#x reader angst

But now that he had started, he couldn't stop.

So stupid that this would be the thing that did it, he cursed at himself, staring at his phone screen at the undelivered text he had sent you earlier today.

Had you blocked him?

You had never blocked him before.

His foot tapped anxiously against the floor just outside his fancy apartment building – he was just coming back from another business meeting. Same as usual. Sweet talk some CEO, pretend it didn't make him want to die inside, be called incompetent by his dad, repeat.

He fucking hated it.

Truth was, Satoru didn't give a shit about his family business. Could not have cared less about the Gojo clan. But every attempt at evading his fated future had been useless. And he tried his best, his really did.

He had fled from all responsibility as soon as he could, for as long as he could.

Until he couldn't anymore.

Satoru never wanted to leave you. He still held on to that year the two of you spent together like the best year of his life. Probably the only good one he'd ever have.

But it all started that day when his father looked him in the eye with his matching blue ones, and asked if you were the reason Satoru was forsaking his own family – that's when he knew all attempts at escaping were in vain.

Threats didn't need to be direct to carry weight.

He knew well enough what his family was capable of.

And even if it had all been in his head, or even if that conversation had never happened in the first place… would you really have been fine with marrying someone whose family you would never be accepted into? Could never even meet?

Satoru knew he wanted to marry you from the moment his first saw you.

But would you really have been fine with that?

With your children being called bastards?

At best, he'd be completely cut off – not an ideal situation, and if Satoru was honest, he didn't know what he'd do without the money. Still… worst case scenario: his father's threats weren't so veiled anymore.

He didn't want to think about that.

So he chose to leave.

Saying goodbye to you that day was a type of hurt he could have never predicted. Try as he may, he was never able to erase the way you looked at him then. Shocked. In pain. Betrayed.

It was still there in his dreams, when he woke up in the middle of the night searching for you. Missing your weight in his arms, your heat on the side of the bed he didn't sleep on anymore.

He hated those nights.

But any glimpse of you – albeit painful and brief and unconscious – was better than to not see your face at all.

He wanted to see your face so bad.

So Satoru's trembling fingers clicked on your contact picture, hiccuping harder when he realised it was just a grey square now. Not the smile he desperately needed right now.

He thankfully knew he still had pictures of the two of you saved on his computer upstairs, all those little memories he was never able to let go of, but Suguru had convinced him to erase them from his phone a long time ago.

Said it was no use torturing himself like this.

But Satoru just couldn't give it up.

He never wanted to break it off, so he clung on to you like a ghost.

He knew it wasn't healthy.

He knew it wasn't fair.

But he couldn't not.

Not when every drab grey day was spent the same way, doing the same thing, getting yelled at by the same people. Pushing through because it's what he had to do; because, if he was truly honest with himself, he couldn't let go of the privileges that came with his rich family anymore than he couldn't let go of you.

Satoru really hoped you could see it that way. How hard it was for him to make a decision that, in the long run, would be good for you.

After all, how was this a life he could ever want for you?

So he allowed himself to want less. He'd play along with his families games, push you away as far as he could and live up to everyone's goddamn expectations.

But there was a black hole the size of you right in his chest.

Satoru remembered what it was like to have the life he wanted, even if it didn't last.

And year after year he kept you locked in this unstable dance. Messaging you he'd be back in town, fucking you all night and pretending the morning after didn't hurt more than the one before had.

This wasn't a life he wanted for you either.

But why did you say yes every time?

Surely he wasn't the only one at fault here.

He wasn't the only one unwilling to let go.

After all, you could have blocked him.

Well…

You did.

His jaw locked tight as he gritted his teeth, trying to breathe calmly to stop himself from hopping on a plane to you right this second.

So his fingers dialed the only other person he ever wanted to speak to.

"Satoru" his friend answered.

"Do you know where she is?" Satoru said too fast, cutting through all the small talk and going straight to the point.

Suguru sighed on the other end. "I don't"

That gave him pause.

"Well is she alright?" Satoru asked then, anger replaced by worry. What if something had happened? What if you didn't block him at all – but had your number terminated instead?

Satoru leaned against the wall, holding his head with one hand while the other pressed the phone to his ear tight. He hated how his brain was going straight to the worst case scenario.

It used to be a big fear of his – that something would happen while he wasn't there. That fate would deal its most cruel blow, and take you away from him for good. That he wouldn't be there to hold you one last time.

Satoru shook away the images that would sometimes show up in his nightmares, willing himself to stay in the present.

"What makes you think she isn't?" his friend asked, voice kind and patient.

The voice of someone who had supported him through a crisis about you too many times already.

"She–I don't–" Satoru kept cutting himself off, annoyed at how unstable he sounded, and the fact his friend remained on the line only added to the shame. "Her number is weird, I don't know" he huffed out finally.

This time, Suguru was the one that paused.

"Weird how?" he asked.

"Weird, Suguru" Gojo spat, gesturing so wildly people started to notice. All the rich, stable, composed neighbours he never cared to get to know. "Can you check if it's the same for you?"

It took a couple seconds before his friends voice came back again. "It looks fine to me" he said.

Gojo put one hand deep in his pocket, his foot tapping the floor with more and more force by the minute. "Try sending her a text" he told him.

