PLEASEEE can we get a part two of the gojo x love island story, I BEG I’m Inlove with ur writing
𝖩𝖩𝖪 𝗑 𝖫𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖨𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽 [𝖡𝖮𝖭𝖴𝖲] - 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗥𝗲𝘂𝗻𝗶𝗼𝗻 ✨🔥🎤
Part 1. | Part 2. | Part 3.
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𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢! 𝙴𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚣, 𝚐𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚙, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚊𝚠-𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊 👀💋🍹
#𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝙸𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚁𝚎𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚘𝚗 #𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚊𝙸𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐
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Flashing cameras. Practiced smiles. Too many cheek kisses to count.
It was finally time for the Love Island reunion, something you’d been both excited for and quietly dreading.
You stood in front of the glowing red backdrop, one hand on your hip, the other holding your clutch, your smile dialed up to maximum wattage. Cameras went off at what felt like mach 10, the barrage of flashes so relentless you were half convinced your eyes were permanently locked open.
And then, mercifully, a warm hand slid around your waist.
“You okay?” A low voice brushed against your ear, quieter than the chaos around you.
You tilted toward him slightly, still holding your smile for the press. “I feel like my eyes are stuck open.”
He chuckled, soft and low, before tugging you forward, steering you past the backdrop. “They’ve got enough of you. Let’s not give them the full show just yet.”
The carpet spilled into a quieter corridor, and from there into a side dressing room lined with mirrors and bright, buzzing bulbs. You collapsed into the couch with an exaggerated sigh, unclipping your heels under the excuse of ‘just resting your feet for a second’. He dropped down beside you, casual, hands braced on his thighs.
You followed his line of sight—straight to the mirror across from you.
He wasn’t looking at the wall. He was looking at you.
Your reflection met his, and the corner of his mouth curled into that half-smirk that always gave him away.
Despite yourself, your lips tugged into a smile.
“Is it almost time to go on?” you asked lightly, fumbling in your clutch for your lipstick, anything to break the moment. “Feels like we’ve been here forever already. And the drama hasn’t even started.”
He checked his watch, fingers drumming lightly against the metal band. You took that moment to glance at his profile; the way his dark hair tumbled across his shoulders, the sharp line of his nose, the subtle set of his jaw. Your chest tightened slightly.
Blinking, you looked away. Stop it, you chided yourself silently. This wasn’t real. None of it was. You two were just playing the game; for the cameras, for the PR, for the endless cycle of headlines, ship names, and Instagram posts. Nothing more.
But the tension in the room - the quiet hum behind the mirrors, the faint buzz of fluorescent lights - made it feel heavier than that.
He broke the silence, voice low but steady. “I think we should head over. Filming starts in ten.”
You nodded, bending down to clip your heels back into place. Your fingers lingered a second longer than necessary on the straps, a small, unintentional pause before you stood.
When you straightened, you extended your hand toward him, letting your eyes meet his for a heartbeat longer than strictly necessary. “Well…shall we?”
He smirked, the kind of smile that was both mischievous and faintly dangerous. “After you,” he said, letting his hand hover above yours before finally taking it. The brush of his fingers sent a quiet shiver up your arm, something neither of you could admit out loud, not with the crew lurking just around the corner.
For a fleeting second, it felt like just the two of you. No cameras, no flashbulbs, no drama. Only that glance, that touch, and the impossible weight of all the unspoken tension simmering between you.
You were sitting down, Choso on one side - his heavy hand resting comfortably on your thigh - and Utahime on the other, her legs crossed neatly as she leaned close enough for her perfume to cling to your shoulder.
“You do know things are going to go insane tonight?” she murmured, hair brushing against your arm. Her voice was steady, but her eyes flicked across the villa like a hawk.
You hummed, gaze locked on the opposite couch where the other islanders were beginning to trickle in. “I know.”
