him to show vague interest in your decision. This wasn’t the first time his impulsive questions took you off guard from the routine you’re used to.

Your gaze narrows on him, trying to find his reasoning. "How I take my coffee in the morning wasn't enthralling enough for you?"

"Is Gotham one of your options?" He asks briskly.

Ah. Your gaze drops to the swallow in his throat, the tension in his question. He must be hoping you'd say no. Lesser the chances to be stuck in a suffocating room with you, performing duties for a faceless audience.

"If I say it is?" You test.

His gaze flickers, surprise adorning his features. It wipes itself away as quickly as it comes, and he gives a brief, imperceptible nod. "There are adequate institutions in the city. I can provide recommendations."

You raise a brow. "Of course, a future doctor already providing unneeded advice."

His expression thickens. “You think my chosen field does not suit me."

It blurts out before you can stop it. "No, I think it does."

He pauses. You wince.

"You do?" He asks, almost disbelieving.

"Is it that hard to believe?" You mutter, eyes fleeting around for a much-needed drink.

"I only wish to understand your sudden agreement." He pushes, unsatisfied with your vague answer.

"Damian." You sigh. "Of course you'll be an amazing doctor."

He watches you, trying to detect any deceit. His immediate suspicion triggers your nerves. You may not be able to stand him, but that didn't mean you were blind to his abilities or the empathy he tries to hide behind his permanent frown.

If he hadn't held a semblance of a heart, he wouldn't be here plastering on a fake mask much to his displeasure so you wouldn't bear the night alone.

He wouldn't be out at ungodly hours, working himself to the bone to ensure that there was always a protector in the night, to save someone's life so they could make it home.

He wouldn't have signed up for the most brutal course at Gotham's top medical university despite already having an inhuman schedule.

"If I thought you lacked the heart to save others, I would've laughed at your decision to remain with your father in Gotham." You don't know why you feel this need to explain yourself. It hardly mattered if you understood his decision. He wasn't someone who needed the approval of others before making his own.

"Gotham has changed you." You answer. "For the better. If I had to put my bets on anyone to be the best doctor in this entire city, it'd be you."

If it had been anyone else other than you, maybe they wouldn't have caught the parting of his lips, the rare astonishment in his eyes. It's brief, but enough to tell you that you have spouted enough nonsense for it to feel as if you ripped open a gaping wound for him to spit at.

"I need a drink." You mutter. "I'll be right back."

Your quick escape seems to have finally sent the message for a much-needed break from his presence. Compared to other occasions, he was—you wouldn't use the word 'clingy', but he was certainly acting as a guard dog around you tonight. Then again, there were newcomers at this ball who seem to be unaware that you're Damian's betrothed, opting to try for your hand whenever he was separated from you for too long. It should be a relief that he bothered to protect you—but it distracted your senses, being around him for too long.

It still stings that even after all these years, your complete belief in him hasn't faded at all. Or maybe it was the fact that he didn't even try to consider the possibility of you having faith in him.

Your glued frown finally serves a purpose, contrary to your mother's nagging, as it scatters the fidgety chickens around you to distance themselves, along with their prodding questions. Downing a glass of wine, it doesn't do its mandatory job of easing the vulnerability still pattering around in your chest.

"If it isn't the future Mrs. Wayne!"

It seems one wolf in particular has blinded senses of walking into the wrong territory.

Joaquin Reanes. A filthy, money-laundering jerk who pawns off his father's money from an instable empire that takes advantage of its many debtors to use as animals for unpaid labour.

"Reanes." You greet shortly, not even bothering to turn your body fully to grace him with your attention.

"I'm not surprised Damian's left you all alone, miserable at the bar." He sneers. "He's never been good company."

Your brow lifts slightly. "And what gave you the impression that you could talk down on my fiancé in front of me?"

"Admit it." He mocks coldly. "He's never going to go through with the engagement. Your finger will remain bare for as long as he desires, and from the looks of it, he doesn't seem so keen on having you as his."

Your grip on your glass tightens. A flash of his corroded hair, dead from extensive bleach, drowned in wine, appears in your mind. You swirl your glass once, considering.

"I, on the other hand—" His teeth gleams with predatory intent. "—wouldn't mind taking second-hand scrapes. How would you like to be a Mrs. Reanes?"

