Nee Nee

“Her favorite color was blue,” Gojo blurted out, and Choso felt his eye twitch. Mouth barely able to hold onto thin neutrality as he resisted reacting. 

“When I was with her, it was purple,” he evenly replied, pushing off the ground to stand up straight. You wouldn’t even let him paint the kids bathroom blue. Skipped every shade of it to pluck out a soft lavender, smiling as you offered it to him. 

“Well, I guess you just know her so much better than I do,” Gojo scoffed, white brows pinching together tightly as he walked over to place his flowers by Choso’s.

It was hard not to cringe. 

Jealousy used to burn him up inside, gnaw at him endlessly at night no matter what you whispered or how tightly he held you in his arms. But now, seeing the man who was responsible for it teetering on a knife’s edge, miserably mourning your memory the same way he was, just sorta made all those harsh edges of his own hurt soften with unexpected sympathy. 

“She wouldn’t want you to waste the rest of your life waiting by-” 

“You don’t know that,” Gojo snapped at him, before immediately wincing, probably realizing how he sounded. “That was childish, I’m-” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Choso waved it off. 

Truthfully, he didn’t know what he’d do if he was in his shoes. 

Except for maybe not leaving to start with. 

“I used to be terrified I’d wake up one day and you’d be waiting at the front door,” he added, not sure if being candid would help him any, or if it just felt good to get it off his chest. 

“I wish I was,” Gojo openly admitted, defined jaw clenched tight. 

Up close, Choso could make out the curve of his cheekbones, a little too hollow to be healthy. A haunted quality etched into every line, every feature of his face. Not getting enough to eat. Probably not getting enough sleep either. 

Struggling to cope with his new circumstances.

Displaced in time and space.

And still there was one thing they both had in common. 

“I miss her,” Choso softly spoke, throat constricting as a lump started to take shape, blocking his breathing as he steeled himself. He wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of him. 

“Yeah,” Gojo awkwardly agreed. “Me too.” 

“Do you want to go out for lunch later? Talk about her?” He offered, shoving down his own discomfort to extend an olive branch. 

Hope blooming when Gojo hesitantly accepted it, nodding with just a short bob of his head. 

“Can you bring some photos of her?” 

And a couple hours later, they were sitting across from each other in a corner booth of a restaurant he used to take the twins and Yuji to with you, plates pushed to the side as they poured over photo albums, fingers tracing over the glossy plastic protecting your pictures. 

Choso paused over an old one, back when the two of you first started dating, where you were sandwiched between Apollo and Artemis, smiling at him from behind a snowcone in a roller skating rink. It was supposed to be a playdate for the kids, but it kinda felt like one for him too. Holding your hand skating, making conversation over the loud bass of the obnoxious music blaring, and blushing when you nearly fell and sent him tumbling down on top of you. He could still remember that flutter in his chest when he helped you up, your fingers gripping onto his forearm and his own splayed across your side, lovestruck at the way you looked up at him with those pretty eyes, a temporary tattoo of a butterfly stuck to the bottom half of your cheek courtesy of Artemis and crinkled when you laughed. 

He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so gorgeous. 

Snapping photos of your side profile and the kids racing around the arcade section, glued to your side and feeling like a dumb dog lapping up every little sliver of affection you tossed down to him. 

Devouring every ounce of it, feeling like he’d been stuck in a drought, wandering in a desert without you as he watched you help Yuji calculate how many tickets he’d need to get a ridiculous stuffed animal from behind the prize counter, Apollo tugging at your pants and pleading for you to play air hockey with him after Artemis went back to skating. 

It had been a good day. 

A great one. 

The five of you together had felt like a family far before you actually became one. 

“They look like they’re having fun,” Gojo muttered, tapping the picture of the little boy who looked so much like him. 

It was strange, honestly, a little uncomfortable how much Apollo had grown up to resemble him.

And now Apollo was older than him, his dad damn near the spitting image as him at that age. 

Not that he’d admit it. 

No, his stepson had done everything he could to diminish the similarities, running as far from his dad’s shadow as he could while his sister found the light in it. 

“We had just started dating back then,” Choso wistfully exhaled, reminiscing about how naive he’d been back then. 

How easy things had been. 

Artemis had filled your former fiancé on the basics. A rough history lesson on the years he’d spent in space. A vague outline of your life since he left. 

But he didn’t know how much Gojo really knew.

“You seem pretty close,” Gojo commented, his mouth pressed in a thin line as he flipped the page to a photo Mrs. Geto had snapped of the five of you at a soccer game, Apollo still in his uniform and beaming at the camera while you leaned into his side for the shot. 

“It, uh, was a little rocky,” he admitted. “Mostly because she was still in love with you.” 

And you had been terrified of falling out of it. 

“I think she was scared of falling for me too,” Choso added, leaning back against the leather seat, still able to shut his eyes and bring himself back to the first night he confronted you about it. 

Standing in your kitchen, putting plates in the dishwasher as you wiped the crumbs off the table, all three kids watching a movie in the living room, throwing popcorn at each other and giggling while you cleaned up after dinner. 

Another night where everything had revolved entirely around the kids, picking up after them and playing, breaking up their bickering or dragging them around from place to place. 

He had felt like a fucking asshole for having any kind of complaints, but when the most the two of you managed was a handful of makeout sessions you had to sneak in, a brief foray to second base that ended in less than a minute when Artemis burst into the bedroom crying about a skinned knee, frustration had begun to build. 

Choso didn’t mind waiting, if that was what you wanted. 

Taking however much time you needed if the idea of being intimate was still too much. 

But you weren’t saying anything. Avoiding the conversation every time he tried to bring it up, switching subjects or shifting back to the kids like you were searching for an excuse not to be close with him. 

To not move to the next step together. 

He wanted to take you on real dates. To spend time with you one-on-one. Be a couple instead of just coparents. 

“Can we talk?” Choso cleared his throat, shutting the dishwasher and fixing the settings without looking over at you. 

“Yeah?” He could tell you were nervous already, voice cracking on just a single word. 

“I, uh, just was thinking that we haven’t gone on a real date, y’know?” He started, peeking back at you just to see how stiff you were suddenly standing, shoulders squared as your mouth parted in surprise. 

“I mean, I guess,” you awkwardly replied, biting your bottom lip as you avoided his stare, turning your attention away, and he could already anticipate how many seconds he had left before you’d offer to check on the children or change the topic.

“Are you avoiding being alone with me?” He bluntly asked, a tiny bit stunned himself at the way the words just fell out of him. 

“No, no,” you stammered it out, repeating yourself as you shook your head. “It’s just, it’s hard to find time with the kids, it’s not you-”

It was the fact he wasn’t actually their father. 

But he didn’t say that. Didn’t bring him up. 

“I don’t want to rush you,” he tried to clarify, stepping closer and reaching out. Desperate to feel some kind of connection even when he suspected he might only end up freaking you out. “If you’re not-”

“What if I, um, ask Suguru’s mom to watch all of them next weekend?” You offered before he could explain his concerns, cutting him off with the words he wanted to hear.

“You’d do that?” Choso asked, heart thumping against his rib cage as he contained the hope he’d been clinging onto since the first day he met you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, smiling at him softly as he ran his hand over your arm, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead.

He hadn’t looked then. 

But part of him wondered now, what he would’ve seen if he had. Would the smile reach your eyes? 

Still, you kept your word. 

Dropped all three of them off to be babysat for the night a week later, got all dressed up in a little purple dress that left him swallowing his drool throughout the entire dinner, clumsily opening doors for you and paying the check despite his dismal teaching salary. 

You laughed at his jokes, leaned across the table and let him trace circles over your knuckles with his thumb over white wine. 

Choso didn’t go on dates often. 

But he hadn’t met anyone who made him feel like you did. Warm and fuzzy and frustrated and so entirely wrapped up in every word that left your lips that it was driving him mad.

Practically vibrating just from your touch, the way your fingers delicately intertwined with his when you led him back up to your front door, electricity he might just be imagining buzzing between your body as his as you leaned back against the the frame, giggling when you accidentally bumped into the bell. 

He could see that nervous glimmer in your eyes. 

Shared his own sea of anxiety over how tonight would end when everything inside him was aching for it not to. 

“So,” you started, sucking in your bottom lip for a second as your unsure stare met his.“Are you gonna come in?” 

Choso felt like he was going to black out.

Sure that he was going to blink and wake back up in his bed. Alone. Exhausted. Craving you so goddamn much he could hardly contain it. 

And before he could hold himself back, he was cupping your pretty face and kissing those lips that constantly lingered in the back of his brain. 

The rest was a blur. You kissing him back and looping your wrists around his neck. Shutting the door behind both of you and stumbling back to your bedroom, clothes hitting the floor while his chest strained to catch his breath. 

And when your back hit the bed, he was sure this had to be heaven. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, god, I can’t fucking believe you’re mine-” He didn’t even realize he was rambling until your mouth collided with his again, your soft thighs wrapping around his waist as his cock pressed up against your entrance.

You were already wet, which felt like far more of an accomplishment than it should. 

Pride sparking in his chest as his pre-cum unhelpfully leaked out onto your skin. 

“Condoms are, um, in my drawer,” you blinked when you broke the kiss, swallowing hard as you tilted your head towards your nightstand. 

“Okay,” he nodded, a little too eagerly as he climbed off to grab it, yanking open the drawer to find a sealed box. 

Brand new. 

Did you actually buy it for him? 

Or was he being delusional? 

He ripped open the top flap, but before he put one on, he looked back at you, feeling a little bit like an idiot for thinking with his dick instead of his brain. 

How could he forget about foreplay? 

Choso tossed a condom on the bed, walking back around to the edge of it before getting on his knees and yanking you down by your thighs until that pretty pussy of yours was right there in front of him. 

Ready to be prepared. 

“Can I taste you first?” He asked, not entirely selfless in his request. 

He wanted to bury his tongue inside you. Get the whole experience rather than rush into it and risk cumming in just a couple clumsy minutes. 

You nodded, maybe a little unsure yourself. 

As rusty at this as he was. 

You had confided in him before you hadn’t dated anyone since him. But Choso had no clue whether or not you’d actually been with someone else – even if it was just a hookup. 

His fingers trembled as they slid over your pliable thighs, pulling them closer as he shyly leaned in to tentatively take his first lick. 

But all it took was a taste. 

And a handful of minutes later, he was nuzzling his nose as he sucked and lapped like a man starved, cock throbbing and twitching as he resisted the urge to cum every time you moaned and whined for him. 

Pausing to ask if you were okay a couple times before he got too tangled up in balancing your pleasure and his. 

Your fingers laced through his hair, tugging at his roots to keep him going, thighs clamping down on his head as he swirled his tongue around hungrily. 

It honestly felt like a crime you’d kept it from him for so long. 

He could spend the entire night like this. 

Solely devoted to you. 

Trying out every little thing, pushing and pressing and prodding at every spot inside you until he made a map of your likes and dislikes. 

But you were prying him off, ignoring his deep whine as his glossy lips froze in a panicked pant, ready to plead his case to convince you to let him have a teesny more time. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, swallowing hard as his own saliva and your slick dripping down his throat. Pretending he didn’t notice the rings gleaming around your neck, the diamond one you’d switched from your fourth finger to a dainty chain. Daring him to remember that you weren’t supposed to be his. 

“I-I’m fine,” you murmured, chest heaving with every breath, making the necklace bounce with it. “Good.” 

“Please,” he began to beg, brows knitted together tight. Desperate to make you his. For tonight, at least. “I just want-” 

“I want all of you,” you half-whispered, like you could hardly believe it. 

He couldn’t either. 

Brain still lagging by the time he was sheathing his cock inside the condom, squirting lube on his hand and stroking his shaft before slowly starting to slip his way in you. 

No resistance. No more holding back. No more hoping for something he didn’t know would ever happen. 

Just you and him here together. 

It was perfect. 

You were perfect. 

Your warmth, your touch, your scent, god, every last detail was far better than he ever dreamed it.

His thrusts were precise, dragging in and out all slow and deliberate so he could study the way your face scrunched up in pleasure, watch your lips part and purr his name like a prayer. 

“C-Cho,” you groaned, raking your nails down his shoulder blades, not enough to sink into his skin, but more like a soft graze. 

“Y-you like that?” He stuttered over his own words, not coming off nearly as confident as he liked. 

You were nodding, your head on a bobble as your mascara-laden lashes fluttered. 

He was shuddering, whimpering right as his cock pressed all the way in, bumping into the back as your walls squeezed down on him. 

Nothing had ever felt so good. 

He wasn’t sure anything ever would again. 

Fucking you all soft, hips sliding smoothly against you, grabbing your hands and pinning them over your head so he could kiss you as much as he liked. Tongue slipping into your mouth, tracing your teeth, exchanging whines just for the other to swallow. 

Pressure building and twisting in his core, terrible tension he couldn’t resist, trying to break him before he could make you finish. 

Rushing to rub your clit, murmuring into your mouth and practically begging you to cum for him. 

You were hurting. 

He still thought he could heal you. 

Intoxicated by your face when you unravelled for him, cumming into the condom twice as hard as usual hearing your breathy moan, half-collapsing on you as his knees went weak. 

Choso might’ve been more embarrassed if he wasn’t so enticed by every little shiver and shake of your body, absolutely enveloped while he left kiss after kiss across your soft skin.

Talking to you in a soft voice, pulling your body back up the bed and flipping over so you could be on his chest. 

It didn’t take long for you to drift off like that. 

He didn’t blame you. 

Between work and the twins, you barely had time to take care of yourself. You rarely got restful sleep. 

He was feeling it call to him too. 

Peace. Contentment. 

Heat lingering underneath his cheek as he held you close, brushing your hair back from your face as you dreamed. Your mouth curled up, a pretty smile reflexively forming as your fingers tightened around his side. 

Some sliver of him sort of wanted to wake you, to ask what occupied your mind when you slept so soundly. But he just craned his neck down to nuzzle his nose in your hair, pulling you up another inch or two closer to cradle your body against his. 

And then you said it and shattered the illusion completely. 

“Satoru.” 

One sleepy word. Three soft syllables. 

And you broke him in a way he wasn’t sure he could repair. 

He stilled beneath you, heart lodged in his throat as he resisted the urge to throw it up. Flush it down the fucking toilet as he tried to lie to himself. 

Swear that you didn’t mean it – even if your subconscious did. 

That he wasn’t even here. 

But fuck, that look on your face, so relaxed, so raw, it made something inside him snap. 

What the hell was he thinking? 

He couldn’t do this. 

Slowly, he slipped out from underneath you, making sure to tuck the pillow under your head and cover your bare body back up with the blanket before he padded silently over to his discarded clothes. 

Choso couldn’t take just being your consolation prize. 

But the idea of going home and never coming back to you felt pretty fucking unbearable too. 

He didn’t want you to know he felt like this either.  

Hated the idea of you seeing him spiral into doubt. 

His feelings were his responsibility. He couldn’t put anything else on you – be another burden on your shoulders. He just needed time. 

Yeah, that was it. To think this through. 

Figure out if you were really ready for this. If he was ready to be what you needed while knowing he wasn’t who you needed. 

Choso had only managed to get his socks and boxers back on when he heard rustling behind him. 

You were sitting up and staring, eyes wide and worried as you watched him wordlessly. 

“I need to get Yuji,” he lied, sweat sticking to his forehead and plastering his bangs down as you blinked at him. 

“Why?” 

One word, and he nearly cracked. Changed his mind and caved in. “I forgot that we’re supposed to go see Sukuna in the morning,” he excused, shrugging his shoulders. “I should probably pick him up and head home.” 

“You’re going home?” Your voice was wound tight, but you didn’t call his bluff. 

“I should, yeah,” he muttered. 

You didn’t fight him on it. 

Just covered yourself with the blanket as you got up to grab some clean clothes from the closet. Not looking directly at him when you got dressed, mumbling under your breath that you’d let Suguru’s mother know you were picking the kids up as you sent her a text message. 

She answered the door with a soft smile for both of you, murmuring that the kids were still asleep as she let both of you in. 

“I’ll go get them,” you yawned, walking past her – and all the framed photos of men who weren’t around anymore. 

“Would you like some tea while she wakes them up?” 

Choso always had trouble saying no. 

Ending up in the kitchen, a deep line imprinting on his palms from the bite of the sharp counter’s edge as she poured him some fresh tea. 

She glanced up at him with tired eyes, holding out a steaming cup he timidly took. She wasn’t a fool. Probably figured it out from your text alone that something was up. 

“Can I ask you something?” He started, readjusting to lean against the kitchen cabinets as he looked at the ticking clock on the wall. 

“Of course,” she nodded, a fondness in her gaze that he knew wasn’t reserved for him either. 

You had told him about her son. Your fiancé’s friend. 

Commenting quietly a month after he had met her that you thought he reminded her of him.

“Do you think I’m wasting my time?” He asked, keeping his voice down as he felt all the muscles in his face involuntarily clench. Mouth twitching in a tight line as he voiced the thought haunting his mind. 

Was he just a moron for standing here wishing for someone who didn’t want him back? 

He didn’t want to be a placeholder. 

“Wasting your time doing what? Waiting for her to stop loving Satoru? Or for her to start loving you?” She asked, tilting her head to the side knowingly. 

His mouth opened, but no sounds came out. 

Unsure what question he really was trying to ask once she said the silent parts out loud. 

“She’s never going to stop loving Satoru,” Mrs. Geto calmly said, no malice or condescension, just stating a fact Choso already knew. “But you’d have to be blind to not see how far she’s fallen for you.” 

He hoped she was right. 

Would rip his heart out of his chest and hand it to you if it made it true. 

Artemis stumbled in first, sleepily rubbing her eyes and clutching a stuffed animal to her chest as the boys trailed in after her. You were behind them, but you weren’t looking at him. 

“What’s happening?” Apollo grumbled, leaning all his weight against your leg as Yuji scampered over to his big brother. 

“We’re going home,” you answered, your voice coming out all breathy, familiar heat still curling hot in his stomach just at your pitch . “And Yuji’s going home with Choso.” 

“But I thought we were-” 

“No buts,” you huffed, wrangling your kids towards the door without looking at him once. 

He knew that he might’ve screwed things up. 

Still, he didn’t think it would still be so tense a full week later. 

That when he didn’t text you good morning, you wouldn’t either. No more dinners for five. Or carpooling to school. No more cozying up on your couch while the kids fell asleep halfway through a bad movie. 

The distance didn’t make him feel any better. 

It only made him miss you more. 

Staring at the stars outside his window and wishing that he was home with you. Even if there would always be a ghost haunting its halls. Looming over the two of you no matter how much love he had to offer you. 

Was the man you loved before him still out there somewhere? 

Craving you the way he was now? 

Sympathy he hadn’t anticipated surged inside him, daring him to fully empathize with someone he wanted to hate. 

But he couldn’t hate him. 

And he couldn’t stop himself from loving you. 

So he sent you a text Saturday morning, typing and deleting a variation of the same ten words before finally hitting send.

He wasn’t lying when he said that Yuji missed the twins. Choso just didn’t know how to tell you how much he missed you too. 

But you replied back that he could bring him over if he wanted, and he refused to miss the chance to reconcile. To fix things before they ended up broken. 

Choso thought you might be a little upset. Confused by the sudden space between you. 

But you barely even glance at him when you opened the door, speaking only to Yuji as you directed him to the backyard, nodding along to his endless chirping about what he learned in school yesterday before he ran out to join the twins. 

The morning sun wasn’t too harsh yet, your side profile illuminated in the soft rays as you stepped out with them, wearing one of your favorite faded shirts he suspected belonged to him, the chain of your necklace peeking out underneath the color. 

“Are you going to say it?” You broke the silence, your stare focused solely on Yuji and Apollo chasing each other and laughing. 

“Say what?” He repeated, running his fingers through his hair, attempting to not sound as nervous as he felt. 

You scoffed, low and soft, your mouth curling down as you looked down at the grass around your bare feet. 

“I guess this is it then?” You asked, refusing to so much as glance his way. Leaning against the wall with your arms tightly folded across your chest like you were trying to protect your heart. “We’re over?”

His own practically fell through the fucking floor as he processed what you just said. 

“What?” The question came out wounded. His throat drying out as he forced himself to exhale, “Why-”

“I don’t want to waste your time,” you coldly replied, but he could hear how much you were struggling too. 

Oh god. 

You must have overheard the first part of his conversation with Mrs. Geto. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he defensively started, panic pulsing through him as he reached out to touch your arm. But you recoiled, flinching fast like his fingers would burn you. 

“I thought things were okay,” you murmured, shaking your head like the very notion was stupid now. “Was it the sex? Was I not good enough for you?”

“No, no, I swear-”

“Then what?” You snapped, finally looking back at him, your beautiful face scrunched together in pain. Big tears welling up in your pretty eyes that you were trying to blink away. 

For a second, Choso froze, stunned that he could be the reason for that. That you cared enough about this, about him to cry. 

His mouth stuck open in a moronic ‘o’ as he stumbled for the right thing to say to stop your relationship from unraveling. 

“You had your fun and fucked me. I’m just not what you wanted, right?” You were half-whispering, keeping your voice down to not alert the kids. Bottom lip quivering as you continued, “I don’t know why I thought you’d stay.” 

Fuck. 

This was not how this was supposed to go. 

He was supposed to be smoothing things over, not losing you over nothing. 

“No, baby, no,” he insisted, grabbing your hand before you could retreat even further away. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You tried to pull your hand out of his, but he wasn’t the kind of fool who would let you walk away. 

“The sex was amazing, god, you’re amazing,” Choso rambled, rushing through his words as he felt a frightening surge of anxiety at the idea of you thinking he was just using you like some scumbag. “I just, I thought everything was perfect, and after you dozed off, you said his name and I-” 

“What?” You faltered. 

“You were in my arms, and you called out for him,” he murmured, attempting to suck air in his lungs as he inhaled sharply. 

A tear slipped down your cheek, and before you could burst into sobs, he was pulling you back against his chest. Enveloping you in his embrace, arms wrapped around you as your body wracked with the weight of your sorrow. 

“M’sorry,” you cried, your voice muffled as your tears left damp spots in his shirt. “I-I-” 

He was stroking your hair, swallowing the lump in his throat at the sound of your broken voice. 

“It’s okay,” he soothed, pressing your head against him to make sure the kids wouldn’t have to see you crying. 

Not when you tried so hard to be strong for them. Built a life around being there when their father hadn’t been. 

“I didn’t mean-” You started again, and he only pulled back to wipe the tears away beneath your eyes, thumb slowly dragging over your cheekbones. “I just haven’t had sex with anyone since-”

“You don’t have to apologize when you didn’t do it on purpose,” he reassured you, feeling that hole in his own heart chisel just a tad wider at your acknowledgement he’d been the first man to fuck you since him. “I just needed some time to sort out my own feelings.” 

“You’re still going to leave,” you mumbled, wiping your nose on your forearm as you tried to step back and recoil back. 

“I’m not,” he promised, cupping your cheek. “I’m just scared of being his stand-in. A shitty replacement for the real thing.” 

You stared back at him, taken a little aback before you shook your head, leaning into his palm. “You know you’re not.” 

He didn’t though. 

How was he supposed to believe he wasn’t second place when you wore the proof of who was first around your neck every day? 

But he couldn’t point that out. 

Not when he knew that he wasn’t being fair. 

Your former fiancé had been gone for years. It wasn’t a bad breakup, or like you lost him in some tangible way. 

You had no closure. No answers. 

Just an empty hole in your heart that Choso was doing his damndest to fill. 

He glanced back at the children, clueless as they played in the sandbox, Artemis threatening to dump a bucket on her brother while Yuji dared her to do it. 

And his chest fucking spasmed at the idea that there might be another life where they weren’t his family. 

Where you weren’t his. 

“I’ll always love Satoru. I wouldn’t have the twins without him,” you admitted, sniffling a little as you pulled yourself back together. “I wouldn’t have you either.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

Aware that you were right, but having a hard time finding it in himself to be grateful. 

You were a gift.

Choso just couldn’t decide how to feel about the sender. 

“I love you,” you spoke so softly to him though, so tenderly despite how scared he could sense you were just saying the words out loud. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

“I love you too,” he promised, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your lips. 

To seal it. 

“I think we just have to work on talking to each other,” Choso added after you started to pull away, slipping a hand around your back to keep you close. “Communicate better before it turns into this.” 

He didn’t want to be the reason you cried. Be the one who broke you. 

“Yeah,” you mumbled an agreement, relaxing into him before looking back over to the twins and Yuji. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“And then what?” Gojo interrupted his story, shoving a fry in his mouth with an annoyed frown. “You guys lived happily ever after?” 

Wouldn’t that be sweet? If it had been so simple? If you’d both stuck to what you swore? 

“Uh, not exactly,” he muttered. “I mean, most of it was great. But we did have a pretty bad patch.” 

Gojo freely glared at him, like he was offended at the concept of him having anything to complain about. 

“Why are you looking at me like it’s my fault?” Gojo huffed. 

Some childish part of him wanted to retort that it was. 

That he spent his life fixing the damage he’d done to you by getting on the damn spaceship. 