Ariana, glossy as a magazine cover, perfectly composed even in the heat, swept into her seat beside the host, her gown cascading like liquid metal. Naoya, the so-called influencer-slash-host, lounged next to her with a practiced grin. You hadn’t known his name fifteen hours ago, but it had only taken one trip down the rumor mill to piece it together: a YouTube titan who specialized in wild stunts and “challenge reels.” A man who lived off shock value. And now he was the one with tonight’s cue cards.
“He’s going to ask you a ton of questions about Satoru—” Utahime started, but you cut her off with a quick glance.
“I know, Hime. I know.” You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself against the lights and the mounting hum of conversation. “I’m not worried about it. There’s nothing between us anymore. We’re friends now.”
The words felt sharp, rehearsed. Like lines you’d practiced in the mirror just to convince yourself you believed them.
Across the room, Satoru lowered himself onto the edge of the couch, a little too casual, a little too deliberate. Mei Mei slid in seamlessly beside him, her smile like a blade as she wrapped her fingers around his. She squeezed once, firmly, like she was staking a claim.
His jaw ticked—barely. The kind of micro-expression you wouldn’t have caught if you hadn’t memorized every single way his face unraveled when he thought no one was looking. Then, as if nothing had cracked, his lips pulled into that smooth, public-ready smile.
And for a second - a single, dangerous second - it felt like staring into fire. Heat licked up your spine, every nerve alight, every thought striped bare.
Then he smiled. Polished. Easy. Pretend.
You forced yourself to return it, lips curving politely, before wrenching your gaze away toward the cluster of cameras that blinked like mechanical stars.
Shoko nudged you gently from her place behind you, reading you like only she could. “Don’t give them anything unless you want to.”
Choso’s hand pressed a little more firmly into your thigh, grounding you. “You ready for this?” he asked, voice quiet but steady, carrying an edge of protectiveness that didn’t escape you.
You swallowed, nodding slowly as the lights brightened and Naoya leaned forward with his first question card.
“Alright, lovers and liars,” he purred, his voice cutting through the chatter like a blade. “Let’s get this reunion started.”
And you knew—you knew—that everything you’d tried to bury was about to be dug up under the brightest spotlight imaginable.
The lights were hot, brighter than any challenge night, brighter than the firepit eliminations. The set was built to look casual, like some breezy cabana hangout, but you could feel the tension coming off every sequined dress and pressed suit in the room.
Utahime crossed one elegant leg over the other, her golden strappy heel bouncing slightly. She looked calm—no, radiant, her hand resting casually on Kento’s knee. The “winning couple.” Everyone in the audience practically worshipped them. Kento had leaned into his mic earlier and murmured something both self-deprecating and sarcastically dry, and the crowd had eaten it up.
Suguru and Yuki sat behind them, fingers laced in what looked suspiciously like a truce rather than romance. Sukuna and Yorozu were half-drunk already, whispering sharp little things in each other’s ears.
Meanwhile, you and Choso had been seated strategically—front row, dead center, his hand now pressing a little more firmly on your thigh. Producers were milking you two harder than a dairy farm. The “are they/aren’t they” energy was too good to waste.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Naoya’s voice boomed, leaning forward in his chair like he was about to roast someone alive. “We’ve got the winners, the losers, the flirts, the fighters, and—” his eyes dragged directly over you and Choso, his grin widening, “the unfinished business.”
He’d glanced at you both with those too-knowing eyes, like he could smell your pulse quicken.
And you weren’t even at the worst part yet.
“Now…” Naoya flipped through his cards with dramatic flair. “The nation wants to know—what’s really going on with you two?” His finger shot out like a loaded weapon at you and Choso.
The crowd howled again. You felt Choso stiffen, but he didn’t pull his hand from your thigh. In fact, he pressed down, just enough to remind you he was there.
You gave a diplomatic smile. “We had a great connection on the show, and we’re still… really close.”
“Really close,” Naoya echoed, raising an eyebrow. “So close that you’re still sleeping in the same hotel room?”