Your laughter, cold and piercing, echoes through the air. His smug expression falters.

"Over my dead body." You hiss, slamming down your glass to push your palm roughly into his chest, sending him stumbling back. "Even if Damian hadn't been my betrothed, I would rather die alone than end up with the miserable likes of you."

His mask drops, revealing an ugly wrath that matched his true colours. His hand swipes a free glass from the bar on instinct, as if he's done it many times before.

In a blink, a cold sensation drenches your shoulders. Your gaze drops down, unable to hide your disgusted shock. The bastard purposely spilled wine on you.

Your expression darkens, meeting his narrowed eyes that were filled with wicked intent.

"Oh, my apologies." His act doesn't even come close to the twisted excitement in his gaze. "My hand slipped."

To cause this display in a Wayne charity ball is declaring war. You didn't wait for any passersby to notice—no, you're fully prepared to start this alone. You can already imagine his rotten, bleached head smashed with glass and wine to match the stain on your shoulder, ruining his gleeful expression—only for a firm hand to wrap around your waist, brushing your drenched shoulder against a broad chest.

"Reanes." Damian's greeting barely registers past the goosebumps that spread along your exposed skin when you dare a glimpse of his expression. His eyes, swallowed by his darkened pupils and narrowed into sharpened blades, is filled with such loathing that even you're rendered speechless.

"Wayne." The slimy git greets, carefully manoeuvring his glass to hide his mocking smirk. "I was just having a lovely talk with your wife."

"Oh, wait." His pretence is an awful act. "My mistake. She is merely your fiancée. Has been for awhile according to the papers."

Damian's grip unconsciously tightens around you, puling you back discretely, his shoulder shielding you from the creep's intentional gaze.

"Having doubts, Wayne?" He taunts. "I've made my own concerns clear, though she seems to have mistaken my empathy. I was only conveying that if you take any longer to put a ring on her, it might suggest to others that she's easy to snatch away."

The atmosphere freezes. To say you're astounded at his audacity, his utter foolishness to not be terrified of Damian's wrath isn't enough. You're sure this moron has a death wish.

"Your confidence in your lacklustre charm is worth applause, Reanes." Damian's tone is so unbearably cold that it even makes you flinch. "Let's see if your will to survive is stronger than your pride."

"Is that a threat?" Reanes muses, but you detect his hesitation. "As the next Wayne heir, I doubt your decision to threaten me, a useful business partner, is particularly clever."

"You mean your tycoon built off your father's buried scandals and contributions to corruption with the previous Minister?" Damian announces casually.

Several figures within hearing distance have shifted their heads towards Reanes at the sound of Damian's accusation. Finally, sweat has begun to pool at the rat's brows.

"How did—" Reanes's attempt at recovery is poor, his face seizing into an awful mess in realisation of his mistake of trying to find Damian's weakness. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes, of course." Damian's glare has narrowed into what could only be his hunting eyes. "Hypothetically, let's say you were to ever come near my betrothed again. I will have every piece of evidence—invoices, letters, emails, phone calls—all prepared into a file sent to the GCPD by tomorrow morning. How long do you think your family has before they come knocking down the doors?"

Reanes's face has lost all its colour.

"You're bluffing." He stammers.

It was satisfying to see all of his obnoxious confidence shrink into oblivion.

"You made an advance on my wife. You made a pathetic attempt of a threat against me." Damian hisses. "I haven't thought of all the possible ways to make you suffer just yet, Reanes. Stripping you of your stolen power is only the start."

"Unlike your father and his poor disguise of power as his empire collapses on itself." Damian taunts. "I protect what is mine."

Dread fills Reanes's expression. "Wayne, I misspoke. I won't so much as look at her."

Damian doesn't look close to satisfied. There's a want in his gaze, to torment him further. "Apologise to her."

Reanes grits his teeth, shame flooding his vile features. Forcing himself to look at your feet—not daring to meet your eyes, he spits it out. "I'm sorry."

"You are to never show yourself in front of us again." Damian declares. "Consider your offered partnership declined."

Reanes's entire expression sours, but one flick of Damian's brow has him scurrying off into the crowd, not even bothering with apologies when dirty looks are casted on him for pushing his way out to escape.

