#shotorus.process

You don’t know how Kirishima does it, being all… him all the time.

A part of you always thinks you don’t deserve it—how he meets you with tender understanding when you can’t even muster a smile.

You should be dealing with this on your own.

By yourself.

Not with him having to stay home a while longer instead of starting his morning in the gym, where he can enjoy the rare time he has to himself.

You feel terrible.

“Sorry, it’s nothing, just—” you sigh, pressing your palms to your eyes. Your hands are still damp from washing the dishes.

Kirishima’s presence has always been hard to miss—big, bright, and entirely all-comforting. He crosses the kitchen island to get to you now, hand reaching for the back of your head as he pushes you gently towards his chest.

It’s that familiar presence that makes you feel like crying right now.

“Hey, hey,” he shushes, his other hand rubbing up and down your lower back, “it’s okay.”

He’d already gotten ready for the gym when he heard the clatter, rushing out to the kitchen with his protein shaker in one hand and gym bag over his shoulder. You’d toppled over the dish soap and groaned out in frustration, watching the liquid ooze down the drain along with every bit of your self-composure.

It was one of those things; one of those days—that feeling you’ve been having lately triggered by the simplest, most unrelated occurrence.

Kirishima doesn’t say anything, just lets his heartbeat do the talking. Steady, grounding, like a weighted blanket wrapped around the whole of you.

He’s not going to be able to squeeze in a gym session before work if he stays with you any longer like this.

“You should go soon,” you mumble, voice muffled against his chest, the dri-fit material of his muscle tank cool against your forehead.

.

He wonders if he should say it, if he should ask—

“Don’t move.” you tell him, raising your phone to eye-level.

Shouto stares at you, hands in his pockets as he watches you tap on your phone.

“Look to the side.” you instruct him again, and he follows, albeit a little confused. 

When he turns to face you again, the smile on your face is beaming, glowing as you turn your phone to show him the photos you took. 

“The lighting was nice. See!” 

And when you point to the way sunlight streaks highlights onto the redness of his hair, down to the slope of his nose and the width of shoulders, he can’t help but agree. 

Now, he wonders—

“Lie down with me,” he pats the space beside him. You quirk your brow but follow anyway.

He requests, not asks, because the weather today is good, and it’s making him a little bit sentimental, remembering earlier days with you.

You lie down, positioning your head to align with his. And for a few moments, Gojo doesn’t speak, just looks at you once and smiles before turning to face the sky, hand placed behind his head as he sighs.

You do the same for a while, this shared silence warm and just right.

“So rude,” he jokingly tuts, “interrupting me while I was talking earlier…”

“You shouldn’t have been so distracted then,” you tease back, sneaking a glance only to lock eyes with two skies.

He wonders if you can tell—how he’s always looking at you in the stolen seconds before you notice him.

“Well, you shouldn't have been so distracting then,” he holds your gaze.

It’s incredibly cheesy but a part of you still feels like melting—he sounds so sincere; no lilt, no tease, no Gojo-typical flirting laced into it.

You scrunch your nose, shifting on your side to face him, the arm used to support your head now resting against your cheek. He follows, taking one last look around him before turning to you. His other hand rests on your hip, fingers splayed out and thumb rubbing.

You reach for him.

a little snippet from the fic! thought i'd just share for transparency, since it's been sponsored for ficsforgaza hehe

“I mean, you said it in your text,” Natsuo reaches for his phone over his desk, clicking it open to scroll. The light from his screen reflects on the gray of his irises; then, he air quotes, “you said: ‘my chest feels weird’, then when I asked if anything happened,” his index finger glides across the screen, swiping through a long block of text uncharacteristic of Shouto’s typical dry responses.

“You detailed the entire scene of–” he pauses for a moment, squinting to find that one, specific line amidst all that Shouto sent, “–a santa hat? Being put on you, or something. You didn’t mention who but I figured it was—” 

You, Shouto thinks, at the moment Natsuo says your name. That same two-part thump sounds in his ears. 

You, who’s stayed by his side for the past five, nearly six years that you’ve carved your presence so deeply into his life, it’s become an undercurrent in his speech. He doesn’t even think of having to say your name when he talks about you. 

You, and how he turns over this familiarity with you inside his brain. How everyone knows—

“—who else stays with you in the agency past office hours, anyway?” 

thanks for the tag @mossmurdock @kedsandtubesocks @firein-thesky 🥹 i had a good giggle reading all your descriptions!!

(this will also help me choose which fic i should work on first 🥹)