But Choso had made his peace with that long before you were his wife. 

“You’re the one she married,” he bitterly added, jaw locked with barely concealed contempt he wasn’t bothering to hide without Artemis around. 

Apollo didn’t even want to entertain him at all, only tolerated seeing him when his sister dragged him around to family gatherings and brunches, excited to have someone to chatter about science stuff the rest of them couldn’t comprehend.  

Choso didn’t blame either of them. 

“You know, she didn’t say yes the first time I asked her to marry me,” Choso confessed, twisting his own wedding band around a wrinkled finger. 

You broke up with him, actually. 

He had tried to dull the memory over the years. Make the edges of it less sharp, enough that it didn’t taint you in his mind. 

But it still stung. 

No matter how much time had passed. No matter what he knew now that he hadn’t then. 

Choso had spent weeks planning it. 

Debating on all the different ways to do it before finally deciding that he should do something as a family. Show you how much he loved you and the twins. 

He didn’t want to just be your live-in boyfriend. 

He wanted to be the step-dad to your kids. Your husband. To slip a ring on your finger and swear to love you for the rest of his life. 

To never leave. 

He settled on making the kind of meals usually reserved for holidays, buying candles and balloons, buying a pack of rose petals to scatter on the bed. Picking out a ring he hoped you’d like and saving enough money to afford a second if you didn’t. 

Waiting for the perfect opportunity to get you out of the house long enough to set everything up only for you to hand it to him on a silver platter. 

You were distracted when he got home from work, chewing on your lip as you dropped your phone in your purse and murmured that you needed to go run a couple errands while he tried to hide his excitement. 

Maybe, if the kids hadn’t rushed over and started tugging on his jeans, distracting him with what they’d done at school, he might’ve seen your face before you walked out the door. 

Maybe it would have all played out differently. 

But he didn’t, and he’d never get to know what could’ve happened instead. 

Roping the kids into the plan was perhaps a mistake. 

But he wanted the twins' permission before he proposed. 

“I need to ask you two something,” he hummed, ruffling Apollo’s hair as Artemis squinted suspiciously at him. 

“What?” She murmured, glancing between him and Yuji, who was practically bouncing up-and-down with excitement he couldn’t contain. 

“I would like to ask your mom to marry me,” he admitted, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he measured their reactions. 

Apollo threw his arms around his leg, looking up at him with those bright blue eyes, absolutely elated. “So you’re gonna be our dad?” 

“It would make me your step-dad,” he replied as calmly as he could, still trying to respect the man who made them – even if he’d never gotten to watch them grow. “And that’s up to your mom.” 

You lived together. You told him you loved him. 

He never thought no was really an option. 

“If it makes mom happy,” Artemis murmured, a little more reluctant as she nodded. 

“That’s all I want,” Choso softly replied, smiling at her. 

She looked like a little version of you. Acted like one too sometimes. Slower to trust. Sweet underneath it all. She wanted to seem strong, but she was still soft underneath it all.

Choso had overheard her on the playground telling her one of the other kids swinging that her daddy was up in space, swearing that he’d come back after the child called her a liar. 

He felt pretty fucking shitty for his silent hopes that her father would stay up there. 

Did it make him an awful person? To want a place in your life that badly? Unsure if you would really pick him if your first choice became an option once more? 

He did what he did best though. 

Push down his anxieties and pray he never had to find out. 

“Who wants to help set everything up for her?” He asked, forcing his brightest smile as his ring sat impossibly heavy in his pocket. Weighing his heart down like a lead balloon, threatening to bury it as he tried to swallow the fear that he might fuck this up. 

But the chorus of ‘me’s and the bright faces of the kids that had all started to feel like his own was enough for him to forget about it and focus on you instead. 

Getting all the details right as he devoted himself to the dinner, letting the kids lay out the tablecloth and set the plates up – although he had to stop Yuji from accidentally setting his hair on fire when he snuck the lighter out of the drawer to light the candles Choso had set out. 

But eventually, everything was in its place, the lights adjusted and the food set out, the children all changed into nicer clothes as the twins talked about how they’d all be siblings soon. 

“What do you guys think?” Choso grinned, wiping his palms off on the apron before taking it off. 

“She’ll love it,” Apollo optimistically smiled, one of his front teeth missing from where it’d fallen out the week before and traded in for five dollars from the tooth fairy. 

Choso really hoped you would. 

It was too late to change anything, because they all heard the familiar sound of your key turning in the lock, the creak of it swinging open. The front door thudded shut, and he was pretty sure his heart was going to explode if it started pounding any harder. 

“Are you guys hungry?” You called out, your voice wavering, bordering on exhausted, pride flaring in Choso’s chest at how happy you’d be to see the spread on the table, to see the way the kids were all eagerly holding their breath, glancing between each other and nearly bouncing out of their seats. “We could order pizza or-” 

You stopped speaking the second you saw it. 

Froze in the open doorframe, your eyes going wide as you scanned over the scene. All the food and the fancy tablespread and the flickering candles, the way the kids were holding in giggles as he stepped forward to bridge the distance between you. 

“What is-” 

Choso got down on his knees mid-question slipping a hand in his jeans to clumsily grab the crushed velvet box, blinking a little too fast, mouth opening too soon as he struggled to remember the speech he rehearsed a thousand times in the mirror over the last month. 

“Um, I, uh,” he paused, spit thick in his throat that he had to swallow before continuing, “I love you, and I love our family, and I can’t imagine living the rest of my life without you or the twins in it. Will you make me the happiest-” 

“I cannot believe you,” you interrupted him, shaking your head as you stepped back, your face blank, mouth hanging open as you sucked in a shallow breath. 

“What?” He blanched, barely even processing the words that had just left your lips as your expression shifted to anger, of all things.  

Brows scrunching together as you scoffed, fingers trembling as you pointed down the hall. “My room. Now.” 

The kids looked at each other, awkwardly slipping into dining chairs as if they were the ones in trouble, but Choso didn’t know what to say to soothe them when it felt like his heart was shattering too. 

Humiliation burning his cheeks as he put the ring box back, getting up off the ground and following you like some dejected puppy, hoping for his owner’s love. But the moment you were alone, the second you shut the door behind him, the way you were staring at him was closer to a stranger. 

“What the hell did you think doing that in front of my kids?” You asked, and he couldn’t comprehend what the fuck he’d done that was so bad in your book. 

“We’ve been talking about marriage for like, a year,” he argued, indignation he didn’t know how to handle boiling up inside his chest at your attitude. Glaring like he had done something so absurd to deserve it, your rejection leaving a sour taste in his mouth he didn’t think would be going away any time soon. 

“We?” You hissed, hurt written all over your face before you wiped it and replaced it with thinly-veiled resentment. “You were the one who kept bringing it up.”

His jaw dropped. 

“Are you kidding me?” Choso deadpanned, disbelief wracking through his body as he felt a shot of adrenaline begin to course through his veins, fingers flexing into a fist before he forced them to relax. 

“I was just trying to keep you happy, I didn’t think that you were serious about it,” you said, turning away from him as you buried your face in your hands for a second, breathing hard like you might be on the verge of a panic attack. 

Instinctively, he wanted to reach out. Hold you close and let you crumble while he whispered soft words to coax you through it. But he stayed still, nails digging into his palm as he found himself fuming at you for the first time ever. 

“What the fuck?” He spat, his voice starting to raise as you recoiled back even further. “Why wouldn’t you say something? Why the hell would you just let me think you wanted it too?” 

That you wanted him? 

“Don’t shout at me,” you huffed, mouth still quivering as you folded your arms tight across your chest. 

“What happened to communication?” He demanded, thinking about the fight the two of you had. How you’d sworn that you loved him and didn’t want to lose him. 

And now here you were, refusing to meet his eyes, mouth pressed in a thin line as you held your tongue. 

Something he didn’t know he’d been holding back snapped when he realized you weren’t going to reply. 

“Oh, I get it,” he grimaced, brows knitting together in frustration as his disappointment bubbled into disgust with himself for not seeing it sooner. “You don’t want to marry me because I’m not him.”

He knew the second he said it that he couldn’t take it back. 

“That’s not fucking fair and you know it,” you snapped at him, and a bitter voice in the back of his head pointed out that you were only speaking up now that he brought up your real fiancé.

“You’ll wear his ring every day and not mine,” he retorted, doubling down rather than backing out of his accusation. 

He thought you’d yell back.

That you would fight him on it. He wanted you to fight him on it. To finally let every thought you kept from out so the two of you could get out of this frustrating limbo. He didn’t care if it dropped him in hell. 

He just wanted to get somewhere with you. 

But you shut down. 

Silently staring at the floor, chest heaving as you dug your own fingers into your side.

“I really am just a fill in for you,” Choso continued, trying to get any kind of reply out of you. 

And still, you somehow found the only one he didn’t want. 

“Get out,” you whispered. 

“What?” 

“Get out.”

Everything that had been boiling seconds before abruptly stopped, the pot ripped off the burner and left him stranded in hot water as his senses finally snapped back into place. 

You had never kicked him out before. 

What the hell had he done? 

“I’m not trying to hurt you, I just, I want to understand,” he tried to backpedal, holding his hands out and stepping forward just for you to not even glance up at him. 

“I need a break,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, sounding like you were a world away.

“From this conversation? Or us?” He blanched. You were supposed to be throwing your arms around him right now. Telling him you loved him and discussing what season your wedding should be in. Not fucking dumping him. 

“This is just too much,” you muttered. 

What the fuck was that meant to mean? 

He felt helpless as he stared at you, the way your head was hanging down, shoulders slumped as you shut him out. 

“I’ll take the twins somewhere and you can get your stuff,” you added, getting up and walking around him, making up your mind without even giving him a chance to talk this out.

Watching you walk away, dumbfounded as you slipped out the door, the conversation over before it had even properly begun. 

“Are we going to be a family now?” Apollo’s hopeful voice carried through the door down the hall, and Choso rested his head against the door, wishing the conversation had gone another way and still too upset to think of a reasonable way to reach you. 

To break through the barriers you were haphazardly throwing back up. 

“Yuji and Choso aren’t going to live with us anymore, baby,” you softly said back. 

Fuck. 

You were supposed to be his wife. 

Not his ex-girlfriend. 

“You’re a fucking moron.” 

Said the jerk that left a pregnant you to go to fucking space. 

“You’re one to talk,” Choso commented, mouth curling down as he grabbed his glass to take a sip, the sight of his own aged hand reminding him that he was definitely too old for starting fights like this. 

“So she really dumped you?” Gojo grinned, irritatingly white teeth on display as he leaned forward, looking directly at him instead of the photo albums. 

“Not for that long.” 

“You should’ve fought for her more,” Gojo pointed out, before almost immediately stopping himself, brows scrunching together like he realized what he was saying and who he was saying it to. 

“I thought she didn’t want a future with me,” he shrugged. “Not when she was still thinking about what one would’ve looked like with you.” 

Always stuck in the same position. 

Torn between wanting your heart and wishing that he wasn’t second-place in it. 

“If I could’ve been there,” Gojo started, genuine remorse bleeding through, and Choso remembered once again why he’d never been able to bring himself to loathe the man you loved. 

Because they both loved you. 

“I know,” Choso murmured. “I sorta wished sometimes that you would just show up if it meant she would be happy.” 

𖥔 ݁ ˖

You weren’t sure you had ever been so fucking miserable. 

Breaking up with Choso had nearly broken you. 

You hadn’t seen him since you came back home to find every trace of him and Yuji gone. Hadn’t said his name since you had to explain to Apollo that you were going to switch him over to a new soccer team for the summer. Artemis had asked if you were happy, giving you that look like she could see through the stories you tried to keep up for them. All you could do was twist the necklace and tell her that her and her brother were all you ever needed. 

But she had wanted to go to a sleepaway space camp for the summer, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no when everything you would have planned with Choso had fallen through. So she was hours away, gone for weeks while Apollo was busy with his own soccer camp and sleepovers with friends from school. 

When he was home, he was just complaining about how much he hated the older kids in the 9-12 group he’d gotten stuck in, muttering under his breath that his old team was better. 

You sort of thought if you stayed busy with him, you could forget about all the other stuff. 

Shut out the awful spiralling that started in your head every time you laid down in your cold, empty bed and rolled onto your side to see the unwrinkled spot next to you. 

Picturing your pretty dark-haired man there, his eyes lazily opening and noticing you staring before pulling you into a warm embrace. Waking up in a daze from a dream where your blue-eyed boy was still holding onto you, murmuring that it was all just a nightmare and to go back to sleep. 

Now you didn’t have either of them. 

God, you couldn’t even pull yourself together enough to send a video message to Satoru like you used to, staring at the unused webcam when you got ready every day and lacking the strength to even sit in front of it and say something. Couldn’t bring yourself to call your therapist either, cancelling appointments over text and shrugging your shoulders to swear that you were fine. 

You wanted to believe that you could heal from this. That there was still real happiness to be found somewhere between the lines of hurt and heartache. 

But it didn’t feel like it when you pulled into the parking lot for one of Apollo’s exhibition tournaments and he started bouncing around in the backseat swearing he was sure you passed by Yuji. 

Shit. 

God, you were sure that he wouldn’t be here. 

Yuji was in so many sports, and Choso usually coached younger kids anyway, so what the hell-

“Can I please go say hi, mom?” Apollo begged as you stopped the car. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” you nodded, going ahead and practicing your smile when the muscles to make it were a little rusty. 

The second you had slung your chair over your shoulder and opened the door for Apollo, he was sprinting over to the grassy area, Yuji’s voice calling out his name as a boy you didn’t recognize protectively puffing up his chest as he stepped between the two of them. 

“Who’s this, brother?” The boy asked, looking back to Yuji as he stepped out from around him. 

“Apollo, are you playing?” He chirped, his loose soccer jersey swaying as he rushed over.

“Yeah,” he nodded, deflating the moment he noticed how close Yuji was with his new friend. “My team kinda sucks though.” 

There really weren’t many feelings worse than watching your kid go through something you didn’t know how to help them with. 

Seeing the shock scrawled all over their face the second they thought they were replaceable. 

“You think we’ll play against each other then?” Yuji asked, grinning with a gap in his teeth, one that must have fallen out this month. 

“We’ll definitely beat you,” the other boy boasted, and you knew you shouldn’t hate a kid, but you sorta did. 

And then you looked up, glancing around just to see Choso approaching – but he was too busy talking to a blonde to notice you with his brother. Her hand on his forearm, leaning forward as he spoke all seriously about something, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she listened intently to every word. 

You hated her. 

Almost as much as you missed him. 

But you couldn’t deal with either emotion. Had no way to defend or deflect it, just putting your hand on Apollo’s shoulder and nudging him away, “Sorry, but, uh, I should get him to start his drills. It was good to see you, Yuji.” 

You didn’t stay long enough to see what kind of accusatory stare he’d give you for breaking his brother’s heart. Or run the risk of Choso coming over and catching you clinging to the remnants of your relationship by letting Apollo hang around Yuji. Rushing off to find the right field, a sick feeling spreading across your stomach, filling your lungs and choking up your throat as you set up your chair and tried to tell yourself that the chance of Yuji playing against Apollo was slim considering how many teams there were here today. 

But luck hadn’t decided to grace you today.

Because standing across the field twenty minutes later, in his stupidly attractive jersey and shorts, Choso was tying half his hair up off his face, bending over to listen to Yuji before looking over to see where Apollo was sitting on a bench, a cap hiding the steaks of white from the sun as he kicked his feet and waited for the game to start. 

You saw the way his mouth pulled tight. How his jaw clenched before he looked over to the sidelines, starting to scan it before you looked back down in your lap, pretending to be interested in something on your phone instead of staring at him. 

Just one game. 

That was all, you told yourself. 

You could make it through that. 

But fuck, it would have been so much more bearable if she wasn’t a few seats away once it started. 

Loathing didn’t quite cover the jealousy simmering inside you at the way her pretty blonde hair cascaded down her back and gleamed in the sun, how freely she bounced and cheered, clapping her hands together and calling out Yuji’s name in a chipper voice along with her own kid. 

The one who called Yuji brother. 

That was how it was now. 

Choso wanted a happy family. So he started one with some other soccer mom, huh? 

It had only been two fucking months. 

How the hell could he just move on like that? 

Maybe you broke it off, but he could have at least pretended to be bent out of shape about it when he had said he wanted to marry you. 

Were you just not that serious? Had the past few years really meant that little to him? 

Every time she cheered for Yuji felt like a fresh stab. 

It was hard to hold back your annoyance when Apollo was struggling on the field too, all his older teammates refusing to pass the ball to him on the rare chance that he got to play. 

And then came the moment that her kid knocked Apollo down, big tears welling up in his blue eyes as the ref called it and his coach had to pull him off the field for good. He tried not to cry. To hold it in and not seem like a baby in front of the big kids. 

But rage was boiling inside you, injustice at how fucking unfair everything always for you. 

You were trying to fight for your kids. 

It wasn’t like you had someone other than Suguru’s mother to rely on. Not really. 

No one else understood. 

Knew what it was like to lose your whole world and then have to hold it together anyway. To never get closure and still be expected to just move on like nothing happened. Like you weren’t reminded of what you were missing every moment of every day. 

Apollo’s team lost. And you were still trying to be the mature adult you knew he needed you to be as you folded your chair back up and slung it over your shoulder, hurrying over as he nursed his scraped knee, still trying not to sob as he bottled it all in. 

But Choso beat you there. 

Kneeling down on the ground and putting a bandaid over it as he smiled at your son softly. You used to love the way he cared for your children like they were his own. But now you were second-guessing if maybe that was just who he was, that it never had anything to do with you.  

“-did great out there, okay? You should be proud of yourself,” he spoke gently, using all the right words as you tried not to wince. But Apollo smiled, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, ignoring the dirt and grass sticking to it before throwing himself at Choso in a big hug. 

Arms wrapped around his neck before you could move forward fast enough to pry him off. Choso patted his back, but you were already trying to pick him off yourself, swallowing the pain threatening to close your throat. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

Couldn’t think straight.

Clouded with so much distress it felt like someone had embedded sharp shards of glass in every fiber and muscle of your body, limbs robotically moving as you mentally replayed what your last conversation had been.

“Can we go out for ice cream? Please? Like we used to?” Apollo blurted out, and you hated that you knew he would hold the refusal that was about to leave your lips against you. 

Choso opened his mouth to reply, hesitating as your eyes actually met his for the first time, and you wondered if he could see the hurt in yours as the lump in his throat bobbed. 

“Choso!” The blonde called out, her tits bouncing in her shirt as she waved to him. “Time to pass out snacks!” 

“Choso’s busy, sweetheart,” you said, picking Apollo up, his long legs dangling as he kicked, trying to get put back down. Trying to save yourself from the scene of him begging for attention from a guy who wasn’t his father. 

Even if you both wanted him to be. 

He watched you leave. 

Didn’t try to make you stay. 

That wasn’t who he was, you guessed. 

No, he just wanted to throw a ring at you on the second worst day of your life and toss the fact that you’d lost the father of your children back in your face when you were on the verge of a breakdown. 

Apollo pouted the entire way back to the car, his little nose scrunched up as you pulled out of the parking lot, muttering that he didn’t want to play soccer anymore. 

You tried to talk him out of it, saying that the next game would be better. 

But you didn’t know if he believed you. 

Not with the way he was dramatically staring out the window the rest of the ride home, switching between having  arms folded across his chest and fidgeting with the seatbelt. 

“I know you’re upset, but-” 

“I’m fine,” he stubbornly insisted, shaking his head. He had his cap back on, unable to make out any of his white hair underneath it as his blue eyes looked up at you through the mirror. “Are you?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, even though you knew he wasn’t stupid. 

He wasn’t as scientifically minded as Satoru, or Artemis, but he read you like a book. Saw in between the lines without you having to say anything. 

“I want to sleepover at grandma’s house,” Apollo murmured, diverting his stare  as you swallowed your pride and shrugged. 

“Okay,” you muttered. “I’m sure she’d like that.” 

Suguru’s mom had never said no to either of the twins. 

And when you brought him over in the evening, watching him run straight back to the spare room she made for them, hearing faint rummaging and rustling noises as he pulled out toys to play on his own. 

“I take it the game didn’t go so well?” She asked, fine lines and wrinkles really starting to show on her soft, tanned skin. Wisdom you wished you had even a small sliver of in her kind smile as you flopped down on her couch. 

“Choso was there,” you muttered, your stupid heart stuttering just saying his name. 

“Oh?” That piqued her interest. 

She always liked him. Told him that he was good for you. Good for the kids. 

But you could see how much he reminded her of Suguru. Always chalked it up to her seeing some of her son in him. 

“He already moved on,” you bitterly huffed.. “Some other soccer mom was practically all over him. God, her kid even called Yuji brother.” 

“Honey, are you sure? Did you speak to him?” She started, trying to be careful with her words as you scoffed louder.

“No, but-” 

“Have you spoken to him at all since you broke up?” She pressed, and you could only shake your head. 

What the hell were you supposed to say? You were broken up. 

It wasn’t like you had his number blocked.

But he hadn’t reached out either. 

“That boy loves you,” she insisted. “He wouldn’t just-” 

“He left me,” you muttered. 

Well, you left him. 

But if he loved you, he wouldn’t have let you leave. Just stood there when you walked away. 

You had made that mistake before. You let Satoru go. Trusted him to come back. 

He didn’t. 

And you were the one who had been stitching yourself back up every time his memory tore your heart back open. 

But how were you supposed to marry a man who couldn’t tell when you had come undone? That you were falling apart in front of him? 

“Did you want him to stay?” She asked, and you knew the answer instantly, no matter how hard it was to actually say it. 

Of course you wanted him to stay anyway. 

Even though knowing that felt like betraying Satoru. 

“I should go home,” you murmured, picking yourself back up off the couch and snagging your purse from the floor as you threw a long look down the hall to where Apollo was, debating on peeking in to tell him good night before deciding against interrupting him. “Just, uh, call me when I should come get him.” 

Or just walk next door. 

The house was horribly quiet. 

Your footsteps echoing as you returned to your room, the silence following wherever you went as you stripped and showered, scrubbing your skin raw with soap and sighing at your blurred reflection in the fogged-up mirror after you got out feeling no fucking cleaner than you had when you stepped in.

Truthfully, you didn’t really want to look at yourself anyway. 

Clinging to the towel you wrapped yourself in, staring at the clothes in your closet as you searched for something to hide yourself in, settling on an oversized hoodie you’d bought before either man you were wrecked over. 

Throwing on pajama shorts too, wondering whether or not it was worth wasting an hour scrolling through shows and movies searching for stuff to watch or giving up and crawling into bed when you heard a knock on your front door. 

A flicker of relief slipped in, thinking that Suguru’s mom must be bringing Apollo back, that maybe he changed his mind and you could offer to let him stay up late watching whatever movie he wanted together as you scurried back towards it. 

You didn’t even ask before pulling it open, but you stopped in your tracks the second you saw who was on the other side. 

“Hey,” Choso greeted, the single word shoved out unceremoniously as you just stood there and stared.

“What are you-” 

“She, uh, called me,” he muttered, jutting his thumb over to the house next door. He had changed into an outfit you missed seeing him in. A sweater you used to steal of his, thick and cozy, in your favorite shade of purple. Jeans that were well worn. His hair was a little damp too, bangs framing his handsome face as the dim lighting made his dark eyes hard to read. “If you want me to go-” 

“You didn’t speak to me today,” you pointed out, not that you made the effort to talk to him either. Picking a fight in the first five seconds. 

“I didn’t think it was a good idea,” Choso sheepishly answered, and before you realized it, you were stepping aside, letting him back in. Although, you guessed it was better than letting half the neighborhood hear you bicker. 

“Yeah, I’m sure your new girlfriend wouldn't be happy with you talking to your ex,” you defensively said, gritting your teeth as he shut the door behind him. Throwing you a confused glance before he fully turned to you with his thick brows all pinched together. 

“What are you talking about?” He shook his head dismissively. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t see the new soccer mom all over you?” You snapped at him. Your jealousy was plain to see, painfully obvious as the words came out all wounded and weak. 

“Are you talking about Yuki?” He asked, his lips parting as you imagined her mouth meeting them.

“Oh, is that her name?” You spat it out, backing away as you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “She’s pretty, huh?” 

Did he think she was prettier than you? That he upgraded? 

The worst part was you could barely recognize yourself right now. 

You didn’t want this to be you. Petty and pathetic and pining over something you were trying to damndest not to want. 

Since when were you so insecure? So jealous that you were starting an argument with Choso because you couldn’t get a fucking grip on yourself? 

“She is,” Choso agreed, and you wanted to throw up. 

Ruin his sweater like he ruined your day. 

You didn’t know what face you made, but whatever it was, however wrecked you must have seen before you could recover, he softened. Unlocking his jaw as his eyes crinkled, exhaling slowly. 

