#went soft

you cleaned yourself up slowly, got dressed, and left like he asked. the click of the lock behind you felt heavier than it should have.

for the next three days, nothing.

usually he was the one sending the messages: casual “come over?” at random hours, sometimes just a location and a time when he wanted to fuck or chill. sometimes no words at all, just an emoji or a photo of his bed.

but this time? radio silence.

no texts. no calls. no “i’m bored, get here.”

you told yourself it was fine. that it was better this way. that whatever this thing between you was, it was never supposed to last anyway. but every night when your phone stayed quiet, the ache in your chest got a little louder.

on the fourth night, after another long shift where you smiled through gritted teeth and poured drinks like a robot, you finally caved. sitting on the edge of your bed in the dark, still in your work dress, you typed the message with shaking fingers.

“are we okay?”

you hit send before you could overthink it.

it was delivered instantly.

you stared at the screen for almost twenty minutes, refreshing like it would change anything. nothing. just “delivered” mocking you in the quiet of your room.

that was when the spiral really started.

you told yourself you wouldn’t check again, but you did. every hour. every break at work. every time your phone vibrated, you snatched it like a lifeline, only to feel your stomach drop when it wasn’t him.

work became a mess.

you showed up late the next night. your makeup was a little off, your usual bright smile cracked at the edges. when a regular client tried to flirt and grab your waist like always, you flinched hard enough that he noticed. you laughed it off, but the damage was done. your manager pulled you aside after, asking if everything was fine. you lied through your teeth.

you started drinking more during shifts. not enough for anyone to call you out, but enough that the edges blurred. enough that when men said disgusting things, it didn’t sting as sharply. enough that you didn’t care if your laugh sounded fake.

one night you even let a customer tip you extra just to sit in the vip room and stare at your phone under the table, hoping satoru would finally reply. he didn’t.

suguru’s messages kept coming. sweet ones. the kind he used when he wanted something.

“missed you lately.” “where’ve you been?” “let me take you out this weekend.”

you read every single one.

and left them all on delivered.

you couldn’t bring yourself to reply. not when your head was so full of white hair and blue eyes and the way satoru had looked at you like you’d disappointed him. not when the ache in your chest felt bigger than anything suguru had ever made you feel.

every night you came home, took off the tight dress, washed the smell of smoke and cologne off your skin, and crawled into bed wondering why satoru’s silence hurt worse than suguru technically cheating on you.

you felt pathetic.

you felt addicted.

and worst of all — you missed him. not just the sex. you missed the way he used to look at you like he was trying to figure you out. even when it was cruel, at least he was paying attention.

now there was just… nothing.

you kept telling yourself it was temporary. that satoru was just busy — college life and all that shit you only ever heard about in passing. the kind of life that had schedules and deadlines and futures attached to it. a life you didn’t live.

maybe juggling classes really was harder than working nights. maybe he was buried in lectures and caffeine and barely had time to breathe, let alone text the girl he was just fucking. you tried to convince yourself of that on the good hours. it made the ache feel a little less personal.

on the bad hours, the thoughts turned sharper.

what if he was laughing about it with suguru?

the image wouldn’t leave your head. the two of them at some apartment, drinks in hand, satoru leaning back with that lazy smirk saying, “you won’t believe how fast she folded. still checking her phone for you though.” suguru chuckling like it was just another story. like you were the punchline they both saw coming.

you hated how easily your brain supplied the scene.

work stayed steady, but you moved through it like you were underwater. you smiled when you had to. laughed at the right moments. poured drinks with steady hands. but your mind kept drifting. during quiet stretches between tables, you’d slip your phone out just to stare at the delivered message. still no reply. still blue ticks that never came.

at home, you’d lie in bed replaying every second of that last night. the way he’d tossed the towel. the flat tone when he told you to lock the door. the way he didn’t even look back before disappearing into the shower.

you started doing small things to fill the quiet. cleaning your already-clean apartment. scrolling through old photos you had no business keeping. rereading suguru’s unread messages and feeling nothing but guilt for ignoring them. you didn’t reply to him either. not because you were strong, but because even the idea of talking to him felt like betrayal to whatever fragile thing you had with satoru.