Damian's glare is still pinned into the crowd, and you sense his restrained bloodlust, something you haven't felt to this degree in years. The boy you once knew, who harnessed the blade better than anyone in its ability to end a beating pulse, has sprung out with his fangs and claws.

You unconsciously place one hand onto his chest in an attempt to soothe him, guide his attention back to his own body. He flinches, as if he had forgotten he was in the very room.

His nearly feral expression finds its way to the state of your ruined dress, the stain on your shoulder. He lets out a short breath, rationality kicking the gears in his mind. "We need to get you cleaned up."

You nod discreetly, at a loss for words as his hand comes up to grab yours, intertwining your fingers together and leading you away to a desolate hallway.

His fingers, covered in rough scars from countless battles, are caressing yours more gently than you could ever imagine. He's still refusing to look at you, gaze pinned straight ahead to the nearest bathroom.

Pushing open a door with a sudden force, you're dragged in with such a swift movement, that you barely have time to scout the room before your vision is blocked by his gaze pinning you down.

The barely visible green in his eyes are swarmed by his dilated pupils, filled with bitter rage and conflict. You've never seen him this—unguarded. The events that unfolded earlier seems to have affected him more than you expected.

His lips part to say something, but his eyes flicker down to your drenched shoulder, covered in red. His eyes narrow into a vicious glare, and he lifts himself off the door, pulling something out of his pocket.

A napkin. He must've snatched it on the way without you noticing.

There's not enough shock generated in your veins to truly comprehend what just happened. Damian just called you his wife. It still rings in your ears like some prank that's been orchestrated to throw you off your beliefs on everything you were convinced he's thought about you.

"Damian."

He's turned towards the sink, running the napkin over running water, but his entire posture is off. Tense. Coiled into restraint that's bound to burst.

"I am fine." Even as the uncomfortable feeling of dried wine lingers on your skin, there's something about Damian's change in demeanour that pushes you to reassure him. You're not used to being unable to read him. "There’s no point of putting on an act here. I am perfectly capable of cleaning up after myself."

"Is that what you think this is?" He spits out, still refusing to look at you.

You freeze. His tone, which has always carried the Al Ghul's familiar patronisation, has descended into a cold rage that's never been directed on you before.

He exhales slowly, his mask slipping back into place as he turns around, cloth in hand as he approaches you slowly. Stopping in front of you, his eyes are narrowed—and the light in them has nearly extinguished. Leaving behind a darker shade of green that consumes you whole.

"He was looking at you like you were a piece of meat to consume." His voice has dropped several octaves, and his gaze is unfocused—still trapped in his wrath. "As if you weren't mine."

Your eyes widen, steps instinctively moving backward but his arm wraps around your waist before you can retreat any further.

He doesn't make a single sound as his fingers wrapped around the napkin comes to touch your shoulder, stained with dried wine. His touch is frighteningly gentle as he wipes your stained skin, his lip curled in displeasure.

It's horrifyingly intimate, and the sound of your own quickened breathing is mortifying on your senses—knowing he could hear the effects of his strange, impulsive behaviour on you so clearly.

"I can do it myself." It sounds weak coming out from your mouth, even to your ears.

"Yes, you would like that, wouldn't you?" He mutters, sounding desolate. "Never letting yourself depend on me."

You scowl. "Why would I depend on you?"

"As much as you would like to pretend it doesn't matter." He grits. "I will be your husband. I will be the one who will lay down my promises and swear my life to yours. Now and even in death."

Leaning in, you feel his breath tingle against your skin as he whispers into your ear. "Do you think I am someone who takes my promises lightly?"

You resist a shudder, your lashes fluttering involuntarily. "No."

He scoffs. "Yet, you question my choice to defend you."

His breath lingers over your skin, right over the spot he's just cleansed free of wine, still cool to the touch from the dampness of the cloth. The tension is thick, making it difficult to think clearly when he's all but crowded the remaining space between the two of you.

He's only irritated that he's been indirectly insulted when Reanes pulled that ploy on you. You know how this will go. He'll wake from his delirious temper, fold back into the cold statue you know to be your betrothed, and remember the line that has been established.