“I’m not into her like that,” he added. Treacherous respite rippled through your body, but you held onto your anger, resisting everything you instinctually wanted to do around him. “But, we’re not together anymore. We can see other people without-” 

“You proposed to me two months ago,” you pointed out, but the accusatory tone didn’t really do much when it came out half an octave too high. A horribly familiar lump was growing in your throat, heat crawling up your cheeks dangerously close to your eyes. “If you actually loved me, you wouldn’t just move on like we were nothing.” 

“I’m not just moving on, it’s just,” he paused, budding frustration threatening to boil over as he took a small step closer. Standing in front of you as if he was the victim, like everything was all your fault for being the fucked up one in your relationship. “I should be allowed to heal however I need to heal.” 

For a second, you couldn’t stand him. His maturity. His rationality. The way he was still collected when it felt like someone had plucked out all your seams and left you to crumble. 

Tears you couldn’t stop welling up, a choked sound coming out before your broken words, “I’m sorry I was such a horrible girlfriend you have to do so much healing.” 

“I’m healing from your rejection,” he clarified, but you couldn’t stop yourself from crying, rubbing underneath your eyes as you tried to stop yourself, scoffing a little as you tried to reel yourself back in. 

“You had an out from the beginning,” you sniffled, although it sounded more like a huff. “I told you I didn’t want to waste your time.” 

He recoiled at the reminder, and panic sprung back up, hot and bright, burning your throat. You wanted to take what you said back. 

But you were too stubborn to say that. “Our relationship wasn’t wasted time,” he muttered, and there was a hint of remorse in his tone. Disappointment that things didn’t work out the way either of you wanted. “But this argument is.” 

You were about to throw out a retort, ask him what that was supposed to mean, but then he was walking away, sweater stretched across his broad back as he started towards the door, and you were bridging the gap between you, snagging his sleeve to stop him. 

“You’re just going to leave again? Like that?” You asked, voice quivering as you forced your stare to harden. He looked down at you like it was taking everything inside him not to give in too. 

“You wanted to break up,” he murmured, and you bit down on the raw spot you chewed in your cheek, ignoring the taste of blood on your tongue as the temptation to take it all back grew harder and harder to resist. “I was stupid to think that maybe we could talk things through tonight.” 

He began to slip away again, and impulsively, you were pulling him down by his sweater, your mouth crashing into his to reclaim him in a manic kiss. 

You sort of thought he would push you away. 

Tell you that he was really done this time. Through with you and all the baggage he’d have to bear being yours. 

But then his calloused palm was cupping your cheek and he was kissing you back twice as hard, returning the fever with his own heat. It seared through you, fried your nerves as his tongue slipped past your lips, his nose nudging against yours while his body pressed up against yours. Clumsily forced back a few steps until you were both falling on the couch, sandwiched between his heavy chest and the stained cushions. 

Having sex with your ex was almost always a mistake. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to let Choso go. 

“I hate how much I love you,” he muttered when the kiss broke, and your pulse picked up, self-loathing sinking into you as it struck you how much your fuck-ups were fucking him up too. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, weak and almost whimpering as your apology came out sincere this time. 

You weren’t even sure which crime of yours you were apologizing for. 

Breaking up with him to begin with. Forcing him to bear the weight of your burdens. Being too emotionally constipated to communicate what was haunting you without turning it into a fight. 

“Show me then,” Choso dared, his usually low voice dropping down to damn near dangerous while his intense stare narrowed, studying your face for some sign that you meant it. 

And then you were tethering your fingers through his hair, pulling him back down for another rushed kiss, shutting out all the thoughts of how many sins you were trying to atone for. 

You spent so long trying to be strong for the twins. For Choso. For yourself. 

But you were so tired. So exhausted from expending all your energy putting on a show pretending to be fine when you just kept failing. 

Couldn’t you just let it go for a little bit? Let yourself love Choso without holding back? 

His hands were slipping underneath the soft fabric of your hoodie, phantom shivers racing down your spine as he nudged your thighs further apart with his knee. You could feel each finger, how they tentatively ghosted across your side up to your chest, greedily grabbing a handful of one of your breasts, nothing shy or reserved about it. 

No soft questions of if it was okay, or if you wanted more, just taking what he wanted. 

And you were willing to give it. 

To let him have all of your body when you struggled to hand over your heart. 

Kissing him came easy. His palms pressed so firmly against your skin, pulling at the soft muscle and tender flesh, his lips fitting so nicely between your own as his nose nuzzled against you. The connection you had been fighting was too intense for you to resist his pull, the intimacy that used to terrify you slipping its tendrils around you and wrapping around you so tight you didn’t think you’d ever be able to escape the hold he had on you. 

He pulled away, and you were left chasing the kiss, craning your neck up, whining and missing him the moment his mouth wasn’t on yours. 

That was the truth, wasn’t it? 

You had missed him the moment he stopped being yours. You were used to loneliness. To being lost in your head and longing for someone. 

So why the hell did it feel so different with him? So visceral and raw to accept that he might move on if you couldn’t give him what he wanted? What he deserved? 

“You don’t want me but you don’t want me to go,” he accused, and you were shaking your head, pulling him back down by his hair as you locked your thighs around his waist. 

“I do want you,” you admitted, brows knitting together tightly as you practically begged him to believe you. 

Your heart and your head might both be a mess. 

But you could pick out that brutal fact between the wreckage any day. If you didn’t want him, it wouldn’t hurt half as bad as it did right now to see him hurt. 

Like he was concerned you could change your mind (or maybe before he changed his), his grip slid back down to your hips, pulling you up some so he could get your clothes off. Adjusting down so he could shimmy your shorts and panties down your thighs in one go, 

You awkwardly lifted your arms, and he was half-ripping the hoodie off of you, but the moment it was off, he was flipping you over in one rough move, one hand on the back of your neck to press your face into your throw pillow. 

He left his clothes on. 

All his shields still up when it came to you. 

Your body trembled, cool air hitting your ass as you heard the rustle of him pulling down his pants behind you. 

Usually the sex was slow with him. An hour long affair of foreplay and making out, rolling around the sheets before taking turns giving each other head, drawing out an orgasm or two before he actually fucked you, or you even rode him. 

You were in uncharted territory. 

On the outskirts of his heart instead of taking up space inside of it. 

He ran his other palm over your ass, slowly trekking over your spine and letting out a low exhale you couldn’t decipher. You tried to look back at him, but the fingers on the back of your neck kept you firmly in place, sinking in a little deeper to get you to stay. 

You shouldn’t be soaked. But you could feel the dampness leaking down your thighs, your hips aching to wiggle a little and entice him into just fucking you into feeling something other than sorry for yourself. 

There was no prep. 

Just him tentatively testing how wet you were with his swollen tip before smoothly sliding in, a drawn-out hiss leaving his throat at the way your warmth wrapped around him the same way it had a thousand times before. 

You wanted him to kiss you again. Would even settle for a handful of pecks pressed to your shoulder blade or a few tracing up your throat. 

But you didn’t feel like you had the right to make any kind of requests from him right now. 

“C-Choso,” you whispered, your voice muffled into the pillow as your walls clamped down around him mid-thrust, squeezing as he shoved his way past the first ring of resistance. 

“Don’t,” he murmured, and if he didn’t already feel so good inside you, you might’ve broken down from that single word. 

Don’t what? 

Call out for him? 

“Not unless you’re mine.” 

You knew what he was asking of you. To give him the pieces of you that you were still desperately clinging onto. To let go of the ones that were someone else’s. 

His mouth hovered over your shoulder, so close to touching and still so far away, a little squeak escaping as his cock rubbed right into a spot he knew was sensitive. 

“When you close your eyes, are you picturing me? Or him?” 

The raw sound of his voice ripped through you, painfully piercing your heart as his hips pinned you to the cushions. Bottomed out and buried inside like he was aching to claim you completely and utterly as his own, his teeth finally skimming over your throat as a moan involuntarily slipped out. 

“You,” you half-whispered, and you could see his face in your head now, dark and dreamy and dragging you over the coals of a fading fire. The fight you used to have in you, the one that kept you dreaming for the life you lost, dying out.

Choso had fire of his own. It was tamed, controlled, where the flames wouldn’t hurt if they licked your skin. A warm hearth you could curl up by without fear of being burned. 

“Promise me,” he grunted, the springs beneath you creaking as he thrusted right where he knew you’d crumble and crack, your pleasure memorized like it was his favorite book. 

“It’s you,” you echoed, a whimper echoing in your living room as his back pressed flat against your own, his hand moving your hair off the nape of your neck so he could kiss you again. Mouth leaving a messy trail of kisses, each consecutive one making the invisible thread in your stomach tense and tighten, pulled taut as he pounded you into the couch with no mercy. 

“I said promise,” he groaned just before biting down, your wrecked whine just making his cock twitch as his free hand slipped around your side, roughly beginning to rub your clit like you weren’t already on the brink of breaking. 

“I p-promise,” you stammered, clawing at the cheap pillow for grip, each of his thrusts threatening to make you jolt. But he didn’t stop fucking into you faster, no matter how hard you were clamping down around him, thighs trembling and toes curling at the force of his rough strokes. 

So stuffed you thought you were going to snap, strangled noises buried into the pillow as his thick fingers worked your sensitive bud, his mouth littering your neck with what you hoped were love bites. 

Even if he wasn’t fucking you the way he usually did, Choso was still Choso. 

Still made sure you came first, waiting until your breathy gasps turned into a broken moan, shuddering as he painted white splotches across your vision, cumming and crying his name, ruined and half-limp underneath his body. 

Hiding your face in the pillow as hot tears welled up in your eyes, knowing it would probably leave damp spots after this was over. 

Were the two of you still over? 

Now probably wasn’t the time to ask. 

He pulled out at the last second, hand furiously pumping his cock, cum spurting out to spill all across your bare back as you started to come back down to earth from your climax. 

Waiting for him to say something first, shutting your eyes as you struggled to catch your breath, the metal of your necklace pressing hard into your chest as his weight shifted. Carefully moving off of you instead of collapsing like he used to. Sometimes you could spend half an hour afterwards just with his body melting onto yours, playing with each other’s hair or listening to him murmur about whatever was on his mind. Letting him trace pretty shapes over your skin while he swore he adored you. 

“I got some in your hair,” he mumbled instead.

Oh. 

Right. 

“We can shower,” you offered quietly, turning your head to the side, but still barely able to make out any of him in your peripheral vision. 

You thought he’d turn you down. 

Leave anyway now that he fucked you. 

“Okay,” he agreed. 

There was no big conversation. No emotional breakthrough under the hot water. 

Choso cleaned you with the same attention he always had. Scrubbing your skin with the loofah, massaging your scalp when he washed your hair. 

Taking care of you like a lover. 

Even if you didn’t deserve it. 

You knew you should have a proper conversation. Address what had landed you here, adjusting the water and pretending not to notice the ghost in the room. 

But then the shower was over, and he was stepping out first, tying a towel loosely around his defined hips, water droplets still clinging to his happy trail as he handed you your own towel wordlessly. Was this just how things were going to be from now on? 

You watched him in the steamy mirror as you dried yourself off, searched him for remorse before he bent over to pick up his phone from the pocket of his discarded jeans.  

“Yuji wants me to pick him up from Todo’s,” he muttered, looking back at you with an uncertain expression. 

“Oh,” you muttered, stomach twisting with discomfort you once again didn’t want to vocalize. Todo. Wasn’t he the one that belonged to the blonde? “So Yuki’s place?” 

And despite what he said earlier, a poisonous part of you whispered that he might be going over to just repeat what he’d done with her instead. 

That perhaps he had just picked up those moves from being in her bed. 

“Yeah,” he casually confirmed with a small nod. 

You didn’t know what to say. 

How to bring up your insecurity when you couldn’t even commit to him how he wanted in the first place. 

So instead you deflected, biting down on your bottom lip before tilting your head to the side, “Do, um, you wanna come back over tomorrow?” 

Surprise registered on his face, and he slowly nodded. 

“What time?” 

He was at your door the next afternoon while the kids were off at camp. 

And the one after that. 

Keeping your bed warm for an entire week, fucking you into your mattress like he was hoping to leave an imprint by the time he finished. To permanently press the shape of your bodies into the sheets, mold it around both of you while he molded you around him in everything from mating presses to reverse cowgirl. Any position where he could make a point in seeing how hard you would cum for him. Even in the shower afterwards when he was supposed to be cleaning you up. 

Kissing you from the moment he crossed the threshold to the time he left. Desperate ones that gave away the craving you both shared, the hunger that seemed to spread and sink you further into starvation. 

You didn’t know what this was. 

What your relationship with him would be once the summer camps were over and you wouldn’t have the time to spare for having steamy sex with your sorta-ex. 

“Shit,” he groaned, throwing his head back, the outline of his Adam's apple bobbing hard in his throat as you stole a glance over your shoulder at him. On your hands and knees, cum sticking to your ass and connecting your skin to his cock as he came a few seconds after you. His muscled abs glistened in the fading daylight, toned ridges and divots on display as he finished fucking his frustrations out on you doggy-style. 

Pulling out instead of using condoms, the risk of it making your stomach flutter all funny even if you had a hard time imagining yourself ever having another kid. 

You knew he wanted one though. 

Another conversation you’d been avoiding. 

But before you could even consider broaching it, your phone started to buzz beside the bed, and he was leaning over to pick it up for you, face softening as he held it out. 

“It’s Artemis,” he muttered. 

“Shit, okay,” you blinked, climbing off the bed in a hurry to grab your robe off the back of your desk chair, hastily throwing it on and tying it around your waist before rushing back to take it. 

You barely got to speak to her since she’d been so busy with her space camp. 

Answering before it could end, biting your lip as the facetime automatically connected, the image of her all fuzzy and blurred for a few seconds before becoming clear. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” you greeted, heart rapidly thumping in your chest as you made sure she wouldn’t be able to see the rest of your room.

“I missed you, mom,” she grinned. 

Artemis had a light in her eyes that you missed. That spark, that gleam of excitement that was infectious, smiling easily back at her as she pushed a planetary model in front of the camera to show off. 

“Check it out. Do you like it?” She beamed, proud of her work as you instinctively thought of what Satoru would make of it. How he’d probably grin and goad her into going over every detail. How happy he’d be that she was into the same stuff as him. 

“I love it,” you promised, nodding along as she started rambling about how they were learning about worm holes earlier, bouncing up and down as you tried to not let the sinking pit in your stomach swallow you up with how much she reminded you of her father. 

But if he was really still here, would he be here to see this? Or would he still be choosing work over the three of you? 

You were so distracted, you didn’t hear Choso creeping back up until you felt the weight of him against your back, bending over to rest his chin on your collarbone as he saw Artemis’ project on your phone. 

“You made that all by yourself?” He asked, and you could see his soft smile on your screen, admiring her work like she was his. The pretty picture of a perfect father. “Choso?” Artemis blinked, mouth falling open and nose scrunching up in surprise as she looked back at you with sheer confusion. 

You stammered something out, a weak excuse about her brother calling, ending the call before you had to actually answer her reasonable questions about what you were doing with him. Turning back the second you were sure she wouldn’t overhear, scoffing as you shook your head at him. 

“Why did you do that?” You asked, blowing a short puff of air out of your nose as his palms settled on your hips. 

“Do what? Talk to Artemis? We’re back together,” He said it as if it was obvious, and you reflexively wanted to refuse. To sabotage the slice of heaven you were living in for the past week. 

“I never said that.”

The moment those four words left your lips, you wanted to put them back. 

Freezing as his hands fell away from you, loathing yourself for letting this happen, seeing how hard and fast he recoiled from you.

“I’m such a fucking moron,” he muttered, turning around and grabbing his sweater from the bed, pulling it over his head as your body seized with dread. “You’re just using me. You never wanted a life with me.” 

“No,” you breathed the word, but you were already sure it was too late. You screwed it up again. “I didn’t-” 

“Stop with the stupid lies,” he shook his head, not believing you. 

“Stay, please,” you half-whispered, the slowly-growing guilt gripping your heart encasing it completely. “I wasn’t trying to-” 

“To what?” He interrupted. 

“I panicked,” you weakly explained, an excuse forming on your tongue about not wanting to confuse the kids anymore, but he wasn’t about to let it go this time. 

“Why don’t you want to marry me?” He bluntly asked. 

No room for wiggling out of the conversation or wishing it away when it meant watching him walk out your door again. 

You had to be honest. 

No matter how much your brain was trying to convince you that you were just jinxing it. Cursing him to follow the same fate as your former fiancé by saying the words out loud. Condemning yourself by tying yourself down to someone you were scared would slip away too.   

“The day you proposed,” you hesitated, holding your breath as you swallowed hard. “While you weren’t here, someone from NASA stopped by that afternoon to tell me Satoru had officially been declared dead.” 

You didn’t know why it had even surprised you. 

All the years he’d been gone, the excuses his old coworkers had offered started to dry up, the same old stories they sold you not holding the same hope. 

And now they were admitting there wasn’t any. 

Satoru was dead to them. 

And you didn’t even really get to be a widow. 

“I went to his grave after you got home, but I just, I don’t know how to say goodbye to him,” you muttered, thinking about how it felt to sit there knowing his body would never be buried by his headstone. About the life he deserved and never got. Where he got to be a father and a husband and be a family. “And then you came home and pulled out the ring, and it was like everything was happening all over again.” 

The memory of it was a blur, your head a complete mess as an awful as intrusive thoughts threw everything you were terrified of straight in your face. 

Telling you that you were just replacing Satoru. That he would hate you if he knew you had moved on. Insisted that if you said yes, Choso wouldn’t stick around either. 

So scared that he’d leave you too, that you nearly lost him anyway. 

“Baby, if you had told me-” 

“I know,” your voice broke, body trembling as he wrapped a warm arm around your shoulders to tug you into a tender embrace. “I should’ve said something. But I didn’t know how to bring it up and I just shut down, and-” 

“If I had waited, would you have said yes?” He asked, and you couldn’t answer straight away. 

Was it a betrayal to Satoru to say yes? 

Or were you losing the best thing in your life by clinging onto the ghost of a man who hadn’t loved you enough to listen and stay in the first place? 

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t want another proposal if it ends in losing the person I love.” 

Looking up at him anxiously, waiting for the foundation you were standing on to crack and crumble – for him to prove you right. For the world to rip him away now that you admitted that you loved him enough to fear living without him too. 

“The only way you’ll lose me is if you keep pushing me away,” he comforted you, and you wanted to cry. 

“I don’t want to push you away,” you mumbled. 

“Then let me in,” he whispered, pulling you onto the bed and placing you on his lap. Letting you curl up on him, holding you tight like he was trying to make it clear he wasn’t going to let you go. 

Your sniffles turned into soft sobs, all the tears you’d been holding in, all the mourning you’d been rejecting released the moment you had someone to lean on. 

“Are you still seeing your therapist?” He pressed, and you hung your head lower.  

“No,” you confessed through the tears. “I haven’t been since we broke up.” 

“You need to go back,” he softly goaded, and you knew he was right. That you were only hurting yourself the more you held it all in. 

“Could, um, you go with me?” You muttered, unsure and anxious as you searched his face for some sign that you weren’t making a mistake, rubbing the damp streaks off of your cheeks as he nodded. 

“If you want me there,” he muttered. 

And you could finally admit to yourself that you did. 

That you wanted there when you went to sleep, and when you woke up, and for everything in between. 

“I want you here for everything,” you whispered. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t see what you were going through-” 

𖥔 ݁ ˖

“So what? The second she thinks I’m dead she decides to marry you?” Gojo interrupted his retelling of it, Choso’s mouth finding it hard not to frown at how much he sort of reminded him of you. Seeing the bits of his personality that had melted into yours, picturing how the two of you might have worked together if the positions were reversed. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Choso muttered. 

“That’s what it sounds like,” he retorted. 

His phone vibrated on the table, Artemis' name flashing on the screen before Gojo snatched it off and shoved it in his pocket. 

“You can answer that,” Choso muttered, shrugging his shoulders. It was a little uncomfortable sharing a daughter, but she was too grown for him to say anything about it. And between the twins, she was the one who always had a soft spot for the father she lost to the very thing she was studying. 

Of course she was going to be excited that he was home. 

Even if some things were better left in her imagination than in real life. 

Choso had never planned on meeting him. Never considered what he might actually be like.

Although he did find it a little annoying that he was somehow even more obsessed and in love with you than he ever conceived. 

“I’ll call her back later,” Gojo answered, but there was a nervous glint to his eyes as he cleared his throat before picking up his fork to shove some food in his mouth, still talking mid-chew. “How long, exactly, did it take for you to marry my-” 

He nearly said fiancée. 

But Gojo corrected himself, clearing his throat, “Her.” 

“Your friend’s mother, she, uh, got cancer a year later,” Choso muttered, still a little haunted by the look on your face when she announced it. At the hard memories always attached to the good ones. “The doctors thought she only had six months to live.”

“Oh,” Gojo muttered, a crease forming between his brows on his pretty, wrinkle-free face. 

“It changed things.” 

If it hadn’t been for her, he wasn’t sure if the two of you would’ve found your way back together at all. 

It had been her birthday. All of you over at her house, the kids playing in the living room while you helped her clean up. Choso was supposed to be keeping an eye on the twins and Yuji, but he was within earshot of your conversation, beating a level that was too hard for them on the game console she’d bought them last Christmas.

He nearly died the second he heard the words terminally ill leave her mouth, using every ounce of his self-composure not to snap his head around and ask all the questions he was itching to know. But then the kids would notice, and the idea of the twins realizing that they were about to lose the closest thing they had to a grandparent was enough to make him hold onto his cool. Force his face into a neutral expression as he clicked buttons haphazardly. 

“You can get a second opinion, or, or-” You were stumbling over your words, in denial as Mrs. Geto tutted at you. 

“Sometimes, it’s just a person’s time,” she softly said. “I’ve lived a long life. A happy one.” 

Choso glanced back right as your entire face fell, devastation obvious in every line etched into your skin, shaking your head hard as you rejected it. 

You tried to speak, but nothing came out. 

“I want to be with my husband and son,” she said, and you were trying so hard not to cry. Eyes watering with tears you were quick to blink away. “I’ve made my peace with it.” 

Choso knew you. Could see how hard you were resisting the urge to say that you wanted her here too. 

“Don’t give me that look, dear,” she lightly said, reading you like an open book too. “All I want now is to know that you’ll be okay when I’m gone. All three of you.” 

You might not be her daughter. But you were damn near close to it after nearly a decade of leaning on each other for support. 

“You know Choso takes good care of us,” you softly replied, your voice barely audible as you sniffled. Rubbing your face from the spot you’d frozen in, lip still quivering. 

“He does, doesn’t he?” She knowingly said, and you were nodding. 

“He’s great,” you reiterated, and even when the timing was terrible, he couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of gratitude at hearing you speak about him like that. On you counting on him. 

“Not great enough to marry?” 

He almost flinched. 

A game over screen flashing across the TV as the kids groaned in unison, little fingers poking and pushing and telling him to try again. 

“I don’t need his last name to know I love him,” you muttered. 

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t marry him,” she argued, and Choso felt his chest constrict, wondering whether or not he should even be listening when she started talking about Suguru, so fondly, recounting a memory of his father, her husband, the weight of her missing them present in every syllable. “Even if it hurts sometimes, I wouldn’t take any of it back.” 

You knew what that felt like. 

Choso could see the contemplation scrawled across your face, struggling to keep his focus on the game as Mrs. Geto continued. 

“You’ve known him longer than Satoru, sweetheart,” she guided, touching your shoulder tenderly as he caught a glimpse of you chewing on your lip. “He loves you just as much.”

It wasn’t a competition. 

Even if sometimes did feel like he was fighting a phantom for your love. 

“He would understand if you went all in with him,” she spoke gently. “All any of us have ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

You were about to start bawling, but you held it in, nodding along like you knew she was right. And Choso was already planning on sending her a gift basket the next day with all her favorite foods and snacks, including a note promising to make time to take her to any appointments she needed. 

“I loved Satoru like he was my own too, but even if they came back tomorrow, I don’t know if he’d be the one that’s right for you now, dear,” she gently goaded, guiding you as you sucked in a sharp breath. 

Choso waited for you to shake your head, to tell her that she was wrong. 

But you didn’t. 

And he was still thinking about what you were thinking that night. You told him about her illness after the kids had fallen asleep in their beds, sitting up with a pillow pressed against your chest as you gave him that look you always did when you were deep in thought. 

He pretended not to know, just wrapping his arms around you to offer whatever comfort you needed. He wasn’t going to push. Press about marriage just because you had spoken with Mrs. Geto about it. 

Truthfully, he didn’t expect anything to actually come of it. 

He understood your reservations. Those fears you were still working through with your therapist. 

So you caught him off guard when you looked up at him with wide eyes and nervously asked, “Do you still think about marrying me?” 

“Of course I do,” he answered a little too fast. “But I understand why you don’t want to.” 

He would take a forever of being your boyfriend than a future where you weren’t anything to him. 

“Why do you want to?” You asked, the question coming out slightly stilted, a hint of something he had a hard time placing. It wasn’t dismissive. Not completely curious, more like, searching for confirmation from him. 

“You already know I’m in love with you,” he murmured, reaching over to brush his fingers across your cheek. “And how much I love our family.” 