The room gasped. Choso’s head whipped toward him, a rare flash of irritation sparking in his usually unreadable eyes. “That’s not—”
“Oh, so you’re denying it?” Naoya’s grin sharpened. “Because I’ve got a source who says otherwise.”
The camera swung in Satoru’s direction, and he smirked, slow and wolfish, like he’d been waiting for this all night. “Yeah, that was me,” he said simply, leaning back as if he hadn’t just set fire to the reunion stage.
Utahime muttered “oh, for fuck’s sake” under her breath, while Kento tightened his grip on her hand. Suguru and Yuki exchanged a look that was one part amused, one part secondhand embarrassment.
Your pulse slammed. Choso’s hand slid higher on your thigh, possessive now, protective. “Don’t let him get in your head,” he muttered, low enough only you could hear. His eyes—dark, earnest, almost pleading—locked on yours, and for the first time, you weren’t sure where the acting ended.
And Naoya, smelling the blood in the water, leaned forward. “Ohhh, folks, this is gonna be good.”
You clenched your jaw, keeping your gaze on Satoru. “You’re so fucking weird for that. How is that even any of your business?”
He shrugged, unbothered, a lazy smile plastered across his face. “I mean, it wasn’t private knowledge.”
“But it wasn’t public knowledge, either.” Choso said tightly.
“Well, now it is.” Mei Mei said slyly, smirking.
You glanced at her, poking your cheek with your tongue. Was she being serious? Joining in? “Really, Mei Mei? You are talking right now?”
She tilted her head, silver-blue hair glinting under the studio lights. “I mean, someone had to say it. Better me than him.” She nodded toward Satoru, who only grinned wider.
“Oh, don’t drag me into it,” Satoru said smoothly, stretching his legs out like he was on his own damn couch. “I just… observe things. Share them. You know, like a friend.”
“Funny way of spelling saboteur,” Choso shot back, sharper than anyone had ever heard him.
The crowd cackled. Naoya slapped the stack of cue cards against his thigh like he’d just been handed gold. “And this is why I love this cast. No filters. No training. None.”
Satoru stretched in his chair, white shirt pulling tight across his shoulders, and drawled, “C’mon, it’s not like anyone here’s a saint. Half of you were sneaking around. Don’t make me start naming names.”
“Do it,” Yorozu piped up from the back, leaning forward so aggressively her sequins caught the light. “Expose them all.”
“That’s not what this is about,” Utahime snapped, though her heel was bouncing faster now. “This is about them.” She gestured at you and Choso like a queen sentencing subjects in court.
“And what about you?” Yuki cut in smoothly, sipping from her wine glass like she wasn’t about to throw a live grenade. “Because from where I’m sitting, you and Kento have been playing ‘storybook couple’ so hard it almost feels… scripted.”
The crowd lost it. A wave of “oooohs” rolled through the set. Kento’s jaw tightened, his smile frozen in place, while Utahime’s eyes went cold.
“Careful,” she said sweetly, the venom laced just enough that even the microphones picked it up.
Ariana pursed her lips, while Naoya practically purred. “God, I love my job.” He tossed his cards into the air like confetti.
Utahime leaned forward, nails tapping on the armrest of her chair. “Regardless, scripted? Please. At least I didn’t need a revolving door of shitty alliances to stay relevant.”
Yuki raised a brow, lips quirking. “If by alliances you mean charisma, then guilty as charged.”
“Charisma?” Utahime scoffed. “Is that what we’re calling lying through your teeth now?”
“Oh, here we go,” Shoko muttered, finally speaking up from her corner. Her chin propped lazily on her hand, she looked like she’d rather be at a cigarette break. “Utahime, you went nuclear because Yuki had the audacity to point out you and Kento are disgustingly perfect? Relax. Not everything’s a conspiracy.”
The crowd whooped, sensing blood. Kento shifted slightly, expression unreadable, though his knuckles were taut against his knee.