He won't cross it. The boundary that's been drawn by you from the very beginning, in respect for whatever remaining autonomy the two of you had left in this arrangement. You're sure of your predictions... till you spot his expression. It seems that only now—the lack of distance has kicked in for him. The sudden stillness of his frame reveals something you never thought you'd see in your betrothed. Hesitation.

Nothing could've prepared you for what comes next. Damian's entire body leans in, caging you against the door. Tentatively, he places a soft, almost imperceptible kiss on your shoulder.

The oxygen in your lungs vanishes. Speechless, you can do nothing but stare at him with widened eyes, unable to comprehend what he just did. What it means.

"If you still have doubts about my loyalty." He mutters, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, an unfamiliar intensity sealed in his. "Consider that my mark of a promise, which I intend to fulfil for the rest of my life. It was my mistake to make it seem as if you were easy to steal—because that will be impossible starting today."

This up close, you can count the freckles dotted under his eyes. He's always been dangerously tempting, but now, after he's defended your honour and stands before you looking the most wrecked you've ever seen him—you want to do something foolish.

Something you might regret but have been wanting to do from the moment he marked you as his.

It's instinctive, almost natural when your lips press against his. It's brief, slotted at the wrong angle from his height that automatically has you wincing. You're quick to pull away, unprepared and desperately trying to come up with some excuse to forget the ordeal ever happened, when you see it.

The crack in his mask, over the single action of your lips pressed against his, unravels a devotion you've never seen before. Laying right in front of you, bared in the open. That is not the look of a man who despises you. If anything, he looks as if his restraints have finally snapped.

That brief glimpse is all you see before he pulls you in. His arms cage your body, drawing you towards him until your bodies press together. With no sense of hesitation from earlier when he had marked your shoulder, he presses you back against the door, and kisses you.

No, how could you have hallucinated his hesitation? The way he kissed you now, mapping your lips with devout intention, it's as if he's been wanting—waiting to do it for ages.

You didn't realise it either—how starved you've been for him till this very moment. You had been so focused on how trapped you felt under the expectations of your family, the firm belief that he felt the same way, that you buried the attraction that ran deep in your veins.

You hated it, that this kiss was the admission of how he was your weakness in the first place. That he knew exactly how to unravel you, turn your world upside down with his decisive behaviour that commanded the entire room. That the match between the two of you pleased you more than it should, driving you to push him away because... only he could invoke such insanity from your shattered composure.

"A few minutes ago, you couldn't even stand me." You manage out against a brief pause for breath, pushing your palm against his chest.

He pulls away just enough to cast you a look of frustration.

"What I couldn't stand was my betrothed always attempting to push me away." He reveals. "Do you understand the frustration you've caused me?"

His gaze flickers between your bitten lips and your half-lidded gaze, hunger bleeding through his eyes. "You see all of me. Without even trying to, it was as if you were placed in my life to be my one, singular weakness. You already had me wrapped around your finger, drawing all of my attention—making it impossible to forget you even for a moment."

"My wife." He says it slowly, as if savouring it. "It is only because of you, that it feels as if I've been waiting my whole life to say those words. So, forgive me, for finding it difficult to restrain my displeasure when the woman of my devotion acts as if she would rather be paired with any other man than me."

Your brows furrow together at his words. "Why would I want to be paired with anyone else?"

His gaze locked onto you, narrows. "You claimed our match was a disaster waiting to happen."

"Yes." Averting your gaze, your admission comes out frail. "...Because I was compromised from the beginning. Even before our families put us together, I admired you. When my personal feelings got involved, the arrangement felt like a punishment."

"To be paired with someone for life that wasn't of my choosing was one thing, but for that person to be someone that actually mattered?" You swallow. "I pushed you away, because it hurt less if I made the decision to do so, rather than having to see your disappointment. Instead of being left to wonder that if you ever had the choice, would you even glance twice in my direction?"

He stares at you incredulously. "You believed that I did not want you?"

You pause at his tone. You didn't know what to believe, not with his actions just mere minutes ago contradicting everything in your system. You had been so focused on keeping your walls high, that you never thought to truly look into his gaze and search for what he saw in you instead.

"There isn't anyone else in the world that I would've sworn my life to." He declares abruptly. "If I had been given the choice in the first place, I would still be here before you. Yours."