You and the twins. The way you readily accepted Yuji as their sibling. Loved his little brother without hesitation. 

“I want to grow old with you. Spend as many moments of our lives together as we can. Watch the kids graduate and get families of their own,” he mumbled, finding more confidence with each sentence as you leaned into his hand. “I want to write cheesy vows and say them in front of all our friends. I want Yuji to be my best man and Apollo to carry the rings while Artemis tosses flower petals down the aisle.” And fuck, when you were looking at him like that, like you wanted all of it and more too, he nearly melted on the spot. 

“I want to see you in a white dress, walking towards me while I cry at how beautiful you are,” Choso whispered, his gravelly voice standing out in the soft silence, the sound of crickets chirping through the cracked window as a breeze filtered in. “But really, I just want you to choose me. Forever.”

He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life waiting and wondering if he was the one you wanted. 

You swallowed hard, your hand reaching over to graze against his fingers affectionately. 

“Ask me again,” you breathed.

He stared for a moment, barely believing what had just left your lips. But the moment it sunk in, he was rushing off the bed, nearly stumbling towards his nightstand, pulling it open and rummaging through everything to find the ring box he tucked in the back when he moved in with you again. 

You sat on the edge of the bed, a ghost of a smile curling up on your lips as you watched him hurry to get down on one knee and pop open the box, revealing the ring you didn’t get to see last time. 

“Will you marry me?” 

Gojo looked like he was about to puke over the photo album in front of him. 

There you were, standing in your wedding dress, Choso’s hand slung on your waist as you leaned into him. Mrs. Geto was by your side, using a walker as her illness left her struggling to get around the way she used to. Yuji clinging onto the leg of his tux, grinning and sticking his tongue out at the photographer by his new step-siblings. Artemis and Apollo were in front of you, your bouquet in her hands while Apollo beamed at the camera, proud of himself for doing a good job not tripping or falling with the rings. 

“She’s glowing,” Gojo murmured, tracing over your face down to the wedding dress, face twisting up in pained tension. Maybe thinking of what his photos might have looked like with you. 

All his plans wrecked by his own confidence that the world would bend to what he wanted. 

And before Choso could really react, tears welled up in his blue eyes, his jaw clenched tight as he tried to hide the fact he was crying at the photo. 

“She was pregnant,” Choso explained, feeling himself getting choked up too thinking about that year. “It wasn’t planned.” 

Honestly, when you told him, stepping out of the bathroom with a positive test, that nervous glint of pure fear in your eyes as you held it out, he was sure you were going to tell him you didn’t want it. 

That you could marry him, but you would draw the line at having his kid. Sure that you wouldn’t want to put your body through it again, especially ten years after having twins. 

But you just anxiously asked if he wanted it, if he thought the two of you could really handle it. 

“How was it?” Gojo asked, a surprising sincerity to the question. Genuinely wanting to know, maybe because he missed his chance to go through it with you. Only got a handful of videos you sent when you were pregnant. Didn’t get to be there for the sonograms, or the appointments, or the birth. 

Missed buying baby clothes and painting a nursery. Picking out names together. 

Although, it had been you who suggested naming her Keso, after one of his brothers who passed when he was younger. “It was hard, sometimes,” he admitted. The later months especially. Your anxiety picking up the closer your due date came, convinced that something would go wrong, going to see your therapist every other week until your delivery date.  “But our daughter was healthy, and I was there to help her recover.” 

Choso never left you once. 

Was there for every diaper change and late night feed. Comforted every time he picked up his little girl relief he hadn’t expected blooming in his chest at having one that looked like him. He had told himself it wouldn’t matter. That he would’ve loved a little girl that looked like you too. Especially since he already adored Artemis. 

But it was nice to know that strangers would see his girl and know she was absolutely his. 

Gojo had only met her once since she came back at a big family dinner, and she was too preoccupied with her own husband and kids now to care about the man her mother once loved, just offering him an awkward smile before going back to talking to Artemis. 

He was wiping his face, pretending like he hadn’t been crying as he flipped the pages back in the photo album, finding one where you were sprawled out in the backyard on a towel and smiling at the camera, shielding your face from the sun. Artemis was laying next to you, her head buried in a book. 

“Can I have this one?” He asked, and Choso wanted to say no. 

Not let him have any more pieces of you than he’d already stolen. 

But it was hard to actually say no when he knew there was a second copy of the photo underneath, reluctantly nodding. “I suppose.” 

“I’m glad she got to move on,” he mumbled, not that it sounded even remotely truthful. The only thing there was regret. “That she could forget about me.” 

“I meant what I said,” Choso sighed, turning more serious as he looked into those frustratingly familiar eyes. He loved you too much to hate him. Loved Apollo and Artemis too much to loathe the man he had to thank for them. “She never forgot you.”

Gojo was the one who was struggling to swallow the fact he had to share your heart with someone else now. 

“Yeah,” he dismissively muttered, lips pressing together. 

“When she got sick a few years ago, her memory started to go too,” Choso reluctantly broached his least favorite subject, recalling the long months of watching you waste away. “Eventually, she forgot almost everything. Except you.” 

Gojo didn’t know what to say. 

Sitting there stunned as he stared at Choso, finding it too hard to meet his eyes and turning his attention to the wedding band still on his fourth finger. 

“She couldn’t remember the twins or our grandkids. But she still talked about you. Called me your name a couple times when I helped her get out of bed. Looked up at the sky and told everyone who visited that you were up there,” Choso admitted, his voice wavering as he tried his damndest not to hold it against you. To remember all the decades that had come before that when you were more than happy to be his. “Swore that her husband was just with the stars for a little bit before he’d come back for her.” 

He wasn’t quite as emotional as he had once been. But it was hard to not break down at the fact that he’d lost you long before you passed away. 

That in the end, he hadn’t carved himself deep enough into you to be the one you recalled. 

Sure, you still had moments of clarity. Rare days where you were almost like your old self, where you’d kiss him and hold him and swear you loved him more than anything. 

And those were enough. You were enough. Even when there was barely anything left. 

“We both loved her,” Choso murmured, although love didn’t seem like a big enough word for it. He had a feeling that Gojo would understand anyway. Know what he was trying to get at here. That they’d both felt the full spectrum of emotions, the highest highs and the lowest lows that came with worshipping you. “And lost her too.” 

“Yeah,” Gojo whispered. “I guess we did.”

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Choso exhaled, taking one last sip of his drink. “Losing her all at once like you or seeing her disappear piece by piece.” 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, and Choso looked up to see the way his face had scrunched up, his brows furrowed as he twisted around the wedding band he started wearing too. The one you bought for him once upon a time. 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Choso shook his head. 

If anyone understood what it was like to miss you, it was him. Even if he spent most of his adult life despising him to some degree.

But Gojo was still staring at him with guilt he hadn’t anticipated. Like he knew everything was his fault and he didn’t know how to fix it. 

Choso contemplated telling him that there wasn’t anything left to fix. 

It wasn’t like he could go back in time to change anything. And even if he could, Choso wouldn’t change a single moment. Not when he’d gotten you. Gotten his daughter – and two bonus kids. 

His life had been filled with your warmth and laughter and a million smiles he wouldn’t trade for anything. 

Even if the ending had been a bit lackluster. Even if he had to spend the next ten years on his own wishing you were still around. 

“I’m going to Apollo’s place,” he announced. “His daughter brought her baby over.” 

Awkwardly extending an invitation even if his son wouldn’t exactly be thrilled at having the father that was now younger than him around. 

“Oh,” Gojo said, his mouth curling down like he knew it too. 

Recognized where he wasn’t wanted. 

It might be too late for Apollo. But he still had time to get to know the rest of his family if he stopped focusing on the past and learned to live in the present. 

“Don’t you want to come spend some time with your great grandson?” Choso asked, his voice coming out gravelly as his knee ached with the effort of standing. Gojo’s stare flicked down at his lap, towards the pocket he shoved his phone in. 

And even though Artemis didn’t share his physical features, he recognized that distracted look of hers in Gojo now, like he was working out a problem too complex for anyone else to solve. 

“I’ll, uh, catch you guys there later,” he excused, running his thumb over the edge of the photo. 

He didn’t have the energy left in him to convince him to come. 

Gojo would just have to learn for himself how little time there was left with the people he loved in this life. 

Choso supposed he should consider himself lucky. At least he got to spend most of his by your side. 

It wasn’t jealousy that plagued him as he collected his photo albums, the proof of every year you’d given him while Gojo was gone, but pure pity. 

If only he had the foresight to realize how misplaced his empathy was. 

But even if he had, he wasn’t the one who could turn back time. 

જ⁀➴ Satoru Gojo .ᐟ 💭

જ⁀➴ Kento Nanami .ᐟ 💭

જ⁀➴ Yuji Itadori .ᐟ 💭

જ⁀➴ Megumi Fushiguro .ᐟ 💭

જ⁀➴ Toji Fushiguro .ᐟ 💭

જ⁀➴ Ryomen Sukuna .ᐟ 💭

"Kind of, yeah," you swiped the card and quickly grabbed your order before you would drop dead to the overwhelming delicious scents in the bakery. You almost downed the drink in a few large gulps. "Thanks and bye!"

"Have a nice day, miss!"

You sped up to hop in your bus, the one that left the station at 7:35 sharply and arrived at your work exactly at 7:57.

“Sorry,” you murmured apologetically as you bumped into one lady, who only huffed in irritation, without sparing you a single glance. You fought the urge to grimace at her.

Slowly, you made your way to a lone window seat that wasn’t usually occupied at this hour. Mentally, you had long ago declared it your own and would sigh inwardly if other passengers, obviously, not aware of your claim, sat there.

This time, luck was on your side. You quickly fished a book — something to kill time and occupy your mind, besides the usual routine you were clearly drowning in. Your grip on the book tightened: not the best time to delve into and psychoanalyze your life as you tried to lose yourself in yet another magical fantasy world…

“Oh no, my fair lady,” a mysterious knight’s voice drawled, the voice muffled by a half-opened visor. Isabelle thought her heart almost jumped from her chest right into the knight’s hands. “I am here to rescue you.”

Isabelle could almost hear playfulness sipping in the knight’s tone, and it brought a quick grin on her face. Oh, her future husband would be enthralled when the morning would carry him the news about his precious wife-to-be, who would appear to be missing…”

You scoffed softly and reached for a pencil. Faint scribbles adorned the empty margins of the book, a carefully crafted tapestry of your thoughts and emotions. 

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure, if I were Isabelle, since…”

A sudden honk pulled you back to reality. The bus suddenly jerked forward again, and a string of muttered curses from other passengers wafted to you through the irritated crowd. Someone bumped into you, causing the pencil to fall from your grip. 

“Ah, shoot it,” you huffed under your breath and bent over to take it back.

And then, as you looked up, you saw it.

A sudden flash of white hair.

Your insides got cold in an instant. The surrounding world ceased to exist around you for a moment or for a small eternity; you weren’t so sure. The pencil almost snapped in half in your hard grip as a thousand thoughts rushed through your anxious mind.

“What the hell is he doing there? He shouldn’t be there— no, he is not supposed to be there, in your city! You fled there, and he had the entire Tokyo! What if he saw you? Worse, what if he saw and now wants to talk to you? Shit, shit, shit!”

Your eyes nervously darted to the exit — only to see that the white hair was already missing. You blinked. Blinked again. No, not even a sight. You slumped in relief against the seat and closed your eyes. 

What was going on with you, really? Is he the only man in the world with hair colour like this? Could’ve been some cosplayer! Yeah, that must be it!

Or not?...

Deep down, you knew the right answer. You could’ve recognized the silvery tone of his strands if you were a thousand miles away from him. You ran your fingers through them countless times, memorized the way they caught the moonlight and looked like spilt silver under your gentle touch.

With a long sigh, you put the book in a bag. The phone caught your eye, and you froze at the sight of the display.

8:17.

Memories engrossed your tired mind to the point you missed three stops.

“This day couldn’t get any worse,” you thought, rushing through the maze of irritated people, totally indifferent to your inner turmoil.

Oh, how wrong was that.

***

Flowers had always brought you peace and serenity.

Ever since you were a kid, your mom’s garden welcomed you with a warm embrace, shielding you from the cold touch of reality. Nothing could hurt you there; a few scratches were a fair price for solitude and tranquillity. Sitting under sakuras, amidst the vivid blossoms of magnolias, peonies, and tulips, quietly observing the nature you were surrounded by, you had learnt to see beauty in every soft petal, dew drop on the branches, foggy morning mist, or sunrays, shyly sipping through the branches. 

Or maybe you were just a lone kid with a good heart and rich fantasy, and that gave roots to your need for escapism. Who knows.

You would like to think you still carried that fragile ability to see something precious even in the most mundane things, but you knew nothing would be as breathtaking as it appeared in childhood. Adulthood had long sharpened and hardened you into someone a child you would hardly recognise.

Sometimes you wondered what she would say when you looked at her now?

Your hands were still covered in stitches, calluses bubbled on your fingers, and the dirt seemed to be permanently itched under your nails, but the excitement from your gaze had long given in to exhaustion.

When did a person lose the sparkle that once ignited their entire being? When adulthood falls so hard on your shoulders that you don't even have a chance to take a breath?

You had never thought you would be one of these gloomy people. Especially surrounded by the beauty of nature, as you wished for as a kid. But fate had other plans for you: the florist’s job found you in the middle of rediscovering yourself once again, rather than you finding it, and the rose-coloured naive dreams about designing bouquets, arrangements, and organising events quickly shattered, leaving invisible scars that later would scream of burnt-out. 

Surely, amidst the usual routine, you found your own moments of enjoyment. Designing was your main passion, and seeing the fruits of your work, happy smiles and gratitudes from the customers, was worth scars, hurt knees, and sprained wrists. You were glad to bring people warmth and steadiness in the middle of the storm, which some events might look like. Shame the rest of the job was way more demanding, mentally and especially physically.

You were cauterizing stems, which actually was Nobara's work, but Utahime seemed so worked up that morning that you didn't dare to poke a dragon any more and decided to shield your friend from the boss's wrath. When Nobara sauntered inside the room, you gave her a glance, already preparing yourself for an inevitable round of investigation.

"So," she drawled with an all-knowing smile, a mischievous glint flashed in her eyes as she leaned on the table next to you. Still not touching the stems. "How was your date yesterday? Tell me everything!"

Ah. Yes. Your date.

Partially, the reason you were late to work. Not even in the inappropriate sense you sometimes wanted it to be.

Your grip on the pruning shears tightened. You tried to deflect.

"Nothing worth talking—"

"Oh, come on! I've been dying to hear everything! Spill the tea!"

Nobara was really relentless when she was in a mood, so after a couple of seconds, you decided to end your suffering as quickly as possible. Like ripping the band-aid off.

"That was fucking awful."

You could swear Nobara's nose twitched like a hound that scented the blood. The corner of your mouth lifted in amusement.

"I swear, all these date apps, blind dates, so on and so forth are not my type of thing,"  you murmured and sighed, looking around the room for any clue that could've helped to solve a mystery of human hearts. "No, I am serious!"

You told her everything. How you matched with a guy on a goddamn Tinder, who seemed…adequate at first sight. That you felt like something almost clicked in that unexplainable way, when you just…know.

You really hoped after him and dozens of unfruitful attempts to meet your fate spontaneously, and let Cupid’s arrows pierce you, your dating apps would result in something. However, with every swipe, weird dialogues and unambiguous hints at the end of coffee dates, your confidence that the male loneliness epidemic had been really justified only grew further. Yesterday’s attempt should’ve been the last one before locking yourself in a tower (your apartments), with only a jester (another 2000’s romcom) to keep you company. Sounded like a perfect plan.

“Everything was fine, before that jerk started asking whether I was like these females—”

“Ew,” Nobara grimaced. “Females? That’s a red flag already. Might be one of these podcast guys. They are all beyond saving.”

“I know, right? Should’ve told him to fuck off right that instant. Anyway,” you snipped a poor rose’s stem with more force than necessary and continued. “These females who like to invite poor men to the fanciest restaurants and make them pay!”

Nobara gasped, thoroughly scandalized, handing you a lighter.

“He did not!”

“Oh yes, he did. And that’s not even the worst! Then he asked when I would be ready to quit my job, because his wife and the mother of his children shouldn’t work,” deep-buried irritation from the godforsaken dinner slowly started to bloom in your chest, so you didn’t even notice you were holding the lighter near the stem longer than usual. Luckily, Nobara intervened before you almost set the flowers on fire.

“Hey-hey, gimme that,” she snatched the possible tool of destruction from your hands and quickly put the stem in a vase. You blinked in surprise and slumped on the nearby chair with a long, exhausted sigh.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she flashed you a warm smile and then added, barely audible. “Was my task, anyway. So, you were saying?”

“Yeah, right,” you dragged your hand over your face, “after we left the restaurant, the asshole offered to give me a ride.” You drawled the last word, double entendre clear in your voice, as you stared at Nobara with a telling gaze.

She, of course, understood. Slowly dragged her gaze from the flowers and stared back at you. A murderous glint flashed in her eyes. The lighter only added to her dangerous image.

You sighed once again and murmured, staring at the ceiling. “So, that was it. What’s even worse is that he seemed so nice and gallant and—,” you gestured vaguely before dropping your hand in desperation. The next words felt like shards; tears stole your voice. “I am not cut out for the relationships, clearly. Maybe something is fundamentally wrong with me, I don’t know! All this staff”, you drew a sharp exhale and angrily wiped your nose, “is not for me. I am way better alone”.

Hearing your voice, so uncharacteristically broken, Nobara kneeled in front of you. She squeezed your hands.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. Believe me. All these men are assholes that do not even deserve the strand of your hair!”

“Uhm, Nobara, flowers there—”

“Ah, fuck these flowers,” she waved dismissively. “I’ve got a bigger potential catastrophe on my hands,” you snorted at her words, and a big, bright grin broke on her face. “You are smart, pretty, kind, and just so wonderful! These guys? They can suck my—”

“Nobara!”

“Okay, okay,” Nobara rolled her eyes and leaned in closer, her grin morphing into a conspirational smile. Your eyes narrowed playfully. “Tell you what? We finish here, and I am taking you to that new mall, finally making you buy that slutty dress I’ve been talking about for days, then we crash into my flat, order whatever you want, and re-watch “Love Actually” for the hundredth time! How’s that?”

You couldn’t help but smile genuinely at Nobara’s suggestion. It was impossible to brood with her around. 

“That sounds perfect.”

Your thoughts drifted to the morning once again. Something in your guts was telling you that you were right initially. Or maybe it was more of a wishful thinking, because his image would haunt your mind every failed date and every sparkle you misguessed as the beginning of something new. And yesterday was particularly shitty. 

You weren’t that obsessed with your ex-situationship. So what if even after all the months you had been apart (though you doubted whether you could truly say that; you never had been together), he was the only person who had lit up your whole world? Pfft. Every girl had a story like this.

At least you hoped so. Stupid Gojo.

Despite all the things that happened between you (and did not), you couldn’t bring yourself to hate Gojo. His stupid white hair, ivory under the sunlight; a stupid grin that broke his face anytime you would say something funny, and that chuckle, Gods,  that fucking chuckle of his was your biggest reward and the strongest undoing. 

Then you would remember the way he ended both of you, destroying the root before your love could even blossom, and the urge to punch him would multiply drastically.

Just like now.

You were in the middle of preparing the next customer’s order and racked your brains on where to put a couple of black tulips, so they would look presentable enough. Then you struggled with the overall composition, the wrapping paper didn’t work much, you cut your ring finger and —

Stop that.

You took a deep breath. In and out. In and out. 

That was it. The effect Satoru Gojo had on you.

“I definitely should get over this guy,” you murmured in the void, not addressing anyone in particular, but Nobara heard it. She turned around sharply, the large heart box with roses dangerously swaying in her hands. Her narrowed eyes seemed to pierce right through your soul, through the pregnant pauses, creeping between the endless conversations about your love life, the sadness you carried in the unsaid words.

She saw the raging storm in your weary eyes, and her glare softened immediately, lips parting to tell you something only Nobara could tell — but in the moment, the doorbell in the main hall rang obnoxiously loudly, and she hurriedly headed upstairs.

Your gaze dropped to the bouquet. The black tulips in the middle caught your attention immediately. A satisfied grin tucked in the corner of your mouth. 

The flowers were pretty. Gorgeous. The fragile beauty of nature wrapped in the softest of touches. Nature’s most delicate gift. They didn’t hurt anyone. Not in the way people do, at least.

Nobara’s voice called you suddenly, pulling you back to reality. Your brows furrowed slightly: her voice sounded strangely strained. You headed up as well. 

“My mother loves black tulips.”

“Really? Huh. That’s rare. Not everyone even thinks about what flowers they like.”

“Nah, she thinks about everything. And more. Like you.”

“Do you think this ribbon fits well, or should I find the lacy one? I am not quite sure.”

Your gaze flicked to Nobara, and then—

You rooted to your spot. The poor bouquet almost fell from your weakened hands, but that was the last thing that was on your mind.

Not when Gojo Satoru was staring back at you.

His eyes searched for every expression on your face, every bat of the eyelashes, every flicker of colour in your eyes, every twitch of your lips, soaking it up with the intensity that could rival the wanderer's thirst in a desert. Looking, dazing, gawking, drinking in your features. Like he wasn’t sure whether he should grab and kiss you till he got his fill or just admire from afar, like the most exquisite flower under the glass.

He stared. And stared. And stared.

And gods, you stared back. 

His hair caught the sunlight, giving him an ethereal look, and you swore to God, the blue of his eyes brightened even more, though now his gaze seemed to carry more weight. You remembered them flashing with the charm and the mischief; it was still there, though you couldn’t help but notice adulthood setting into his features.  Your gaze drifted over his frame, clad in a dark blue suit (probably worth your month’s rent), greedily fixing the broadness of his shoulders, the tight pull of the fabric on the chest, the little mole between his collarbones, peeking out from the unbuttoned shirt. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Why was he here?” An anxious thought beat against your ribcage with a deafening thump-thump, suddenly twice its usual size. “He wasn’t supposed to be here! And found me!”

Deep down, you knew. Of course, Gojo could. You moved to another city, not the other hemisphere.

But it was Kyoto. A fucking metropolis!

Gojo was from Kyoto.

You fixed all the details almost unconsciously, committing his features to your memory as if he were about to vanish right this second. Neither of you dared to move; silence wrapped around you like a thick blanket, trapping you in its suffocating confines.

Nobara’s gaze flicked between Gojo and you, but luckily, she didn’t ask anything. Must’ve been obvious.

“You go back. I’ll handle it,” she whispered to you, and the strange spell cast on your room was dispelled. You gave her a quick, unsure grin.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

Nobara opened her mouth to protest, but your pleading look silenced her. With the last suspicious look at Gojo, she disappeared into another room.

You stood behind the register, trying to look as professional as ever. Trembling in your hands and the waver in your voice were a dead giveaway, though. Gojo’s eyes briefly flickered to your frame. His eyes softened almost imperceptibly. 

“So, long time no see, Gojo. How’s that been?”

Gojo grimaced slightly but didn’t comment on you using his government name. Instead, he just stepped closer to the register, as if unsure whether he could approach you.

That startled you. Gojo was never about hesitance in any way. 

“It’s been…okay,” he answered vaguely, and you couldn’t help but notice his timbre deepened. Tone smoothened, became richer. The Kyoto accent was back. You remembered how he desperately tried to sound more like a Tokyo guy.

Stop. 

What on Earth were you thinking? 

Focus.

“We’ve decided to reopen the Kyoto branch, and Gramps wanted to make me in charge of it.” You felt his gaze on you, and its intensity sent shivers down your spine. You nervously tried to issue him a receipt, but the terminal seemed to stop working at the most inconvenient moment ever. Heat slowly crept your cheeks. 

"... and I've got a lot of things to look through and deal with a bunch of old fossils," Gojo continued, grimacing at the mention of old men who were probably a part of the shareholders' board. You noticed he told about himself rather vaguely, almost indifferently, as his own life couldn't feel less interesting.

You dreaded Gojo's next question. Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask—

"And how have you been?"

A strange kind of desperation laced Gojo's voice. As if he knew he had no right to ask that, but just could not help it. His Adam's apple bobbed with effort, and if you paid more attention, you would've noticed the flex of his fingers.

You forced a strained smile, your heart did a stupid little flip.

"I...am doing alright," you gestured vaguely around the shop as if it could've answered his question. However, Gojo's gaze was glued to you, searching, observing, examining the fatigue that was deeply etched into your features, the light dust of pink on your cheeks, a nervous smile hiding at the corner of your lips, and a small cut on your chin. You were even more beautiful than he remembered. Was it ever possible?

"It's for your mom, right?" you blurted out before even thinking, earning a surprised look from Gojo. Your eyes widened; probably, he thought you were a stalker or just a lunatic for asking that. 

Nervously, you explained, fingers fumbling with the ribbon. "I remember you told your mom liked black tulips." Gods, why did you ask that? Is there really a kind of question for your ex-situationship at your first meeting?