Haibara, ever the peacekeeper, leaned forward from his position next to Shoko with both hands raised. “Okay, okay, okay! Let’s just remember we actually had fun in there too, right? Like, like—remember the pool party night? The karaoke? That time Mei Mei convinced us to play spin the bottle and Satoru almost kissed the cameraman?”
Laughter cracked through the tension, even Utahime’s heel slowing its rapid bounce. Satoru threw an arm out theatrically. “Almost? Don’t sell me short, Haibara. I did kiss him. On the cheek. Professional courtesy.”
The room roared. Even Naoya cracked a grin, though not because he wanted to diffuse anything. No. He leaned forward, voice dropping into a predatory purr.
“Speaking of spin the bottle… let’s talk about the heart race challenge.”
The audience instantly shrieked. Cast members shifted in their seats, some smiling nervously, others stiffening like statues.
“God,” you muttered, pressing your fingers to your temple. “Here we go.”
Naoya’s grin spread like oil on water. “See, what the viewers didn’t know is that production tracked every spike. Not just when you were grinding on each other for a challenge. Not just during the couple games. Every single time.”
The cast shifted in their seats, unease rippling through the group.
“And let’s just say,” Naoya purred, dragging it out like he was tasting every syllable, “some hearts were racing a whole lot harder off camera than they ever were on it.”
The crowd detonated: screams, whistles, stamping feet. A woman in the back even shrieked, “DROP THE NAMES!”
Utahime froze, shoulders rigid. Kento’s jaw flexed, stone-faced. Satoru leaned forward like a cat stalking prey, eyes glittering with delight.
“Guess what, sweetheart,” Naoya drawled, throwing his arms wide to the audience. “I’ve got the list.”
Everyone tensed, half laughing nervously, half bracing for impact.
“Let’s see…” He pulled a folded paper from his pocket, holding it between two fingers so Ariana could peek with him. “Satoru’s heart jumped for three different people. And none of them were Mei Mei.”
The crowd howled. Mei Mei’s jaw ticked, though Satoru only smiled, unfazed.
“Utahime,” Naoya continued, eyes sparkling with mischief, “your pulse skyrocketed for everyone but Kento. Interesting.”
Utahime’s cheeks flamed. Kento didn’t move, but the muscle in his jaw twitched again.
“Yuki’s spiked with Suguru, no shocker there. And Choso…” He let the name hang, grin sharpening like a knife. “…you almost damn-near flatlined for one particular person.”
The cameras whipped toward you. Your throat bobbed visibly.
The audience lost it, shrieking like animals at the zoo.
Choso shifted forward, jaw clenching, ears burning crimson. “That’s not relevant.”
“Ohhh,” Naoya purred, leaning back like a king watching his arena. “Tell that to the data.”
“Not relevant,” Choso repeated, his voice flat but his body betraying him. His knee bounced, shoulders squared, eyes fixed anywhere but on you.
“Not relevant?” Utahime snapped, whipping her head toward him. “You’re kidding, right? They literally showed your heart rate monitor maxing out like a defibrillator.”
Kento exhaled slowly, folding his hands in his lap as if patience alone would save him. “Utahime—”
“Don’t ‘Utahime’ me,” she shot back, cutting him off with an uncharacteristic bite. “You want to talk about spikes? Apparently mine were everywhere, right? You think I didn’t notice how many times you were staring at Shoko when you thought no one was looking?”
The room cracked like thunder. Heads snapped, the crowd howled, and Shoko blinked, caught mid-sip of champagne. She set her glass down with surgical calm. “I was… usually asleep. Or drunk. Probably both.”
Mei Mei let out a short laugh, sharp as glass. “Oh, don’t play coy. Half the villa noticed.”
You glared at Mei Mei. “Once again, why are you talking? You’re not even an OG. You’re just a Casa girl who happened to get picked.”