"If you want my decision, I'll state it outright." He says, fingers coming up to grasp your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. "I choose you. I had long erased myself of the expectations of what others want from me. My life is led by what I envision for myself, and you are in it. You always have been."

“I don’t believe that the choices of others define us.” He answers. “Even if this marriage hadn’t been arranged, I would have chosen you. I would’ve come back for you over and over—and asked for your hand. If you had other suitors, I would’ve rid your mind of all possibilities but me, because there is no one for me but you.”

"So, tell me." He says, and there's a vulnerability you never thought possible in him, echoed in the softening of his tone. "If you will choose me too."

Had he always looked at you this way, in such a soft, yet unyielding manner, as if his gaze had already been attuned to you in habit?

“If you feel unsure, I won’t force you to decide.” He offers, but his crestfallen expression pleads otherwise. “I won’t let you be bound by the obligations of our families. I want you to choose me—willingly—just as I have chosen you."

Has that ever been a question for you? Even in your denial, your fear of being rejected by the one person you were meant to spend the rest of your life with, you never doubted that the side of your heart had already engraved his name in secrecy.

You had always been his, even when you weren't sure if he was yours.

"I choose you, Damian." Your answer feels akin to offering your beating heart, only to reveal that it had always known the very same truth uttered through your lips. "That's never been a question. It's always been you, from the start."

His expression, tightened in exact preparation of being wounded, finally softens. He lets out an unsteady breath, his forehead dropping to rest on yours. In the quiet of this moment, you realise Damian looks devastatingly beautiful like this. Soft, vulnerable, and completely yours.

"I would very much like to kiss you again." He admits. "May I?"

You finally break out your own smile, and you sense the tension in his shoulders drop at the sight. "Only because you asked nicely."

His fingers still caressing your chin gently lifts your lips to his. This kiss is different from the first. It wasn't an explosion, a burst of restrained emotions over years of pining. No, it was softer. Gentle, in a true attempt to memorise your lips against his, shaping into a quiet whisper of a promise that this won't be the last.

When he parts, there's a soft quirk in his lips, as if he can't help himself from feeling that warmth in his chest.

"I still can't believe you called me your wife." You mutter, still unable to wrap your mind around it. Lifting your empty hand, you can't help but tease. "You're going to start a rumour on how a Wayne can't afford to gift his own wife a ring."

"You are right." He mutters in displeasure, and you suspect his mind has already wracked on another situation steps ahead just from your words alone.

"I suppose we'll have to arrange a marriage ceremony soon." Damian decides casually. "The last thing we need is more wolves thinking they have even a chance of your hand."

You think he's joking. You certainly were.

Yet, looking at his gaze which has now flickered to your ring finger, already analysing the measurement, you think there's a miscalculated understatement about your soon-to-be husband's proactiveness.

"What's going to happen to Reanes?"

Damian's merciful act earlier did nothing to fool you. He wasn't the type to leave loose ends.

His gaze darkens immediately, but his expression doesn't so much as shift when he says. "He'll be dealt with."

"The Al Ghul way?" You lift a brow. "Or the Wayne way?"

His lips quirk up imperceptibly. "I'm sure my siblings have creative interrogation methods they've been meaning to find an outlet for."

Pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, he mutters. "...I'll just have a leading hand for tonight's patrol when we infiltrate Reanes's warehouse."

"So, the worst of both worlds."

A dark smirk crosses his lips. "Only what he deserves, Beloved."

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dc masterlist -> damian + other dc works

You woke to the familiar sound of rain hitting the roof of your home, sitting up in bed with a yawn, stretching your arms out up above your head. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes with your fist, shuffling around to slide off the side of your bed. You waddled out from your room to the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water from the tap, sipping on it to soothe your hoarse throat.

After you'd finished that glorious glass of midnight water, you went back to your room, spying a little flash of green jumping from roof to roof towards your house. You unlocked your window for him before laying back down, making him a comfy little spot next to you despite knowing he'd likely be on top of you the minute he laid down.