"I'm not sure that's–"

"Suguru" he hissed. "Just send her a fucking text"

The fact his friend was taking so long to respond was just frustrating him even more. He gave him a few seconds to think of whatever excuse and finally send you something, but the anxiety was hard to contain.

"And?" Satoru hissed.

"What exactly are you expecting?" Suguru sighed.

"Did she receive it?"

And then Suguru let out a long exhale, like he finally realised what was making his best friend spiral like this. "Yes" he muttered, almost guilty.

"Fuck" Satoru rasped, dragging a palm over his face. "Does my number look ok to you? Maybe there's a problem with m–"

"Satoru" his friend called softly. "Did she block you?"

Satoru closed his eyes, hanging his head low. All his fears coming true.

"She did" he admitted, voice far too small for the confident man he was.

And the silence stretched, no one quite knowing what to say.

"I'm sorry" his friend murmured.

"Don't be" Satoru tried to wave it off. "Is she seeing someone?"

"I don't know" he answered honestly. "You know I haven't seen her since you left"

Satoru nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Maybe it's better this way" his friend said.

And Satoru pressed the big red button immediately, ending the call without a proper goodbye.

No it fucking wasn't.

Satoru Gojo wanted to scream.

It had been years, he knew, but he never really thought you'd block him.

You couldn't disappear like this. Satoru had no one else but you.

Even with his family desperate for him to get married and further the Gojo clan – he couldn't. He never brought himself to even look at anyone but you. The thought of ever touching someone like he touched you made him sick – and even more so, the thought of you with someone else.

He never really expected you would move on. Maybe that was mean, sure, but a sadistic part of him believed that by staying in your life it would make the possibility of you ever finding someone else grow thinner.

Yeah, it was selfish. But you knew that about him already.

And you loved him in spite of it, right?

Or maybe you loved him because of it. Maybeyou loved that he also couldn't let you go. Thought the knowledge that he'd pathetically crawl back to you eventually absolved you from your own part to play in this – always accepting him back with open arms and open legs.

Every time he messaged you again he braced for another rejection that never came, worried this would be the time you told him to fuck off, told him you had found someone else.

You never did. What the fuck was different now?

Satoru had never been angry with you before, but it now came out in ways he couldn't help. Ugly, vicious ways, as he stopped himself just short of punching a hole through he wall.

He could point fingers all he wanted, swear to himself and everyone else that you were just as much to blame as he was. It didn't really matter.

Because truth is, as much as Satoru had prepared for the day you'd leave for good – he never really expected it.

Should he have told you? Actually let you know how deep his love for you ran, how impossible it felt to let go, and how he had never even touched anyone else?

…And hope you would do what exactly?

Because he wasn't moving back.

And you had no place here.

Expectation and hope were very different things.

Yes, Satoru hoped he'd see you as soon as his plane landed. But never really expected to.

Especially didn't expect to see you walking out of the café the two of you had been to many times, the same one where your reunion occurred three years ago, before you ended up tangled in bed together.

Would everything had been different had he not answered your text that day?

Really, Satoru didn't care. Didn't care about anything right now.

Because there you were again.

Suguru had already talked his ear off about not looking for you, saying something about giving both of you a real chance to move on. When the fuck did his best friend get this reasonable? He hated it.

So obviously, the first thing Satoru did when he saw you was run in your direction, already calling your name.

He hoped you'd welcome him back.

Didn't expect you to look at him like that, though.

He had seen you hurt, had seen you angry.

But Satoru had never seen you disgusted.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" were the words that left your lips when he approached you with that wishful smile, one that was already dropping given your reaction.

Oh. This was not how this was supposed to go.

"I'm in town" he said awkwardly, like it wasn't obvious."I tried to tell you, but guess you didn't get the text"

Satoru didn't mean it to sound this passive aggressive, if anything, there was a little too much earnestness in his tone. And you noticed, of course, because you were the person that knew him best in the whole world. So you closed your eyes, bowing your head as all fight drained from you.

"Satoru…" you sighed out his name.

He loved when you said his name.

Satoru swallowed the urge to rush towards you, hands deep in his pockets as he tried to control his breathing. "Why did you block me?" he finally asked.

You shook your head, still not looking at him. "I can't keep doing this" was all you said.

Why were you acting like you couldn't talk to him?

You always could. You just didn't.

"And you couldn't tell me that?" he scoffed, as if you still owed him that much after everything.

"Tell you?" you repeated, almost growling at him. "After you fucking left me?"

"You know I wanted to stay" he immediately started defending himself. "I can't ignore my family and–"

"I don't mean the first time" you let out an incredulous laugh. "I mean the last"

Satoru squinted, shifting his weight as he tried to understand what you meant. He remembered the last time you spent the night together – remembered struggling to pull away from you in the morning as his father called about some emergency in a different time zone; remembered leaving the room quickly before the yelling coming from the phone woke you up.

He remembered getting dressed with haste but still giving you a kiss on your relaxed forehead, and tucking a thick blanked under your chin before having to rush out the door and get on another plane. To another business meeting. Another decision made for him.

Satoru didn't think much of it then, and had even messaged an apology. This wasn't the first time his work interrupted him from being there in the morning.

Why did you care so much all of a sudden?

"I didn't want to leave then either" he started explaining. "And I apologised–"

"You texted me an apology" you snarled, hurt all over your face. "Did you think that was kind?"