Mei Mei’s eyes darkened, but Satoru cut her off before she could say anything. “So, basically, everyone’s guilty. Which means—” He pivoted toward you, voice silk-dipped venom. “—some people don’t get to play innocent just because their partner’s pretending to be shy on national TV.”
“Oh, so knowing what you want and wanting to be exclusive with someone means being ‘shy’ now?” You asked, sitting up fully. “Well, excuse me.”
“Exclusive?” Sukuna barked out a laugh so loud it rattled the mic pinned to his shirt. “Is that what we’re calling it? Man, if you were trying to make Satoru exclusive, then I’m a fucking youth pastor.”
“Yeah, but you’d still sleep with the congregation,” Utahime muttered, rolling her eyes.
The audience lost it. Even Sukuna’s grin faltered for half a second.
“Oh, that’s cute,” Sukuna sneered, leaning forward. “Bold talk from someone whose whole storyline was crying every other night because her 'man' couldn’t stop staring across the fire pit.”
Kento’s jaw tightened. “You can leave me out of your mouth, Sukuna.”
“Wish Utahime could say the same,” Sukuna shot back.
“Hey—HEY—chill,” Haibara cut in, eyes darting nervously between them. “Can we not fight? It’s supposed to be fun.”
“Fun?” Yorozu’s voice cracked as she sat up straighter, cheeks flushed crimson. “You think it was fun being made to look like some desperate pick-me? When in reality—” She swung toward Sukuna, stabbing her finger in his direction. “—you were the one crawling after me every night.”
“Yikes.” Shoko took another sip of champagne, eyes flicking between them like she was watching a slow-motion car crash.
“Ohhh, not you too,” Mei Mei cackled. “Shoko, honey, at this point you should’ve been given your own room to keep people from drooling over you.”
“Better drooling than leeching,” you snapped, shooting her a glare.
Mei Mei’s smile thinned. “Bold words from someone who made it all the way to runner-up with a man who can barely form full sentences on camera.”
Choso finally looked up, eyes dark and unreadable. “Maybe I don’t need full sentences to make someone feel wanted.”
“Ohhhh!” the crowd shrieked, clutching their champagne flutes.
Satoru leaned forward, laughing cruelly. “Translation: he’s saying you were easy.”
Haibara’s eyes widened, glancing over. “Satoru. Don’t—”
You whipped your head toward him. “You wouldn’t know ‘easy’ if it slapped you in the face—”
“Please,” Satoru cut in, tilting his head, “you practically threw yourself into my lap the first night.”
“That’s rich,” you shot back. “Coming from the guy who couldn’t wait to get his dick wet with the first girl you could grab in Casa.”
You turned to Mei Mei, an evil smile on your face. “Oh wait. That kind of sounds like you. Seems like you leeched onto him too.”
Even Suguru laughed at that one, low and throaty. “She’s got you there.”
Satoru’s smile sharpened. “Careful, Suguru. You weren’t exactly loyal either.”
“Never claimed to be,” Suguru shrugged smoothly, but the twinkle in his eye had teeth.
Mei Mei finally leaned in, her smirk razor-thin as she locked in on Suguru. “Funny, coming from the one person in this room who begged me not to tell anyone what you said that night.”
The room exploded—half gasps, half laughter.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Utahime shot forward, finger jabbing the air. “What night? What did he say?”
Mei Mei only sipped her champagne, eyes glittering. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“God, you’re insufferable,” you muttered.
“And you’re deflecting,” Mei Mei purred back.
“Deflecting?” Satoru’s laugh cracked sharp and high. “She’s projecting. It’s always the ones who scream the loudest who’ve got the most to hide.”
Shoko finally groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re all exhausting. Just hook everyone up to a polygraph next time.”
Mei Mei’s smirk widened. “Please. Half of you would combust on the spot.”
“Oh, like you’d pass,” you shot back, heat rising in your chest. “Didn’t you literally tell half the villa you just wanted to see you if you could get into Sukuna’s bed. Just for shits and giggles?”
The audience gasped in unison.