Just as you thought, the sound of the window opening was accompanied by a sudden weight laying itself on top of you. "Dami..." You mumbled, your hand coming up to tangle itself in his hair, scratching his scalp softly as he let out a sigh into your collarbone. "Rouhi. I'm not getting up." Damian mumbled, trailing his lips down your neck, his thick lashes kissing the sensitive skin of your neck, leading you to squirm under his weight. "You're too heavy." You whined, pushing at his shoulders.

"No. Staying." Damian huffed, wrapping his arms around your waist tighter. He nuzzled into your shoulder, rubbing his face against you like an affectionate cat, ignoring your whines and complaints. He leaned up to press a kiss to your lips, silencing your whines. He felt your body go limp under his, melting into the kiss.

You cupped his face, pulling away for a second before diving back in, kissing his again, needily, this time. He growled against your lips, pinning your squirming body down on the mattress. "Sit still." He growled, nipping at your bottom lip. You sighed in content, feeling him trail kisses down your jaw and neck, leaving a little bitemark just under the neckline of your shirt. Easy to hide, but also easy to see if you were looking for it.

"I have work tomorrow, you ass!" You pushed him off you, glaring at him with what you thought would be a death glare, but to him, you just looked like a grumpy kitten with a tummy full of soup in your cute little pyjamas. "You mustn't worry, Habibi. Your shirt will cover it." Damian assured you, poking your cheek.

— — — — — — — — — —

The gym smells like iron and antiseptic. The ring is empty. Cameras are set. The lighting is harsh, too bright for the bruises, too honest. You adjust your mic. Check your notes. Professional. Controlled.

Sukuna watches you from across the ring.

He is leaning against the ropes, arms hooked over the top strand, shoulders broad and relaxed like he hasn’t been stitched up in three different places in the last forty-eight hours. He catches you looking at his mouth, he smiles wider, which pulls at the split on his lip.

You flinch.

He notices that too.

“Careful,” he says, voice low and amused. “You keep staring at me like that, people are gonna think this interview’s biased.” You roll your eyes, but your pulse betrays you. “It will only be biased,” you reply smoothly, “if you refuse to answer my questions.”

“Oh, I’ll answer,” he says. “Just not necessarily the ones you ask.” You fight the urge to smile. You fail.

— — — — — — — — — 

The cameras roll. Your first interview you’ll be doing on camera, the red light blinks alive. You shift into reporter mode.

“Ryomen Sukuna,” you begin, voice steady. “Two nights ago your match against Naoya ended in what analysts are calling one of the most aggressive exchanges this season. Some have described it as ‘reckless.’ Others have said ‘personal.’ How would you describe it?”

He tilts his head slightly, considers you instead of the question. “Efficient,” he says. “Efficient?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs carefully, one shoulder rolls smoother than the other. “He swung first.”

“After a verbal exchange.”

He smirks.

“You wanna quote it?”

“I don’t need to.”

“Shame,” he says. “You looked real good when you were angry.”

You hold your composure like a shield. “We’re not discussing me.”

“We should,” he counters. “Ratings would skyrocket.” You glance at his ribs. There’s a deep bruise spreading beneath the tape, dark and ugly. “You took significant body shots in round three,” you say, steering the conversation. “Did you feel compromised?”

“Compromised?” He laughs. It’s rough, a little broken at the edges. “You should see the other guy.”

“I have,” you reply dryly. “He required twelve stitches.”

Sukuna’s gaze sharpens.

“And?”

“And you required six.”

He leans closer to the camera. “Discount deal.” You exhale slowly. “You understand why some people are questioning your discipline.”

“Do they?” he asks lazily. “You deviated from your usual control. You engaged emotionally.” At that, his eyes flick back to you. There is something deliberate in the way he studies you. “Emotion isn’t weakness,” he says.

“It can be,” you answer.

“Not when it’s focused.” Your gaze drifts again, this time to the swelling beneath his left eye. It’s puffed, faintly yellowing at the edges. He notices, he always notices. He pushes off the ropes and walks toward you.

The movement is slow. Purposeful. You hold your ground. “You keep looking at my face like it’s tragic,” he says quietly, just outside the mic’s main pickup. “It’s flattering.”

“I’m assessing damage.”

“Mm.” He lifts his chin slightly. “Want a closer look?”

“Stand still.”

“You worried about me?” The question lands heavier than it should. “I’m doing my job.” He grins, winces faintly when the split lip pulls again. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “You are.”