pathetic, really.

you caught yourself wondering what satoru was doing at 2 a.m. while you were still in your work heels. was he asleep? studying? out with friends? with someone else?

the thought of him with another girl made your stomach twist, but you forced it down. you had no right to that jealousy. you never did.

by the end of the week, the spiral had settled into something quieter. heavier. a constant low hum under your skin. you still went to work. you still paid your bills. you still smiled when customers called you pretty.

but at night, when the apartment was too quiet and your phone stayed dark, you let yourself feel it fully — the missing, the shame, the fear that satoru had finally seen you clearly and decided you weren’t worth the trouble.

you wondered if he ever thought about you at all.

the next night, the club was the usual haze of dim lights, loud music, and expensive perfume. you were halfway through your shift, moving on autopilot, when you passed by the small staff corner near the bar. two of your co-hostesses were whispering, heads close together, giggling.

“the white haired guy’s in the vip again,” one of them said, fanning herself dramatically. “fuck, he’s so hot. like model hot. those eyes? deadly.”

“right? i saw him last time too. loaded as hell. tipped crazy. i’m fighting for that table tonight.”

your stomach flipped so hard you almost dropped the tray you were holding.

white haired guy.

vip.

there was only one person that could be.

satoru.

you stood there frozen for a second, heart suddenly hammering against your ribs. all the spiraling from the past week crashed into you at once — the unread “are we okay?”, the silence, the nights you spent convincing yourself he was just busy with college. and now he was here. in your club. in the vip room.

before you could talk yourself out of it, you walked over.

“hey,” you said, trying to sound casual even though your voice felt thin. “can i bring his drinks instead?”

your co-hostess blinked at you, confused. “wait, you know him?”

you forced a small smile. “kinda. we… have mutual friends.”

she narrowed her eyes for a second, like she was trying to read between the lines, but eventually shrugged. “sure, whatever. he’s in the big private room, table 9. order’s already going up — whiskey, the expensive one.”

you nodded quickly, heart racing as you grabbed the tray with his bottle and glass. your hands were shaking just a little. you smoothed down your dress, checked your reflection in one of the mirrored pillars, and headed upstairs.

the walk to the vip room felt longer than usual. every step made your chest tighter. what if he didn’t want to see you? what if he ignored you completely? what if he was here with someone else?

you paused right outside the door, took a deep breath, then pushed it open with your usual professional smile.

satoru was sitting on the leather couch, legs spread lazily, one arm draped over the backrest. his white hair was a little messy like he’d run his hand through it too many times. he looked good. unfairly good. the moment you stepped inside, his blue eyes lifted and locked onto you.

for a second, neither of you said anything.

you set the tray down carefully on the low table in front of him, pouring his drink with practiced movements even though your pulse was loud in your ears.

“good evening, mr. gojo,” you said softly. “your usual.”

he didn’t answer right away. just watched you. that same intense, unreadable stare that always made you feel stripped bare.

you straightened up, fingers gripping the edge of the tray a little too tightly.

“…hi,” you added, quieter this time. almost hesitant.

satoru leaned back deeper into the couch, eyes flicking over you once before settling on the glass you’d just poured. his expression stayed flat. no smirk. no sharp comment. no familiar spark of cruel amusement. just cold indifference.

he reached forward and took the glass without looking at you again.

“didn’t ask for you,” he said. voice low, casual, like he was commenting on the weather.

the words landed heavy in your chest.

you swallowed, forcing your professional smile to stay in place even as it felt like it was cracking.

“i know. i… offered.”

he took a slow sip, eyes drifting somewhere past your shoulder. the silence stretched. the low hum of the club music vibrated through the floor, but inside the private room it felt suffocatingly quiet.

“you can go,” he finally said, still not meeting your eyes. “tell the other girl to come back if she wants the tip.”

your throat tightened. heat rushed up your neck, a mix of embarrassment and hurt that made your eyes sting.

he was dismissing you. cleanly. coldly. like you were just another hostess. like the past month — the nights in his bed, the way he’d held you after, the way he’d looked at you like he actually saw you — had never happened.

you stood there for another second, hoping he’d say something else. anything. a jab. a mocking laugh. even anger would’ve been better than this nothing.

but satoru just swirled the whiskey in his glass, jaw set, like your presence was barely registering.

