And you? You’ve gotten used to the steady rise and fall of his breathing beside you, the quiet warmth radiating through the blankets. The accidental brush of his fingers against your arm when he turns to adjust himself in his sleep.

It feels normal. Comforting. Like you’re simply returning to something the two of you never really grew out of.

Gojo sits besides you, one knee drawn up on the couch, his shoulder brushing yours whenever he shifts. He's watching something on his phone but glances at you every so often, a habit he doesn't seem aware of.

You turn a page of your book and Gojo leans over your shoulder like he has the right to, trying to read the first line.

“Gojo.” You warn.

“What? I'm curious.”

Before you can shove him away, the front door clicks open. Geto and Nanami walk into the living room with the weariness of people who have seen too much for a Thursday afternoon.

“Satoru,” Geto calls out, settling his bag on the table. “Shoko wants to know if we're still sticking to the plan on Saturday.”

“What plan?” You ask, lowering your book.

“The beach.” He answers.

Shoko wanders in a moment later, waving her phone in her hand. “Twenty four degrees, practically summer.”

Nanami sighs. “If we must.”

“Nanamin stop acting so serious, you love the beach!”

Nanami doesn't say anything, but you can see two dots of colour appearing on his cheek.

Haibara appears from the corridor like he was summoned. “Are we talking about Saturday? I wanna go buy that melon soda again!”

“Oooh yes!” Shoko exclaims, turning to him. “We'll go back to that store again, they sell beer cheap there too!”

Gojo turns to you, tapping a hand on your knee. “Anyways, we're all going to the beach before it gets too cold. Last warm day and all that. Snacks, drinks, me being majestic in the water.”

“You nearly drowned Geto last time.” Shoko cuts in.

“That happened once.” Gojo protests.

“Twice.”

Gojo ignores them, returning his attention to you. “So, you should come with us.”

You blink. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” His tone is casual but his eyes aren't. “What? Got some high-stakes chess tournament on Saturday?”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “Are you sure?”

Nanami, of all people, answers first. Nanami, of all people, answers first. “It would be nice if you joined us. You are… considerably calmer than the rest of them.”

Haibara nods enthusiastically. “And way funnier!”

Shoko lights a cigarette. “And you don’t do laps around the kitchen like Gojo does.”

“What else am I meant to do while I wait for my food to heat up?”

“Sit?” Shoko says, incredulously.

You smile, warmth blooming unexpectedly in your chest. “Well,” you say lightly, “if you need someone to stop Gojo from drowning Geto for the third time-”

“Hey!”

“-then yeah, I'll go.”

Gojo’s grin softens, bright and relieved all at once. He leans back like your answer has physically relaxed him.

They all settle in seats around you, planning on what to bring and what time to leave the house, voices overlapping in the familiar way you've gotten used to. Surrounded by Gojo's friends that have slowly become yours too.

You're sitting under a parasol, massaging sunscreen on Shoko's back as you try your best to not shamelessly stare at a shirtless Gojo.

You mean, it's unfair.

He's only a few meters away, round sunglasses perched in his messy hair, attempting to plant the other parasol you all bought with into the sand, except he's doing it with the theatrics of someone reenacting a battle formation, complete with grunts, wide stances, and a whispered, “Behold my strength,” which absolutely no one asked for.

And the worst part?

He's… distracting. Unreasonably so.

His skin catches the sunlight like he's made of something brighter than everyone else, his back muscles flexing each time he shoves the pole deeper into the white sand. Warm sand dust his collarbone, and your eyes trail the beads of sweat trickling slowly down the curve of his spine and into the waist band of his shorts.

You tell yourself you're only glancing over at him to make sure he doesn't hurt himself or need help, but Shoko makes a noise that's far too knowing.

“Subtle.” She says dryly as she takes a long sip of her beer.

“I'm not-” You nearly drop a dollop of sunscreen onto your thighs. “I was just making sure he doesn't hurt himself or needs help.”

She hums. The sort of hum that translates directly to ‘I'm sure you were’.

“I'm pretty sure Nanami already offered to help twice. He said no twice.”

On cue, Nanami walks past, arms full of towels. “I swear, if he breaks that umbrella. He can pay for a new one.”

“He's rich, it's fine.” Shoko says.

Your eyes betray you again, drifting back to Gojo just in time to catch him tossing you a grin over his shoulder. All smuggish and lazy and ridiculously pleased with himself, like he knew you were watching. He lifts the umbrella triumphantly, finally anchored in the sand. Then, with zero shame, he calls out, “Hey, Sunshine! Did you see that? Tell me I looked good.”

You nearly choke on air.

“Stay strong girl,” Shoko pats your knee in sympathy. “Remember, it's a public beach.”

You shove her by the shoulder.

Gojo walks over, still looking like sin.

“Hey,” he says, like he didn't spend three minutes fighting an inanimate object. “Sunshine, can you help me put sunscreen on my back?”

Shoko coughs a laugh and Nanami lets out a long sigh as he settles on to one of the beach towels.

You can feel your cheeks heating, hotter than the sun could ever manage. It's unfairly warm today for it being the end of September.

Before you could formulate a response, maybe something eloquent and dignified, Haibara appears at your side with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever.

“They still have the melon soda!” He beams, holding a carrier bag of drinks in his hands. “I bought enough for everyone!”

Haibara hands you a bottle with the reverence of someone delivering liquid gold. “Cold too! I picked them out from the back of the fridge.”

He passes the bottles around to Nanami and Geto before handing you one and Gojo one.

“Thank you!” You smile, grateful for the distraction… Right up until Gojo steps closer. To close, casting a long shadow over your legs.

“Thanks” he says, waving off Haibara’s soda excitement like the true menace he is. “Anyway, back to my question. Sunscreen. My back. Please.”

You sigh. “You have hands, Gojo.”

“Yeah but I can't reach all the good parts.” He says, perfectly serious.

You narrow your eyes at him and all he does is stare at you back.

“I would've asked Nanami but he always refuses too.”

“I would rather die.” You hear the blond man say.

Gojo drops to sit in front of you, his broad shoulders unfairly glowing in the sun. “You used to put sunscreen on me all the time when we were younger.” He leans in closer to whisper in your ear. “Please?”

It's one word. One simple, disarming word that does awful, fluttery things to your insides.

“Gojo, stop. We have company.” You mumble pulling away from him and reaching to grab the yellow sunscreen bottle from Shoko.