— — — — — — — — — — 

You pivot.

“Let’s talk about strategy. In round two, Naoya baited you into a corner exchange. That’s not typical for you.”

“He talks too much.”

“So you reacted.”

He shrugs.

“I adjusted.”

“You brawled.”

“I won.”

The simplicity of it frustrates you.

“You could have controlled the distance.”

“I preferred proximity.”

“Why.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, he watches your mouth form the word. Then he says, casually, “I wanted him close enough to hear me.” Your spine straightens. “And what did you say?” He smiles again slower this time. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You press on. “There are rumors the altercation had less to do with competition and more to do with something said before the bell.” He folds his arms. “And if it did?”

“It would suggest you’re allowing outside influences to affect your performance.” He arches a brow. “Outside influences.” Your voice remains even. “Personal distractions.” The air between you tightens.

He steps closer again, not enough to break professionalism, but enough to shift the temperature. “You think you’re a distraction?” he asks softly. You don’t blink. “This isn’t about me.”

“It’s about you,” he says. “Everyone knows it’s about you.”

“Speculation.”

“Mm.” His gaze drags over your face slowly. “You’re real good at pretending.” You lift your clipboard slightly. “We’re discussing your discipline.”

“Okay.” He nods. “Ask something else.” You inhale. “Do you regret how the fight escalated?” He doesn’t hesitate. “No.” You pause.

“Not even slightly?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because if someone disrespects what’s mine,” he says evenly, “I handle it.” The words drop heavy, the crew goes very still.You swallow. “I’m not—”

“I didn’t say you were,” he interrupts smoothly, amusement flickering. “You’re the one jumping to conclusions.” You narrow your eyes as your eye twitches. “You’re deflecting.”

“And you’re avoiding.”

“Professional boundaries exist for a reason.”

He grins.

“So break them.”

You look away first, you shift tone. “Your coach commented that you appeared… agitated during warm ups.”

“He worries too much.”

“He implied you weren’t fully present.”

Sukuna hums.

“You’re here,” he says. “I’m present.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s what I heard.”

The camera captures the way your jaw tightens. “Let’s discuss recovery,” you say briskly. “Your medical team has you on limited contact for the week.”

“Boring.”

“Necessary.”

“I’ll live.”

“You have hairline fractures in two knuckles.”

He lifts his taped hand, flexes it slowly.

“Still works.”

“You also have bruised ribs.”

“Breathing’s optional.”

You stare at him.

“Take this seriously.”

“I am.”

“You’re joking around.”

He steps even closer now, enough that the edge of your mic brushes his chest when he leans down. “I’m joking,” he says quietly, “because you look like you’re about to march me to the hospital yourself.”

“I might.”

He smiles — softer this time.

“You care.”

“It’s my responsibility to report accurately.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Your heart betrays you again. “Final question,” you say, forcing structure back into the chaos. “What would you say to critics who believe the Naoya fight marks the beginning of instability in your career?” He doesn’t look at the camera when he answers, he looks at you. “I’d say they don’t know me.”

“Explain?” You say as you grab your pen to start writing his response. “They think a bruise means damage.” His voice lowers, steadier now. “It doesn’t. It means someone tried.” Raising a brow at him, you look over his body once more, staring at all his bruises, “And succeeded.” He tilts his head. “You think I look worse?” You hesitate.

He notices. “C’mon,” he says lightly. “Be honest. Does it ruin my face?” Shaking your head you roll your eyes at him, “This isn’t about aesthetics.”

“Shame.” He winks at the lens. “Thought you liked this face.” Heat creeps up your neck. “Interview concluded,” you say firmly. The red light blinks off.

— — — — — — — — —

The crew disperses. Cables retract. Lights dim. Assistants murmur. Sukuna doesn’t move, he watches you unclip your mic. “You’re impossible,” you mutter. “You’re welcome.”

“That wasn’t—”

“I know.” He straightens, rolling his shoulders carefully. The movement reveals a deep purple spread across his side. It looks painful. Your expression shifts before you can stop it.

He catches that too. “What,” he asks.

“That looks bad.”

He glances down lazily.

“Looks dramatic.”

“It could’ve been worse.”