Satoru’s head whipped toward Mei Mei, scandalized. “You WHAT? Him of all people?!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sukuna growled, leaning forward to glare at Satoru as Yorozu’s hand shot out, fingers twitching toward Mei Mei like she was ready to claw her eyes out.
“Means you’re built like a haunted house,” Satoru shot back, lips curling. “Scary on the outside, moldy on the inside, and people only go there when they’re drunk enough.”
“Relax,” Mei Mei said, unbothered as she sipped her champagne. “It was just a theory. I never said I followed through.”
Yorozu shot to her feet, bristling. “Watch your mouth.” Her manicured hand shot across Mei Mei’s arm, like she was about to launch herself over the couch.
Mei Mei just tilted her head, unbothered, a lazy smile on her lips. “What can I say? I like a challenge.”
Choso actually sat up straighter, dark eyes darting between you and the mess, while Suguru bit down on a grin like he was watching the world’s best shootout. Satoru was practically bouncing in his seat, face contorted between displeasure and anger.
The audience shrieked louder, security started inching closer, and the camera swung wildly between the cast as voices overlapped, shouts rising.
And just as Yorozu leaned across the table, fingers curled like claws—
🎬 “Due to unforeseen circumstances, this portion of the reunion will not be aired in full.”
The cameras were gone, the lights dimmed, and suddenly the studio felt smaller. Tension still lingered in the air, thick enough to taste. People were shoving past one another, muttering, throwing glances sharp enough to cut through steel.
Shoko and Yuki were already leaning against their car, laughing a little too loudly, trying to convince the world—and maybe themselves—that they weren’t seething. Utahime’s hand stayed pressed to Kento’s chest as they slipped into a sleek black SUV, faces carefully composed, but the tension between them was practically glowing. Sukuna and Yorozu were arguing under the streetlights, voices low but heated, fists clenched, tempers flaring.
You kept your gaze forward, trying to ignore Satoru laughing in the distance with Suguru, their camaraderie deliberate, teasing. You didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to replay his lazy smirk, the way he’d stirred the pot tonight.
Choso’s hand slid into yours, warm and grounding. His thumb brushed over the back of your fingers, firm, grounding. You looked up at him, eyes still stinging from the glare of lights, cameras, and national scrutiny.
“Are you okay?” he murmured, voice low, but full of that quiet intensity that made your chest clench.
You blinked, letting a tiny exhale escape. “Yeah… I mean, no. I mean…” You shook your head, trying to untangle the mess in your brain. The words, the accusations, the heat in the room…it all played on repeat like a broken track. “That… was wild.”
He gave a small, crooked smile, tugging your hand just slightly as you both walked toward the waiting car. “Wild doesn’t even cover it. You held your own, though.”
You let yourself lean into his side as you reached the car, ignoring the flash of cameras from the street, the lingering energy of Satoru’s grin, the thought of Mei Mei’s smirk, the tension still thick around Utahime and Kento. For once, you didn’t have to respond to anyone, just him.
Once inside, Choso closed the door, hands immediately finding yours again. “Talk to me,” he said, not as a demand, but a plea.
You laughed softly, tired, a little shaky. “I don’t even know where to start. Everything’s a mess.”
“And yet,” he said, eyes dark as he looked over at you, “you survived. You didn’t break. Not even when they tried to rip you apart.”
Your chest tightened. He meant more than just the show, and you knew it. You shifted closer, letting your fingers intertwine with his. “I keep replaying everything,” you admitted, voice low. “Every word, every look, what he fucking said about us…”
Choso’s grip tightened, protective. “Forget him. We’re not part of that right now. We leave it here.”
You let out a laugh that was part exasperation, part relief, leaning into the quiet warmth of his presence. Outside, the night was loud, the city buzzing with leftover energy from the reunion. Inside the car, though, it was only the two of you; hand in hand, heartbeat synced, and the faint, unspoken pull of something still brewing between you.