"I don't get it" he crossed his arms. "It's not like it was the first time I had to go"

You looked to the side, biting the inside of your cheek. "That time was different"

Satoru noticed the immediate shift in your voice, taking the opportunity to step forwards. "Why?" he asked, trying his best to not scare you away again.

He saw how your breathing was ragged and the way you had your arms tucked around you, like physically trying to protect your heart. Satoru wanted to understand, all you had to do was tell him and he'd do anything, anything, to push away the hurt and be the one holding you up, he'd–

"Because you said you'd move back" you finally said , voice breaking at the end.

Satoru felt his stomach sink at the reminder – the way you had cried and clung to him that night, begging him to not leave again. He said he'd see what he could do.

You both knew it was a lie.

"Baby–" his words were cut off by your glare.

"All you said was you were sorry. And nothing after that. For months"

The words cut into him like a knife, his palms sweating and pulse racing. Satoru couldn't even find the words, but he didn't have to – because you were happy enough to keep going.

"And I waited, you know" you scoffed at yourself. "And then I started rereading my texts. Not the ones with you – with my friends"

Satoru took a small step back, settling him in place for whatever you were about to say. He hated every second of it, but couldn't deny he deserved to hear it.

You let out a wet laugh, unable to look him in the eye. "Dozens of texts telling everyone you were the one" you continued. "That finally, after years of bullshit from all these other guys I dated, it had all been worth it because it led me to you"

Every second hearing you speak broke his heart a little more.

"I said I understood that now. Now that I was finally happy" your tears started falling, but you didn't brush them away. And then you finally looked at him – with wet red rimmed eyes, ready to land the finishing blow.

"You were gone not even a week later"

Satoru audibly let go of all the breath in his lungs, throat constricting at your words like his own guilt was trying to choke him.

He felt like he was about to be sick.

"I never wanted to–" he tried to speak, but his voice gave up before you even cut in again.

"But you did" you cried. "You keep saying you wanted to stay, but you didn't. Wasn't it your choice?"

"I didn't have a choice" he muttered, small.

"Keep telling yourself that" you taunted him, averting your gaze. "You had a choice. You just didn't choose me"

Satoru was frozen in place. What was he supposed to do? Apologise again? Beg on his knees?

When you turned to leave, his heard beat louder than it ever had.

How could he just watch the love of his life turn away and say nothing?

"Wait" he called, reaching for your hand. "At least let me– let me say goodbye" he cried.

You laughed again, looking up at him with everything from pain to pity to anger.

"We've said goodbye so many times"

His grip tightened on your hand, desperate and terrified.

For months he had thought nothing of that night – thought you accepted it was just something you did, like he accepted it. It was just how it was.

If Satoru knew how badly he was hurting you, he'd get on a plane and apologise a million times.

He didn't know. You had to believe him.

I love you, he wanted to say. There was only ever you.

But something else caught his attention suddenly. A gruff voice that had you snapping your eyes towards it, your heart broken face softening finally.

"Hey" the voice said. "The fuck is going on here?"

It came from some tall, tattooed guy who was crossing the street, walking towards the two of you with murder in his eyes.

Satoru was confused by this menacing stranger – and his first instinct was to take a step in front of you, protecting you from whoever this was.

But to his surprise, you walked around him, rushing to the man and pressing two palms to his chest. "Kuna, it's ok" you said reassuringly, but this Kuna still looked at Satoru with burning hot anger.

"Who the fuck do you think you are" he snarled, putting both hands on your back and pulling you into his chest. "Putting your hands on my girl?"

Satoru felt like he was about to be sick again.

Who the fuck was this?

My girl?

You weren't his. You belonged with him. With Satoru, always, even if it was hard, even if it hurt. Your heart was his, and that was the whole problem.

But right now you had your face buried into someone else's chest, letting him pet your hair and comfort you as you cried desperate tears.

Satoru didn't even know how to process the information. For years he hadn't touched anyone but you, didn't even want to – and only a few months after seeing him last, you were already someone else's?

Is this what he deserved?

"Please don't yell" you sobbed on your new boyfriends chest, making him snap his attention back to you.

"He made you cry?" the man asked, taking your face in his hands far more gently than anyone would expect from someone who looked like that.

Satoru watched someone else wipe your tears away. Watched someone new hold you close and, worst of all, you letting it. You leaning into his warmth like Satoru was the one you needed protecting from.

This wasn't right.

He loved you. This whole time. He loved you so fucking much – didn't you get it? He couldn't let you go. Wouldn't.

"I'm sorry I was late" Satoru heard you murmur as this other man kissed the top of your head, all focus back on you.

"Don't" he responded kindly. "Got me worried sick, and then I find you upset and this asshole with his hands on you–"

"We just ran into each other" you shook your head, clinging on to him. "It's ok"

The man exhaled sharply, cradling your head into his chest again with a hand tangled in your hair, slowly caressing the strands.

His crimson eyes looked up at Satoru. Assessing. Something beginning to turn in his brain, as he looked him up and down like a predator looking for a challenge.

"He the one you told me about?" he asked you, still staring at Satoru, and you nodded your head yes.

Satoru hated this.

What the fuck had you said about him?

Had he become someone you told horror stories about?

He loved you. How did you not get it–

"Let me get you out of here" the man whispered to you, turning your body away in the other direction. Not even letting you take another peek at Satoru, not even letting you say goodbye.