Your heart beat anxious staccato against your chest. You prayed the ground would swallow you whole as Gojo remained silent.

Slowly, his initial shock and confusion melted into an undeniable affection, and he smiled, a soft, quiet smile that reached his eyes, crinkling at the corners.

You released a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"Yeah. She still does. That's for her. I...," Gojo's smile faltered a little, "she flew from Tokyo for some business, and I am gonna meet her. I asked my assistant to pick a flower shop close to it. With good reviews, of course,” his gaze quickly swept the surroundings, landing on various arrangements, bouquets and vases. Strange tightness coloured his tone, and you narrowed your eyes in suspicion.

"Ah. I see."

"Yeah."

So, he didn't stalk you. Good to hear.

A loose strand of hair fell over your forehead, and you put it back with an annoyed sigh. Gojo's gaze followed it with a tender ache; you thought you imagined it. 

Gojo's lips parted slightly, and then he abruptly closed his mouth again. A little frown formed between his brows. 

"Listen, I know it's not the right moment, but I would like —"

You swallowed anxiously, but in that second, his phone rang. Whoever that was, you were beyond grateful for a little respite after everything that had just happened.

Gojo Satoru.

Your something. Your almost everything. Your childhood wish for a friend. Your teenage longing for love. Your yearning to be seen.

Your invisible string draped over months and cities. Forever snapped.

Or?

"Ijichi, I told you already," Gojo's voice came out way too harsher than it was with you; a mask slipping back on his face, "I'm busy with something right now."

Annoyance flushed in his eyes as he listened to a hasty voice on the other side of the phone. He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"Uh-huh. I got it. Be in five minutes."

The anxious voice, Ijichi's, as you presumed, mumbled something back, but Gojo didn’t pay attention.

Silence wrapped around you once again, unsure and hesitant. You took a deep breath, on the verge of blurting something about maintenance or a sudden supply of birthday cards, or anything, before Gojo's voice cut through the mess that your head was, softer than you ever expected.

"It was nice seeing you."

You rehearsed words suddenly seemed meaningless. A look of surprise crossed your face at his words, and before you could articulate your confusion in somehow coherent words, Gojo already left with a curt nod. The bell jingled obnoxiously loud, and you slowly took a deep breath.

Gojo's cologne was still lingering in the air, enveloping you in his scent.

Lost and confused, you slumped in the nearest chair behind the register, brain short-circuiting on what had just happened. Something you had never dared to think about in your dreams. Gojo was tucked in the deepest corner of your heart; you rarely allowed yourself to truly reminisce about what you were and never became.

And you couldn't shake the feeling he wanted to ask you something before the call. 

Or were you just making things up? Wishful thinking?

***

The day when you met Gojo was as clear as ever in your mind. No. When Gojo met you. Really met.

You had seen Satoru Gojo all the time at the campus: his frosty white hair impossible to miss, laugh booming loudly in the university halls, enough for people to turn their heads, all sharp grins and snarky remarks — confidence walked hand in hand with him as he basked in the attention. He moved like a person who had never forced himself to be small. To fit into some box. People orbited around him, inevitably driven closer by his overwhelming presence: planets pulled closer by the gravity of the Sun. 

You, on the other hand, were one of the satellites, surfing through the vast expanse of university life.

Naturally, your paths with Gojo didn't cross very often: sure, he was in your periphery all the time, effortlessly catching your attention with his jokes and... everything; you shared a couple of classes and had a bit of awkward exchanges in the library over behavioural theory of management. You weren't even surprised: for all Gojo's lack of discipline in the classes, he really had a sharp mind.

Sometimes he gave you a bright grin in greeting, to which you answered with a short nod, putting on an air of confidence, despite the frantic beat of your heart and the speed at which your palms got sweaty.

So, as it was etched in the laws of the universe, you quietly observed Gojo from afar, not daring to collide with his orbit more than needed. Burning in the Sun's light would bring long-lasting scars.

Oh, how right you were.

This shouldn't have happened. He should've just walked past you like many others on that rainy day, when you were standing right next to your stall, teeth chattering as the coldness embraced you in its harsh hands. Your gaze quickly swept the surroundings — the majority of students had already left their standings. No wonder, with the weather like that, who would've been foolish enough to stay at the volunteer fair?

You were. Though you preferred to think of yourself as responsible and kind. 

A deep chuckle pierced through the monotonous cacophony of the rain, and inevitably, your gaze landed on Gojo. He was hanging out at his friend's stall, helping to put things in the boxes. Geto, if you remembered it correctly. Surprisingly, he was also helping one of the city's animal shelters. You tried not to dwell on his charity box, which showed way more promise than yours.

You were so focused on not freezing to death at that point that you didn't notice Gojo walking to your stall. The bag with his volleyball (because of course, Gojo was ridiculously good at everything) uniform hit his leg with every step.

He stood right in front of it, a curious grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He looked ridiculously handsome, even with a silly umbrella.

Gojo kept examining the various brochures about the shelter, pictures of cats and dogs, seeking their homes. His gaze softened imperceptibly. 

Meanwhile, your world just tilted off its axis.

"Hi," you gave Gojo a nervous smile.

He looked up immediately and hummed in acknowledgement. "Hi."

An awkward silence fell upon you. Your brain short-circuited as you anxiously tried to scramble for the right words, but they just flew out of your mind right then. Nothing. Blank screen. Error.

Gojo didn't seem to notice your mental struggles, still glued to the stall.

Just when you were about to finally introduce him to the shelter you had been volunteering for, he suddenly reached for the wallet and threw bills in the charity box. A lot, one would say.

You blinked. Blinked again. Maybe you were hallucinating from standing all day in the cold. 

"What the hell are you doing?" You blurted out, and deep crimson painted your cheeks in embarrassment. 

What the hell were you doing? 

Who on Earth would say something like that to a person, willingly donating to your stall?

You hoped he wasn’t very petty.

Instead, his white brows knitted in confusion. He took a step back to examine the box before dragging his gaze, the brightest of blues, to you. 

"Donating, I guess?"

"Yeah, no shit," you scoffed. Backing wasn't an option by this time. "That's like...a lot."

A look of realisation crossed Gojo's face, before a cracking bright grin, as if the Sun finally peeked through the heavy clouds. Suddenly, the cold didn't bother you as much as before.

"Ah, it's nothing. Really," he drawled lazily and nodded at the photos again. "Besides, it's only for the good."

He was kind of insane, you thought. But hey, who would've said no to the charity money? Especially if you did less than expected at this fair.

"Then... thank you," you breathed out in relief, but immediately grimaced at how empty and basic it sounded. Quickly, you added. "Really, thank you! It would do a lot for the shelter, and —"

You reached for a simple box, adorned with a colourful ribbon, resting among others, to gift him. Nothing much, but you spent your whole evening preparing them.

"There's a postcard, a cap and a mug!" You shrugged casually, fingers toying with the ribbon, and handed the box to Gojo. "A token of appreciation, if you wish".

He examined the box with a sharp look, and for the moment, you felt really silly. His long fingers curled around the box, brushing briefly against yours — a warm touch, despite the rain, sending sparks of electricity up your arm.

Did Gojo notice that too?

He almost left, and you almost could breathe in relative calm, when something must've popped into his mind, and he abruptly stopped in his tracks. 

"Wait...are you this girl from the management class? The one with the old Gakuganji? Sitting on the left side, third row?" His eyes briefly scanned your face. You felt like a butterfly under his piercing gaze. "We talked about Mayo's behaviour theory in the library, remember?"

Remember. Did you remember.

Did you remember him.

The carefully constructed unreachable image of Gojo in your head seemed to have its first cracks. You had never thought he would ask if anyone remembered him. You had never thought he would remember your place at the lecture. The Sun didn’t simply bother to pay attention to the satellites.

Gojo might’ve interpreted your stunned silence in a completely different way.

“I mean, your hair is…different. And the hood,” he gestured vaguely, and you quickly put the lone strand behind your ear. 

“Yeah, uhm, that’s…that’s me.”

Gojo didn’t answer this, studying your face with intensity that might’ve pierced through your entire being. As if he were searching for an answer to a particularly tricky question only you could give him. 

Or maybe it was just an effect of his eyes — a shade that certainly shouldn’t exist in the world, putting all the world’s blues to shame. He was still stuck around your stall, as if glued. As if he didn’t want to leave. 

You didn’t even dare to think about it.

“Why are you alone? Aren’t the stalls supposed to have two volunteers? Suguru told me.”

You sighed, reminiscing about how Nobara almost coughed her lungs out today, but her stubborn ass somehow insisted on coming with you. Eventually, it ended with you locking her up in the dorm room.

“They are. I should’ve been there with my friend. She fell ill.”

A mischievous glint flashed in Gojo’s eyes as he arched his brow. “Really fell?”

“Really, really. Nobara’s not like that.” You scoffed at his implications and crossed your hands on your chest.

Gojo’s face sobered. “Nobara? Kugisaki? The lead cheerleader?”

You nodded.

He nodded back. “Yeah, she’s not.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. What the hell was going on there? Why did he, Gojo Satoru, out of all people, stay by your lonely stall and ask you weird questions?

Creepy. 

Gojo’s gaze flicked to the sky, just as the deafening sound of thunder boomed out of a sudden, then back to your face. The rainy pit-patter against the stall’s shade intensified, pulling you out of the strange daze to hastily pack the stuff back. The framed pictures landed in the box with awkward thuds as you threw them in the box. How you were going to take all of the stuff back to the dorm remained a full mystery.

You picked two of them with a grunt, and the hair fell on your forehead, obscuring the view. The box on the top dangerously slid down, earning a string of curses and a couple of desperate groans from you, when a pair of strong hands suddenly took them from your weakened hands. The rain didn’t help the situation at all.

You almost slipped, losing balance, but quickly stabilized yourself, gripping the same very pair of hands. There was no objection. From the person, obviously.

Gojo’s gaze pinned you to the ground when you looked up. His messy white fringe fell on his forehead (you felt a strange itch in your fingers to brush it away), and some strands, wet from the rain, stuck to his forehead. The soft brightness of his eyes was gone, replaced with something darker and more intense, you weren’t sure you could name it. You just stared back and wondered if the lost people in the oceans saw that exact shade of blue before drowning in their unforgiving waves.

You never saw Gojo that close, obviously. You didn’t know his lashes were so long and soft, fluttering with every breath he took; his nose was crooked just a fraction, and pale freckles dusted his cheeks. 

You swallowed, not daring to step back, and just froze like a deer in the headlights.

Maybe that was the way goddesses crafted the invisible strings. A whim, a caprice of fate, looking down at the people and deciding to grant their hearts the greatest wishes, just to weave them forever into the endless canvas of the universe. 

Little did you know that it was he who got rooted to the very spot. Froze. Stilled. Whatever. Gojo’s entire universe had just fallen off the axis and flew towards hell. The black hole, one might say. With such clarity that he was, honestly, surprised that no one saw it. 

That was the day when he first saw you. Really saw. The lone girl near the animal shelter’s stall, who observed people dismissively walking past her with an understanding and forgiving look. Whose entire face lit up when she talked about the rescued dogs and cats, to the people who would actually come up to the stall. The kind smile that transformed her face into a painting of the finest craft as she gifted the gift boxes. Who stubbornly chose to stay at the fair in the rain and cold. All alone, because her friend got sick. And, naturally, he walked to you, drawn like a moth to the flame.

A shot of electricity shook through Gojo’s body. The ground dropped away from his feet. The biggest fuckass tsunami hit him and filled his lungs with you, you, you. 

That was scary. That was dangerous. You were dangerous. 

The sudden clap of thunder above pulled you out of this strange haze. You stepped back; Gojo blinked — a storm in his eyes gave way to a warm sea breeze.

“They are heavy. I’ll walk you to the dorm.”

Your cheeks heated up, and you quickly babbled.

“There’s no need, really. I am okay—”

You almost flinched at the particularly deafening sound of the thunder and threw your hands up, answering with a weak grin.

“Seems like I do not have much of a choice.”

Gojo only chuckled.

His shoulder lightly brushed against yours the whole time to the dorm, sending light sparks up your arm even through the hoodie. You noticed how he subconsciously fell into step with you. Gojo gave you his umbrella, with some Digimon on it, and at first, you tried to shield him from the raindrops as well, but Gojo was so tall that your arm quickly hurt.

None of you said anything, besides light humming from Gojo’s side, and it felt strangely…nice. You expected desperately scrapping for words to fill the uncomfortable silence between you, but there was no need. Maybe you still existed in that small babble, where time stopped and held you in its tight embrace.

“So, that’s me,” you nodded at the doors and made a grab for the boxes.

Gojo frowned. “They are heavy. Come on, let’s get inside.”

Nobara certainly would ask you questions about how Gojo ended up in their room. You realized that you didn’t want to share this strange moment of...whatever it was with Gojo, with anyone else yet. Besides, she was still sick.

You forced a smile. “Thank you a lot, but I am fine. Really. And Nobara’s sick, so…”

Gojo blinked in confusion, but seeing you weren’t going to step back, nodded. He handed you the boxes back, which made you almost double over under their weight.

“See you at the lectures,” he waved to you, a charming grin curled up on his lips, and you found yourself smiling back. For a couple of moments, you watched his tall figure retreating, mulling over whether you should ask Gojo what the hell was going on, thank him properly or just say anything. You were so nervous, you could barely hear your own thoughts with the blood roaring in your ears.

Your gaze quickly dropped to the box, the shelter’s logo immediately caught your eye, and the idea popped into your mind so fast your anxious mind had hardly registered it. 

“Hey, Gojo!”

He stepped in his tracks and turned right that instant at the sound of your voice. Like he had been subconsciously wishing for it. His eyes seemed so bright, burning you with their electric blue.

God. What had you done? What were you going to do now? Your suggestion seemed so utterly stupid. Maybe Gojo would get tired of your hesitance and walk away?

“Yes?”

Oh, fuck. He was still standing there, head tilted in curiosity. You swallowed. There was no backing down now. Your grip on the boxes tightened. 

“Come to the animal shelter this weekend,” you blurted out. His eyes widened slightly, but you continued. “Your donation was the biggest. There’s a prize for it!”

For a long, painful second, you were sure he would come up with some polite excuse to decline it. To your biggest surprise, a big grin broke on his face.

“I’ll be there. See you.”

You watched Gojo walking away, still not quite believing what had just happened.

The days leading up to the weekend were filled with nervous excitement. Even when Gojo came for your number to text you about it, anxiety was still buzzing deep in your bones.

Turned out there was no reason for it. 

He actually showed up. That time. And many others.

You met at the shelter countless times — Gojo was more than welcome there. Your awkward, occasional conversations in the library turned into full study sessions, when both of you were glad to just share a bit of space. You learnt each other’s coffee orders by heart, favourite books, movies, shared favourite quotes, and had endless conversations under the starry sky about everything and nothing all at once. He would usually point at the bunch of stars and come up with the most ridiculous constellations and histories about them. You couldn’t remember a single moment when your cheeks didn’t hurt from smiling with him, a warm feeling blossomed in your chest every time his lips curved into a soft, gentle grin, the one you had already learnt was reserved only for you. All your camera film was filled with him, but you never complained.

You had never felt anything like that before; your heart was filled to the top with unspent, unrestrained love, so, naturally, it overflowed and flooded everything.

Maybe that was it. Maybe you loved Gojo so fiercely and desperately that it scared him. You never questioned or tried to define your relationship with him — you both were so happy that you thought that taste of honey would linger on your lips forever, living in the warm, miraculous daze forever. For Gojo, whose entire life was carefully built around expectations — the grades always had to be perfect, his future predetermined, written up to the smallest detail the moment he was born, the weight of his family's prestige settling heavily on his shoulders — being with you was a breath of fresh air. He didn’t have to put on any front: a star student, a team captain, the Gojo heir…he was just Satoru with you. And maybe he got a little bit too used to the fact that you simply took everything he offered to you, without asking for more. Without demanding. Without expecting. And when his heart started to jump every time he saw you, his chest tightened with a loving, tender ache at the sight of your smile and all his thoughts gravitated to you wherever he was, Gojo knew he was gone. Completely. 

He didn’t know how to love someone that much. Selflessly, unconditionally, handing his heart on his palm. The painful vulnerability that came with your love stripped him bare, to the bone, exposed the deepest corners of his heart and soul — something he didn’t even dare to look at himself. And that scared him. No amount of hiding his horror of being loved behind the usual mask of a fool could hide it. So he did the best he could for both of you. At least, that was what he thought. 

Left you.

He sincerely thought that was him protecting you from the inevitable break-up. He didn’t know how to love. He didn’t know how to be loved. 

Turned out Gojo just protected himself.

Slowly, your dates shortened, turning into quick meetings and then vanished completely with his weak excuses. Calls postponed, messages left on delivered. He gradually slipped away from your life, leaving a hole so big you didn’t know whether it was even possible to fill with something, someone else who wasn’t him. He ripped your heart and took it with him.

What was even worse was that despite everything, you couldn’t even bring yourself to hate him. Despite taking away your air with him. You cried yourself to sleep on countless nights, threw yourself into studies, volunteering, working, and everything that could even remotely help you to find closure. You were so lucky to have Nobara by your side — wordlessly, she picked up the shards of your shattered heart and carefully glued them together.

Over time, you grew tired of seeing your own sad, tear-filled gaze in the mirror, the sorrow in the bags under your eyes, hollow cheeks — solitude etched into your soul. You didn’t deserve it. If he weren’t the one, then be it. You couldn’t let a man define all your future.

With strange calmness and melancholy, you blocked him. Moved to another city. Got to work in a flower shop, something that you discussed with Gojo a lot of times. Took up hobbies. Squeezed yourself into bustling, busy Kyoto life as much as you could. Met other people, despite how much you wanted to hide in your shell.

Got over Gojo. At least, you thought you did, safe for times when your mind naturally went to reminisce about him after failed dates; for the fingerprints of him were all over the pages of your life.

Only for everything to return after meeting him today.

***

Saying that Gojo didn’t cross your mind the next days would be a lie. 

You wish you were a liar.

Why did he happen to visit your flower shop? Was it really random?

And more importantly: would he visit again?

The one part of you, young, naive and endlessly romantic, built sandcastles and told you that she wanted it to happen. The other, sharpened by adulthood and the cruelty of the world, destroyed them without batting an eye and told you not to be foolish. The second voice sounded suspiciously like Nobara’s.

You were too scared to trust the girl with the dreams way bigger than her, living in a fairytale, where princes would always find their way to princesses, fight all the dragons and have their happily-ever-afters.

You couldn’t afford to think about it. Closing off, guarding your heart like Cerberus wasn’t an option either, so you did what any reasonable, mature grown-up would do: bury yourself in work.

The large shipment of items, flowers and vases among them, had just been delivered to the shop, before one of your most frequent customers’ jubilee, so you were in dire need of all hands available. As a cruel joke of fate, Nobara was on the other side of the city, and Utahime argued with the suppliers, who messed up an important order again; her angry voice cut through the relative serenity and silence in the shop. Honestly, totally understandable.

Your back hurt from standing for God knew how long, a band-aid on your left hand had already asked for mercy, and the strain in your neck screamed for relief. You tried not to pay attention to the tightness in your shoulders; the exhaustion gave you a much-needed escape from your own mind. 

The bell chimed in greeting; your head snapped up to greet a client, only to be met with a familiar flash of snowy hair.

Your heart skipped a beat, and light pink dusted your cheeks. 

The little girl sheepishly peeked out of the window in her sandcastle.

“Didn’t expect you to see you here, yet so soon,” you mumbled in greeting, hastily wiping your hands off the apron and, unconsciously, clasping them behind your back. For some reason, you didn’t want Gojo to have a look at your scratches. Not when he was dressed to kill. Probably you.

You dragged your gaze from his figure and stood behind the register. The familiar position gave much-needed strength to deal with the headache Gojo Satoru was. Like you were the one in control. 

You didn’t quite recognize your voice, all sharp and business-like, when you asked him.

“How can I help you?”

Gojo didn’t answer you straight away. His gaze swept the surroundings — scattered boxes, vases waiting to be filled, a bunch of balloons —  until it landed on you. Something tender and endlessly fragile flashed in his eyes, but he quickly masked it. 

“I am here to talk to you and your boss, Miss Iori. I’ve been told I have to wait a bit —”

“...and if you are gonna sell me ranunculi instead of peonies once again, when I specifically asked for the fucking peonies,” you both turned your heads towards Utahime’s office, her voice gradually rising in pitch as she spoke. You swallowed. “I am gonna stick them all up in your ass and —”

You quickly exchanged glances with Gojo. His lips curled into a full-blown grin, the amusement dancing on his face, so unrestrained that you forgot what all the fuss about was.

“She’s a little busy now,” you chuckled in return. 

“I see,” Gojo finally turned to you, with the same smile he once stole your heart, and leaned on the register, his long fingers lazily drumming against the surface. 

“Actually, it’s even better. I want to talk to you first,” Gojo’s voice, soothing around the edges, dipped to that tone you were all familiar with. Deep and sweet, thick as honey, dying on your tongue in dizzying aftertaste.

“You see, we’re going to have an event soon, and among everything we need florists, obviously.” He flashed you a quick smile, but seeing confusion written all over your face, quickly schooled himself. Gojo glanced around the shop once again: the holiday postcards seemed to pique his interest way more than your reaction, then his gaze drifted to Utahime’s office once again, and finally, he dared to look at your face again. 

“And?”

“I want you to be the main designer of the event.”

Gojo’s words didn’t catch you completely off guard. Deep down, you wanted that day not to be a strange accident. Longed to see him again. Needed to allow yourself a moment of foolishness. 

A beat of silence passed between you, charged with the heaviness of unspoken words and feelings, deep buried inside to a point you doubt whether you both had even happened. Otherwise, why didn’t you ask him straight away to find someone else? Go from your sight and never return? 

Why didn’t you have the strength to resist his gravity? Was it even possible? To deny the Sun its power, when the burns still echoed in your heart with raging ache? 

Gojo’s eyes were glued to your face, desperately seeking any clue his expression might hand him. His voice dropped to a desperate whisper.

“I am not going to force you into anything. If you don’t want to deal with this,” the sudden wavering crept into his voice; a grimace briefly crossed his face, “dealing with me, I understand that. But I want to ask you not to do it. You’ll have all the creative freedom you want, all the communication will be handled by my assistant, and we won’t even meet, unless you want it. I promise. Just…just don’t reject the offer because of me. Please.” 

Your gaze narrowed, steel slipping into it. As much as the sapphires of his eyes urged you to surrender, to capitulate, to yield, your dignity screamed in objection.

“Why are you so adamant about this? Why do you want me to do this?”

His lips curled into a small knowing smile, bitter around the edges. His finger lightly tapped on the bunch of receipts, eyes drifting to the forgotten band-aid on your hand. The tightness in your shoulders didn’t go unnoticed either. 

“I think you need it. To feel in your place once again.”

How.

How did he manage to dig into your chest and rip your heart, revealing all the quiet battles you had been fighting? After all those years? Making you seen, even now?

But why did he think he still had a chance to tear you apart? To open apart old scars, the ones you were slowly stitching together?

The sudden anger bloomed bright in your chest, dipping all your words in venom.

“You promised me a lot of things, Gojo. I don’t quite remember you keeping them.”

A sparkle of icy fury flashed in Gojo’s eyes, and his jaw tightened. You didn’t allow yourself to flinch as he stared right into your eyes — the swords clashing in a deadly dance.

You dug your nails into your palm hard enough to leave crescents.

“Come on, say something. Give me a reason to hate you.”

The anger in his eyes slowly melted into an ache until guilt flooded the blue of them. Gojo stepped back with a sigh. His fingertips twitched as if he wanted to reach you, but then stopped halfway.

“I know I had hurt you. And believe me, this is not how I imagined us having a conversation like this,” Gojo’s gaze caressed your features, memorizing them, as if it would be his last chance to see you at all. Miraculously, you hold yourself from giving in to the apology and regret that laced his voice. You weren’t ready to face everything once again. Your heart was still bleeding for him. “If you want to talk about it — “

A subtle shake. “I do not.”

“Okay. Okay. I understand. Then just think about what I said. Please.”

Your gaze dropped. You wanted to hate him. You wanted to look right into his face and say “fuck you”, among many other things you were desperate to cry out. To scream, to push, to take him apart like he once did to you.

But you couldn’t.

You didn’t notice Gojo left the shop until the annoying doorbell chirped right through the haze of your mind.

Exhausted, you dragged your hand over your face and slumped into the nearby chair, deep in thought.

***

Utahime didn’t urge you to anything, and while you were grateful for that, the answer she hoped for was visible in the tight set of her shoulders as she looked through the bills, the tired sigh that would escape her every time she dealt with the suppliers, not to mention the rude customers. The jubilee was the last big event before the usual dry period.

Your inner scales gradually tipped towards Gojo’s offer more and more, with every strain in your neck, headache pounding with deafening force at your temples and endless scratches on your palms.