The car pulled up to the hotel, cameras still flashing outside like moths desperate for a spark. You both slipped through the chaos as gracefully as possible, his hand firm around yours the entire time. No words, just that quiet tether pulling you through the noise.
By the time the door closed behind you both, the hush of the hotel lobby felt like another world. No shouting, no lights, no Naoya’s grin waiting to rip you apart. Just polished marble, the faint hum of the elevator, and his thumb brushing over your knuckles as if reminding you he was still there.
You didn’t let go when you reached your floor. You didn’t even try.
The hallway smelled faintly of lemon polish and carpet glue. Cameras were finally gone, crew scattered for the night. And, for the first time in months, there wasn’t an audience waiting to dissect your every blink. Just the two of you, your footsteps muffled against the thick rug.
When the door clicked shut behind you, you finally exhaled, the kind of release that felt like it came from the soles of your feet. Choso dropped his jacket over a chair and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, watching you quietly.
For a moment, it was just silence. A stillness so profound it made your heart ache.
You leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, eyes on him. “God, I don’t even know what that was.”
He gave a dry little huff. “Hell. But at least it’s over.”
That pulled you toward him, like gravity. You sat beside him on the bed, shoulders brushing, knees almost touching. His hands rested loosely in his lap, and for once, he didn’t seem to know what to do with them.
You nodded, biting your lip. “You were good out there. You didn’t have to…defend me like that, you know.”
“Yes, I did.” His voice was quiet but certain, no hesitation. His gaze caught yours, steady and unflinching. “They don’t get to say whatever they want about you. Not when I’m right there.”
And then he said, a little more softly:
“Plus....you were… incredible tonight.”
You turned, eyebrows lifting. “Incredible? I actually lost my shit.”
His mouth quirked, a fleeting smile. “Exactly. You didn’t hold back. You didn’t let them break you.” His eyes softened, dark and steady. “And I hated watching them try.”
Heat crept up your neck, an ache pressing against your ribs. “That’s part of the game, though. They throw punches, you throw them back. It’s all… PR.”
The word hung in the air, bitter as iron.
His jaw worked, but then he lifted his hand, hesitating before letting his fingers graze yours. Not claiming, not pressing—just there. Warm. Gentle.
“Maybe at first,” he said. His voice was quiet, but it cut through the room like a blade. “But it hasn’t felt like that for a long time. Not for me.”
You inhaled, sharp and uneven. “Don’t,” you started, then faltered. Because what could you say? You weren’t even sure if you meant it as a warning or a plea.
“Don’t what?” he asked, pausing. “Don’t tell the truth? Don’t admit that every time I touched you, it stopped being an act? That I wasn’t pretending when I held your hand, or when I couldn’t look at anyone else because you were there?”
Your pulse thundered in your ears. The walls felt too close, the air too warm. “Choso…”
“I wouldn’t have…fought for you if it was just PR,” he admitted, voice low, like he was afraid the walls might tell someone else. “I don’t fight for cameras. Or for fucking…I dunno—TikTok edits. I fight when it matters.”
The words hit you harder than anything screamed on stage. Because they weren’t dressed up, weren’t for show. They were just him.
Silence stretched. Not empty this time, but charged, thrumming with everything unsaid.
And then his hand slipped fully into yours, warm and solid. You let him guide you closer until your chest brushed his, until the tension between you snapped into something unbearably real.
When he kissed you, it wasn’t dramatic or practiced or staged. It was slow, almost tentative, like he was terrified you’d pull away. But you didn’t. You leaned in, your hand sliding against his jaw, and the world outside fell away.
Your chest ached, but this time it was a good kind of ache. The kind that meant something was alive.
Neither of you needed to say more. Not yet. The world outside could scream, speculate, twist everything into entertainment. But here, in this quiet hotel room, in this fleeting moment…you let yourselves just be.
And for the first time since the cameras stopped rolling, it felt real.
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had to run it back 😍
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