He was completely frozen in place, every hope and expectation replaced by this bitter reality right in front of him.

No one said anything else, but the way the man stared at Satoru said enough. He turned his head around to cast that crimson gaze on him again, not needing words to convey what it meant.

A threat.

Contact her again, and see what happens.

Satoru gulped, watching you be lead away by another man.

Away from him.

Oh, he thought, bringing his fingertips to his wet face.

It must be raining again.

this is still about you

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update! read sukuna's pov here

as quiet as possible, you leave your boyfriend in your shared bedroom.

you stumble to the couch and kick off your shoes, blindly searching until your fingers catch the lampshade switch. you yank it to provide some light, rattling as it flings back into place.

you pull your knees to your chest and press your forehead against your kneecaps. a numb part of your brain thinks oh, so this is where this was, when you think of the misery that quieted itself, replaced with a numbness that overtook you during the fight you had with him earlier.

the numbness that made your limbs feel like ice when he clicked off the phone call without even hearing you out.

you wanted to tell him so much, but in the face of his blank gaze and dismissive demeanor, you shut off. you have more fight in you, you know that. but tonight you just couldn’t. couldn’t listen to him tell you that he needed more from you—more support, more time, more patience.

you’ve given him that, right? your brain runs with thoughts you can't keep up with. you gave him yourself. you have, for months, for years. you did what you could. you’ve withstood lonely anniversaries, forgotten birthdays, broken promises. you’ve done everything you could. you gave what you could. you gave everything you could.

i want you to come home, you wanted to tell him eatlier tonight. come home. you’re never home. i know you’re busy at work and you’re doing what you love but please, ‘samu. please. 

love me, too.

your body wracks with a sob, the hurt fresh, as if the words that you never got to say wounded your insides instead. you wanted to tell him that, you wanted to beg for it, beg for his time, beg for his attention, beg for him to love you back. but time and time again he just turns and says he’s tired, he doesn't want to hear it, and the moment is gone, and now the fear of knowing that leaving things unsaid will destroy you, will destroy him. will destroy both of you.

you huddle closer into yourself and sob, a sharp sound in your ears making your head pound.

“babe?” you hear through the ringing in your ears, and suddenly warm hands are on your arms. “babe, what’s wrong?” his voice is calm against your turmoil. “are you having a panic attack?”

“’samu, i’m—” you shudder and he leaves for a moment, flitting to the kitchen to grab you some water. 

“drink, please,” he tells you, gently unfurling you to sit. you comply with shaky limbs, taking the water he’d given you in your delicate grip. a few sips are enough to calm you down, but the fear is still there.

he gingerly takes the glass and sets it aside. he kneels in front of you, taking your hands and soothingly rubbing his thumbs against your skin. his fingers are hot, almost like a furnace, but when you realize that he's not, he's fine, your hands are freezing, you resist the urge to pull away as he warms your palm.

when he looks up to smile at you, you see the exhaustion on his face, and, instantly, you hate yourself for it. for this.

"i'm sorry," you blurt out, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.

his hand leaves yours and cups your cheek. "for what, baby?"

“i love you so much, osamu,” you tell him without thinking, voice thick and wet and miserable. you press the palm of the hand he let go of against his cheek, hiccuping when he closes his eyes to lean into your touch. 

“i love you, too,” he says, ready to apologize for the fight, but it's not about that.

not anymore.

you pull away. the confusion and hurt on his face is making everything worse.

“i love you so much,” you tell him, desperately wishing that he could understand. “but i—” you sob, “but, osamu, i can’t anymore.”

osamu presses his lips together, saying nothing. you hear him sniffle, and his fingers come forward to brush at the tears on your cheeks and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

“i love you so much,” you confess. “i would do anything for you. and i have, i have for years. i’ve tried my best, but osamu, i’m so tired,” you sob. your voice feels like its giving out but the desperation makes the words claw themselves out of your mouth. “i’m so tired, i'm so tired and i'm so lonely, and—and—and i love you so much, but i have nothing left to give.”

you pull your hands away to hunch over and cry into your palms unable to face him. messily, you wipe at your face and push your hair back. you give him the most apologetic smile you can muster, but you're unable to see his face through your tears. “i’m so sorry i can’t give you more, osamu.”

you hear him sniffle and when you wipe your tears away with the backs of your hands, his eyes are glassy. then he closes his eyes.

the pain that washes over his face is absolutely unbearable. the furrow of his brow and the wrinkle of his chin, the lines by his scowl that you know is him trying his best to keep it together.

when he opens his eyes to look at you, his eyes are no longer glassy. your heart breaks for the pain he refuses to show. “what’s next?”

your smile is sad and wet with tears. “i think you know.” you brush his hair back and cradle his face with your hands. “let’s… let’s do this in the morning, okay?”

he nods, looking away. he licks his lips and shakes his head, and he turns to face you with a furrowed brow and a little more composure despite his watery gaze. but it doesn’t take long before his face crumples and he rushes to hide his face against your legs. his quiet sobs are pained and miserable, his chest shaking as he cries. 

you press your face against his hair and cry with him.