“It wasn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“How.”

He steps closer again, voice dropping. “Because you were there.” Your breath falters. “That’s not how medicine works.”

“Good thing I don’t need medicine,” he says. “Just need you to stop looking at me like I’m about to fall apart.”

“I’m assessing risk.”

“You’re worried.”

You cross your arms.

“You’re deflecting again.”

He laughs softly.

“Okay. Fine. Serious face.”

He tries, he genuinely tries but the corner of his mouth twitches. You almost laugh. Almost. “You scared?” he asks suddenly. “Of what.”

“Of me.”

The question is quiet. Not teasing this time.

You meet his gaze.

“No.”

“Good.”

A beat passes.

Then he tilts his head.

“Go out with me again.”

You blink.

“That’s abrupt.”

“It’s efficient.”

“We’re at work.”

“Exactly.” He gestures vaguely around the emptying gym. “We only talk when there’s a camera pointed at us or when you’re questioning me about how I fight or how I'm gonna win a fight. I don’t like that.”

You hesitate.

“Sukuna—”

“Don’t give me a professional answer.”

“I need to maintain boundaries.”

“You maintained them,” he says. “You grilled me on national television.”

“That’s my job.”

“And you did it.” His voice softens slightly. “Now let me do mine.”

“And what’s that.”

“Taking you to dinner.”

You exhale through your nose.

“You’re injured.”

“I can chew.”

“You have bruised ribs.”

“I’ll sit carefully.”

“You just fought a dirty match.”

“And I won.”

“That’s not the point.” He steps closer, not invasive, not overwhelming. Just a present. “You think I only talk to you because of work?” he asks. You don’t answer. “Because I don’t,” he continues. “I like talking to you when you’re not holding a mic. I like when you roll your eyes at me. I like when you pretend you’re not worried.”

Your pulse stutters.

“That doesn’t mean—”

“It means I want to see you somewhere that doesn’t involve blood.”

Silence stretches, the gym is almost empty now. You look at the bruises again. The split lip. The tape around his knuckles. “Are you going to punch someone if they look at me wrong?” you ask quietly.

He studies you. “No.” The answer comes without humor.

“Are you going to lose control again?”

“I didn’t lose control.”

“You escalated.”

“I handled it.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

He considers that.

Then nods slightly.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll handle it differently.”

You search his face for mockery, you don’t find it. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can promise I won’t embarrass you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” He steps even closer now close enough that you can see the faint gold flecks in his eyes. “You think I’d ruin myself over a comment?” he asks softly. You hesitate. “I think you care too much.” He smiles faintly. “Yeah.”

The admission is simple. Heavy. You swallow. “This is complicated.”

“Everything worth having is.”

“That’s a line.”

“It’s true.”

He reaches up not to touch you but to lightly tap your clipboard.

“You’re overthinking.”

“That’s my profession.”

“And this?” He gestures between you. “Isn’t your profession.”

You look at him, really look at him beneath the bruises, beneath the bravado. He doesn’t look unstable. He doesn’t look reckless. He looks… invested. That might be more dangerous. “You’re going to flirt your way through every serious conversation, aren’t you,” you say.

“Probably.”

You shake your head.

“Incurable.”

“Persistent.”

There’s a difference, he waits. He doesn’t push. Doesn’t corner. Just stands there battered and warm and stubborn. “Dinner,” he repeats. “No cameras. No mics. No idiots named Naoya.” You almost laugh. “Public place.”

“Obviously.”

“And if someone says something—”

“I’ll ignore it.”

“Completely.”

He sighs dramatically. “Yes.”

You study him another second.

Then, “Fine.” The word is quiet but it lands like a bell. His smile spreads slowly and satisfied. “See,” he murmurs. “Wasn’t that hard.”

“It was.”

“For you.”

“Yes.”

He leans back slightly, giving you space again.

“Tomorrow night,” he says. “Seven.”

“You’re assuming I’m free.”

“You are.” 

You glare, “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re going on a date with me anyway.”

You turn to leave before he can see your smile fully form. Behind you, he calls out, “Try not to stare at my bruises too much.” You don’t look back. “I’m assessing damage,” you reply over your shoulder. His laugh follows you out of the gym.

Low. Warm. Alive.

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