You squeeze a generous amount onto your hands before gesturing to him to turn around. And he does so immediately, like a pet who just heard the crinkle of the treat bag. He pulls up the tuffs of hair sticking to his nape and waits for the cream.

“Okay just- stay still.” You instruct.

“I am still.” He says, “I'm a statue. A work of art.”

“More like a hazard.” Shoko snorts as she ruffles through her bag.

You press your palms to his shoulders and start working the sunscreen across his skin. It’s warm under your hands, sun-hot and just a bit sandy. Gojo hums. A low, satisfied sound that earns him an immediate smack to the arm.

“Stop narrating your breath.” You mutter.

“That wasn't narrating,” he argues. “Those were happy noises.”

“That sounds worse!”

Nanami shoves a pair of sunglasses on with the precision of someone trying very hard not to watch. “This is unnecessary commentary.”

Haibara, on the other hand, is watching with rapt fascination. “You’re really good at that! My mom always misses spots on my back.”

Geto pats Haibara's head. “Let’s not encourage Satoru’s need for constant attention.”

You move down between Gojo’s shoulder blades, fingers sweeping sunscreen in even, practical strokes. There’s nothing romantic about it. Not with Geto cracking open another drink, Shoko lighting a cigarette, and Haibara digging a hole beside Nanami for absolutely no reason.

Still, Gojo remains perfectly still beneath your touch, for once not wriggling or teasing or turning this into something theatrical. He just… stays.

When you finish, you pat his shoulder. “Done.”

Gojo glances back at you with a grin far too bright for the amount of attention you just gave his spine. “Thank you, Sunshine.”

He stands up and turns around to face the group, stretching his arm. Probably just to show off his muscles. He turns his head to stare at the water, like he's judging the waves. “I wanna go in.”

“I just put sunscreen on you!”

Shoko exhales a puff of smoke. “The water's freezing Gojo.”

But he's already walking. Long strides with zero hesitation.

“Wait- I wanna go too!” You scramble, clipping your hair up in a rush and slipping off your sandals as you walk towards him.

He glances back over his shoulder with a grin that is way too pleased you’re following.

The moment the first wave hits his ankle, he hisses. “It’s cold, it's cold, it's cold!”

You’re barely stepped into the water when he turns around with the softest, most innocent smile.

And then he splashes you.

A full-handed, unnecessary, violent splash of freezing water.

You let out a shriek so shrill a seagull panics and flies away. “Gojo! What the hell!”

“You look like a wet cat!” He laughs, all bright and boyish.

You stomp towards him, teeth chattering as you kick water in his direction and drenching him. He just smiles, wide and delighted, before splashing you back.

“Stop it!” You sputter, shielding your face with your arms as another wave of icy water hits you square in the chest.

Gojo only grins wider, dripping bangs sticking to his forehead, looking every bit like a menace blessed by the sun and water. “C’mon, Sunshine, embrace the elements!”

“They’re freezing!”

“That’s part of the charm!”

A tide rolls in, cold and high, smacking both of you in the knees. You squeal, clinging to his forearm for balance and he laughs so hard he nearly falls the both of you over.

You're still clinging to his arm when he tilts head down, dripping bangs sticking to his forehead and bright eyes behind wet lashes.

“Having fun?” He asks, softly. Too softly. It's unfair.

You try to pull away but he tightens his hold on you. Barely there. Barely noticeable unless you know him.

“You used to play with me in the water all the time.” He says, voice light and teasing. Something soft and sentimental he's actually holding onto.

You snort, trying to keep it all casual desire his hand is still warm around your arm. “Yeah, when we were eight and the sea didn't feel like sharp ice.”

Gojo grins, a slow curve of his mouth that’s half mischief, half something gentler. “We’re basically still eight.”

“You are,” you correct.

He gasps, offended. “Take that back.”

“No.”

“Sunshine.”

“No.”

He narrows his eyes playfully, slowly lifting his arm and splashes you again. Right in the stomach.

You shriek, and before you could think too hard about it, you dunk him under.

It devolves instantly into chaos. Splashing, yelling, laughing so loudly the other beach goers probably think you’re both unhinged. Gojo surfaces with hair plastered to his forehead and a smile so stupidly radiant it knocks the breath right out of your lungs.

From the shore, you hear Nanami call out, “If one of you drowns, I'm not doing CPR!”

“I will,” Shoko says. “On her, though. Never on him.”

Gojo beams, absolutely delighted by all the chaos the two of you caused. “Look at that. We have support.”

“Support for me.” You argue, wiping salty sea water from your face.

You both kept splashing each other until your fingers turned all wrinkled and the wind started to bite at your wet skin.

The rest of the day went by with drinks, food, beach games and laughter.

Now you and Gojo are sitting side by side, watching the ocean, watching the way the sun glimmers on the wave, scattering thousands of sea glitter across the water. Wearing his hoodie he casually pulled over you when you made a comment about the breeze feeling a bit too cold.

“Hey Sunshine,” Gojo says, passing a bottle of melon soda between you.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know why I call you Sunshine?”

You lean back against your elbows, stretching your legs out in front of you as you take a sip of the drink. “Because I'm all warm and shiny and sunny, I suppose.”

“No- Well, yes! You are, but that's wasn't really the reason.”

You raise a brow, turning towards him. “Then what was it?”

Gojo takes the bottle back, rolling it between his palms after taking a drink. He's not looking at you, he's looking at the water. It surprises you. Gojo doesn't avoid eye contact, he weaponises it.

“We were at the beach.” He says finally, “The one back at home.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“We were what? Seven?” He continues, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Our parents were drinking somewhere behind us and you were wearing that dumb sun hat you loved. The one with the little ducks on it.”

You gasp. “It was cute!”

“You did look cute.” He laughs, but the sound settles into something softer as he continues. “Anyways, you were standing by the water, during the time it gets all sparkly when the sea hits it. I remember you called it ‘sea glitter’.”

You nod slowly.

“And it was everywhere,” he says quietly. “Thousands of tiny lights dancing on the waves. The whole ocean was glowing.”

He finally turns to look at you.

“But you were brighter.”

Your breath catches.

“I remember just staring at you,” he admits. “Thinking, ‘how is she doing that?’ You were backlit and laughing and the sun was shining on you like you were made to be in it.”

He scratches the back of his neck, his cheeks and ears flushed in an adorable shade of pink, before turning to look at you. “And when you turned around and waved at me… I don't know, it just stuck. ‘Sunshine’ just fits you so well.”