—

the morning greets you kindly, the soft sunlight bathing your room in a sweet glow. it’s early, but you can’t keep sleeping. there’s a lot to pack.

your eyes feel hot and swollen, and bones feel heavy beneath your skin, weighing you down from getting up from the bed. still, you fight. you push yourself up to sit and notice that you’re alone. unsurprising, really; osamu has been leaving earlier and coming home later. onigiri miya needs care, needs nurturing, so it’ll blossom and grow. you need to stop begrudging him for it.

you finish your morning ablutions in the bathroom and head out to the kitchen, but when you open your bedroom door, the smell of food hits your nose like a smack to the face. your stomach twists when you see a familiar broad back—osamu didn’t leave—and your fingers turn cold.

the door slides shut behind you and he turns. “good mornin’,” he says quietly, shutting off the stove.

“good morning,” you say, walking to your kitchenette. when you see the spread on the table, you gape despite yourself. “osamu. what is—what.”

he flushes, sliding a delicious looking steak unto a plate and setting it alongside the other plates—nearly every single plate you own, you note—and your dining table is bursting with food. “cooked breakfast.”

“for how many people?” you ask, incredulous. “i tried t'remember everythin’ you liked,” he said with a sniff, and your heart crinkles at the edges, because that means something.

“thank you,” you whisper, and you quietly take a seat while sets aside the dishware he used. 

when he finishes, he turns to look at you, leaning on the counter. it takes him a while. “when you leave,” he says, “i’m going to try again.”

you stare at him, confused. you say nothing and wait for him to continue.

“i don’t want you to leave,” he says, and he rubs his face in frustration. “but i know i’ve—i know i fucked up. i love you, and i never should’ve hurt you.” he inhales through his nose. “but i did, and i can’t change that.

“but i’m not giving up on you. not on us. you—” he clears his throat, and the dark circles beneath his eyes makes your heart feel tight. “i’ll… if i have to start all over again, i’ll do it,” he whispers, walking closer and taking your chin in his hand, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “i’ll win you back.”

“osamu,” you whisper, and his face crumples again.

“i love you too much to let you go,” he says, voice breaking as he fights back tears. “and i know that makes me a jerk. but i’m… i love you, so much—so fucking much, and i hate myself for not making you feel that. for hurting you.”

he gets on his knees and tears are streaming down your face. “leave me if you have to,” he says brokenly.

“if you need space, i’ll understand. but please,” he begs. “please don’t give up on me.” 

he does the unthinkable. he curls over and bows, back curved and forehead pressed against the backs of his hands, pressed against the floor.

the horror that overtakes you is beyond words. 

you drop to the floor to pull him upright, not letting him do this. he won’t do this to himself, you won’t let him. not for anyone, not for you. you pull his face against yours and kiss him as hard as you can, crying as you do.

you won't let him do this.

later, you sit on the couch, arms around osamu’s middle as you lie on his chest. the idea that this could be the last time you held him like this made you want to burst into tears again.

“i’ll make it up to you,” he promises, pushing your hair out of your face, gently guiding your chin up. “please, just… give me another chance.”

you look up at him, and your eyes meet.

—

“hey!” atsumu greets warmly as soon as you enter the restaurant, spreading his arms wide to engulf you in a hug. “it’s so good t’see you!“

“hi, ‘tsumu,” you greet, returning the hug. 

he motions for you to sit as he picks up the menu. “know what you want?”

you nod, not even bothering to pick up the menu. “how are you? how’s training?”

“’m good! training’s good. teammates are pretty good, too.”

"yeah? like who?"

atsumu makes a show of looking at the menu. "oh, i don't you know them."

you roll your eyes at his obvious ploy to get you to start talking. “fine. ask me.”

atsumu instantly leans in, conspiratorially covering his mouth with the menu and whispering, “how are you two? it’s been over a month now, right?”

“oi.” you twist your head to smile up at the newcomer. “stop bothering them, ‘tsumu.”

atsumu glares at his twin. “i’m the one who invited ‘em to lunch!”

osamu rolls his eyes and lays down a platter of onigiri in front of you. he snatches the menu and smacks his brother’s wandering hands with it before they get to close. “these are not for you.”

“but that’s a lot!" atsumu whines. "can’t i have any?”

“no,” osamu says resolutely, then turns to you and gives you the softest smile he can muster, pinning the menu by his side and arm.

"i haven't even ordered yet!" atsumu complains.

osamu ignores him. “let me know what you think.”

“okay,” you say with a smile. 

“and let me know if you need to take out anything,” he continues, “i’ll wrap it up for you.” he leans forward and presses a kiss to your temple. “enjoy.”

“thank you, ‘samu,” you tell him before he turns to leave. 

he smiles back at you and heads back behind the bar.

atsumu has evidently forgotten about ordering, because his eyes shuttle back and forth between you two before nodding considerably. “so i take it things are going well?”

“yeah,” you admit, picking up an onigiri. “going really well, actually.”

“you’ve been…” atsumu searches for the word, “is it still called ‘dating’? you broke up. but… entertaining each other…?”

“don’t hurt yourself,” you joke. “but yeah. let’s call it dating. and it’s going well, thanks for asking.” you take a bite of the onigiri.