One evening, with you and Nobara crashing on your couch, you finally felt the scales tipped in Gojo’s favour. As the days blurred into a limitless working routine, where the only light was his words, whispering in the back of your exhausted mind with more and more annoying insistence, you found yourself eventually thinking about his offer more and more.

“So, you gonna text him or what?” Nobara mused, swirling the wine in her glass, sitting with her legs tucked. The Friday evening downed at you with a startling surprise.

You mindlessly twirled a business card that Gojo left for you at the register the day he visited the shop. Strangely, it completely slipped out of your mind. A quick brush of fingers against the plastic — an elegantly written GOJO SATORU caught the light — until it hit the coffee table. Nobara reached for it to examine.

“Whoa, as cocky as ever.”

“Well, he’s the CEO or whoever,” you murmured dismissevely and took a gulp from your own glass. The liquid bloomed bitterly at the tip of your tongue, and you put it away with a sigh.

Even wine didn’t help. You slowly tilted your head back until it hit the back of the couch. 

“Okay, let’s look at this from the other side,” Nobara discarded the card somewhere and sat cross-legged. You cracked one eye open, and the sight of her business-like expression almost made a groan slip your lips. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

When Nobara was in a mood, nothing in the world could stop her. You slowly straightened, but her next words made you choke on your own breath. 

“It’s not like he’s gonna confess that he was a massive jerk and ask for your hand in marriage.”

You spluttered, heat rising your cheeks. “Nobara!” 

The small decorative throw pillow landed on her face with the precision of a sniper. She huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Just saying. Not like that’s ever happening.”

A silence fell upon both of you, while you chewed on your bottom lip, musing over Gojo’s last words, which still lingered in your heart with a dull ache. 

Nobara narrowed her eyes and cocked her brow in a silent question. You swallowed and gave in with a sigh.

“He tried to talk to me that day,” you paused, choosing the next words, fully aware of Nobara’s glaring daggers in you. “Just admitted he hurt me, but I wasn’t ready for this whole conversation. Like, at all. You know what I mean, right?”

You slowly dragged your gaze to her, only to meet her softened gaze, full of sympathy. Wordlessly, she opened her arms, and you fell into her embrace. A quiet sniffle escaped you as you buried your face in her hoodie. Still without saying anything, Nobara brushed a lone hair strand behind your ear.

She indeed knew what you meant. 

When she held you in her arms, after Gojo ghosted you, brushed off like you never ever happened in his life. When she was by your side without even asking, dragging you back to the world, where Gojo was no longer a part of you. When she helped you to stand on your own once again. 

Nobara knew. You knew. Creeping between the cracks of things you never said. 

“I don’t know what to do.” Your voice got muffled by the fabric, but your best friend heard you all good. She patted your head with a soft, melancholic smile and murmured.

“I think you do, sweetheart.”

You went still in her arms, before mumbling something affirmative, and pulled back. Your fingers nervously trembled as you typed Gojo’s number.

“I won’t let him get me this time.”

Nobara watched you with a serious face, chin resting in her palm, elbow digging into the plush of the throw pillows. God, she hoped you were right. Not like her, or you would survive another heartbreak by Gojo Satoru. This time, it might come crushing even more.

She moved closer, your thighs brushing against each other’s, as she peeked at your screen. Her eyes briefly scanned the text before giving an approving nod.

You exhaled sharply before anxiously hitting the send button.

The three dots appeared in your chat alarmingly fast. Like Gojo had been chained to his phone, waiting for your text. You slowly exchanged glances with Nobara.

“He’s typing something.”

“Thanks, Sherlock.”

You threw her an annoyed glance. “Shut it.”

Not even a minute had passed since your own message when the phone dinged with a notification from Gojo. 

Gojo

22:54

Hi. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to text at all. Of course, my offer is still up and will be. Told you it’s yours. We can meet on Monday to discuss the details, if you’re free.

“Oh, he’s so sweet, it’s disgusting,” Nobara fake gagged and reached for her long forgotten wine. You didn’t dignify it with a response.

You

22:56

yeah, monday works for me. what about 2 p.m.?

Gojo

22:56

Totally fine. See you then.

You watched three dots appearing and disappearing in the chat, and your grip on the phone tightened with each passing second.

Gojo

22:58

Good night.

Your heart did a stupid flip, totally not needed and surely out of place. You shouldn’t have this reaction to Gojo Satoru. Shouldn’t!

With a sigh, you blocked the phone and stared up at the ceiling, mulling over what Monday would bring to you.

***

The clock in the Gojo’s reception barely hit 2 p.m., when his secretary, a tall blonde woman with a polite smile, invited you into his office. Honestly, you regretted not asking to meet you at least at a neutral territory the moment you stepped into the cold, pristine walls of the Six Eyes Corp. The ride in the elevator felt endless, your anxiety rising with each passing second, and the sight of an entire horde of managers and support staff running around didn’t help.

Corporation shmorporation. 

Wait. Would you become another cog in this soulless capitalism machine the moment you agree to Gojo’s offer?

You didn’t have time to think through it properly, opening the door to his office.

It was bigger than the reception, but not as enormous as you imagined. The first thing that caught your eye was the panoramic windows, with the entire Kyoto spread before your eyes. The walls were adorned with beautiful paintings: you squinted your eyes to examine them, which probably belonged to the brush of some niche Japanese artist. His workplace was surprisingly neat, especially given the way you remembered Gojo, when you both were…were. The laptop, a bunch of papers to be signed, pens in a holder, and…wait for a damn minute.

A mug. A simple mug just near a stapler. Slightly cracked, the logo rubbed off, but the image of a winking cat was still visible. 

Blood pounded in your ears, while you tried to get a grip on your anxious thoughts. You took a tentative step closer to observe it better, but there was no point in it. It really was the same mug you gifted him at that fair. A prize for the biggest donation. His donation. Gojo kept it in his room, and you drank from the mug more times than you could count. He would often joke that it was his favourite trophy.

And he kept it. On his table, in his office, where he ruled the world that this corporation was. Why?

Why? Did he think of you? Did he recall that fair? The shelter?

Ironically, Gojo didn’t notice you. His back was facing you as he talked to someone over the phone, looking at the city beneath his feet. You allowed yourself a moment of shameless gawking at his back in the crisp white of a button-up. His voice was clipped, words short, and exhaustion laced his words. You felt bad for intruding this place for a moment, especially when his shoulders dropped, as he ran fingers through the hair: the clear white of it catching the light in a way that stole your breath. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up, exposing the map of the veins on his forearms, muscles slightly flexing with every move. You swallowed and quickly looked away.

He finally acknowledged you with a slight tilt of his head and dismissed the call with a quick “Not now. Busy,” gesturing for you to take a chair.

You carefully sat, fingers fumbling with the strap of a bag to get your notebook, as Gojo slumped in his chair, which screamed The Big Boss™. He hooked his thumb in the tie with irritation to loosen it, and your gaze briefly flicked there. You smiled sympathetically.

“Rough day?”

“A bit.”

Your grip on the notebook tightened. “We can reschedule, I don’t mind.”

Gojo’s white brows knitted together in confusion, and he immediately straightened up. “No, why would we? I am peachy.”

Your shoulders dropped in a shrug. “Okay.”

“Wanna some coffee or tea? I hope Mei Mei offered you something.”

“Ah, yeah, I’ve just had coffee. Thanks.” Yes. Coffee was a totally plausible excuse for your fidgeting.

“I see.”

Inevitably, you kept sneaking glances at Gojo, pulled closer by the gravity. He twirled the pan between his long, pale fingers, checking something on the laptop, his eyes briefly scanning the screen. Then suddenly he looked up, catching you red-handed just mid-gawking. You briefly dropped your gaze back to the notebook, while his lips curled into a little smug grin. You cleared your throat, the business-like mask slipping on your face. 

“So, I’ll need to know what exactly the kind of event it is going to be, a venue, and a budget at first. If you have something specific in mind for the design, I’ll also be glad to hear.”

Gojo’s grin softened as he listened to your questions, head tilted, a dreamy gaze caressing your features. You looked so charming, sitting all serious in his office. 

Only when you cocked your brow in an attempt to hurry him did he realize he was shamelessly staring at you all this time. Well done, Gojo. Very professional. He quickly typed something on the laptop just to avoid your gaze.

“It’s gonna be an annual charity event for our foundation. They used to be hosted in the Tokyo branch, but this year the board decided to hold it there, in Kyoto.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you ran a foundation”.

A smile broke on Gojo’s face, and he hummed. “Well, a lot of things changed since —” he abruptly cut them off, probably having realized he sounded kind of insensitive. You hold your breath, “since I became the CEO.” 

You breathed out and marked something off in your list.

“I see. That’s…that’s really good. I am glad things are taking on a better turn.”

“Me too.”

Gods, that was so awkward. This really should’ve been a call. Gojo, however, either didn’t notice this strange atmosphere or simply decided to ignore it. He examined you with his bright blue gaze, head tilted to the side. A curious smile played on his lips, and you hated that he was effortlessly charming even now. Always had been. You pressed a pen to your lips. His gaze flicked there, as if hypnotized.

“What about the venue?”

“The hotel next to the main building. We have a partnership with this chain, so it’s kinda a mutual offer. You should’ve seen it on the way here.”

Oh yes, you did. The said building screamed luxury, not the grotesque hyperbolized one, but something way quieter. The kind that clearly told you would’ve been odd there. 

Okay, you thought. You would be working there, not catching glimpses of visitors and the staff.

Another mark in the notebook. 

“Budget?”

Gojo waved his hand in dismissal. “Unlimited. The floor is yours.”

You arched your brow, humming. You didn’t have a lot of luck in encountering your exes, who wanted you to work for them with an unlimited budget. “What if I asked for, I don’t know, Juliet Roses?”

He hummed in return, fingers drumming against the wood of the table. Then leaned slightly in, amusement lacing his tone as he drawled.

“I don’t understand much about that. But sure, whatever you want.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, earning a deep chuckle from Gojo. Teasing the guy who had more money than you would ever be able to make wasn’t as funny as you thought.

After this, you discussed the setting, a couple of specific ideas you already had outlined and some technical details. Gojo tried to crack some jokes, but you weren’t as enthusiastic about them as he was, so he quickly put on a business guy mask on. At the end of the meeting, your mind buzzed quietly with all the information, but a familiar feeling of excitement flooded you: hours of brainstorming, crafting, and creating waited for you. A big heartfelt smile broke on your face as you packed your things back into the bag. 

Gojo offered to walk you back to the elevator, and you didn’t find any excuse to refuse him. The silence stretched between you, not unnecessarily heavy, but you wouldn’t call it comfortable. Your gaze swept the surroundings, landing on a couple of managers, who were stealing sneaky glances at both of you and whispering something to each other with sharp smirks. 

Ugh. Like you were back in the university once again, meeting dumbfounded gazes of students, the moment they eyed you up next to Gojo. 

He was humming something to yourself, completely unbothered, leaning on the wall with the air of confidence that suggested he owned this whole world. And he surely did, if the world closed in on this corporation.

You quickly looked over your shoulder. “Didn’t it bother you?”

He stopped humming, eyes briefly flickering to your face. A lopsided grin curled his lips. “What are you talking about?”

Ah, as usual. He didn’t even notice the gaze, the whispers and the gossiping. Again, the sun didn’t bother to pay attention to satellites. 

You wordlessly glanced at the girls back and stared at the elevator. Gojo watched you with his head tilted and followed the direction of your gaze. The moment his eyes landed on the gossiping managers, his jaw tightened, and the steel crept into his voice. “Ah. I see.”

Your head snapped towards Gojo, and without much thinking, you grabbed him by the wrist. “I didn’t mean anything, let them be — “

“Hey, Chloe!” His voice boomed across the hall, causing one girl to nearly drop her binder. You could see her swallowing with effort even from this distance. A charming smile tugged on the corner of his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes, as he drawled in a deceptively sweet voice. “I presume you already finished the monthly report, since you have plenty of free time?”

The crimson crept up Chloe’s cheeks as she gripped the binder tighter, babbling. “No, Mr. Gojo, I was merely —”

His smile turned more wolfish as he tilted his head. “Then get your friend outta of here and do something useful.”

Chloe briefly exchanged glances with her friend before quickly making their way to the offices. Gojo watched until their figures disappeared and turned to you with a mischievous smile.

“Nah, it doesn’t.”

You couldn’t help but smile in return. “They are gonna talk even more, you know.”

His shoulders dropped in a lazy shrug, but his gaze fixed you with its usual intensity. You forgot how the sharpness of it used to make your breath bated.

“There’s nothing to talk about. Unless?”

Your heart stammered against your ribs at the innuendo in his tone. Inevitably, you remembered the mug from the shelter on his table, and while you were debating whether to bring it up or keep your mouth shut, the elevator behind finally dinged. A sign, hah?

You hastily stepped forward just to hide from Gojo when his fingers brushed against your wrist. 

“Wait — “

“You look beautiful today.”

“I like your blouse, this colour suits you.”

“You curled your hair, right? I love the way they frame your face.”

The blue of his eyes pinned you to the ground as if you were a butterfly. Gojo’s lips parted, but the words never came, and slowly he let your hand go, letting the crowd in the elevator swallow you and take you away from him.

He inhaled slowly and stared at the ceiling.

What was the name of those flowers?

***

The next days passed in a blur as you started planning the event. Honestly, you hadn’t felt such a wave of excitement since…a long time ago. You didn’t blame your flower shop and Utahime, hell, you never could, but turned out when your hands weren’t constantly covered in all sorts of scraps, knees hurt from standing so much and back almost breaking from carrying the vases, you enjoyed your job well more. 

Gojo kept his promise and didn’t contact you until it was absolutely necessary. However, you couldn’t hide the way your heart would skip a beat wherever he appeared at the venue or when he sent you a little emoji at the end of his texts. You told yourself not to live in illusions, but it became increasingly harder with his gaze caressing you, when Gojo thought you didn’t pay attention. The strange, tender ache in his eyes made your insides churn with some unspeakable feeling you weren’t ready to name at all, and for the sake of your mentality, you decided you would pretend it was a simple curiosity. The mug on his office table whispered insistently that you were wrong. You stubbornly shoved the thought away.  

Gojo didn’t overstep, keeping your relationship on a faint, barely non-existent line of business partners and past acquaintances. Though sometimes he couldn’t help himself and…mishaps indeed happened. 

For example, on your first day at the venue, you were greeted by an elegant bouquet of Juliet roses and pink hydrangeas. The florist in you critically examined the bouquet and admitted it was too your liking, but the thought that it was for you didn’t even cross your mind (tell about originality — giving flowers to the florist), when Gojo happened to peek in and noticed the bouquet didn’t move an inch. 

“Is something wrong with the flowers? I thought you liked these roses.”

Too engrossed in your files, you didn’t even catch his words, staring mindlessly at the screen of your laptop, until a shadow loomed over the table and you begrudgingly had to look up. You stared at Gojo in confusion.

He nodded at the bouquet. “You didn’t like the flowers?”

Your brows knitted in confusion as you followed the direction of his gaze. “No. The composition is really good. I like the way the hydrangeas frame the roses. Juliet roses! The guy doesn’t play about his date,” you chuckled and added immediately. “Or the lady. Either way, the flowers are nice.”

A beat of silence passed between you, enveloping you in its warm embrace. A light pink dusted Gojo’s cheekbones, and he murmured in pretend nonchalance.

“So you didn’t check the card?”

Now you felt completely dumbfounded and slightly irritated that Gojo kept distracting you from the work at hand. “No, why would I —”

Your gaze briefly flicked to the flowers at one of the tables and back to Gojo, who kept eyeing with his usual intensity, stripping you bare of any defences. Then it hit you.

This bouquet was for you.

“Oh”, you murmured nervously, and forced a quick smile, involuntarily straightening up in a chair. Now you couldn’t wait to read the card. “I-I am sorry, I just thought. You know.” You twirled a pen between your fingers, mulling over the next words. There was a little excitement in telling your ex-situationship that you weren’t used to flowers. Usually, when the guys heard about you being the florist, they joked, “Then you are probably tired of seeing them,” as an excuse.

It stopped amusing you on the third date. On the fifth, you resisted the urge to smack them. On the tenth, you silently prayed they would shut up. 

You muttered as politely as you could. “You didn’t have to, Gojo. Thank you.”

A strange melancholy lacing your voice didn’t go past Gojo. His tone hardened. “If you liked them, then I absolutely had to.”

He hated it. He absolutely hated the way your face dropped, sadness crept into your usual bright tone, and the smile became a little too tight around the edges. Despised how you automatically assumed the flowers weren’t for you. Hell, who else were they for?

And the thought of him being the reason you doubted yourself drove him insane to the point of keeping him awake in the night, browsing through your old photos; he couldn’t bring himself to delete. Not only as a memory of what he lost but as evidence of his own cowardice. 

He tried to keep you at a distance, letting the contract and the strict confines of the agreement define you. He thought it would be easier this way. 

But there was nothing easy about either of you. Never was. And in the end, he gave up. The lines blurred between you so hard that he couldn’t keep pretending anymore.

with all the strength you can muster you push the man off you and only because he chose to, does he move away from you. two whole steps.

“what the fuck katsuki!” you growl, clicking the light switch beside your head and everything becomes visible, “get the hell out of my home!”

you hate him. you think. you hate his job and his job is so intertwined in his identity that it’s just easier to hate him. he’s in black boots, a black overhead hoodie and black cargos. ever the shadow despite the blonde peeking out under his black cap. he doesn’t have a mask on but you can assume it’s stuffed in his pocket. his gloved hand swipes his hood of his head as he throws the rolling pin onto your sofa. you’re faced with red rimmed eyes, slightly puffy like he’s been… crying?

you dated bakugou katsuki, also known as the country's number two hero dynamight, for not even a year. eleven months on the dot before he broke up with you. yes, he broke up with you, with the audacity to appear in your apartment a month later.

“w-wait. fuckin’ wait,” he breathes, dragging his cap off his head and it only makes your chest constrict.

you loved him. you loved him more that you could verbalise. in another world, you’d drag him into your arms, have him lay his head on your lap like you did months ago as he talks about his day. now, you’re trembling at the sight of him.

“you can’t break up with me and then break into my home. i was about to shit myself!” you squawk, flinging your arms up in the air. 

he’s still beautiful, the beauty spot on his neck and the one right behind his ear. he’s got a light stubble on his jaw that is new but attractive all the same. his eyes are hard for you to look at though, filled with too much emotion. you can’t even handle your own.

“i just wanted to check if you were good. wanted to speak to you.” bakugou’s scratches his head hard enough to draw blood under his nails.

you scoff, folding your arms. your body is happy to see him, serotonin levels boosting at just his presence. your head knows better. 

“don’t you have your little guards report back every detail about me? you know i’ve been working, i went to the cinema last week and i got chinese food from the place around the corner.”

“had to go back because you forgot your spring rolls.” he mumbles, stepping in closer to you.

everything about bakugou screams intimacy to you. like his hand belongs on your waist and yours on his neck. he’s the right size for you to hug and feel safe from all angles. you couldn’t forget his kisses either. the harsh nibbles on your thighs and the full presses into your cheeks.

“what are you doing here?” your face is deadpan. he can’t make you go through debilitating levels of heartbreak, calling off work, wallowing in depression for him to appear whenever the hell he wants. 

“i missed you. i needed to see you.”

you grit your teeth, “katsuki.”

“i fuckin’ know i shouldn’t be here but i can’t sleep, i’m useless on the field. i’m goddamn hollow without you.” he drags his palm down his face and his anguish with himself is apparent.

“you made your decision. you can’t break into my home.”

bakugou growls, bending over with his hands on his knees. it’s like he’s about to be sick, his chest heaving as he takes deep breaths. then he stands up, steps right into your personal space.

“stop acting like this is a normal fuckin’ break up. stop acting like i chose this and this didn’t need to happen.”

you refuse to look at him. everything about him is still stored fresh in your head. the last time he was here, you ordered in and watched a movie. then he pleasured you on that very sofa before lifting you to your bedroom.

“katsuki, stop.”

“i could never be a normal fuckin’ boyfriend for you. i said this from the beginning.” he pushes, half like he’s trying to convince himself and half because you refuse to see this.

a tear slips from your eye and you’re quick to wipe it away.

“okay, so you’ve seen me, i’m doing fine. can you leave now?” 

two palms are placed on either side of your head against your front door. you can hear him sniff your hair but he doesn’t make a move to touch you.

“i can’t put you in danger. there are people after me, they were going to be on you next.” he breathes into your ear, forcing you to listen.

you clench your eyes shut. that side of your ex boyfriend’s life terrifies you. you couldn’t handle half the blood and gore he’s seen in his life, the constant fight for not only his survival but the worlds. you were meant for a normal life, simple, with a husband that comes home from his boring desk job.

“i couldn’t put you through that. if somethin’ happened to you when i wasn’t around. i’d never forgive myself.” every word is pulled from the back of his throat. deep, guttural.

he’s close enough to kiss, to slide your cheek against his.

you breathe away the fear at the real possibility of death, craving how he nudges his head with yours like it’s an innocent reprieve. a sliver of contact to take the edge off.

“then why are you here again? isn’t this putting me in danger?” you whisper.

bakugou drops his head to your shoulder, shaking.

“‘m weak. feels like i’m constantly suffocating, i wake up every day with a fuckin’ migraine.” 

his nose presses into your neck and all you can manage is a single finger in his belt loop. it’s like the fog in your mind is clearing, thoughts coming in a language you can understand instead of constant wonder about this man. 

“i know how it feels,” you murmur, laying your head on his. you tug once on the belt loop and he steps in closer to you.

“yeah? sorry, sweetheart.” 

it’s an apology that means nothing since he won’t change his mind but it’s all he can say at this moment.

his breath tickles your neck at every syllable, your body sparking alight with want.

“exes always end up crawling back. i’m not even surprised,” though you jump when two gloved hands land on your waist and bakugou presses his body into you against the door.

his body shakes with an exhale and you feel it run through you.

he feels like biting down on your neck, for you to see this isn’t a normal situation. though he pulls off your neck, staring down at you with narrowed, piercing eyes. you hold eye contact, you even keep his hips pressed against you with his belt loop.

“i’m not like your other dumbass boyfriends who couldn’t handle your ass,” he curses in your face though it only makes your eyes drop to his lips, “i left to protect you.”

“and you came back to make yourself feel better. that’s not protecting anybody, is it?” you taunt and you test the waters by looping your arms around his neck. 

bakugou’s always struggled to hide emotion on his face. everything he feels is always served up on a plate to whoever is around, no cutting around corners, no assumptions needed. who he is, is what you get. 

which is why you know, despite the fact you’re pushing at him for a reaction, his love for you over powers that. it’s you, a random civilian who was never supposed to cross paths with this pro hero who has the abilities to fight the strongest, can take him down all at once.

“fuck off,” is all he can manage. a watery, stunted one that lacks any punch.

bakugou’s eyes laze, nose twitching, teeth biting at his bottom lip before letting go. he’s all pent up and the last time he remembers feeling normal was the morning of the day he found out someone’s put a hit out on dynamight. he really shouldn’t be with you right now.

he pinches your hip when you roll your eyes. you can tell that he wants you, a kiss, to fuck you against this door.

you reward him with a hand on his cheek, one he snuggles into without breaking eye contact.

“dynamight can save the world, time and time again but can’t save his girlfriend. he lets everyone live their lives, everyone else is able to be happy but him.” you murmur, brushing your thumb over his lips. you drag his bottom lip down, studying his row of bottom teeth before letting it snap back up.

he goes to bite at your thumb but it’s back at his cheek.

“it’s my duty to keep everyone safe,” he presses his cock into your stomach and your next breath is only full of delight, “it will always be my duty.”

you’re acting like a bratty child, like this is a disagreement on how he stacks the dishwasher. your hand drops from his cheek, instead it lays flat on his torso.

“whatever, katsuki.” you huff, “you made your choice. you fight for the world but not me.”

he growls, “i will fight for you. i’m takin’ a precaution, you’d hate a life always lookin’ over your shoulder because of me. i’m used to that shit, prepared for it.”

“the only people over my shoulder are your stupid hero friends following me around to watch me cry. that is because of you.” 

he’s about to touch your face with his gloves and you stop him immediately. “take them off.”

he pulls them off one at a time, with the pinch of his fingers.

“so sensitive,” he grunts, but you notice how he relaxes when his hands find your cheeks. rough calloused fingers moving down to circle your neck because you’re all covered up otherwise. he wants to touch your body. he takes a deep breath, “i’m fine with makin’ you cry if you’re not gettin’ killed.”

“you’re scared, katsuki.” you push, “too scared to even try.”

he dips his head to lean into your mouth. his lips brush against yours, “if it keeps you safe then call me a pussy, i don’t give a fuck.”

“you’re letting them win. you’re not fighting back!” you whine but he sucks up your last word by pressing his lips against yours.

he moans instantly, turning his head and opening his mouth. you do too, sliding your tongue down his throat and dragging him closer by his neck. it’s a lot. from not seeing the man for weeks to having him so close. you both always worked together, understood without anything verbal needed.

you jump and he catches you, letting your legs circle around his waist.