You don't say anything for a while. Just stare at him, face hot and not from the sun with your mouth open in a little ‘o’. The waves fill in the silence. Calm and steady. The complete opposite of your heart hammering in your chest.

“You've been calling me that for years.” You say finally.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, eyes flicking back to the water. “Some things don't change, they just wait. Right where the water meets the sky.”

You both stay in the little bubble of quiet. Warm, suspended, untouched by the laughter of your friends farther up the sand or the cry of distant seagulls.

The sun is dipping lower now, painting everything in gold. It kisses the side of his face, catching in the corners of his eyes, making him look unfairly soft. Softer than he ever lets himself be.

You swallow, staring ahead again because looking at him feels dangerous. “Gojo…”

Before you could say anything, Haibara bounces up to you guys.

“Hey, do either of you guys want ice cream?” He asks, bright-eyed and oblivious, clutching a fistful of crumbled cash.

The moment pops the bubble..

You clear your throat and shuffle an inch away from Gojo. “Um, yeah. I want ice cream.”

“Could you go get some for me then?” He asks politely, handing you some money. “I think most of the ice cream trucks are gone but there's one left.”

“Sure!” You say, standing up and brushing off any sand clinging to the hoodie.

Before you could take a single step, Gojo stands up, brushing off his shorts. “I'll come with you.”

Your heart does a little, fluttery flip. “Oh. Okay.”

You both quickly returned to the parasol to grab your shoes and collect any coins you tossed into your bag earlier for today. Then you walk down the beach together. A slow, easy pace. Your shoulders occasionally brushing every now and then. The silence between you isn't awkward. It's warm and soft.

Full of everything neither of you have said yet.

By the time you reach the far end of the beach, the last ice cream truck is already folding its awning in, engine rumbling faintly.

“No, no, no-” you groan.

Gojo speeds up a little. “Hey! Sir! Two seconds!”

But the driver just waves, apologetic. “Sorry, kids! Sold out!”

The truck pulls away, rattling down the path, turning a corner and disappears.

You stand in the slipping sunlight, hand sinking into Gojo's hoodie pockets. “Well, Haibara is going to be heartbroken.”

“Damn, even I'm a bit heartbroken.”

You turn to him, and he's already looking at you. Not like the way he was by the water. More beautiful, somehow. Like the golden hour light is pouring through him instead of on him.

You don't know who steps closer first. It just happens. Like breathing. Like gravity.

Your fingers brush. Then your arms. Then you’re standing too close, and he’s looking at your mouth, and you’re looking at his, and the world has narrowed to a heartbeat distance and warm air and the slightest tilt forward-

Oh my God. Are we going to do it? Are we going to kiss? Oh my God, it's finally happening. We're going to kiss.

Your lips are just a breath a way, just a heartbeat closer from touching.

His phone rings.

And the spell snaps.

Gojo freezes, his jaw tightening in a sharp way for one second in annoyance before pulling his phone out. “I'm sorry. One sec.”

You step back, bouncing on the heel of your feet without meaning to and the wind suddenly chills too quickly.

He answers.

“Hi, mum. Yeah? …Oh.”

A pause.

“Oh right. Thursday. Yeah, yeah, I didn’t forget- I just…” His eyes flick toward you and then away, guilty in a way he never is.

“Yeah. I’ll be home for the week. Got it.”

When he hangs up, he doesn’t meet your eyes right away.

“You're going home?” You ask meekly.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “This Thursday. It's only for five days”

“Only five days.” You repeat, like it's nothing. Like it doesn't make your heart sink.

He tries to smile, all lopsided and thin. “It's not too long.”

“No,” you agree, voice soft. “Not long at all.”

But it still feels like it is.

Before either of you could say anything, before you could mention the almost kiss, you hear familiar voices call out.

Nanami waves from down the beach, already wearing his shoes like he’s been ready to leave for twenty minutes. Shoko nudges Geto, who lifts a lazy hand to gesture at the two of you. Haibara is smiling like he didn’t just unknowingly interrupt a life-changing moment ten minutes ago.

“Time to go,” Shoko calls.

You and Gojo turn back toward the group, walking side by side again. Not touching this time.

The sky is still beautiful. The water is still glowing.

But that warm little bubble from earlier?

Has long popped and been replaced by the cold winds.

You groan and shove your pen away, letting it clatter pathetically across the desk before dropping your face into your hands. Your eyes waters and stings from frustration, all hot, annoyed, humiliated.

Studying is still hell for you when you're on your own. It's not too bad when Gojo is helping you, but God, does it suck when you're trying by yourself.

You're alone in Gojo's room. He's gone out with Nanami to buy some drinks and snacks to study with. The room is too quiet without him. Without his knees bumping against yours under the desk, without the stupid way he leans close like he's not aware of personal space. Without him casually talking you through each theory and case study.

And your chest aches from the memory at the beach. How close he has been. How easily you both could've leaned in and kissed.

It doesn't help that he's leaving tomorrow for like five days to attend one of his family members' memorial service. It's only five days. You've been separated for five years. But it still pains you so much.

And on top of that, it still doesn't help that you don't quite know what you're doing. You don't know how to study efficiently. You've finally been able to memorise chapters of material with rewriting it so much it burns into your brain or with Gojo's help, but it still isn't enough.

You sniff hard but it only makes your throat burn. Another tear slips out, then another, and suddenly you’re crying in full, shoulders trembling as all of it crashes over you at once. The stress. The helplessness. The stupid, aching want for him. The fear that you’re always a few steps behind everyone else, clawing at concepts that they seem to understand instantly.

Your breath hiccups. You press your palms to your eyes, but it just makes your temples throb.

Why can’t you just get it? Why does everyone else seem to glide through uni while you’re stuck drowning in the basics? Why does being away from him for five days feel like someone wrung your chest out?

You tried a different note taking method for class, leaving your laptop in your bag and pulling out your notebook, a few pens and some highlighters. You thought maybe writing down the notes rather than typing it up will help you consume the material better.

You think it's working.

At one point Gojo steals one of your pens and starts doodling on your margins.

You slap his hand away.

And then what does he do? Move his hand down to doodle on the exposed part of your thigh where your shorts don't quite cover. You turn to glare at him and he flashes you a bright smile back at you. You look down, a few clouds and a sun, albeit a bit ugly and scraggly, but you like it all the same.