“does he still have a chance?” atsumu asks, genuine curiosity on his face.

you chew thoughtfully as you look back at osamu, who’s smiling at a customer. you remember that bright morning, when he helped you pack, helped you move into your friend’s apartment. when he cooked all that food, and you found it neatly packed away in a thermal bag that had a handwritten note, reminding you to eat well.

you remember the next day, when he showed up at your friend’s door, holding flowers and inviting you out to get some ice cream. you remember his messages, his calls, his check ins on you, littered across the days, asking you how you are or if you’re eating or if you need any food.

you could call him if you needed any help, if you needed anything at all.

but reality sets in when you think of how one phone call could be a mistake, it stops you from searching his name each time you pick up the phone.

in your mind, you see his bent form, his begging, his tears. you remember his smiles and his hugs and his ‘see you later’s, his gradually growing list of unbroken promises. you remember the effort, the time he’s putting into you, putting aside for you. you remember how hard he tries for you.

it's like everything is new again.

his eyes catch yours and he gives you a small wave, and you wave back, your stomach fluttering.

it's not new, you think. it's better.

you swallow your food. it's delicious.

“yeah,” you say softly, “he does.”

—

once inside his car, he didn't start the engine immediately. he just gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white, staring straight ahead at nothing.

he glanced over at you but the bruise on your cheek didn't help calm him down, he inhaled shakily staring back out the front window. “I’m going to kill him,” he said under his breath but you heard it.

“steve, don’t,” you said, reaching over to unclench his hand from the wheel.

steve didn’t move, his hand felt like it was made of stone under yours, he turned again looking at you.

"don't? are you serious right now?" his eyes snapping back to your face, taking you in, his voice cracking as it rose in volume. "look at you! look at your face! and you’re telling me dont?!"

"steve, please," you pleaded, your fingers interlacing with his to try and pry them off the leather.

"i'm telling you not to make it worse," you muttered, pulling your hand away when you realized he wasn't budging. "

"it was an accident," you said softly. "he wasn't aiming for me, steve. he was aiming for you. i just… i got in the way."

"and that makes it what? better? you shouldn't have had to jump in at all!" he reached a hand out tilting your face up, examining your cheek before shaking his head.

"we’re going to the doctor. this is swelling too fast."

"i'm not going to the doctor, steve. i just need to sit down for ten minutes," you said, pushing his hand away.

"no, you don't get to 'just sit down,'" steve scoffed. "you just took a hit from a guy twice your size because you decided to play human shield! i don't know what you were thinking?"

"I was thinking that he was going to kill you!" you said, your voice rising a bit, "he had his hands around your throat, steve! was i supposed to just sit there and watch the librarian call the police while you stopped breathing?"

"yes!" steve yelled. "yes, you let me take it! i can handle billy. i’ve handled him before."

you didn't respond, you just stared out the window, picking at your nails.

"i’m taking you to the ER," he said, voice flat.

"steve, no," you groaned, leaning your head back against the headrest.. "it’s just a bruise. i don't need a hospital."

"it’s not just a bruise!" steve shook his head, running a hand over his face. the sight of the swelling on your cheek seemed to physically pain him. "your cheek is a different color and its spreading, you’re swaying in the seat! i am not debating this with you."

"i am not going to the hospital so they can call my dad and tell him billy punched me!" you scoffed, shaking your head, "i'm not doing it.."

steve let out an unamused laugh "You're unbelievable," he muttered, eyeing you.

"god, steve i was the one who jumped!" you shouted, the effort making your jaw ache. "he was blinded by his own temper! he didn't even see me move until he'd already followed through. you saw his face right after... he looked like he’d seen a ghost!"

"oh, poor billy!" steve mocked, his voice filled with sarcasm. "the poor guy feels bad because he accidentally laid out his sister while trying to commit a felony in the school library. should i send him a get well card for his emotional trauma?"

"shut up, steve! you’re being an asshole!"

"i’m being an asshole?" steve pointed to himself, another unamused laugh slipping through his lips.

"yeah, steve, you are! you're being a massive asshole!" you rolled your eyes, "i jumped in to save you, and now you’re making me regret it because you won’t stop acting like a jerk!"

steve slammed his hand against the dashboard, "i'm acting like a jerk because you're defending him!

"you're so obsessed with winning against him that you're not even looking at me! you're just looking at the bruise!"

"i am looking at you!" steve shouted, his hand flying out to gesture toward your face, stopping just inches away. "i'm looking at you and I'm seeing a girl who's so brainwashed by her psychotic brother that she’s calling me the jerk for trying to help her!"

"oh, so now i'm brainwashed?" you let out a laugh, your hand reaching for the door handle. "great. first i’m a punching bag, and now i'm too stupid to know my own mind. thanks for the clarity, steve."

"that’s not what i meant and you know it-"

"no, i know exactly what you mean." you pushed the handle down, the door clicking open.

you stepped out onto the asphalt, the ground tilting for a second, but you gripped the edge of the door to steady yourself.

"get back in the car!" steve scrambled across the center console, reaching out to grab your sleeve, but you yanked your arm away.

"go home, steve," you spat, slamming the door shut with every ounce of strength you had left.

you didn't look back at him, you started walking back toward the school building, your head throbbing, you could hear his door slamming shut then, his footsteps sprinting across the pavement after you.

"baby! stop! just... dammit, i’m sorry! stop walking!"

you didn't stop, you kept your eyes locked on the school entrance, trying to move as fast as your legs would let you.

steve’s hand caught your elbow, steadying you as you stumbled. "don't touch me," you hissed, trying to shake him off, but your legs felt like they were no longer under you.