“wait!” you say, pushing him off you. it leaves him blinking at you slowly, licking a stripe across his bottom lip. you just need a second because one kiss and you're scrambled.

“you wanna say more bullshit to me? go on, baby.” his voice is so easily laced in arousal. one kiss and he looks fucked.

“i hate you,” you say, punctuating your retort by yanking him back to your face.

he moans, rolls his hips into your centre for some friction. it only makes you wetter, makes you want to scream at him.

“i love you too,” he whispers, filling your neck with wet kisses, “i love you so much, that i need to let you go.”

you tilt your head, fingers fiddling with the buttons of your blouse.

“you’re weak and a liar,” you stutter, voice fluttery when he begins to hump you against the door, “if you loved me you would fight anyone who gets between us.”

bakugou laughs, helping you out of your blouse to leave you in your purple cotton bra. you’re beautiful, so terribly beautiful.

“you don’t want to see what i’ve seen, baby. what if you’re tortured, kidnapped? all because i fuckin’ love you?” 

it’s like he’s in purgatory. so close to heaven, feeling you, just having you near him. but he knows that once this is over, once he’s away from your soft tits and your wandering hands, that this memory will be another form of torture for him.

“then don’t let that happen, dynamight.” you snarl, chest heaving as he takes a breast from your bra cup and sucks on your nipple, “c-can’t be that hard for a hero.”

you suck the air between your teeth harshly, when he bites a little too hard on your breast, “stop pissin’ me off. i’m not changin’ my mind.”

your face scrunches in disgust, as he stares at you from your chest, “i’m not letting a loser fuck me.”

that pushes him to the edge. weak, scared, a loser, a liar. where has his fight gone? his drive he had from when he was younger?

“you’re so fuckin’—,”

you tap his arm snootily, “put me down. i’m gonna get ready for bed and you’re leaving.”

he grinds into you purposefully, his cock at full mast, thick against your centre. “no. i don’t know when i can see you again—,”

another two taps on his bicep, “now katsuki. and never come back.”

it is the same sickness from before that floods him. the constriction of air in his throat, the ramming hammer against his skull. 

he drops you to the floor and you stare at him as you unbutton your jeans. leaving you in your mismatched underwear. purple bra and navy and white striped panties.

“get out of my sight.”

he can’t. he just can’t leave you again.

“i can’t have you die because of me.”

“then don’t.”

bakugou blinks as you balance on one foot to remove your socks. you throw them in a pile with the rest of your clothing.

“it’s not that fuckin’ easy.” he wants to pull his hair out in chunks.

“then make it easy. why do i have to spell it out for you?” 

can he make it easy? kill the villain who’s put a hit on him. what if another comes up? he can kill them too.

“d’you still want me?” he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets as you circle around him, to make your way to your bedroom.

“what?”

“d’you still love me? you loved me before.”

it feels like punching a glass case when he asks. necessary to get your heart but causes him to bleed nevertheless. 

before feels like years ago even though it was a matter of weeks. you know the answer like the back of your hand, it’s what wakes you up in tears in the middle of the night and what makes you sit in silence for hours.

“yes. you made me happy, katsuki.”

he cards his fingers through his hair, “you’re willin’ to be with me knowing that people will wanna kill you ‘cause i love you?”

your heart skips a beat. “that won’t happen though. you’re strong and brave. people respect you like a leader and you work according to the truth.”

you’re standing barefoot, in your underwear, bearing yourself to him as he’s fully clothed, backed into a corner. you were right earlier, he is scared, absolutely terrified but nothing can be worse than you not being in his life. nothing can be worse than not trying. to have you believe in him when he doesn’t believe in himself.

bakugou nods, grabs his hat to shove back onto his head. “i’m gonna do better, baby.” his boots are thick yet silent as he storms towards you. an arm sliding around your waist and his other holding your head how he wants. “give me a week and i’ll sort it.”

“i’m not waiting another week for you.”

it’s the audacity that makes him want you more, has him curling his body into you, the pads of his fingers burning where they touch your skin. he slips a hand down your back, resting right over your ass.

“give me five days. i’ll sort it in five days.”

a mission to capture a villain, he knows little about and have him killed.  

you shake his hand off your cheek, “three. if you love me, make it three.”

from your ass, he grabs your thigh, hitching it at his waist. “i’m a fuckin’ idiot to think anyone’s gonna be after you. it’s gonna be you that kills me.”

you play with the hair on the nape of his neck and you reward him with a smile that makes his cock ache. he misses you. an insane amount.

“i’ll see you in three days, ‘tsuki.”

he lays a kiss on the flesh of each breast, then one on your mouth. a wet peck with a smack.

he untangles from you slowly like each movement is hellish but he knows exactly what’s on the other side of this. him being able to crawl into bed beside you. kissing down your whole body. his head between your legs. living life with you. 

he walks to your front door backwards, unable to take his eyes off you. you revel in his attention, your hands behind your back, head tilted with a small smile.

“fuck. i’ll see you in three days. no more.”

while likes are appreciated, reblogs, comments and asks mean the world! i delete comments asking for another part. thanks xox (saying that, this might have a part 2, MIGHT)

Eleanor laughs so loudly everyone in the entire cafe turns to look. “Oh my god, she’s dating a nerd. Did you hit your head on the way down to rock bottom?”

Eyes narrowing, you ask, voice razor sharp, “Is there something wrong with nerds?”

Brittany pipes up, attempting to diffuse the tension with a question directed at your boyfriend. “Satoru, tell us what qualities attracted you to our bestie over here.”

She’s the only one who knows of your little challenge with her. The other two only know that you’ve started seeing someone new and it’s more serious than any other relationship you’ve ever had. They probably don’t believe you — you know them well enough to know that they think this is another one of your new phases. 

They’re not wrong, but you’re intent on proving them wrong. 

The fact that Satoru showed up to meet them at all is already a huge step (most of your exes only got acquainted with their tits and vaj, and behind your back). You lasting a couple more months with him would be miraculous, and they’d never be able to say another thing about your poor tastes in men. Especially since none of them had ever had a boyfriend for longer than one month, at least not without them cheating. 

You bet they’re aware of that.

And they’ll try their very best to sabotage you. 

‘Keep your wisps about you,’ you warned him before entering the cafe. 

‘Wits, babe, and yeah, don’t worry about me. I’ll be on my best behaviour,’ he replied.

The words ‘it’s not you I’m worried about’ almost left your glossy, perfect lips but you kept it in. You didn’t want to frighten him.

Satoru has an arm resting on the back of your chair. He rubs your shoulder, an act they all notice. Casually, he answers, “Boy, where do I begin? She’s really funny. I like that she’s honest and never holds back her thoughts, that she has a great sense of style and isn’t afraid to be adventurous, and she’s sweet and kind. I’m really looking forward to getting to know her even better.”

That was such a good answer, it stuns them all, you included. No guy’s ever had so many nice things to say about you. You give him a grateful smile, one which he returns. Sure, he probably doesn’t mean it, but the fact that he could conjure up any qualities at all meant a lot. 

Most guys usually point to your fantastic head game and mean arch. 

Brittany gives you a look of approval. He’s won her over already. Now, for the other two. 

Eleanor purses her lip, refusing to admit defeat with the first line of attack. And Jeanette scoffs; she’s not the kind to hide her thoughts and opinions at all.

Cue evidence A: 

“You mean, she’s blunt and tactless, dresses like a whore, and has nothing going on in her head.” She turns to you, plastering an innocent smile. “No offence, babes. You know I meant that as a compliment.”

She didn’t, but you don’t call her out on it. Instead, you say, “Yeah, maybe he meant that. Doesn’t change the fact that he likes me though.”

Satoru chuckles, sipping on his caramel frappe with extra caramel, which he offers to you and sips some more when you turn it down. “I meant it exactly how I said it. I genuinely like her — she keeps me on my toes. There’s really no one like her.”

That phony ass smile tightens, eyes flicking between you and Satoru as if the bitch’s searching for cracks, for flaws, and weaknesses to exploit. She leans forward, pushing out her cleavage. “Wow,” she says, dragging the word out. “You’re really…articulate.”

You feel your jaw tighten immediately. There it is.

Her gaze lingers on him a second too long, basically eye-fucking him. 

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as her type. But I guess opposites attract.” A beat, eyes flicking to you, then back to him. “You ever thought about dating someone a little more…low-maintenance?”

Your snort slips out before you can stop it. “Oh my god, Jeanette,” you say, flat. “Do you hear yourself?”

She doesn’t even look at you. Just bats her lashes at Satoru, dismissing you like background noise. “I’m just saying. Some girls can be a lot. I’m sure you’ve noticed.” 

Heat flares sharp and familiar in your chest — anger, yes, but also something uglier. 

Sure, maybe he’d like someone who doesn’t take exactly an hour to do their makeup, doesn’t brush their hair exactly a thousand times because you’d seen Barbie do it, and matches her thong to her shoes, but that person isn’t ever going to be her.

The cunt takes a pharmacy-load of vitamins and supplements every morning, and has weekly visits at her ‘dermatologist’, though you all know that’s just code for ‘plastic surgeon’. If she was dropped off in the middle of the sea, she’d float. God, you wish someone would drop her off in the ocean; you’d pay big money.

Eleanor hums in agreement, stirring her drink leisurely. “Yeah. She’s always been…intense.” Her eyes rake over you, sharp and assessing. “I’m surprised you’re handling it so well.” She smiles, all teeth. “Guess miracles do happen.”

“Sorry,” you say coolly, “should I start dimming my personality to make everyone else more comfortable? Is that the new trend? At least, I have one, Eleanor; I don’t make it a habit of following whatever Gwyneth Paltrow and Kylie Jenner are doing.” 

Their smiles sharpen, just as Brittany sighs. “Can we cut it with the catty drama? I haven’t had my daily orgasm yet, so this is bad feng shui.”

Satoru’s hand tightens slightly on your shoulder — grounding, reminding you he’s here. He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t bristle. Doesn’t rise to the bait. Whereas the few men that had reached this stage usually agree, or excuse themselves to the bathroom, with one of these cunts not-so-discreetly following behind.

He simply looks at Jeanette, calm as still water.

“I actually really appreciate her intensity,” he says evenly, adjusting his glasses so they can all see his eyes clearly. “She knows what she wants, and she’s not afraid to say it. Most people, on the other hand, hide their intentions behind pretty words. My girlfriend just comes out and says it. That’s not a flaw, not at all.’” His thumb shifts, warm, reassuring. “I think it’s the most refreshing thing ever.”

For half a second, you forget how to breathe.

Not because he defended you — plenty of men have done that, albeit badly, loudly, and in a way that invites you even more scrutiny later. But because he did it like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t a favour. Like you were worth defending without theatrics. Like he would do it again and again and again. 

Jeanette blinks.

Once.

Twice.

“Well,” she says lightly, recovering fast, laughter brittle at the edges, “if you ever get tired of that, I’m way more chill.” She tilts her head, hair cascading over her shoulder and down her cropped white cardigan that barely clasps. “And I’m always free.”

You feel the familiar surge of anger again, sharpening into something that could kill. Before, she would have the decency to do it behind your back, letting you find out from the lingering scent of her perfume on their skin, or glitter all over their car seats, or more blatant, by her bejewelled thong under their pillow. Now, she’s doing it right to your face, no more subtexts. 

Your mouth opens, ready to knock the cunt down a peg or two, or all of them. 

But Satoru beats you to it. 

“No, thank you,” he replies pleasantly. “And I’m not interested.”

No bite. No edge. Just a fact, delivered like a solved equation.

Jeanette lets out a laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes, tapping her acrylic nails on the table to calm the growing sense of humiliation that darkened her eyes. “Relax, I’m joking.”

“I’m not,” he says, smile as pleasant as it’s always been, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. It reminds you of the smile he used to show you, back before he remembered your name.

Eleanor clicks her tongue, rolling her eyes. “Wow. Someone’s whipped.”

Smiling sweetly, slow and deliberate, you drawl, “Jealous, Nora?”

“You’ve changed,” Jeanette says, accusing. “You used to be fun, used to have standards.”

You shrug, unbothered on the surface, though something inside you twists. “I still am. I just don’t tolerate bullshit as much anymore.”

Satoru nods along, cutting in, “It’s one of my favourite things about her.”

Eleanor snarks, “You only say that because she sucks your disgusting, virgin dick.”

“Fuck off, you stupid cunt,” you snap, nails digging into the palms of your hands. “If you say another shitty thing about my man, I’m going to report you to the school for fucking the Dean.”

The whole cafe quietens.

She flinches back like she’d been slapped, and thankfully, she has enough shame to keep her mouth shut. So does the Bitchier to her Bitch.

Finally, Brittany, who’d remained mostly silent and watching, laughs. “I like this one. He’s smart and sweet and a fighter. Good for you, babes.”

Glossy lips stretching into a victorious grin, you press a kiss to his cheek to punctuate your win and declare loud enough for all of them to hear:

“He’s great in bed too.”

The morning meeting in the cafe ends pretty quickly after that, not that you’re remotely upset by the fact. You’d been counting down the seconds till you could get away from those vapid, shallow bitches, which is an unfair assessment, you must admit, because you’re just as vapid and shallow and bitchy. Perhaps more so. 

What he must think of you, to be surrounded by hateful mirror copies.

“H-hey, s-slow down — my dick’s not going anywhere.”

“Shush,” you tell him.

Back behind the bike shed no one ever uses, you’d shoved him to the brick walls and torn down his pants so you could mouth at his marvellous cock. Satoru holds your hair back from your face, hips rutting forward despite his words. 

His cheeks are flushed. Glasses foggy already. And by god, he looks good enough to eat all mussed up and flustered because of your mouth. 

Satoru groans out, “You look positively stunning. Hngh, love this lipgloss on you, makes your lips look so juicy.”

Every vein, every ridge, every drop of pre — you feel it all.

He doesn’t cum in your mouth. 

Instead, he brings you up and spins the two of you around. Your cheek presses against the rough surface and you curse the fact that you’re likely to break out from it. The orgasm better be worth it.

“You got this wet from sucking me, Diapers?” he asks, sucking on the skin on the curve of your neck.

Mewling, you reply, “Yes. I’m so wet, so horny. Fuck me good, Toru. Need it so bad.”

Fingers finding your clit from the front as fingers push inside your cunt from behind, you’re immediately prepped for his cock with expert skill. Satoru’s clearly gotten very comfortable with your body; he finds the spot and rhythm you like so quickly, anyone would feel humiliated at how rapidly you start gushing around the long, slender digits.

Soon, he replaces those fingers with his condom-covered cock and your eyes roll to the back of your head at the incredible stretch.

“Always so fucking tight.” His teeth are gritted, fingers digging into your hips and definitely leaving bruises you’ll get wet over when you see them in the mirror later.

“So big,” you breathe out, hips pushing back to speed up the process of filling you up. “You’re so fucking big, Satoru!”

He swears, “You can take it.”

The two of you fuck each other like animals — just pure beastly movements, chasing highs, all while the threat of people stumbling upon you looms over your sweaty, grinding bodies. Maybe that’s what you two like, maybe that’s what gets you so close to the edge so hastily.

Your moans are muffled by his hand, preventing you from screaming his name. 

“Hey, you okay?”

You snap out of your thoughts. Satoru is staring down at you, a slight furrow in his brows. The two of you are walking through campus, having gotten out of your system the need to feel each other and get any tension out of your bodies. He has classes, and you have retail therapy to attend.

Without needing to ask, you know he’s referring to how quiet you’ve been since you walked away from the bike shed with your cum dripping down your thigh. There’s no reason to lie to him; he probably guessed it already. 

Nodding, you say, “I was just thinking about how shitty my friends are, and how I should be embarrassed and ashamed, I don’t know.”

His friends had been so kind, so patient, and welcoming. They didn’t make you feel small at all, didn’t try to tear you down, or undermine Satoru in front of you. That said a lot about him, and a lot about you. 

Cradling your face and stopping you from walking further, he smiles reassuringly. “Hey, I liked them.” 

You give him a blank look. He grimaces. 

“Okay, fine, I didn’t — they’re mean and catty, and I hated every second we spent with them.” Pausing for a second, he musters a half-hearted, “But Brittany seemed nice!”

Your cheeks are smushed in his hands, and your words come out a little garbled when you say, “They suck, I know. I’m just sorry they made you uncomfortable. They had no right saying horrible things about you.”

Satoru shakes his head. “No, baby, I hated them because they said horrible things about you. I can’t believe anyone would say things like that about their friends. I was so mad for you.”

He really does look mad. Or as mad as you imagine he can get. Mostly, he just has a pout on his lips. Although, he does mimic karate chops like he’d ever actually get violent, towards anyone, much less women. Still, there’s sincerity in his voice, and in his eyes, and it steals your breath.

Getting on your tiptoes, you kiss his pout away. 

“Woah,” he says, touching his lips when you part. Satoru blinks at you, disbelieving, and you wonder if he hated it. “That was my first kiss,” he marvels aloud. “That’s our first kiss.”

As you pick at a small ball of lint on his sweater, you ask quietly, “Is it too much? I know we’re not really dating, but I thought it was okay.”

He smacks his lips to yours, and again, then once more. Satoru’s smile brightens his entire face and you have to squint against its luminosity. “Are you kidding? I’ve been wanting to kiss you since forever — I thought you didn’t want to.”

Truthfully, you reveal, “I didn’t want to at the start. I thought boundaries would be good, even though we’re fucking. Now, I want to.”

Satoru wonders, “What changed your mind?”

You press close, peering up at him through your false lashes. “You. How you defended me in there, how you kept your cool, and said all those nice things about me. Men don’t tend to do that, not unless they want to get in my pants.”

Wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug, he swings you two side by side. People walk past; neither of you care about the looks they give you. Satoru shrugs. “I just told the truth. We haven’t known each other long, but I genuinely think you’re a cool person. Don’t let them get into your head.”

Why is it so easy to be so openly touchy with him, to talk and say how you’re feeling? How is he so casual, so easygoing, like being this close with you comes naturally to him? 

It sends your heart racing.

Satoru pecks your lips again, licking the gloss that sticks to him. “Alright, I gotta head to class. Come over tonight? I wanna start the next Lord of the Rings film with you. I’ll talk you through the ingenious cinematography, but also we’ve got a lot of kissing to catch up on. I want to kiss until my temperamental mini me salutes you.”

You smile. 

“Sounds fun.”

.

.

.

You fall into a natural routine, coming over to his place after classes every night. 

On Monday, you watch the most recent episodes of Star Trek. 

“Star Trek’s not Star Wars?” you ask, grinding down on his body. 

Satoru’s arms are wrapped around your body, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he peppers wet kisses there. Softly, he mutters, hips rutting upwards, “No, baby, they’re both sci-fi but -hah- completely -ngh so tight- different universes.”

Cockwarming was your condition to watch something nerdy, one which he readily agreed to. 

Now, all inches of his cock is lodged tightly in your pulsing pussy. All your clothes are still on, dirtied by your combined juices. It’s hot and humid in the air around you, though neither of you seem to care. 

“I don’t get it,” you say, guiding one of his hands to your tit. He gropes reflexively, flicking your nipple through the material of your shirt. “There’s over fifty seasons of this? Why?”

Cock throbbing, he moans right into your ear. “I-I don’t know, but gosh, I love when you ask questions. Your voice is so pretty. I could cum from listening to you.”

You bite back a smile, hips lifting up and up until only his tip remains. “Yeah?” Then you slam your body down, cockhead prodding your g-spot harshly and kissing your cervix. 

Satoru gasps. “Fuck!”

His whole body spasms, and searing cum soaks his condom, and you think, it’s a shame that he’s wearing one to begin with. 

Weakly, he grumbles, “Meanie.”

“Oh, please,” you scoff. “You love it.”

Satoru kisses your cheek, hand creeping around to rub your clit. “Guilty.” 

On Tuesday evening, you’re forced to finally get started on your own Lego set: the orchid set.

You picked it because it looked elegant on the box, pretty petals and delicate stems  — something that should have been effortless. The reality, however, is a scatter of tiny plastic pieces across Satoru’s coffee table, each one apparently designed to test your patience, which admittedly has always been very frail. 

In your defence however, you’ve never built anything like this before, and your long, glossy nails keep clicking uselessly against the studs instead of gripping them, sending the tiny things scrambling away from your fury.

Satoru helps you — he picks out the pieces you’ll need, organising them into piles as instructed by the booklet. Sitting behind you on the floor, his legs are stretched out on either side of your hips, the instruction booklet open and neatly flattened. He’s maddeningly calm about it, already sorting the pieces into little colour-coded piles, because of course he does. 

He looked like you kicked his dog when you just emptied the bags onto the table.

“Okay,” he says, nudging a green piece toward you, “you’ll want this one next.”

You squint at it, pinch it between two fingers, and promptly drop it. “Oh my god,” you groan. “Who are these even made for? Ants?”

His chuckle isn’t condescending, but if it had been, you would have shoved a piece down his dick hole. Satoru reaches around you, his arms encasing yours as he guides your hands. His fingers are warm, steady, and everything yours aren’t. 

“No, no,” he murmurs, adjusting your grip. “You’re a space away. If you miss a layer here, you won’t be able to add the leaves later.”

You do as he says, clicking the piece into place at last. The small, stupid satisfaction makes you huff out a breath. It’s probably been hours at this point; your neck is sore from looking down for so long.

“I hate this, Toru,” you complain, letting your weight fall back into him. His chest is solid at your back, familiar already. “My eyes and neck hurt. How can you do this for hours and years and not develop a hunchback?”

“I know, I know,” he coos, immediately brushing the crown of your head with a gentle kiss. One hand stays steadying the base of the orchid whilst the other rubs slow circles into your shoulder, exactly where it hurts. “You’re doing really well though. Let’s get to step ten and take a break, alright? I’ll massage your neck for you.”

And, despite yourself, you go back to building.

But after an important piece is ‘lost’, you two get distracted fucking against the glass of his floor-to-ceiling window, and fogging it up so bad, the only clear bit is the imprint of your bodies joined together.

On Wednesday, he teaches you how to play Mario Kart.

You start off sulking on his sofa, controller heavy and foreign in your hands, legs tucked up beneath you, and bracing for boredom. Naturally, it’d been his suggestion. You wanted to go shopping, but he said shopping is for girls who go to their classes, and girls who skip get to be punished with only the best game in the entire world.

Of course, you thought he meant sex so you agreed. 

Nerds never mean sex.

The game boots up with cheerful little chimes that already feel patronising. You tell him, flatly, that you don’t do racing games, that you hate losing, and that if a cartoon turtle shell hits you, you might scream.

Satoru just laughs and settles beside you, thigh warm against yours. “That’s half the fun,” he says, nudging you with his elbow. “Okay. Peach or Daisy?”

“Obviously Peach,” you scoff. “I’m not a peasant.”

“Correct answer,” he nods solemnly. His hands cover yours, adjusting your grip on the controller. “Accelerate with this. Throw with this. We’re on 50cc so things won’t be too fast. Once you finish in the top five, we can move onto the faster versions.”

Rolling your eyes, you shrug him off. “I’m not a baby; I can figure it out on my own.”

Undeterred, he grins and pecks your cheek, like he can’t help but find you cute. “Whatever you say, sweetiepie. Alright, we’re a-go.”

The countdown starts. You immediately panic.

You jerk the controller too hard, veering straight into a wall, and let out a shriek that echoes through his living room. 

Satoru doesn’t tease you, not even a little; he reaches over and steadies your hands, his own wrapping around yours again. You pretend tingles don’t explode where he touches. “Okay,” he murmurs, leaning close, his mouth near your ear. “Breathe. Pretend you’re chasing after Jeanette, and once you catch up to her you’re going to turtle her so hard she crashes.”

“Oh, she’s going down.” Glaring at the fat spiky turtle on the screen, you shuffle on your seat, bracing to kill a bitch. It even looks like her.

And then, finally, you get it. You get into a groove, learning to lean into the curves of the track and anticipating the ramps, the attacks from behind, and knowing when to utilise power ups so you can catch her. You drift accidentally, then on purpose. When you overtake the Bowser, your mouth drops open.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyes not leaving the screen. “Did you see that?”

You feel his grin rather than see it when he says, “I did. That was perfect — you’re a natural.”

Your chest warms, something smug and pleased unfurling under your ribs. You don’t even realise you’re smiling until your cheeks ache. “Of course I’m perfect. I’m coming for you next, nerd.”

“That’s so hot,” he mumbles before he shakes it off and says, “You’re on!”

On Thursday, you paint your toes on his bed as he taps away on his laptop, doing nerd homework or something. He warned you before you came over that he might be too busy to be very fun, but you told him you didn’t care, you just wanted company.

True to his words, he’s been typing away for two hours now, occasionally getting up to write equations on his whiteboard and kiss you when he figures it out.

It surprised you to find out he does homework shirtless — he says thinking hard overheats him. Somehow, Satoru had made being studious hot, and you often spend much of your time under his desk and between his legs, sucking him to get yourself off. Well, he gets off too, of course, but it’s mostly for yourself.