The new method didn't really help though because you're still struggling to remember it all.

A choked noise escapes you before you can swallow it back. You curl forward, elbows on your knees, tears dripping onto one of Gojo’s open notebook. You try to breathe quietly, thinking of soothing, pathetic thoughts because what would he think if he saw you like this? Falling apart in his room, crying over psychology theories like a child. Crying because you're going to miss him, because you wanted him to kiss you and now he’s leaving and you won’t have him close and warm and annoyingly comforting for a while.

You drag in a shaky breath, one after another, but your body just won't stop trembling.

The bedroom door clicks.

You freeze.

And then, before you could wipe your tears with Gojo's light blue hoodie sleeve he leant you or pretend that everything is fine, you hear his voice. Bright and casual and oblivious.

“Sunshine! I'm back with fuel!”

He steps inside, shutting the door with his foot behind and the rustling of carrier bags stops mid-movement.

“Hey…” He comes to stand beside you, dropping the food onto the table. “Are you- what's wrong?”

You don't say anything, your voice shaking with gasps and sobs.

His voice thins with worry. “Hey… look at me.”

You shake your head, wiping at your cheeks uselessly.

“I'm fine.” You lie pathetically, sounding all rough and hoarse.

“Yeah,” Gojo murmurs, crouching down so he's eye level with you. “You're definitely not fine.”

You flinch when his fingers graze your wrist, not because you don’t want the touch, because you do, way too much, but because you’re embarrassed. But Gojo just gently pries your hands away from your face, thumbs brushing the dampness from your cheeks like it’s nothing. Like you’re not humiliating yourself in front of him. Like he's done hundreds of times.

“Oh, Sunshine…” His voice softens to something that almost breaks you more. Hearing the sweet nickname he has for you, knowing all what it means. “Why didn’t you call me? You shouldn’t be crying alone.”

“I’m not-” A hiccup betrays you. You give up. “I just… I can’t do this. I’m trying so hard and nothing stays in my head and you’re leaving and-”

Before you could spiral further, he gently brings you to your feet, hands warm around his elbows.

“Come here,” he whispers, leading you the few steps to his bed. He sits first before gently tugging you into him, settling you between his legs on the bed like it's the most natural thing in the world.

You fold instantly. His arm wraps around you, your head tucked beneath his chin as you press your face against his chest and into the soft material of his shirt.

“Breathe,” he murmurs into your hair. “Just breathe for a second. I’ve got you.”

You try. You really do. But the steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of him, the way his fingers rub slow circles into your back. It all unravels you even more.

“You’re not behind,” Gojo reassures. “And you’re not stupid. You’re learning. That’s all that matters.”

“You’re leaving,” you whisper, voice cracking. It feels childish, but it’s true.

He exhales, warm against your ear. “Only for a few days,” he says softly. “I’ll come right back to you.”

Your breath stutters at that.

I'll come right back to you.

And his arms tighten like he felt it.

“We went five years before. Five days is nothing.”

You lean further into him.

“You don't have to fall apart by yourself. Not even when I'm here. You're extraordinary.”

You shift slightly, wiping your cheek against his shirt, and the movement brings your nose close to the warm skin of his throat. He stills. His hand pauses on your back. Something electric flickers between you. Quiet, heavy, inevitable.

You look up at him.

He’s already looking down at you.

And he doesn’t move away. Not even a little. His thumb comes up to brush a tear from just beneath your eye, slow, lingering, almost reverent.

“Sunshine…” he whispers, voice low, quiet and so close his breath grazes your lips.

The air tightens. His gaze drops. First to your mouth, then back to your eyes.

And before you lose the chance again, you tilt your head upwards and bring your lips to his. Soft at first, almost tentative. Like you're not quite sure if this is real.

He answers you instantly.

Gojo breath catches, and then his hand comes to cradle his jaw as he kisses you back. Slow and deep, like he has been waiting for so long for this. Your fingers curl onto the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer and he leans into you willingly, letting the kiss grow warmer, needier.

His other hand trails down your waist, guiding you a little closer until your chest brushes his, until there's barely any space between you two.

His lips part against yours, stealing a small, startled sound from you that seems to light something inside him.

He exhales against your mouth, almost a laugh, almost a groan.

“Sunshine…” he murmurs into the kiss, lips brushing yours with every syllable, “you’re gonna kill me.”

But he doesn't pause. Only until the air runs thin and he pulls back a few centimeters. Breathing hard, eyes wide, sparkling and blue.

He cups your face between both hands now, gently wiping your cheek for any residue of your forgotten tears.

“Are you sure?” He asks, voice low and rough in a way you’ve never heard from him. “I don’t want you to regret this. Not even for a second.”

Your answer is immediate, breathless, certain. “Of course I’m sure.”

Something in him breaks. Quietly. Beautifully. His forehead drops to yours, a shaky smile tugging at his lips.

“Okay,” he whispers.

And then he kisses you again. Slow and deep and hungry and tender all at once. Each brush of his lips helps you forget whatever you were even crying about in the first place.

He gently guides you down onto his bed, lying you down and his lips trailing down the line of your neck. He adjusts your legs over his, resting your bare thigh over his covered one.

“Are you comfortable?” He asks.

You nod, though the question makes your chest flutter a bit.

“Okay,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your throat and you feel your legs instinctively squeeze around his waist.

He gently sucks at the soft skin on your neck, pinkish purple marks blooming from beneath his lips in its wake.

His lips graze the swell of your chest. “Is this okay?”

You gasp when he gently sinks his teeth into your soft flesh. Not hard enough to draw blood but enough to squirm beneath him.

“It’s-” you try to gasp out, “it’s more than okay.”

He chuckles at the sounds you're making. “Perfect.”

You flush, but the corner of his lips curls up.

He shifts his weight slightly, leaning down and his voice goes low.

“Can you close your eyes for a second?”

And you do, fluttering your eyes close. And the moment you do, all you can hear is his sounds. His breath's slow and deep tickling your skin as he gently bites your breasts. The quiet creek of his bedframe as he adjusts himself.

“You're doing so good.” He compliments even though you're not doing anything at all.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, you feel his hand gently trail from your shoulder to your elbow, then down to the top of your hand, lacing your fingers together.

He seems to know the power of stillness, of patience. The space between sounds. The anticipation.

He pulls back just slightly, just enough so you can see his face. His eyes search mine. earnest, unblinking.