“…okay,” you whispered.

you turned to leave, tray clutched against your stomach like a shield. your legs felt unsteady as you walked toward the door.

just before you reached it, his voice cut through the quiet again. flat. detached.

“and close the door properly on your way out.”

no nickname. no teasing. no “baby.”

just that.

you didn’t look back. you couldn’t. you stepped out and let the heavy door click shut behind you, the sound echoing louder in your head than it should have.

you stood in the hallway for what felt like forever, back pressed against the wall, trying to steady your breathing. your eyes were burning but you refused to let the tears fall here. not at work.

then your phone buzzed in your pocket — a message from your co-hostess.

“hey, table 9 still needs someone. the other girls are all tied up with big groups downstairs. can u handle it? sorry.”

you stared at the text. of course. everyone else was busy.

you had no choice.

you wiped under your eyes quickly, fixed your expression into something that almost passed for calm, and pushed the door open again.

satoru was still in the same position — legs spread, glass in hand, staring at nothing in particular. when the door clicked shut behind you, his eyes flicked up. for a split second something crossed his face (annoyance, maybe), but it disappeared just as fast.

“the hell are you still doing here?” he asked. voice cold. flat.

you swallowed hard and stepped closer, tray still in your hands even though it was empty now.

“the other girls are all busy downstairs,” you said quietly. “big groups. i’m… the only one free right now.”

he let out a low breath through his nose, almost a scoff, and looked away again. he took another sip of whiskey, then set the glass down harder than necessary.

“great,” he muttered. “just what i needed.”

the words stung, but you stayed standing there, unsure what to do with yourself. you moved automatically — refilling his glass even though it barely needed it, adjusting the ice with the tongs, anything to keep your hands busy so they wouldn’t shake.

the silence was worse than anything he could’ve said.

you could feel him watching you now, but not in the old way. not with that sharp, curious intensity. this was colder. more distant. like he was looking at a stranger who was mildly inconveniencing him.

after a minute, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“satoru…” you started, voice barely above a whisper.

“don’t,” he cut you off immediately. his tone left no room for argument. “just do your job if you have to be here.”

he leaned back, eyes fixed on the wall instead of you.

“pour the drink. smile. pretend you’re happy to see me like you do with every other guy who walks in here. that’s what you’re good at, right?”

the casual cruelty in his voice made your chest cave in. it was the old satoru — the one who used to tear you down in front of everyone — but colder now. more exhausted. like he didn’t even have the energy to enjoy hurting you anymore.

you bit the inside of your cheek and nodded, forcing that practiced hostess smile back on your face even though it felt like glass.

“yes, mr. gojo.”

you poured his drink slowly, the amber liquid catching the low lights. inside, the spiral was loud again — louder than before.

he really didn’t want you here.

he didn’t even want to look at you.

and yet you were stuck in this room with him, heart pounding, wondering how much more of this you could take before you broke in front of him.

then satoru let out a short, bitter breath. he finally looked at you — really looked — and his eyes were colder than you’d ever seen them.

“you know what’s fucking pathetic?” he said, voice low and sharp. “you’re still waiting for him. even now, i’m guessing.”

your fingers tightened around the bottle.

he leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees.

“suguru treats you like disposable shit. fucks someone else right in front of you basically, sends you sweet little texts when he feels like it, and you still can’t let go.”

his voice rose just a little.

“meanwhile i—” he cut himself off mid-sentence, jaw clenching hard. for a split second his expression fractured, the cold mask slipped and you caught a glimpse of raw frustration, almost pain, flashing in his eyes. his throat bobbed like he was swallowing back whatever else he wanted to say.

he looked away quickly, running a hand through his white hair.