Unfortunately, you’d already used up your blowjob privileges tonight so you have to leave him to it.

Whatever. 

Your phone chimes. You read the message and type a reply. “Hey, Toru?”

“Hmm, baby?”

“Yuji finally got a date with the girl he likes from high school. Pretty cool, right?”

“Yeah,” he replies absentmindedly, keyboard tiptapping. Then he pauses. Turning in his seat, he looks at you through his glasses. “Yuji? Date? Girl? How do you know all of this?”

With a shrug, you blow on the paint on your big toe, being careful not to move too fast or too much, in case your entire progress is lost and you have to start over again. “He ran into me on Monday, when I was skipping class. Asked for my number and we’ve been chatting since. He wanted my advice and insight to bag a girl. And you know me, I’m so charitable I couldn’t say no.”

Satoru spins a pen between his fingers, thinking hard about something else other than equations. “You’ve been helping my friend out?”

“Uhuh — someone had to since you’re all clueless with women.”

He pushes his chair back and strolls over to you. His abs are all you can see as he towers over you. When you peer up, he’s grinning devilishly down at you. That look spells trouble, and orgasms. Your fanny flutters before you can even tell her to start revving her engines. 

The nerd’s got awful timing though.

Hand trying to shove him away, you firmly say, “Satoru, no. Wait until my nails are dry first.”

Shaking his head, he kneels down in front of you. “Can’t. I’m thirsty now.” 

In a flash, you’re yanked to your back, bouncing slightly. He grips your ankles tightly, throwing them over his broad shoulders all whilst his eyes are fixed on what’s between your legs.

You stare up at the ceiling, defeated. Panties pushed to the side, you can only sigh when you feel his tongue urging your clit out of its hood. “What about your nerd homework?”

Satoru huffs, practically making out with your cunt. “It’s just homework, babe. Don’t worry; I’ll get it done. Worry about cumming on my face and quenching your boyfriend’s thirst — I’m practically dehydrated.”

Another chime on your phone. You read it, growing breathless quickly with how expertly he laps up your growing wetness. “Yuji wants to treat me to lunch, to thank me.” He sucks on your clit, hard. You squeal. “Toru!”

When you glare down at him, you’re surprised to find him glaring right back at you through his glasses. No, at your phone. Petulantly, he mumbles, “Tell him you’re busy.”

“He didn’t even say what day yet.”

“Tell him you’re busy all days, everyday.”

Smiling wryly, you ask, “Busy with what?”

Two fingers worm their way into your pussy, unhesitating as they curl up and prod that gummy spot inside you. The squelches he wrings out brings heat to your cheeks. Satoru’s words vibrate right against your clit, and your back arches: “Busy with your boyfriend.”

You laugh, running your hand through his hair and keeping it out of his face. “I didn’t realise you’re the jealous type.”

He shakes his head, thrusting his fingers faster inside you just to hear your breath stutter and to feel your legs quiver. Satoru kisses your inner thigh. “I’m possessive,” he corrects. “I don’t like to share. Not even with Itadori.”

“Yeah?”

“Hmm. I didn’t like sharing my pens, my dino erasers, Transformer toys, and I definitely don’t want to share my girl and her perfect pussy with anyone.”

SLURRRRP!

When you finally cum minutes later, he climbs up your body, peppering kisses up your torso, spreading your own juices over your skin. Oddly, you don’t mind it. 

Glasses removed and thrown to the side, Satoru whispers against your lips right as his cock begins prodding your entrance, “You’re mine. All mine.”

You don’t correct him.

On Friday, he gets a break from school work. Dark circles have begun surfacing under his eyes — courtesy of how you’ve added more things on his plate, you’re sure — and you decide action must be taken to keep your boyfriend’s face looking flawless.

Sitting on his lap, in his bed, you apply one of your clay masks on his skin, making sure to spread it nice and thin. Meanwhile, you have to keep replenishing the cucumber slices on his eyes because Satoru won’t stop eating them.

“Stop,” you whine. “It won’t work if you don’t have the cucumbers.”

Satoru’s chuckle is restrained; the clay’s already hardening, making it hard for his mouth to move. Still, he manages. “The effects cucumbers have are pretty limited to calming puffiness, mostly due to their coolness, so it’s more of a temperature thing than a vegetable thing. You could put ice on my eyes and it’ll do the same job.”

You smack his chest. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

His thumb brushes your hip bone under your panties. He says, “Sorry, baby. Pop one last cucumber into my mouth and I’ll behave.”

Replacing the two missing over his eyes and sliding one onto his tongue, you get back to work, clipping his hair back so it doesn’t stick to the mask. 

You’re so focused on coating every inch of his face, you don’t realise sneaky hands are inching you further and further down his body by the second until a hump is bumping against your clit. You moan.

“Ugh, Satoru, you said you’ll behave,” you complain, though your hips are beginning to move on their own.

He stops hiding the control he has over your body and is now openly dragging you back and forth on his clothed, and very hard, cock. His cockhead catches on your panties through the two layers, and already you feel a wet spot forming on your gusset.

“I know, I know,” he says, groaning so loudly the vibrations rushes through your spine and sparks in your clit. “I just couldn’t help myself — I could feel how warm your pussy was on my skin and that was all I could think about. I deserve punishment, I understand. Do what you must — slap me, pinch me, mark me up — I’m all yours.”

Your hand comes up to wrap around his neck, and you squeeze only hard enough to feel his cock throb under you. “Pain whore,” you drawl.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The smile in his voice gives him away. He ruts up into you, hastening the humping. Satoru’s tone shifts quickly, and he pleads, “Faster, baby. Wanna cum in my boxers. Want to make a mess.”

Bracing yourself on his abdomen, you rub yourself on his dick, faster and faster until you’re mewling above him. “And who’ll clean it up?” you ask him.

“Me,” he answers quickly. Frustrated, he snatches the cucumbers and throws them in his mouth. His dazzling eyes find you immediately, and his gaze softens. “You’re so -hngh- pretty,” he breathes out. “So, so pretty.”

“I know.”

The two of you cum together, shuddering and spasming. 

The cucumbers are finished before the mask’s ready to wash off.

Saturday starts off with his face between your legs, cleaning up the juices you couldn’t be bothered to clean up when he fucked you to sleep the night before. You’d never been eaten out more by a single guy than when you started dating Satoru, and no one’s gonna find you complaining any time soon.

“Hit me,” he rasps, sleep still coursing through his voice.

“Alright, hotshot. 5-Down. ‘Composer of the “Enigma Variations."’”

Satoru licks a stripe up your slit, humming as he mulls over your taste and the possible answer. “Elgar. Easy.”

He does the NYT crossword every morning, something to wake up his brain, he explained. You like waking your brain up with a pretty outfit, Clueless intro style, but to each their own. He insisted you read it out to him so he could test his multi-tasking skills, and who were you to say no when you’re getting your pussy ate out of the deal?

You scan further down the grid. “23-Across. ‘What might be raised in a toast?’ Eight letters.”

He grins lazily, fucking his fingers into your pulsing entrance so you can hear your own lewd squeeeelching! “Spirits — double meaning. It’s Saturday. They love that.”

“Oh God,” you gasp out, chest caving. 

Of course he’d be good at crosswords, and of course he’d be so cocky over it. Ever since he’s learnt just how to make you cum in less than ten minutes, he’s been insufferable. Sometimes he calls himself a sex god, and you have to remind him he’s only fucked one person. 

SMACK!

Your hips jolt. Your eyes glare down at him. Where did he learn to slap your clit to get your attention?

“Focus, Diapers; I’m not letting this pretty pussy go until I’ve completed the crossword.”

“Fuck you.”

Satoru leaves a wet kiss on your clit, slobbering all over it and chuckling when it begins to flutter under his obscene touch. “We’ll get to that in a bit,” he promises.

He winks and dives straight into your pussy.

“NGH!”

On Sunday morning, you head down from his room to find him whipping up breakfast. He spots you and beams. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Have I graduated from Diapers now?”

“Never.” Satoru shakes his head, giving you a hug so tight one would think he didn’t spend an hour rutting inside you that morning. “How did you sleep?”

Sitting on the island, you watch him, specifically his back muscles flexing with every movement. Casually, you answer, “Fine. I’d sleep better if you stopped hogging the blanket and kicking me in your sleep though.”

“My bad,” he says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “I’ve always been told I’m an active sleeper.”

A ping on your phone drags your attention away from his perfect body. You frown. Sukuna’s texting you — he never texts first. It’s been two months since you last spoke to him, and all the conversation was just him asking for reimbursement for the singular bite you took of his sandwich, that broke asshole. 

He sent you a dick pic and asked if you’re free anytime this week. Wonder what he wants, you think sarcastically. You leave him on read. 

Satoru plates the food, serving it up in front of you. His brows are furrowed and he wonders, “Everything okay? You look like you’re going to stab someone with a butter knife; please don’t let it be me.”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing.”

The nerd in front of you has never sent you a dick pic. He rarely ever texts you first to ask to fuck actually; he mostly sends you memes, tiktoks, or simple messages asking how your day was. It’s you who sends him nudes, who gives him your location so he knows where to find and fuck you.  

Usually you’d find it offensive if a guy wasn’t being aggressive with his expression of attraction to you, but Satoru is starting to make you think sending nudes unprompted in the middle of the day isn’t normal. 

Weird.

As he scarfs down his food, you suddenly ask, “What’re you gonna do after we break up?”

He blinks, then gulps his food down. “Woah, that came out of nowhere — uh, I guess I’ll go back to my usual routine. Haven’t visited the Robotics Society in a while.”

“What about girls? And sex?”

Satoru tilts his head and ponders for a second. “I don’t know; I haven’t really been thinking about it. I’ll probably go with the flow, see what I want when the time comes.”

That’s not quite the answer you wanted. Well, actually, you don’t know what answer you wanted. Maybe you wanted him to confirm that he’s going to be seeing other people so you won’t feel that you’ll jump into someone else’s bed immediately after. Or maybe…you wanted the opposite.

“Why do you ask?”

You shake your head. “No reason. Thanks for the breakfast, Toru.”

.

.

.

You don’t see him for a couple days after that. 

Satoru texts everyday — multiple times, actually, practically every hour. He asks if he can see you, maybe after class, for dinner, or at his place. If he’s done something wrong, offended you, if it’s some kind of sex play and if it is then it’s partially working. But you don’t reply. You don’t really know why you won’t respond; it’s not like he said anything wrong. 

When your phone chimes again, Brittany groans out, “Text him back already, oh my god.”

Sipping on your matcha, you wave her off. “Mind your own business.”

She fixes you a look. “It is my business when you won’t put your phone on silent.”

So what if you like to know when he’s texting you? Is that a crime? 

It was her idea to see you, something about how she was starting to forget what you looked like. And you did want to see her, to hang around someone who understood you because she, more or less, shared the same flaws. You just wanted to be around someone more your speed, someone not so infuriatingly perfect. 

“You’re doing it again,” she notes.

“Doing what again?”

Leaning forward to meet your eyes and steal your attention from the window leading into the campus, Brittany explains, “It. Self-sabotage. I thought Gojo was fixing that habit of yours, the one that leads you to make bad decisions.”

Dismissively, you huff. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know you should be replying to the poor guy.” Then she sighs, leaning back into her seat. A strange look passes on her face, something akin to disappointment and it makes your skin crawl. “He’s different to us, to the guys we date; he’s normal, smart, and sincere. I could tell that much from one look at him. You’re probably breaking his heart every time you don’t reply to him.”

The thought of him sitting around, waiting for you to read his messages, sends a pang through your chest. You swallow it down. “Fine, whatever, I’ll text him back later.”

Brittany rolls her eyes at your tone. 

A silence settles over you two, leaving the chaotic mingling of other peoples’ conversations to fill the space between you. Usually, you two would be gossiping about Jeanette and Eleanor, the dumbass guys you let sleep over, or whatever happened at the last frat party you attended. Now, all you want to talk about is Satoru.

About how he drools in his sleep and pretends it’s your pussy juice in the morning with pink cheeks, how he can go from cuddling you so tightly that you think you might pass out to kicking you away as he mumbles about some physics equation, and how he fights sleep to begin with because he wants to stay up as long as he can talking about his day to you.

But you won’t, because she’d question you on it, ask a very important question that you don’t think you can answer right now, or ever.

Not one to stay silent, Brittany pipes up again, musing whilst admiring her new acrylic nails. “You know, I’m surprised you’re leaving this guy on a short leash. Rich kids are always in vogue.”

You frown. “How do you know he’s rich?” 

You’ve figured as much — his apartment speaks for itself — but she couldn’t have seen his apartment. 

Brittany looks at you like you’re an idiot. “Um, babes, everyone knows. He’s a fucking Gojo.” She sees nothing clicking in your eyes. Exasperated, she groans and explains further. “You know, like the Gojo Foundation. They own hotel chains around the world.” 

When you just blankly blinks, she sits up, brows furrowing.

“Girl, his name’s on almost half of the buildings on this damn campus. It’s on the library, for goodness’ sake. Actually, forget it, how could you possibly know what plaque is on buildings you never visit.”

Satoru’s just normal rich, like the other guys on campus who wear designer clothes and live off their parents’ money. He’s not a chair ball or whatever the word is. If he was, you’d know.

“You’re probably mistak––”

“Is that him right now?”

You follow her gaze through the window. A white-haired guy in a sweater and thick-framed glasses stands outside, talking to someone. 

A girl.

Before she can stop you, you practically sprint out of the cafe and into the open air.

“Satoru?”

Blue eyes slide over to your approaching figure. It is him; you’d know those eyes anywhere. He straightens up. “Oh, hey.”

“Don’t hey me — who the fuck is this bitch?”

The girl cocks a brow, inhaling her cigarette leisurely and blowing the smoke right into your face. You waft it away, hardening your glare and feeling like clawing her smug face till she’s disfigured. She’s pretty in an alternative way, in a way that said she doesn’t spend hours primping and wearing anything she wasn’t uncomfortable in. And that sets your blood boiling.

She asks, “Satoru, who’s the crazy woman giving me death glares right now?”

“Excuse me?” You’re seething. If this was a cartoon, you’d have smoke fumes leaving your ears. You take a step forward, about to teach her a lesson about who exactly you are.

Satoru beats you to it. 

“She’s just a friend, Sho. I’ll explain later. You should probably go; you’ll be late to class.”

They’re standing so closely their hands are practically brushing against each other. Why was he with her to begin with? Since when did he have friends who are girls? Aren’t nerds supposed to be a stumbling, bumbling mess around women? Aren’t you the one exception because you’re just so pure of heart?

‘Sho’ chuckles and waves goodbye to the both of you, though not before she drawls, “Be careful, Satoru. She seems scary.”

Why the fuck did she look you up and down and chuckle? And why didn’t he tell her you’re not scary at all, even though you are because you purposefully chose stiletto shaped nails for clawing?

Panting with anger, you turn your wrathful stare to him. “You did it again.”

Satoru scratches the back of his neck and grimaces. He knows exactly what he did and he doesn’t jump to apologise. Instead, he makes an excuse: “She’s a longtime friend. She’ll have more questions if I say you’re my girlfriend.”

“But I am your girlfriend. What’s wrong with letting that skank know?”

His brows knit together. “Don’t call her that. She’s a good friend of mine.”

“I’ll call her whatever I want, because you’re my boyfriend.”

“Your fake boyfriend,” he reminds you. You step back like he struck you. Satoru sighs and reaches for you. “I’m sorry — this isn’t how I wanted this to go. I missed you. Where have you been?”

He looks just as you remember: perfect skin, gorgeous eyes, muscular but lean frame hidden under bulky sweaters, and beat up converse. His smell is clean, like the detergent that clings to the clothes you bring over to his place, and it’s so distracting. 

The tension in your body doesn’t disappear, even as he hugs you to his chest, swaying you side to side and nuzzling the top of your head. 

You push back, and say, “Let’s go to the janitor’s closet.”

When the door closes, he’s shoved onto it. Your lips slam into his, not wasting a single second to deepen it. Satoru hadn’t fought you; he just smiled, like it relieved him to know you were still the same.

Tongues wrestle against each other with breathy moans. His hands are all over your body — squeezing your hips, your ass, your tits, holding the back of your head to keep you right where he wants you.

“Missed this,” he groans. “Missed you so bad.”

His knee slides between yours, bumping right up against your pussy. You hump it, delirious with his warmth, the hardness of his body, and the soft texture of his sweater.

Your hands make quick work of his belt, unbuckling it and freeing his cock. 

Satoru’s fingers slide into your thong from under your skirt. He gasps. “You’re soaked. Fuck.” He smears your wetness around, using it to glide and ease his sudden rubbing of your clit. Whines leave your lips and he greedily swallows it all. 

Overwhelmed, you tell him, “Put it in already.”

“But you’re not prepped enough,” he argues, fingers pushing inside your cunt despite your words. 

You pull them out and say, “Now, Satoru. Fuck me already.”

When you use that tone — the one that renders him all stupid and dopey — he can never say no, so he nods.

He lifts you up with ease, your legs wrapping around his hips. With your back pressed against the door now, he pushes inside. You both moan. The stretch stings, bringing tears to your eyes. It’s been a while, and your pussy’s complaining.

“So fucking tight,” he grits out, glasses fogging up. “ I think I might cum early.”

“Don’t you dare, Satoru.”

As soon as he bottoms out, he’s pulling out to ram back inside. You almost scream. He’s fucking you so hard you almost see stars. There’s something unforgiving about his hips, the way they don’t slow down, don’t care about how sore you’re going to be later. 

It’s a far cry from how clumsy and uncoordinated he was a couple weeks ago. 

Satoru whines, “Feels so good. Missed this so much.”

You missed this too, missed his strong arms carrying you so easily, firm hands holding you like you’re priceless, lips sucking on your neck to taste your skin, clumsily stumbling over to your mouth where you exchange moans. 

In this moment, you kick yourself for ever having put a pause in fucking him; it’s a crime to leave this majestic dick unsucked and unfucked. Truly. They should lock you up in his bed to be fucked all day and night, that’ll teach you.

“I don’t like seeing you -hngh- with other -hah fuck!- other girls,” you confess, whispering right into his ears.

Playfully, he asks, “What about when we –mmm loosen up, baby, thaaat’s it- break up?”

The door rattles on its hinges behind you. There’s no doubt that if anyone’s walking down the hall, they’d know what was going on inside, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he’s filling you up so good after days of not seeing him, not when his fat cockhead’s prodding your g-spot and kissing your cervix with his leaking tip.

There’s nothing classy about this hookup; it’s all grunts, grinding, and groaning. You’re two animals seeking quick and shallow release.

You can feel every inch of him, every ridge, every vein and it’s fucking wonderful.

It takes only a minute or two for you to reach your high.

You pant in each other’s mouths, legs weak and bodies shaking. Satoru kisses you, smiling dopily. Back on your feet, you both fix your clothes up. 

He frowns, spotting the milky drop trailing down your thigh and curses under his breath. He grabs the roll of tissue off the shelf and wipes it up. “Fuck, baby, I’m sorry. I forgot to put a condom on. Will you be okay? Do we need to go to a pharmacy?”

“No, it’s okay,” you tell him, yanking him up from between your legs. “I’m on the pill.”

Satoru exhales in relief and leaves a kiss on the inside of your wrist. “Do you want to head back to mine?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you ignore his question and ask your own, “What if we don’t break up?”

“Huh?”

You pace the length of the floor, which is not very long at all. Hands fiddling with each other, you say, “Earlier, when I said I don’t like you with other girls, and you said, what about after we break up — what if we don’t? What if we just keep doing this, but like for real, and not fake? We just keep dating and break up when we want to? And then there’d be no other girls, just me. Just you and me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, a serious look on his face. “That’s not what we agreed on.”

“I know,” you quickly cut in, scratching the inside of your wrist. “But agreements can change, y’know? Who’s to say ours can’t?”

Leaning against the door, he mulls your words over. He takes too long though, and every second that passes has you itching and itching more. Why is he taking so long to think? Why doesn’t he have an immediate answer? He wants the same thing, right?

Who’d pass you up when so many men would die to have a second with you? 

Unable to help yourself, you end up blurting out, “Why don’t you buy me gifts? And not just Legos and takeaway, like proper gifts? Clothes, jewellery, bags.”

Satoru blinks, then he stands taller. “Is that what this is about? My family’s money?”

You shake your head. “No, no, of course not. I’m just asking because that’s what people in real relationships do, right?”

And you weren’t lying. His family’s name didn’t matter to you; you only just found out today, and you’d made up your mind days ago. It’s just been nibbling away since your best friend brought it up — the idea that there’s lines and lines of girls wanting him, that as soon as you let go, he’ll be snatched up because he’s a hot commodity on the dating market.

It’s too late though. Your careless words have hardened something in his gaze. You sense it immediately, the way he doesn’t look at you like you’re his friend, like you’re back to being that stranger following him in the library. Chest clenching, you step forward and no more when Satoru doesn’t immediately open his arms to you.

Slowly, dragging the words out as if you should know this better than he does, he reminds you, “We aren’t in a real relationship. You wanted to show your friends you can be with a ‘nerd’ and I wanted to cum.”

You stumble back. 

Weakly, you mutter, “I know, but that’s what I’m saying — let’s make it real.”

“Why?” he immediately asks.

“Because…” 

Satoru doesn’t relent. “Why should we make this real? I mean, technically, this should’ve ended as soon as you proved to your friends you can happily date ‘nerds’, right?”

He keeps staring at you, waiting for you to string the words together, even as your eyes dart around. He fills up the closet so much that you think you’re running out of room to breathe. Has he always been that tall? 

“Why?” he asks again, placing so much emphasis on the word you can actually feel its weight sinking and causing cracks in the ground.

A little dizzy with the heat of his unblinking attention, you finally admit, “Because I think I’m in love with you.”

His shoulders drop. He takes his glasses off and runs a hand down his face. He makes an exasperated sound, as if you’ve just said the most ridiculous, unserious thing in the world and he can’t fathom what you’re thinking at all.

“What about you?” you find the strength to ask, and cringing immediately when your mind registers the childish, hopeful tone of your voice. “A-aren’t you falling in love with me?”

“Stop, stop, stop,” Satoru begs, hands coming up to maintain the distance, almost like erecting a shield. “You’re not ‘in love’ with me. You’re not. You can’t fall in love with someone you look down on, someone you’re using, someone you would never even talk to if not for all of this.”

Anger sparks inside of you suddenly. You snap, “Don’t speak for me. I know what I feel.”

He asserts, “No, you don’t.” 

Then he laughs, but there’s no humour in his voice. 

“You’ve never properly let me in — we’re always at my place, I don’t even know where you live, you’ve got me down as ‘Hot Nerd’ in your contacts, and just today, you’ve been ignoring me for days. That’s not love. You just think it is because I’m the only guy you’ve been with that hasn’t been a complete asshole to you.”

“That’s not true,” you mumble.

Satoru continues, “You’re not in a position to be in a real relationship, let’s face it. This whole thing started off as an ego thing; you wanted to prove to your friend that you can bag any man you want, and it happened to be me. It could have been anyone else.”

The way he speaks about you makes you feel dirty, like you’re some cheap whore. It reminds you too much of the way your exes have looked at you, have talked about you to their friends, most of whom would then grin at you like they were next. Your knees wobble.

You feel chastised, and you hate the feeling so much you feel bile rising in your throat. Voice trembling, you ask, “You don’t want a real relationship with me?”

“We do have a real relationship,” Satoru starts, taking a deep breath to gather his thoughts, or maybe to get a good grasp of patience. “We’re good friends, besides all the sex.”

“But don’t you want to be more than friends? Don’t you want to date me for real?”

Satoru’s shoulder drops in disappointment, and you know it’s because he was hoping you’d see where he’s coming from and drop all of this already. You wish you could too, but something about the tight confines of this closet makes you feel brave, makes you feel like it’s now or never. 

Honestly, he answers, “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”

“What about Toru? A-and his strict wife, and their movie theatre?”

You don’t know why you bring them up, and he doesn’t either. 

Blinking, he says, “They’re toys. What do they have to do with anything?”

You’re grasping at straws, you know it, and maybe later, when this is all over, you’ll think about walking into oncoming traffic in shame at how low you’ve sunk. Even at the very worst relationships you’ve had, with the most toxic men that you somehow wanted the approval of, you’ve never laid it all out on the table, never admitted weakness so quickly. What happened to you?

“Do you think…” your voice trails off with a crack, and there’s a rash forming on your skin now from where you’ve been subconsciously scratching. “Do you think you can fall in love with me? Like I’ve fallen for you?”

He sees your skin and he reaches for your wrist, but you snatch it away. You don’t want his pity, you want his answer, you want his love.

 “You can’t be in love with someone you look down on,” Satoru repeats, voice barely above a whisper now, like it was advice he wanted you to desperately take.

He turns around and opens the door. Cool air rushes in and you have to hug yourself for warmth.

Uncaring to hide the bitterness in your voice, you spit out, “Are you talking to me or to yourself?”

He doesn’t answer.

And that’s the last you see of Satoru Gojo.