"I’ve wanted to do this for a while," he confesses. "From the time I saw you for the first time again. Even while we were separated. There wasn't a moment I didn't desperately want you.”

His words sink into the minimal air between you. Like a whispered truth, replaying in loops in your head.

A long pause falls between you. not awkward, but charged.

"Do you want me to talk?” You ask, trying to ease the tension, though your heart is hammering.

“Do or don't,” he murmurs. “I just want you as you are.”

Gojo's fingers tighten around your hand, grounding you. You can hear every inhale, every flutter of breath.

You feel the weight of his gaze, the heat building beneath the soft thrum of silence.

“Can I touch you?” he asks. Quiet. Steady. His voice curls low in your ears like smoke, curling down your spine and pooling between your legs.

You nod eagerly, your body buzzing with anticipation.

His hand moves with intent now, not rushing. He glides it up your thigh, over the smooth curve just below the hem of your skirt and you peek your eyes open to watch him. Your breath catches, and you hear it clearly, an intimate gasp hanging between us. You feel heat rushing in your cheeks, your chest. It’s strange and thrilling, hearing yourself react like this. He hears it too. You can see the effect of it in his eyes.

“You sound so pretty,” he says. “You don’t even know.”

His fingers curl under the fabric of your skirt, drawing it up slowly, reverently. You watch him as he watches me, one hand trailing over the bare skin of your hip while the other gently leaves your hand to hold your thigh in place over his.

“You're so beautiful.” He murmurs, eyes flicking over to your face.

You don’t answer, just tilt your head slightly, lips parted, heart beating so loud you're sure he can hear you.

“Sunshine,” he says softly, reverently. “God, the things I want to say…”

“Say them.”

He pauses, his hand now brushing along the soft inside of your thigh.

“I think about this every night,” he says. “The way your skin would feel under my hands. The way your voice would sound when you’re falling apart for me.” He shifts closer, and you feel the firm press of him through his pants, just under where your hip rests. “You’re already shaking.”

“I’m nervous,” You whisper.

“I know.” He leans closer to you, and his lips barely graze your ear. “But I’ll take care of you. Just listen. Just feel.”

His finger slips beneath your panties, all slow and patient. The fabric clings to you, damp with anticipation and desperation.

And when he finally touches you, it's electric.

You whimper beneath his gentle touch, raw and unfiltered. He watches you like he's memorising every flicker of your reaction.

“So wet for me,” he breathes. “God, Sunshine.”

He presses two fingers against you. Slow, teasing strokes. You squirm, arching slightly against him and he cups the back of your head, soothingly.

“I want every sound,” he says. “Don't you dare hold back. Let me hear you.”

His thumb circles your clit gently while he slides a thick finger inside, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes you. It feels like you're floating, surrounded by him, by every whisper, every sound, every word made just for you.

“You're so tight.” He murmurs, sliding in another finger inside. “I’ve dreamed of this. Having you like this. Not just hearing you moan, but knowing I’m the one pulling it from you.”

You grip the sheets, eyes half-lidded, chest rising and falling with shaky breaths. Every pulse of pleasure builds slow and deep, moans and gasps slip past from your lips without thought.

“I’m close,” You breathe out between whimpers.

“I know,” he says, curling his fingers just right. “Let go. Let me hear how I make you come.”

And you do.

The moment crashes over you, sharp and blinding. Your body trembles against his, thighs clenching around his wrist, and you cry out lost in sensation.

Gojo doesn’t stop until you're twitching under his touch, breath coming in ragged bursts. He pulls his hand away gently, adjusting your legs just slightly, and you can hear the sound of your breath as you come down from your orgasm.

Then silence, except for your breathing.

He leans down and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your lips, a quiet contrast to everything that just happened.

“You sound so perfect,” he whispers again in your ear, his lips slightly brushing your lobe. “You're so perfect.”

Your chest rises and falls against his, his face still resting against the side of your head, cocooning you in the aftershocks of your own sounds.

He doesn't say anything right away, just watches you with those pretty eyes, focused, dark with hunger, but soft at the edges, like he's afraid you'll disappear again.

He shifts back above you on the bed, his body angled over yours now. You feel him, hard, restrained, pressing against your inner thigh. He hasn’t touched himself, hasn't done anything to himself yet. But everything about the way he looks at you feels deeper than physical. Like he’s trying to memorise every inch of your soft skin.

He leans in, voice hush against your collarbone. “Do you want to hear what it sounds like when I make you mine?”

A shiver runs through you. You can't find the words, so you arch my hips slightly toward him instead. His hands move to your waist, and he kisses you again. Open, hungry, and warm. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you part for him willingly, melting into him.

You can hear the kiss. The wet sound of it. The faint moan you didn’t know you let out. The low, guttural noise he makes into your mouth as he deepens it.

He breaks away and starts moving lower, kisses trailing down the line of your body, his hands pushing the hem of your shirt and skirt higher, exposing the soft, damp material of your underwear. He presses his nose there, breathing in, and a whimper escapes you.

“Gojo,” you gasp, overwhelmed.

“Satoru,” he says. “Call me Satoru.”

His fingers peel down your underwear and you can hear the wet lace sliding down your skin. He takes off the rest of your clothes and your thigh tenses as his hands move to sooth them.

“Stay just like that.” He settles between your legs. “You're doing so good.”

Then he touches you again, slow, open-mouthed kisses that melt you, his tongue gentle and skilled, the rhythm building with each quiet moan you let slip. You can hear how much he wants you, not just in the growing tension of his breath, but in the way he’s so focused, so utterly worshipful.

Your hands clutch at his fluffy white hair, gently tugging as the tension builds again. Your body is hypersensitive now, every touch raw and amplified in your ears. And he’s relentless. His mouth, his hands, his whispered praise all flooding into my head.

“Oh, Satoru.” You moan, arching into him.

“You taste like you were made for me,” he breathes, the sound vibrating deep into you.

It doesn’t take long before you're arching again, rocking your hips against his face, your voice breaking on a choked cry as you come for the second time. His name spills from your lips like a prayer, a plea. He stays with you through all of it, not stopping until your hips fall back..

He finally lifts his head, lips and chin glistening, and looks up at you with something close to awe.

Then he crawls back over to you, kissing your mouth like you're something precious.

And when he presses his forehead to yours, still catching his breath, he murmurs something softer than you've ever heard from him.

“You have no idea what you do to me.”