"okay, okay!" he said, holding his hands up in surrender while staying glued to your side. "look, i’m sorry. i'm a jerk. i’m an asshole. i'm whatever you want me to be baby, just please stop walking before you pass out in the middle of the parking lot."

"i'm going to find the nurse," you lied, your voice wavering. "and then I’m calling a cab. I don't need you to follow me around and I definitely don't need a lecture on my family dynamics."

"a cab? in hawkins?" steve let out a frustrated, breathless noise. "you’ll be waiting three hours.."

he stepped in front of you, forcing you to halt. the sudden movement made your vision blur, and you instinctively reached out, your hand landing on his chest to keep yourself upright. steve immediately covered your hand with his, his eyes searching yours.

he stepped closer, letting his shadow fall over you, shielding your eyes from the sun. "i'm not trying to win an argument. if you don't want the hospital, fine. no ER. no doctors."

you looked up at him, your breath hitching. "he's my brother, steve," you said, your voice quiet, a small tear running down your face.

"i know," steve murmured, his thumb moved to your swollen cheek, gently wiping the tear away. "and i’m the guy who loves you. let that count for something today. please.... just get back in the car. i’ll be quiet. i won’t say a word, i’ll just drive."

⋆˙⟡ —

the ride to steve’s was filled with the silence he had promised. he didn't say a single thing, though the way he kept glancing at you.

his eyes darting from the road to the swelling on your face every thirty seconds. checking to see if your eyes were still open or if you were leaning too far to one side.

he drove with a cautiousness, avoiding every pothole as if a single bump might cause you more pain.

when he pulled into his driveway, he didn't wait for the engine to settle before he was out of the door.

he was at your side in a second, his hand hovering near your elbow, ready to catch you the moment you stepped out.

"i’ve got you," he whispered as he guided you up the front steps, the large, empty house feeling even more larger than usual.

he led you straight into the kitchen, helping you sit on one of the high barstools. the cool air of the house felt good against your skin, but the throbbing in your jaw was starting to pulse in time with your heartbeat.

"stay," he commanded softly, though he was already moving toward the freezer. he pulled out a clean dish towel and filled it with crushed ice, folding it over.

he stepped between your knees, leaning in close. "okay," he whispered. "this is going to be cold. just… try to hold still."

as the ice pack touched your cheek, you winced, drawing in a breath through your teeth.

steve’s other hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair to steady you, pulling your head gently against his chest.

"i know, baby. i know," he murmured, his breath warm against the top of your head. the anger from the parking lot was completely gone. "just breathe. i've got it."

he held the ice there for a long time, the only sound in the kitchen being the hum of the refrigerator.

slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you. "does it feel better?" he asked, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw just below the towel. "the cold?"

"a little," you admitted, your voice sounding small.

he let out a long, ragged breath, the kind that seemed to deflate his entire chest. he didn't move his hand from your jaw, his thumb continuing that slow stroke that was clearly meant to soothe him as much as it was to comfort you.

"good," he whispered. "that’s good."

his pupils were blown wide, searching your eyes as if he were trying to memorize every fleck of color in them, checking for the hundredth time that you were really okay.

Your eyes dropped to his mouth before you could stop it.

steve noticed, you saw the exact second it registered because his entire expression changed. the panic softened out of his face, his eyes dipped to your lips too, then back up again.

“hey,” he murmured softly.

you swallowed. “yeah?”

his hand tightened slightly at the back of your neck. “what?”

you tried to fight the tiny smile pulling at your mouth, but it was impossible with the way he was looking at you.... like you hung the moon or something equally ridiculous.

"you know..." you whispered. "There is one thing that would really make me feel better."

steve’s brow furrowed instantly, "what? anything," he promised, his voice urgent and ready to fix it. "you want more ice? or i can go get that heated blanket from the closet? do you feel dizzy? nauseous? just tell me, baby, i’ll get it."

you didn't answer right away, you just kept your eyes on his, watching the way his concern made his forehead crease. slowly, you tilted your head and puckered your lips, waiting.

for a second, steve just stared at you, his brain glitching as he processed the request. then, a small, lopsided smile finally broke through the tension on his face.

it was the first real smile you’d seen since before the library. "oh," he breathed, a soft, breathless laugh escaping him.

the sound made your smile grow. “what?”

“you are unbelievable,” he muttered again, except this time there wasn’t any frustration in it.

his forehead dropped forward for a second like he physically couldn’t handle you. “you’re sitting here half concussed trying to flirt with me.”

"i'm multitasking.”

steve huffed out another laugh, quieter this time, your fingers curled lightly into the front of his shirt. “steve…”

he leaned down a little closer, like he couldn’t help it whenever you said his name like that.

your noses brushed. “....steve,” you whispered this time.

His eyes fluttered shut for half a second before he finally gave in, the kiss started careful.

steve kissed you like he was afraid you might break apart in his hands if he moved too fast.

his palm stayed cradled against the back of your head while the other moved the melting ice pack from your cheek to the counter beside you.

you felt the shaky exhale leave him against your mouth as he kissed you once, slowly. then again, a little deeper this time.

your fingers tightened in his shirt automatically, pulling him closer between your knees.

steve made the quietest sound in his throat. his forehead pressed against yours when he pulled back barely an inch. “you scared the hell out of me today,” he admitted softly.

you reached up, brushing your thumb lightly along his busted lip. “i’m okay.”