“i gave you the out,” he continued, quieter now, but the edge was still there. “i let you stay in my bed. i fucked you like you mattered. and the second i pull back, you’re back here looking at me with those sad fucking eyes like i’m the one who broke you.”

the tiny crack lingered for another heartbeat — his shoulders tensed like he was fighting himself — before he forced the cold mask back on.

“you really think he’s gonna choose you one day?” he added, voice flatter again. “that’s what you’re holding out for, right? while you let me do you and pretend it was some kind of revenge.”

he reached for the glass, knuckles white.

“just… stop looking at me like that,” he muttered, almost under his breath. “it’s annoying.”

you couldn’t stay quiet anymore. the words spilled out before you could stop them.

“i stopped replying to him,” you said softly, almost pleading. “to suguru. i haven’t answered any of his messages since… since that night.”

satoru stared at you for a long moment. then he let out a low, humorless laugh that sent a chill down your spine.

“for what? a few days?” he said, voice dripping with disbelief and sarcasm. “then what? the next time you’re in my bed again, you’ll be back to talking to him?”

he shook his head, leaning back against the couch with that cold, distant look returning full force.

“don’t bullshit me. we both know how this goes.”

you stood there, tray still clutched in your hands, chest aching. the confusion hit you harder than the sting of his words.

“i don’t understand why you’re acting like this,” you whispered, voice cracking slightly. “you were the one who told me to leave that night. you haven’t texted in days. and now you’re mad at me like i did something wrong?”

satoru didn’t reply. he just stared at the glass in his hand.

you took a shaky breath and stepped closer.

“tell me,” you said softly. “please. just tell me what’s going on.”

he stayed quiet for a long moment. the music from downstairs felt distant. the only sound in the room was the faint clink of ice against glass as he swirled it slowly.

then, without looking at you, he spoke.

“if i was sleeping with you…” his voice was low, almost detached. “and you found out i was still fucking with some other girl… would you like that?”

the words hit you like cold water.

you froze.

he finally lifted his eyes to meet yours. that tiny crack was back — wider this time — a mix of frustration, jealousy, and something vulnerable he was clearly trying to bury.

“would you be okay with it?” he continued, voice quieter but sharper. “knowing i was texting her sweet shit behind your back? letting you think you were the only one while i kept her around?”

“satoru…” you breathed, voice barely audible.

he looked away again, jaw tight, like saying it out loud had cost him something.

“doesn’t feel good, does it?” he muttered.

you stood there, the weight of his words sinking deeper with every second. the realization hit you in quiet waves — how you had kept one foot with suguru even while you were in satoru’s bed. the guilt settled heavy in your throat.

you went silent. completely silent. eyes burning, lips pressed tight as you tried to hold it together.

satoru noticed immediately.

his gaze sharpened on your face, and for a moment the cold mask slipped again. he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“don’t fucking cry,” he said, voice rough, almost annoyed. but there was no real bite behind it this time. it sounded more like a plea than a command. like he couldn’t handle seeing you break right now.

you blinked hard, looking down at the tray in your hands instead of at him. the tears were already threatening anyway.

satoru was quiet for a few seconds. then he leaned back, running a hand through his hair.

“what time does your shift end?” he asked, tone flatter but no longer completely detached.

you looked up, surprised.

“…two,” you answered softly.

he nodded once, eyes flicking away again.

“i’ll wait. i’ll drive you home after.”

he said it like it was nothing. like it didn’t cost him anything. but the way his fingers tapped restlessly against the glass told you otherwise.

you swallowed, heart twisting in a dozen confusing directions.

“you don’t have to—”

“i know,” he cut you off, voice low. “just… finish your shift. i’ll be here.”

the silence that followed wasn’t as heavy as before, but it was still loaded. something had shifted. he was still keeping his walls up, still cold in places, but he wasn’t pushing you away completely anymore.

you gave a small nod and quietly left the room to continue your shift, legs unsteady the whole way.

the rest of the night dragged. every minute felt longer knowing he was upstairs waiting.

the rest of your shift passed in a blur. you moved through the motions, smiling when required, but your mind stayed upstairs in that vip room. when two o’clock finally came, you changed out of your work dress as fast as you could and went back up.