You smile, barely able to breathe. “Show me.”

Satoru exhales slowly, his forehead still pressed to yours. His lips ghost over your cheek, then your jaw, then lower, slow and reverent. His hands are steady now, but his breath betrays the heat inside him.

“You sure?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” you answer, squeezing your legs around his waist. “I'm on the pill, it's okay.”

There’s no more teasing. He quickly pulls off his shirt and his sweatpants and his boxers before he shifts against you, his hips settling between your thighs. You feel him, solid, aching and every part of you coils with anticipation.

And then, he begins to press in.

It’s slow, maddening. He watches your face the entire time, like he's drinking in every expression you make, every shiver, every intake of breath. You feel the stretch, the fullness, and you can’t help the broken moans and whimpers that escape you.

He stills once he’s fully inside, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“Sunshine…” His voice is wrecked, strained with restraint. You stay like that for a moment, joined, breathless. His hands are everywhere, gripping your hips, brushing your cheek before lacing through your hand above your head.

“You feel…” he can’t finish. He just moves.

The rhythm is deep, slow, and intimate. Not just for pleasure, but for memory. For permanence.

You close your eyes and let yourself feel it. His weight, his heat, the emotion behind every thrust. He kisses your throat, your jaw, your lips, every inch of skin.

“I want you to remember me when I'm gone tomorrow. And the days after.” He says between his own moans. “So you remember how I fit in you. How I make you feel. How you sound when you're mine.”

You whimper, overwhelmed. Biting down on your lips hard enough before it bleeds.

He gently grabs your jaw, pulling it open.

“Say it,” he breathes. “Say you're mine.”

“I'm yours,” you moan out, scratching your nails down your back as you flutter around him. “I'm yours, Satoru.”

He breaks at that. His pace falters, hips stuttering, and he kisses you as he’s unraveling and you follow suit. The moment is messy, real, desperate. His arms wrap around you as he comes, whispering your name like it’s holy. You hold him close, like you could keep him inside me longer if you just didn’t let go.

“You're so perfect,” he praises, soothing your trembling legs as he pulls out of you, cum seeping out of you and dripping down into the sheets.

He kisses your forehead gently as you bask in the post orgasm glow.

“I'm yours, by the way.” He says, peppering your face with kisses. “I've always been yours.”

For a long moment, neither of you move.

Satoru stays there above you, bracing his weight on his forearms so he doesn’t crush you, even though you kinda want him to, forehead pressed to your shoulder. His breath is still uneven, warming your skin in soft bursts. Little tremors run through his body. Not from effort, but from the way he’s still coming back down, piece by piece.

He presses a slow kiss to your collarbone, then another, then one directly over your heartbeat.

“Hey…” he murmurs against your skin, watching you struggle to keep your eyes open from exhaustion. “Stay with me.”

His voice isn’t teasing now. It’s soft. Bare. Grounded.

He shifts gently, rolling off you with the kind of care he never shows anyone else, and immediately pulls you into his chest. One hand cups the back of your head, guiding your face into the warmth of his throat, while the other wraps around your waist like he’s trying to hold you together.

You melt into him without thinking.

Your legs are still unsteady. Your chest is still rising too fast. And Satoru notices everything.

He rubs slow circles into your back, humming quietly into your hair, a low, steady sound that pulls you back into your own body.

“That was a lot,” he whispers, lips brushing the top of your head. “You did so well.”

The praise hits you differently this time. Not heated, not overwhelming. Just gentle.

“You sound so pretty when you say my name.”

You blush, eyes fluttering half open as you bury your face deeper into his neck.

“Don’t get used to it,” you murmurs, even though you're still curled against him like you never want to move. “It just… slipped out.”

“Uh-huh.”

You shift closer, tucking yourself fully into his chest until his arms instinctively tighten around you. The steady beat of his heart fills your ears, grounding you.

“Don’t let go yet,” you mumble.

“I wasn’t planning to.” His lips brush your hairline, barely a kiss, more like a promise. “Just sleep. I’ve got you.”

Your eyes finally drift shut, and he stays awake a moment longer. Watching you, memorizing the soft rise and fall of your breath, brushing a thumb under your eye like he’s smoothing away everything that ever hurts.

“Goodnight, Sunshine,” he whispers into your hair.

And with your body warm against his and his arms wrapped safely around you, he finally lets himself fall asleep too.

You knew Satoru was rich. Like his house is huge. Or maybe it just feels huge because it isn't your house. The hallways seem longer and the ceiling looks taller than what a normal house should have. Even the air smells different and clean in an unusually nice way too.

Your parents always knew his parents but for some reason the two of you never had a sleepover. And when you mentioned it to him, he simply declared that you needed to sleepover at his house then to solve the dilemma.

“We can do whatever we want,” he announces, excitedly kicking off his shoes in some type of karate move. “Except for jumping on the couch. I'm technically not allowed. But if you want to jump on it, I promise I won't tell anyone.”

You didn't jump on his couch.

But you did spend an hour building a blanket fort in his room, which he kept insisting needed more 'structural support beams' like he was some sophisticated architect. Then he made you try all of his favourite snacks, which really were just sugar in a few different forms. And then you ended up watching a movie he'd already seen like six times. Satoru kept pausing at different scenes, saying “No, no, watch this part,” even though you were watching intently just for him.

But later, when his mum told you both it was time for bed and the lights clicked off, everything suddenly felt different. It wasn't the same room you had at home, with all your teddies and plushies under the soft glow of warm fairylights.

His room was sky blue, with no teddies and plushies and no fairylights. Just years old glow-in-the-dark stars half stuck on his bedroom ceiling and barely glowing and your pink sheep plushie you carry everywhere with you.

“Do you think jellyfish are aliens?”

You didn’t answer, too intent on squeezing your plushie as your chest felt tight in that nervous way that made your heart beat too fast and you're not sure if you were about to cry or not.

After a moment of no response he turns over to you. “Are you okay, Sunshine?”

You nod, the kind of nod that fools absolutely no one, especially not Satoru Gojo who knows how to read you better than any nine year old should.

Without saying anything else, he scoots closer across the mattress, dramatically, like a worm, and then stops right next to you. His hand searches blindly in the dark until his fingers tapped your wrist.

When you don't pull away, he slips his hand into yours.

“There,” he mumbles. “Now you can’t get kidnapped by ghosts or the aliens ’cause they’d have to take me too, and I’d fight them to protect you.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself, and he sounded very proud of earning that.