“you weren’t.” his jaw tightened. "you got hit hard enough to nearly black out.”

“but I’m okay now.”

steve looked at you for another long moment, like he was deciding whether he believed you, then his eyes dropped to your lips again.

“you sure kissing me doesn’t hurt?” he asked quietly.

“it might,” you admitted.

his expression immediately filled with guilt. “jesus, sorry-”

“but,” you interrupted softly, “it’s worth it.”

steve stared at you. then he kissed you again like that sentence rewired his brain chemistry.

his fingers threaded through the strands of your hair carefully so he wouldn’t jar your jaw.

he tilted his head just enough to deepen the kiss, slow and warm and consuming in a way that made your stomach flip.

you could taste the mint gum he’d probably chewed hours ago.... could feel the way he kept hesitating between kisses, like he still couldn’t stop checking if you were okay.

every few seconds his thumb would brush your cheek gently.... and every few seconds he’d pull back just enough to look at you again.

“you still dizzy?” he whispered against your lips.

“a little.”

his mouth brushed yours once more. “Headache?”

“mhm.”

another kiss.

“nauseous?”

“steve,” you mumbled, smiling despite yourself.

“what?” he whispered, smiling back. “nurse harrington’s thorough.”

“you’re annoying.”

“yeah?” he kissed the corner of your mouth. “still your favorite though.”

you rolled your eyes weakly, but your hands slid up around his neck anyway.

his lips moved against slower now. like he was pouring every unsaid thing from the parking lot into kissing you instead.

sorry.... i was scared.... i love you.... don’t ever do that again.

your fingers slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck and he shivered, like actually shivered.

“jesus,” he breathed against your mouth.

you smiled sleepily. “what?”

“you keep doing that and i’m never letting you leave this kitchen.”

“wasn’t planning on it.”

steve laughed softly, forehead dropping against yours again. his nose nudged yours.

“you’re exhausted,” he murmured.

“so are you.”

“yeah.” He sighed. “but yours is probably a concussion.”

you snorted quietly and instantly regretted it when pain shot through your cheek.

steve winced in sympathy. “okay, no laughing. doctor’s orders.”

“you’re not a doctor.”

“no, but i am the guy currently keeping your face attached with ice.” he leaned back slightly, finally grabbing the towel again before gently pressing it to your cheek. “hold this for me, baby.”

you took it with a small groan.

steve softened again at the sound, his free hand rubbing slowly up and down your arm. “i know,” he whispered. “c’mere.”

before you could ask what he meant, he carefully lifted you off the stool. “steve-”

“you’re swaying,” he said simply.

and honestly? you were too tired to argue anymore, so you let him carry you.

his arms stayed secure around you as he walked through the quiet house, your head tucked against his shoulder while the melting ice pack rested against your cheek, you could hear his heartbeat through his shirt.

by the time he reached his bedroom, your eyes were already drifting shut.

steve laid you down carefully against the pillows like you were made of glass. the mattress dipped beside you as he sat down after, one hand brushing your hair back from your forehead.

“you staying awake for me a little longer?” he asked softly.

you blinked up at him slowly. “depends.”

a tiny smile tugged at his mouth. “on?”

“you gonna kiss me again?”

steve shook his head, smile growing. “you want a kiss?” he whispered.

you nodded slowly as he leaned down to kiss you this time.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. the room was quiet, you could hear the rattling of the ceiling fan and the uneven sound of his breathing.

then he pressed one last gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before murmuring softly, “okay. sleep.”

you frowned. “that’s not romantic.”

a tired laugh escaped him. “baby, you almost passed out in the parking lot.”

“still. you could’ve said it nicer.”

steve shook his head, brushing your hair back again. “alright, hold on.” He cleared his throat dramatically. “my dearest love, light of my life, please close your eyes before you collapse from exhaustion in my bed.”

you smiled weakly. “better.”

“yeah?”

“mhm.” your eyes were already slipping shut again. “do that voice more often.”

steve snorted quietly. “you are so concussed.”

you reached toward him blindly, fingers catching weakly in the front of his shirt before he could pull away.

“stay.” the word came out so soft.

steve’s expression softened again. “yeah,” he whispered. “yeah, I’m staying.”

he kicked off his shoes quickly before shifting properly onto the bed beside you and his arms slid around you carefully, pulling you against his chest.

you curled into him without hesitation, one arm tucked between you both while the other rested lightly over his waist. steve adjusted slowly so you could lay without putting pressure on your bruised cheek, one hand staying protectively at the back of your head while the other rubbed slow circles against your back.

“there,” he murmured. “comfortable?”

“warm.”

his lips brushed your forehead. “you scared me so bad today,” he admitted quietly into your hair.

half asleep already, you mumbled, “you said that already.”

“yeah, well.” his fingers tightened slightly against your back. “i’m gonna keep saying it until you understand how serious I am.”

you made a sleepy sound that might’ve been a laugh.

steve’s chest rose under your cheek with a soft sigh.

for a while neither of you spoke.

he just held you, just before sleep finally pulled you under, you felt his lips press softly into your hair.

“i love you,” he whispered.

and even half asleep, you still smiled. " i love you more."