satoru was already waiting by the entrance of the club, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. he didn’t say anything when he saw you. just pushed off the wall and started walking toward the parking lot. you followed quietly.

the car ride was silent at first.

he drove with one hand on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road. the city lights dragged across his face in streaks of neon. you sat in the passenger seat, hands clasped tight in your lap, stealing glances at him every few seconds. the tension from earlier still lingered, thick and heavy between you.

neither of you spoke for most of the drive.

only the low hum of the engine and the occasional sound of traffic filled the space. you wanted to say something — anything — but the words kept getting stuck in your throat.

then, as he slowed down and started to turn toward your usual street, you felt it hit you all at once. the thought of going back to your quiet, empty apartment. the same bed where you’d spent nights staring at your phone waiting for him. the loneliness that had been chewing at you for days.

your voice came out before you could stop it.

“satoru… wait.”

he glanced at you, eyebrows slightly raised, but didn’t turn the wheel yet.

“i don’t wanna stay at my apartment tonight,” you said quietly, almost embarrassed. your fingers twisted together. “i feel… lonely.”

the words hung in the air.

satoru didn’t answer right away. he kept driving straight for a few more seconds, jaw tight, like he was fighting with himself. the car slowed at the intersection.

you kept your eyes on your lap.

“you can just drop me off somewhere else if you want,” you added quickly. “or… nevermind. it’s stupid. i just—”

“stop,” he cut you off, voice low.

he didn’t turn toward your street.

instead, he drove past it, continuing straight. his grip on the steering wheel tightened for a moment before loosening again.

“you’re coming to mine,” he said flatly. no question. no warmth. just a simple statement.

you looked at him, surprised. his face stayed mostly blank, but you caught the way his throat moved when he swallowed. another tiny crack.

the rest of the ride stayed quiet, but it felt different now. heavier. like both of you knew something was about to shift again once you got to his apartment.

the drive ended too quietly. satoru parked in his usual spot under the building, killed the engine, and got out without a word. you followed him up to his apartment, the familiar hallway lights feeling strangely heavier tonight.

he unlocked the door and held it open for you. no teasing. no smirk. just a simple gesture.

“you can stay in my room,” he said flatly as he kicked off his shoes. “i’ll take the couch if you want.”

you shook your head quickly.

“no… i want to stay with you. in your room.”

he paused for a second, then gave a small nod. “fine.”

the apartment was dark and quiet, only the city glow coming through the tall windows. you both moved around silently — you going to the bathroom to wash your face, him grabbing water from the kitchen. when you finally stepped into his bedroom, he was already there, pulling an extra shirt from his drawer and tossing it onto the bed for you.

you changed into it while he turned his back, giving you privacy. then both of you climbed into his bed.

silence.

thick, heavy silence.

you lay on your side facing him. he lay on his back, one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling. the space between your bodies felt like a canyon even though it was only a few inches. neither of you spoke for what felt like forever. you could hear his breathing, steady but not relaxed.

minutes passed.

you watched the way the city lights moved across his sharp jawline, the way his white lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks. the ache in your chest from the whole week — from his silence, from his coldness, from missing him — became too much.

slowly, carefully, you shifted closer.

you leaned in first and kissed him.

soft. hesitant. just lips brushing against his.

satoru went completely still.

for a few seconds he didn’t kiss you back. his body tensed like he was fighting it. then he pulled away slightly, turning his head.

“you need to rest,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “it’s late.”

you didn’t move away. your hand came up to rest lightly on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart.

“i want you…” you whispered against his mouth, voice barely audible. “please, satoru.”

another beat of silence.

you could feel him struggling — the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to touch you but was holding back. the way his breathing changed.

“you’re tired,” he said again, weaker this time. “and i’m still… fuck, i’m still pissed at you.”

but even as he said it, his hand slowly moved to your waist, gripping the fabric of his shirt you were wearing. not pushing you away. just holding.

you kissed him again, a little deeper this time. a little more desperate.

this time, he didn’t pull back.

his lips finally moved against yours — slow, almost reluctant at first, like he was still trying to convince himself this was a bad idea. but the longer you kissed him, the more the hesitation melted. his hand slid under the shirt, palm warm against your bare skin, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together.

the slow burn built between you. no rush. just heavy breathing, quiet sighs, hands exploring like it was the first time again. his kisses grew hungrier, but still controlled. like he was scared of giving in too fast.