“I’ve never slept at someone else’s house before,” you admit, voice tiny.

“Yeah, I figured.” His thumb brushes your knuckles like it was the most normal thing ever. “It’s okay. Just sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You didn’t mean to fall asleep that fast. But holding his hand made the room feel smaller, warmer, safer. Like the world wasn’t so big after all.

And in the dark, right before dreams pulled you under, you feel him squeeze your hand once, quick, secret, and almost shy.

It has only been a few hours since Satoru left to go back home for five days.

A few hours

Six hours and 34 minutes.

You've been counting.

You shouldn't have counted because that makes time go slower but you still counted anyway.

You're curled up at your desk in your shared student accommodation, surrounded by a corpse pile of different studying techniques you searched up on, making good on the promise you made to Gojo this morning to find a new technique and not helplessly study yourself to death by using the same method that clearly doesn't work too well with you anymore. Flashcards, colourful sticky notes, even a mind map half scrawled on a blank piece of paper.

You like flashcards the best.

Utahime returns from the bathroom, standing in the doorway and judging with her entire soul.

“You look like someone stole your emotional support animal,” she says flatly.

You groan into your notes. “He's only been gone for six hours.”

“And here you are, acting like a damn war widow.”

You lift your head enough to glare at her. “Utahime, I'm studying.”

“You're trying to,” she corrects, “You're definitely not studying.”

You flop face first down into your flashcards. “I miss him.”

“Obviously,” she walks further into your room and leans against your desk. “You keep sighing like you're in some dramatic period drama.”

You scoff and then sigh again, traitorously.

She stills, squints at you, and then because she has the emotional subtlety of a thrown brick, points at your neck.

“Are you going to tell me why you're willingly wearing a turtleneck jumper? You hate turtlenecks.”

You freeze.

Then you pull the collar higher. “No reason.”

“Uh-huh.”

She steps forward, grabs the fabric, and pulls it down before you can react.

“Good lord!,” she splutters. “Did you get attacked by an octopus?”

You swat her hand away, your face flushing red, mortified. “Shut up!”

“There’s, like-” she gestures wildly at your neck, “-cartography on your skin! Did he try to mark territorial boundaries?”

“Utahime!”

She backs away, hands flying up in surrender. “No judgment! I'm just- wow. So that's why you kept rubbing at your neck when you came back this morning from Gojo's house.”

You bury your burning face in your hands. “He got carried away.”

“Clearly. I can see teeth marks.”

You throw a flashcard at her. She dodges it.

Utahime softens then, just a little. “You can facetime him, you know.”

“I know. We usually just text,” you mumble. “He left so early. I didn’t even get a proper goodbye. I barely remember half of it.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows lift, settling down on her bed. “Start talking.”

And before you can stop yourself, your mind drifts back to this morning.

You were standing outside of Satoru's house, wearing one of his hoodies three sizes too big for you. Mostly because you needed all available fabric to hide the constellations of hickeys littered all over your neck and your collarbone and your chest. There were even some on your inner thighs.

Satoru notices immediately.

Mainly because he always notices you.

“You look like you’re smuggling a pet inside your hoodie,” he says, leaning down to peck a kiss on your cheek.

“Shut up,” you mutter, tightening the hood. “This is your fault.”

He blinks innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You left bite marks.”

“You tasted good.”

“Satoru!”

He laughs, bright and unfairly pretty for six a.m.

Then he reached out and tugged your hood down, not enough to expose anything, just enough to properly see your face.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You nod. “Just tired.”

He gave you that smile, warm, fond, the one that feels like it’s looking right through you but only in a nice way.

He brushes a stray piece of hair behind your ear, hand lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“I wish I could come back sooner,” he murmurs.

“You’ll be back in a few days,” you remind him.

“Yeah, but-” He hesitates, hands sliding into his pockets. “It was nice. Last night. Being with you.”

You swallow. “Yeah. It was.”

His grin softens. “I’m gonna miss you.”

He dips down and presses a slow, sweet kiss to your cheek, just barely missing your lips.

“Text me when you wake up later,” he says.

Then a quieter, “I don’t like leaving you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re pretending you’re not sad.”

You blink hard, the lump in your throat forming too quickly and your eyes stings with tears.

It's only five days.

He thumbs the edge of your hood, eyes gentle. “I’ll be back before you even realise I’m gone.”

You lean into him for a hug, squeezing him tight as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

And before he gets into the car his parents sent for him, he looks back at you three times, before finally settling in.

You sigh again.

Utahime throws a pillow at you. “Okay that one was justified but you got to stop sighing.”

You rub at your face, “I didn't think I'd miss him this much. This soon too.”

Before either of you could say anything, your phone buzzes with a message on your desk.

Both you and Utahime lean forward to read the message.

satoru ♡: did you eat? or are you surviving on existential dread and vanilla lattes?

Your heart flutters.

Utahime rolls her eyes.

You pick up your phone to text him, warmth spreading through you.

Utahime watches the soft smile tugging at your lips and sighs dramatically.

“I’m surrounded by idiots,” she mutters, leaving your room.

But she closes the door softly behind her.

Satoru flops back on his childhood bed like it personally wronged him.

His phone screen brightens and Suguru's face fills the screen, his long hair damp, a mug in hand, the faint hum of Shoko's voice in the background threatening to castrate whoever stole her favourite lighter.

“Oh,” he takes a look at Satoru's expression. “So we're doing this today.”

“I'm dying.” Satoru announces immediately.

“You’re not dying,” Suguru replies, though he sets his mug down and adjusts the phone so Satoru gets his full attention. “But go on.”

Satoru drags a hand down his face. “Suguru, it’s been three and a half days.”

“Tragic.”

“And she’s not here.”

“I gathered.”

“And,” Satoru flips onto his stomach, hugging a pillow with dramatic suffering, “I miss her so much it’s physically harming me. I think I’m ill.”

Suguru takes a slow sip of whatever he’s drinking. Tea? Whiskey? Meanwhile Shoko calls something in the background about “emotional hypochondria.” Suguru ignores her.

“Describe the symptoms,” he says, humoring him.

“Well, I’m cold,” Satoru says. “And bored. And lonely. And I keep checking my phone like a loser.”

“Those do sound life-threatening.”

“And-” Satoru rolls onto his back again, staring up at the ceiling. “When I woke up this morning, I reached out to hold her, but she wasn’t there, and it actually- like- hurt? Suguru, when did I get so… soft?”