“tell me to stop,” he breathed against your neck, lips dragging over your skin. “if you’re just doing this because you’re lonely… tell me to stop.”

you shook your head, fingers threading through his soft white hair.

“i don’t want you to,” you whispered.

you kissed him again, deeper this time, and satoru finally gave in.

his hand gripped your waist tighter, pulling you on top of him. the kiss turned intense fast — hungry, messy, almost desperate. he sucked on your bottom lip, tongue sliding against yours as his hands roamed under the shirt, squeezing your ass and pulling you down against his growing hardness.

“fuck,” he muttered against your mouth. “you’re really not gonna let me be mad at you tonight, huh?”

you ground against him, already wet and aching. he groaned low in his throat and flipped you onto your back, settling between your legs. he didn’t tease for long. he pushed his shirt up your body, mouth latching onto your neck, then your tits, biting and sucking hard enough to leave marks while two fingers slid inside you, curling roughly.

you moaned, back arching. he added a third finger, fucking you with them fast and deep, thumb pressing on your clit until your thighs were shaking.

“satoru—”

“yeah?” he breathed, voice rough. “this what you wanted?”

he pulled his fingers out, replaced them with his cock in one smooth thrust. you gasped at the stretch. he didn’t give you time to adjust — he started fucking you hard, deep, hips snapping against yours with wet, obscene sounds. every thrust pushed a broken moan out of you.

it was intense. almost punishing. like he was still angry but couldn’t stop himself from wanting you.

after a while he pulled out, breathing heavy.

“turn around,” he ordered, voice low.

you got on all fours, face pressed into the pillow. satoru knelt behind you, gripping your hips hard as he pushed back in. the new angle made you cry out. he fucked you deeper like this, one hand fisting your hair, the other slapping your ass once, twice, before holding you in place.

your phone was lying on the bed near the headboard. it started ringing.

the screen lit up.

suguru.

satoru saw the name immediately. his thrusts slowed down, turning into deep, lazy grinds, dragging his cock against your walls teasingly. he didn’t say a word. just kept moving slowly while staring at the screen.

you reached for the phone with a shaky hand, declined the call, then quickly went to his contact and blocked the number. you even deleted the chat.

when you looked back at satoru over your shoulder, he was smiling — that sharp, satisfied, dangerous little smile.

he snapped his hips forward hard and started fucking you faster. rougher. pounding into you mercilessly, the sound of skin slapping loud in the room. his grip on your hips turned bruising as he pulled you back onto his cock with every brutal thrust.

“for how long is he blocked?” he asked, voice low and mocking, still smiling as he railed you. “five hours? twelve?”

you shook your head quickly, moaning with every hard thrust.

“no… no—”

“when you’re back at your place,” he continued, panting slightly but still teasing, still arrogant, “you gonna talk to him again?”

you kept shaking your head desperately, tears of pleasure stinging your eyes.

“no— i won’t— i promise—”

he fucked you faster. rougher. pounding into you with renewed force, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. his grip on your hips was bruising as he pulled you back onto his cock with every thrust.

“fuck yes,” he groaned, voice rough with pleasure. “that better be true. fuck…”

you could barely think. every hard thrust made your eyes roll back, moans spilling out uncontrollably. satoru leaned over you, one hand sliding between your legs to rub your clit fast while he kept fucking you mercilessly from behind.

“mine now,” he whispered against your ear, biting your shoulder. “say it.”

“yours— satoru, nggggh— ‘m yours,” you cried out, clenching hard around him.

he groaned loudly, pace turning erratic as he chased his release. you came first, shaking and moaning into the pillow. satoru followed right after, burying himself deep and filling you up with hot, thick pulses, hips stuttering against your ass as he rode it out.

both of you collapsed onto the bed, breathing hard.

he stayed inside you for a while, arms wrapped around your waist, face pressed against the back of your neck.