“About three days ago,” Suguru says. “Coincidentally the same day you left her. And slept her” He quickly adds at the end.

Satoru groans dramatically. “She looked so cute when I left, too. All flustered and trying to hide the marks I gave her. Kept tugging on her hoodie like that would help. You should’ve seen her.”

“I’m sure she was adorable.”

“She was,” Satoru insists. “And when she hugged me goodbye? Suguru, she squeezed me. Like she didn’t want to let go.” He pauses, voice softening even further. “I didn’t want to let go either.”

Suguru watches him for a moment, a smile tugging gently at the corner of his mouth. “You really like her.”

“I think I more than like her,” Satoru mumbles. “I swear, she's my soulmate.”

Shoko passes behind Suguru, deadpan as ever. “Tell him to stop whining and come back already.”

“No,” Suguru says, flicking her forehead off-screen. “He’s having a moment.”

Satoru points at the camera with sudden determination. “I am having a moment! A romantic crisis!”

Suguru hums thoughtfully. “You know, you’re allowed to miss someone. Especially someone who makes you happy.”

Satoru goes silent for a long second.

“…I do miss her,” he finally whispers. “A lot.”

“I know,” Suguru says. “Call her. She’ll be happy to hear your voice.”

Satoru brightens instantly, grabbing his phone with renewed energy. “You think so? We normally just text.”

“I know so,” Suguru says, smirking. “Now go before you call me a fourth time today.”

Satoru hangs up mid-laugh, already navigating his phone to your contact to call you.

You're a bit too early for your lecture.

Unreasonably early.

You blame the stupid fluttery feeling under your ribs, the one that’s been there all morning ever since you woke up and remembered that Satoru’s coming back today. Technically not until the evening, but still. Your body decided that meant you’re allowed to be excited now.

Your leg bounces under the desk as you take notes you probably won’t remember later, your eyes drifting constantly to the lecture hall doors like they owe you something.

The seat on your right stays empty, and the seat on your left is filled with a poor girl who had to put up with your sulking while Satoru has been away. She is quite sweet, though. You both bonded over the fact you both like the same crime show.

She doesn't look up at her laptop, as she says, “you're vibrating.”

“I'm not vibrating.” You whisper back.

“You're literally shaking the table.”

You glare at her, but your smile gives you away, small and impossible to hide.

Five days.

You didn’t think five days could feel this long.

Your phone buzzes.

satoru ♡: im coming home soon

satoru ♡: bored already

satoru ♡: miss you

satoru ♡: miss ur face

satoru ♡: miss ur neck too but I'll behave

You bite back a smile, so sharp it hurts your bottom lip. You quickly flip your phone over before someone sees the messages.

You go back to clicking around your laptop, pulling open a document before the girl next to you can see the silly smile you have on your face.

That's when your heart drops when the chair beside you scrapes back.

Then a very familiar voice murmurs, “Miss me?”

You whip your head around so fast the world tilts a little.

Satoru Gojo is sitting there.

Right there.

In your lecture hall.

Hair slightly messy, hoodie slightly rumpled, eyes bright in that annoyingly beautiful way and smiling at you like you personally hung the stars while he was gone.

Your mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“Satoru? You- what- you said evening-”

“I know.” He shrugs, leaning in a little. “I wanted to see you so I came back home sooner.” His knee bumps gently against yours. “Wasn’t gonna wait another eight hours to see you.”

Your breath catches.

“You could’ve warned me,” you whisper, half-scolding, half-melting.

“But then I wouldn’t get this expression.” He gestures at your face, delighted. “The deer in the headlights expression.”

You shove his shoulder lightly before you can stop yourself. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine. I tolerate you.”

His grin softens, eyes warm. “Missed you too.”

You can’t kiss him. You really can’t, not with the professor literally beginning the lecture in front of the hall.

But you can lean just slightly closer.

And you can let your knee rest against his under the desk.

And you can whisper, “Hi.”

His voice is quieter this time, almost reverent.

“Hi, sunshine.”

You barely make it inside his room before Satoru kicks the door shut behind you.

“You didn’t even let me finish my sentence,” you laugh breathlessly as he walks you backward.

“You can finish it later,” he says, words warm against your skin.

Your back hits the wall gently, and then he’s there, not crowding, not overwhelming, just close. Close enough that your heartbeat trips over itself.

His hands land on your waist, thumbs stroking slow circles like he’s relearning you with every touch. His forehead lowers to yours.

“I missed you,” he murmurs again, softer this time. Honest.

Like an admission he’s been carrying since he left.

You smile, helplessly, stupidly, fingers curling into the front of his hoodie.

“I missed you too.”

And then his mouth is on yours.

Warm. Slow. Familiar. Like he’s been waiting five days just for this one moment.

The kind of kiss that makes you dizzy and weak in the knees.

His fingers slide up beneath your shirt, settling on your ribs. You tug him closer by his hoodie strings until he laughs into the kiss, the sound muffled and unbearably fond.

“Satoru,” you breathe out, lips brushing between his with each syllable.

“Hm?” He hums.

“Nothing… I just like saying your name.”

He smiles against your lips, exhaling a shaky little breath that shouldn't make you feel all fluttery and floaty. “You sound good saying my name.”

He kisses you again, deeper this time. Your back presses a little harder against the wall, his hands pull you a little closer. The world narrows until it’s just the two of you and the soft, sweet sound of him breathing you in like he’s been starving.

You lose track of how long you stay like that. Tangled up in him, his smile against your mouth before moving down to leave more marks on your neck, the ones he left before already slowly faded. His thumbs smoothing lazy patterns over your hips, his voice low and warm whenever he pulls back just enough to look at you.

He presses a small kiss over a bite mark, slow and lingering.

“You're staying over tonight, right?”

You nod without hesitation, leaning closer for him to kiss you more.

And when he does, slower this time, gentler, like he’s savoring you, gently pulling off your shirt. There’s a softness beneath it all. A warmth that feels almost familiar. Almost remembered.

A feeling like the two of you are standing on that quiet, sun soaked beach you both used to play in the water at.

Just you.

Just him.

Just the feelings you've always had for him. Right where the water meets the sky.

go back to part one?

this is by far one of my favourite things I've ever written I'm sosososos happy with how this turned out<3 im so happy i committed myself to write this and finished it without giving up ♡

thank you so much for reading <3